Now they are stretched one way and another, and wet so thoroughly that they lose all the alum and salt that may be left and also much of the custard.

Now comes dyeing. The skin is laid upon a table, smooth side up, and brushed over several times with the coloring matter; very lightly, however, for if the coloring goes through the leather, the hands of the customers may be stained and they will buy no more gloves of that make. The skins are now moistened and rolled and left for several weeks to season. When they are unrolled, the whole skin is soft and pliable. It is thick, however, and no one who is not an expert can thin it properly. The process is called "mooning" because the knife used is shaped like a crescent moon. It is flat, its center is cut out, and the outer edge is sharpened. Over the inner curve is a handle. The skin is hung on a pole, and the expert workman draws the mooning knife down

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it until any bit of dried flesh remaining has been removed, and the skin is of the same thickness, or, rather, thinness throughout.

All this slow, careful work is needed to prepare the skin for cutting out the glove; and now it goes to the cutter. There is no longer any cutting out of gloves with shears and pasteboard patterns, but there is a quick way and a slow way nevertheless. The man who cuts in the quick way, the "block-cutter," as he is called, spreads out the skin on a big block made by bolting together planks of wood with the grain running up and down. He places a die in the shape of the glove upon the leather, gives one blow with a heavy maul, and the glove is cut out. This answers very well for the cheaper and coarser gloves, but to cut fine gloves is quite a different matter. This needs skill, and it is said that no man can do good "table-cutting" who has not had at least three years' experience; and even then he may not be able to do really first-class work. He dampens the skin, stretches it first one way and then the other, and examines it closely for flaws or scratches or weak places. He must put on his die in such a way as to get two pairs of ordinary gloves or one pair of "elbow gloves" out of the skin if possible, and yet he must avoid the poor places if there are any. No glove manufacturer can afford to employ an unskilled or careless cutter, for he will waste much more than his wages amount to. There used to be one die for the right hand and another for the left, and it was some time before it occurred to

any one that the same die would cut both gloves if only the skin was turned over.

CLOSING THE GLOVE

When sewing time comes, the glove goes from hand to hand down the workroom, each stitcher doing a certain seam or seams.

WHERE THE GLOVE GETS ITS SHAPE

After inspection the glove goes to a row of men who fit it on a steam-heated brass hand, giving it its final shape and finish.

Now comes the sewing. Count the pieces in a glove, and this will give some idea of the work needed to sew them together. Notice that the fourchettes are sewed together on the wrong side, the other seams on the right side, and that the tiny bits of facing and lining are hemmed down by hand. Notice that two of the fingers have only one fourchette, while the others have two fourchettes each. Notice how neatly the ends of the fingers are finished, with never an end of thread left on the right side. The embroidery must be in exactly the right place, and it must be fastened firmly at both ends. This embroidery is not a meaningless fashion, for the lines make the hand look much more slender and of a better shape. Sewing in the thumbs needs special care and skill. There must be no puckering, and the seam must not be so tightly drawn as to leave a red line on the hand when the glove is taken off. No one person does all the sewing on a glove; it must pass through a number of hands, each doing a little. Even after all the care that is given it, a glove is a shapeless thing when it comes from the sewing machines. It is now carried to a room where stands a long table with a rather startling row of brass hands of different sizes stretching up from it. These are heated, the gloves are drawn upon them, and in a moment they have shape and finish, and are ready to be inspected and sold.

The glove is so closely associated with the hand and

with the person to whom the hand belongs that in olden times it was looked upon as representing him. When, for instance, a fair could not be opened without the presence of some noble, it was enough if he sent his glove to represent him. To throw down one's glove before a man was to challenge him to a combat. At the coronation of Queen Elizabeth, as of many other sovereigns of England, the "Queen's champion," a knight in full armor, rode into the great hall and threw down his glove, crying, "If there be any manner of man that will say and maintain that our sovereign Lady, Queen Elizabeth, is not the rightful and undoubted inheritrix to the imperial crown of this realm of England, I say he lieth like a false traitor, and therefore I cast him my gage."

IV

HOW RAGS AND TREES BECOME PAPER

It was a great day for the children on the farm when the tin peddler came around. He had a high red wagon, fairly bristling with brooms, mop-handles, washtubs, water-pails, and brushes. When he opened his mysterious drawers and caverns, the sunshine flashed upon tin pans, dippers, dustpans, and basins. Put away rather more choicely were wooden-handled knives, two-tined forks, and dishes of glass and china; and sometimes little tin cups painted red or blue and charmingly gilded, or cooky-cutters in the shape of dogs and horses. All these rare and delightful articles he was willing to exchange for rags. Is it any wonder that the thrifty housewife saved her rags with the utmost care, keeping one bag for white clippings and one for colored?

These peddlers were the great dependence of the paper mills, for the finest paper is made from linen and cotton rags. When the rags reach the factory, they are carefully sorted. All day long the sorters sit before tables whose tops are covered with coarse wire screens, and from masses of rags they pick out buttons, hooks and eyes, pins, bits of rubber, and anything else that cannot possibly be made into paper. At the same time they sort the rags carefully into different grades, and with a knife shaped like a small sickle fastened upright to the table they cut

them into small pieces. Some of the dust falls through the screen; but to remove the rest of it, the cut-up rags are tossed about in a wire drum. Sometimes they are so dusty that when they come out of the drum they weigh only nine tenths as much as when they go in. The dust is out of them, but not the dirt. To remove that, they are now put into great boilers full of steam; and here they cook and turn over, and turn over and cook for hours. Lime and sometimes soda are put with them to cleanse them and remove the coloring material; but when they are poured out, they look anything but clean, for they are of a particularly dirty brown; and the water that is drained away from them looks even more