This does not lend itself readily to the fancy, but this time fancy will have to brace up and take it like a man. Truth may be more of a stranger than fiction, and all that, but the legacy is there, and traveling expenses for Mrs. Maner to go down and view it--fifty dollars in the hand, with a lot of legal assurance. “Eight years ago,” she said recently, “a man came limping into our front yard. He looked like a tramp, and then again he didn’t look like a tramp--I mean, his clothing was ragged and worn, and he was limping from an injury to his foot, and yet he didn’t have the manners of a tramp, if you could call them manners. “The man was penniless, he said, and in trouble. I felt sorry for him. I took him in and gave him some dinner, and then ten cents to pay his way to Atlanta on the trolley line. He seemed very appreciative, and insisted on taking my name and address down in a little book.” It seems that the tramp did not lose the little book. And after eight years back came the bread from off the waters, only it was multiplied to a fold entirely out of step with scriptural precedent. Mrs. Maner paid no attention to the first information that the legacy had been left her. It required an urgent appeal from a Miami lawyer and the proffer of traveling expenses to make her realize that an estate consisting of several houses and some land had really come her way at the expense of a dime, a good dinner--and a bit of the milk of human kindness. Netty’s Knitting Stunts. Netty’s knitting knickknacks for the soldiers. Her nobby knack at knitting nets them neckties by the score; Some natty soldier knockers would prefer some knickerbockers To the knotty, knitted neckties Netty knits for necks galore. For the enlightenment of our readers who may not have heard about sister Susie, the following chorus is here presented: Sister Susie’s sewing shirts for soldiers, Such skill at sewing shirts our shy young sister Susie shows! Some soldiers send epistles, say they’d rather sleep on thistles, Than the saucy, soft, short shirts for soldiers sister Susie sews. Little Maria Finds Friendly Protector. Maria Greutzen, eight years old, fair-haired and shy, with a thick woolen shawl folded about her shoulders, started on a western journey from Ellis Island, New York, holding tight to the hand of her sister Hedwig. They had come all the way from Antwerp, in war-stricken Belgium, alone on their way to their aunt in Chicago with stout hearts, and tickets tied up in bright calico handkerchiefs. Maria had a stout paper envelope pinned on her little underwaist, with a little extra money for emergency.