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HEART’S
HERITAGE
© Joieph McCord WNU Service.
CHAPTER XIV—Continued
— 15 —
Through it all, over it all, the
name Dale had been unable to force
from his lips back in the study.
How long ago. That was the mem¬
ory his battered consciousness de¬
sired most of all to crush. Even
as his fingers tried to mutilate the
tangible evidence and failed.
Elaine. Elaine.
Her face watching him through
all this nightmare. It would not
be blotted out. No matter how he
beat at it with his bare heart.
That hurrying maddening proces¬
sion, swinging past his staring eyes.
Where was the end?
A host of puzzling shadows forg¬
ing by. Taking shape at last. Those
were pennons streaming from bob¬
bing lance tips. Clearer. The half-
forgotten game of dreams. Old
guests of the Table Round.
And ever present in the motley
of mail, a lone rider. Coming out
again, hidden behind arms that bore i
no device. Blank.
The shield argent.
Dale’s arm was upflung across his
face to shut away the picture. He
rolled over and pressed his eyes
deep among the dead leaves. Sobs
broke from him.
“Elaine.”
When that first storm had spent
Itself, the boy who had been Dale
Farwell roused and stared dully at
his surroundings. At the trees loom¬
ing darkly on all sides. It was
the same world he had seen slip
from beneath his feet. He still was
in it, if no longer of it.
For the moment his mind re¬
fused to recognize the present or
future. He must go back a little,
reconstruct his chaos. Adjust him¬
self to a perspective of some sort.
Slowly, matters began to right
themselves in his numb brain. It
came back to him how his fa¬
ther . . .
That was it. He had no father.
But he did! He was the son of
Ward Kelsey. That should have
been his name, too. No right to
that other of which he had been
so proud. Who was Jonathan Far-
well? Only his mother’s husband.
A man who had been kind to him
for her sake. Had he?
This man of God. Who stood up
on each Sunday and told people how
to be good. Live righteous lives,
hate sin. And he let me live this
lie. He lived it, too. Why? Why?
All these years giving himself
to the task of saving souls. What
about his own soul? What about . . .
The Lady Lee.
No use to push that out of his
mind any longer. The thing that
mattered most of all.
She was waiting for him now—
somewhere in this soft darkness.
He had promised. His last words
had told her that nothing could ever
keep them apart. How could he
ever tell her? He couldn’t. Never
to see her again . . .
What would they tell her when she
called the parsonage? What would
lie say in the message he must send
before he went away from all this?
That he had made a mistake? That
she must try to forget? To have to
hurt her so. No right even to look
at her. Never to hold her close . . .
The warm perfume of her hair . . .
He couldn’t stand this. If only
he could start on that trip to the
wilderness. Bury himself forever.
Another dream shattered. He nev¬
er wanted to see that man. Hear
his name. Didn’t dare see him.
There were other wildernesses.
He would find them. Only ask to
be forgotten. No riding out with
colors now . . .
The clouds lowered. Rain drops
rattled sharply on the leaves.
Dale rose painfully to his feet.
Blundered on. Deeper into the
woods.
f - ■
Pink Mulgrew stood watch alone
in his kitchen until the first streaks
of dawn tinged the east and Albert
Hickman arrived with a clink of
milk bottles. Pink had passed the
hours tipped back in a chair, heels
resting on the table as he sat star¬
ing at the wall and lighting one
cigarette after the other.
He had gone several times to the
back porch to peer into the darkness
and to listen. Then into the parlor,
only to hear that monotonous pac¬
ing ovei’head.
A moment later, he rapped hesi¬
tatingly on the knob and peered
cautiously into the room.
The light still burned. Jonathan
Farwell, his face drawn and hag¬
gard and suddenly old, turned to
face his visitor.
“Dale has not come back,” were
his first words.
“Not yet, Dominie.”
‘ “I have lost him too,” Farw*ll
offered in a curiously flat voice.
“Gone." The finality stirred Mul¬
grew to action.
, “Tallc sense!” he countered
roughly. “You know that kid’s no
quitter. Any more’n you. Sit down.
Pull yourself together.”
With unexpected docility the min¬
ister sank to a seat on the bed.
“He’ll come back,” the little man
Insisted. “You been carry,V this
around ever since he was born. The
kid got it all in one package. What
do you expect? He’s had to go out
by himself and work it out. Same
as you’ve been doin’. When he gets
here, he’ll be fixed to talk. Then
you and him can get together.”
“Why should he come to me? I
drove him away. My punishment
is almost greater than I can bear,
Pinckney. I tried to carry it alone.
Did I do wrong? Did I?”
“Lissen, Dominie. I can’t tell
you. I reckon I’d have done the
same as you. You wasn’t sure. I
mean you never had it in black and
white. You know what I’m tryin’
to say.”
“What else was there to believe?”
Farwell persisted. “There never
was anything else to believe. God
forgive me, I hoped the man was
dead. Now he comes out of the
past.”
“One of them things. That’s all.”
“If there was any doubt,” was the
bitter retort, “why did that man
hide himself all these years? Why
did he not find me? Why? There is
no answer. To anything in life.”
Pink came nearer. He stood look¬
ing down at the crumpled figure.
“Dominie,” he began slowly, “I
ain’t very good at sayin’ things. But
ain’t you sorta runnin’ out on your¬
self tonight? And on the kid? You
“No. I loved her, too well.”
know ...” Pink hesitated, then
summed up: “I always let you han¬
dle the church end. But here’s how
all this hits me. If God’s all you
figure, why’s He lettin' our kid sit
in a crooked game? No, sir. The
kid’s a square shooter. You can’t
tell me no different. Dope it out
for yourself.”
Nine o’clock found the parsonage
enveloped in silence.
Jonathan Farwell still lay across
his bed where Mulgrew had left him
several hours before. Exhausted
by the storm that had swept his
heart and brain, sleep at last had
claimed the minister. Pink was in
the living room where he had
stretched himself on the couch to
wait Dale’s coming.
The chiming of the clock brought
him to his feet, staring and rub¬
bing his eyes.
A distinct uneasiness possessed
him when he realized that his watch
had been kept in vain. Dale had
not returned. Satisfied by the quiet
overhead that Farwell must be rest¬
ing, Pink stole softly to his kitchen
to brew a pot of coffee.
As he swallowed a hasty break¬
fast he was formulating a plan of
action. He had promised Miss Lee
to find the kid.
He swore at the sound of the
door bell. Muttering to himself, he
hurried to answer it before his em¬
ployer should be roused. It might
be some word from the kid.
“Well?” was his ungracious greet¬
ing to the stranger on the porch.
“I would like to see Dr. Farwell,
if I may.”
Before Pink could frame a re¬
fusal, a voice spoke from within
the hall.
“Just a moment, Pinckney. Who
is it?”
Jonathan Farwell came slowly
down the stairs and crossed to the
front door.
“Good morning,” he began calm¬
ly. “Did you wish to see me?”
“Dr. Farwell?”
“Yes. Come in.”
Pink fell back reluctantly and al¬
lowed the visitor to enter. Eyed
him uneasily as he walked into the
parlor, followed by the minister.
The atmosphere of the front room
was charged with sudden tenseness
as the two men faced each other.
The stranger broke the silence. He
spoke bluntly.
DADE COUNTY TIMES: THURSDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1938
“We have never met, Doctor Far-
well.”
“No.” It was a colorless word.
“But I am not surprised to see you
now.”
“Then you know I’m Wade Kel¬
sey.”
The name had no sooner left the
speaker’s lips than the door lead¬
ing to the dining room was closed
abruptly. By an unseen hand. The
unexpected sound recalled Farwell
to the duties of host.
“Will you be seated?”
“Thank you. We can talk here?”
“If you feel it necessary.”
“We are alone, I mean?”
Jonathan Farwell walked to the
hall door. He closed it and came
back to the nearest chair, dropping
wearily to its cushioned seat. A
few brief hours had aged him per¬
ceptibly. His shoulders sagged. The
white face was pinched and drawn.
“Well, sir?”
“Perhaps this is more difficult
than I realized.” A slight hesitancy
marked Kelsey’s attempt. Sudden
sympathy filled him. This man was
suffering. He was ill. “Can you
understand what brings me here?”
he ventured. “I suppose you know
that I have met Dale.”
“He told me so. He is gone,” Far-
well said listlessly. “First, Elaine.
Today, Dale. What would you do
there in your smug righteousness
and smirch her name. Didn’t it
occur to you that Dale might be
your son? That he is your son?
Elaine’s boy? You poor blind fool.
And to think I have hated you all
these years!”
Farwell slowly passed his hand
over his mouth as if he had re¬
ceived a blow. His lips twitched,
but no sound came. He peered up
vacantly at his accuser.
“I am beginning to understand,”
Kelsey remarked quietly. “We must
get to the bottom of this. Pull your¬
self together, man. Is there any¬
thing I can get you?”
Farwell shook his head.
“Then listen to me,” He drew his
chair closer and seated hiT ra w g .
“This is no time to mince word*
It means too much to that boy. To
all of us. I can tell you some
things you don’t know. That is what
brought me here.”
CHAPTER XV
“We’ll start with me. You’d best
make up your mind to accept what
I tell you. Is that understood?”
said Kelsey.
A slight nod of the head was Far-
well’s reply.
“When you came to Middleton, I
was a transit man with the old
now? I am beyond hurt, I think.”
“You’re talking in riddles, man!”
Kelsey eyed the other sharply.
“And there is no answer left.”
Farwell’s black eyes fixed them¬
selves on the engineer’s puzzled
face. “I once supposed if ever I
met you face to face, I would kill
you. God changes us.” There was
a faint touch of wonder in the
words.
“I think you had better explain
that.” Kelsey said it quietly enough,
but a dull color crept into his
cheeks. “I thought I might be of
some help. You have enough to an¬
swer for, when it comes to that.
Elaine might be here now, if you
.... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
say that.”
“Yes. She might have come here
with you. To claim your son. It is
too late. He is gone. I drove him
away.”
“In God’s name, Farwell, what
are you saying?”
Kelsey sprang to his feet. The
lean face under the gray hair had
gone as white as Farwell’s own.
His fists were thrust into his coat
pockets, as if fearful his anger
might get the best of him.
“That Dale is yours,” was the
measured reply. “I always have
known.”
Wade Kelsey took a backward
step and sank helplessly into his
chair. He but stared at Farwell.
“I sinned more deeply than I
knew. I never told the boy. Al¬
ways I was hoping—hoping. Then
you came. I had to tell him. All.”
“Wait!” Kelsey’s voice was
harsh. He swallowed before he
could ask his question. “Are you
trying to tell me that you think—
that you dare believe I’m that boy’s
father?"
“Would you deny him a name
now? It is all that you can give him.
More than you did for her.”
“If I did not believe you utterly
mad ...” A dangerous ring crept
into Kelsey’s voice as he leaned for¬
ward. “As long as you have said
that— Let me tell you something
once and for all. I gave Elaine a
love that could mean nothing to
you. For you killed her.”
“No. I loved her. Too well.”
“And I tell you that you did. You
broke her between your hands. She
loved you so well she let you drive
her out of your life. And now . . .”
He was on his feet again. “You sit
G. & C. Starting out. I was en¬
gaged to Elaine. There’s no good
going into that. She loved you more
than she did me. But there is one
thing you will have to believe. It
didn’t keep me from loving her.
There never has been another wom¬
an in my life. From that day until
this. If you can get that ...”
Farwell sat motionless. Staring
in mute pain at the other man.
“I don’t want to be rough . . .”
Kelsey seemed to find the going dif¬
ficult. “I know now that Elaine
never opened her lips to a soul.
But I saw . . . Though I never
talked with her after she sent me
away. She was trying to fit herself
to a job that was beyond her.
“I can guess what happened after
you took her away. She found her¬
self failing the job—and you. Fright
and her nerves got the better of
her. I could piece it all together.
She clung to you and you gave her
no help. Perhaps you couldn’t.
That’s not for me to judge. All I
know is that something snapped.”
Farwell moistened his lips with
the tip of his tongue. Sat watching.
His face was expressionless.
“Elaine was in a panic when she
left your home. Her physical con¬
dition had something to do with it,
of course. When she was driven to
take the step, she couldn’t go back.
She couldn’t go to her mother, for
fear you would find her.
“This will sound almost unbeliev¬
able. I can see now. It was fate.
The same as my running across
Dale last week. I was in Chicago
on business. A friend and I dropped
into a Loop restaurant for lunch.
I saw Elaine waiting on tables. This
is going to hurt. She was working
to support your baby.
“I’ll cut it short for both our
sakes. Elaine didn’t have much re¬
sistance. The lake air had been
doing her no good. I took her to
her mother where she belonged.
Then I began a search for you.
You seemed to have dropped from
sight. I stumbled across your trail
once in 1915. Elaine had been dead
several months. She hoped for you
to the last. Wanted to put Dale in
your arms where he belonged. Now
it’s your turn to help. Where were
you?”
“Overseas.”
“We weren’t in the war then.”
“Canadians.”
(TO BE CONTINUEDJ
Wha t to Eat and Why
C. Houston Goudiss Relates the Romance
of Wheat and Discusses Flour,
the Basic Food
By C. HOUSTON GOUDISS
T^HE A story of wheat flour is the story of civilization. Before
man learned to cultivate this golden grain, he was obliged
to move from place to place, with the seasons, in search of
food to sustain and nourish his body.
Then, on one happy and momentous occasion, perhaps
6,000 years ago, an inspired nomad plucked the
some
ing grasses, observed that
they had a nut-like taste, and
passed along the far-reaching
discovery to his fellow tribes
men.
The beginnings of wheat cultiva¬
tion are last in antiquity. But
we do know that
for thousands o f
years, it has been
one of the most
important crops in
the world—so nec¬
essary to man’s
well being that the
supplication, “Give
us this day our
daily bread,” has
summed up his
most fervent de¬
sires.
Food for the World
Today, nearly three quarters of
a billion people use wheat as food.
And modern methods of milling
have developed flours of such su¬
perlative quality that breads are
more appetizing and more attrac¬
tive than ever before; special
flours make cakes and pastries
light as the proverbial feather;
and there are prepared mixes
available for biscuits, waffles,
muffins, griddle cakes, pie crust
and gingerbread.
For Energy and Vitality
The form in which wheat flour
makes its appearance on the table
is of less importance than the fact
that it is and should be an essen¬
tial item in the family food supply.
That is because it offers a rich
supply of fuel value at little cost.
The different types of flour contain
from 61 to 76 per cent carbohy¬
drates, from 11 to 15 per cent pro¬
tein, and varying amounts of min¬
eral salts and vitamins.
It is necessary to know some¬
thing of the structure of the wheat
kernel and to understand how the
various flours differ, in order to
select the flour best suited for
each purpose. A kernel is made
up of several outer layers of bran;
a layer of cells high in phos¬
phorus and protein, just inside
the bran; the endosperm, com¬
posed of cells in which starch
granules are held together by pro¬
teins; and the germ. The starch
cells are so small that one kernel
of wheat may contain as many as
20,000,000 granules.
White and Whole Wheat Flours
White flour is made chiefly from
the endosperm. Whole-wheat, en¬
tire-wheat and graham flours are
loosely applied terms which refer
both to products made by grind¬
ing the wheat berry without the
removal or addition of any ingre¬
dient, and also to a flour from
which part of the bran has been
removed or to which bran has
been added.
One of the most prolonged dis¬
cussions of the last two decades
has involved arguments for and
against the use of white or whole
wheat flour in making various
types of bread and muffins. As a
result, many people have been
confused and misled—often at the
expense of their enjoyment in
meals.
Here are the facts: White bread
contains important energy values,
proteins, some minerals, chiefly
potassium and phosphorus, and
when made with milk, it also sup¬
plies some calcium. It is easily
and almost completely digested,
tests indicating an average di¬
gestibility of 96 per cent.
Bread and other bakery prod¬
ucts made from whole wheat flour
also contain proteins and carbohy¬
drates, plus good amounts of iron,
copper, phosphorus and potas¬
sium; and vitamins A, B and G.
The whole grain products are
less completely digested than
those which are highly refined,
however, so some of their nutri¬
ents may be lost to the body.
When the two types of flour are
considered as sources of protein
and energy alone, they are re¬
garded by nutritionists as practi¬
cally interchangeable. Whole
wheat flour is conceded to be rich¬
er in minerals and vitamins, but
where white bread is preferred,
these elements easily can be sup¬
plied from other sources.
As a matter of fact, foods made
from both types of flour belong in
the well-balanced diet, where they
add variety and splendid food val¬
ues at minimum cost. And it
goes without saying that for many
purposes, only white flour is suit¬
able.
Bread Versus Pastry Flour
Different types of wheat differ
in their proportions of protein and
carbohydrates, and that accounts
for the difference between bread
‘
and pastry flours. Bread flour is
made from wheat containing
large amount of gluten, a
gives elasticity to which
helps to make a dough and
Pastry flour a well-piled loaf
contains less gluten
and more starch and has a lighter
texture that produces fine-grained
cakes. All-purpose flours, as their
name implies, are usually a blend
of different types of wheat and
are designed for general house¬
hold use.
A Symbol of Progress
It is a tribute to American en¬
terprise that the world’s largest
flour mills are now to be found in
this country, and that tremendous
staffs of technicians and research
chemists supervise every step in
the preparation of the flour which
may pass through as many as 17
grindings and be subjected to 180
separations.
Experts begin by checking the
quality of the grain while it is in
transit to the mill. But their work
does not end when the flour
emerges pure white in color and
unbelievably fine in texture, after
having passed through silk bolting
cloths of 100 mesh or finer. After
that, there are baking tests, day
after day, to be sure that every
sack which is sold is of uniformly
high quality.
Self-Rising Flours
An interesting development of
recent years has been the self-ris¬
ing flours and other ready-to-use
mixtures. Some of these contain
only a leavener; others include
dried milk and eggs; fat; and bak¬
ing powder, so that only a liquid
is needed. All are planned to save
the homemaker’s time and main¬
tain her family’s interest in their
most important energy food—the
products of wheat—the foremost
cereal grain.
Questions Answered
Mrs. F. B. L.—Flour should be
stored in a moderately cool, dry,
well ventilated place, and should
be protected from vermin and in¬
sects. It should not be exposed to
excessive heat, nor to freezing
temperatures.
Miss F. B.—You are right! Rye
flour is next to wheat in populari¬
ty, though it is usually mixed with
wheat in making bread. Flours
or meals are also made from po¬
tatoes, bananas, soy beans, lima
beans, buckwheat, barley and
rice, though the percentage is
small compared to the amount
made from wheat.
©—WNU—C. Houston Goudiss—193&-31.
Our Presidents
—A—
Jefferson, Madison, Monroe,
John Quincy Adams, Van Bur-
en and Buchanan served as
secretary of state.
Grant and Taft served as sec¬
retary of war, and Hoover as
secretary of commerce.
Nine Presidents of the United
States were born to very poor
families. The others were born
in varied circumstances, most¬
ly middle class folks. Washing¬
ton became one of the great
landowners of his 'day. Abra¬
ham Lincoln entered the White
House almost penniless, but
since the Civil war most of our
Presidents have been men of
moderate means.
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