Newspaper Page Text
Crocheted Edgings
For Every Purpose
Pattern No. 2002.
You’ll want to crochet these
edgings — they’re all different
widths—since they lend them
selves to so many uses. Some are
suitable for round doilies. Pat
tern 2002 contains directions for
making edgings; illustrations of
them and stitches; materials re
quired.
Send 15 cents in coins for this
pattern to The Sewing Circle,
Needlecraft Dept., 82 Eighth Ave.,
New York, N. Y.
Please write your' name, ad
dress and pattern number plainly.
Whatever Else Might Be
Said —He Was an Optimist
The fight was between two
heavyweights, Puncher Smith and
Killer Jones. In the first round,
Puncher hit the floor hard five
times, and just before the bell
went down for a full count.
The winner was rushed to the
mike where he said a few modest
words. By this time Puncher had
come to, and staggered to his
feet. The announcer coaxed him
to say a few words.
Puncher tried to keep his knees
from collapsing. He heard sounds
like the chirping of thousands of
birds. Then he said to the mike:
“Ladies and gentlemen—this is
the greatest fight of my career—
and may the best man win!”
LOST YOUR PEP?
Hera la Amazing Relief for
Conditions Due to Sluggish Bowels
* r-,, M . If you think all laxatives
So mild, thorough, re
freshing, Invigorating. Dependable relief from
sick headaches, bilious h pel Is, tired feeling when
associated with constipation.
lAfUknti* Dick a 250 box of from your
VYIUIOUI nISK druggist. Make the test —then
if not delighted, return the box to us. We will
refund the purchase
Brice. That's fair.
ct NR Tablets today.
QUICKRELIff
^^OINDIGESTION
InUluto IIUN
Dreaded Whisperer
The whisperer is more to be
dreaded than an open slanderer,
because he endeavors to accom
plish his malicious purposes
secretly, and his victim has no
chance of frustrating them.—Dr.
Davies.
7Z~~\ WORLD'S IM6fSTSfUfg"Si
M^MOROLINE
■ / SHOW-WHITE PETROLEUM JELLY
Speak for Literature
When men of learning are act
ed by a knowledge of the world
they give a reputation to litera
ture and convince the world of its
usefulness.—Addison.
Malaria • Chills • Fever
Tako reliable Oxidine. Stop* chilli and I'J
favar, deans blood of malaria. Famous / QXinaer I™
for 50 years. Money-back guarantee.
r। / ■
Fragments of Joy
The pathway of life for nearly
everyone is strewn with frag
ments of joy.
at
good WB
o• u o Til fll nTnil!i
stores
LARGS 1 f
i F l l fl I
1120
| mODERHIZE
1 Whether you’re planning a party
or remodeling a room you should
jollow the advertisements ... to learn
what’s new... and cheaper.., and
better. And the place to find out
BM about new things is right here in
InS this newspaper. Its columns are
I filled with important messages
j which you should read regulaily.
THREE SHUTTERED HOUSES
' By BEN AMES WILLIAMS
Copyright—WNU SERVICX
SYNOPSIS
Driving home through a torrential rain,
young, well-to-do Clint Jervles picks up a
Siri, scantily clad, running in terror-stricken
Ight down the road. She rides a short
ways, leaves the car and runs into the
woods. He decides to talk to his dear
friends, Inspector Tope and Miss Moss,
about his adventure. Clint still thinks of her
as Miss Moss, his former guardian, though
she and the Inspector are married. Clint,
having settled down, now manages the
Jervies estate himself.
CHAPTER II
On the flat crest of Kenesaw Hill,
backed against the woods and look
ing down an open slope toward the
marshes and the river, there were
three houses, dissimilar and yet
alike. Dissimilar in their outward
aspect, yet alike in that to the most
casual passer-by it must have
seemed that fear dwelt in them all,
and secrecy, and other things be
sides. Heavy shutters were at ev
ery window, even though those shut
ters were not always closed; heavy
hangings behind the lace curtains
next the glass; closed doors, chim
neys that seldom wore a friendly
plume of smoke, a lawn never suf
ficiently clipped and tended, and
lacking ameliorating shrubs or
flowers.
One of these houses was a square
box almost exactly as high as it
was wide, of dull brown brick, with
a dull slate roof that was so flat
it threatened to crack under the
winter’s weight of snow: a square
box of a brick house, with a wing
like the tail of a dog that is sitting
down, extending for a short distance
behind. Grass grew tall in the fish
bone pattern of the brick walk that
led from the road to the front door.
And one of these houses was a
sprawling thing of wood, painted
that frugal brown which thrifty New
England folk so often and so un
fortunately prefer. Yet whoever
first designed this wooden house
must have groped toward beauty,
even toward the pleasant ways of
living; because there were broad
verandas, there were peaks and val
leys in the roof. There were even
a few remaining traces of an or
namental border still discernible un
der the overhang at the gable ends.
The third house was of stone. This
was the smallest of the three; and
its height was greater than either its
front or breadth. It had almost the
appearance of a tower of stone;
and the stone-work extended up
ward to the window-sills of the sec
ond floor. Above that there was
stucco; and above the stucco and
the low attic windows, there was a
steep-pitched roof from which the
snow would slide of itself. But this
house, even though it was the small
est of the three, was distinguished
by one circumstance. There was
behind the house a portable garage
of sheet metal; and from this ga
rage a drive led around one side
of the house, making a sharp angle
ht the rear corner to pass between
the house and a tall pine tree there,
making another angle so as to pass
the front steps, and thus to the road.
And the garage gave evidence of
being usvd; the drive was free of
grass, and there were some oil-spots
by the kitchen door as though a car
often stopped there.
You might have thought these
houses, from their aspect, empty,
abandoned; yet people lived in
them, and by an unchanging rou
tine. Each Saturday night, as a
part of this routine, they all for
gathered. in the sitting-room of the
big frame house between the other
two, where old Denman Hurder
lived with his wife who had been
Ella Kenesaw, and with his daugh
ter Kitty Leaford, and her daughter
June.
June Leaford sometimes wondered
whether other people existed as mo
notonously as these folk she knew
best: her mother, and Grandpa and
Grandma Hurder; old Matthew
Bowdon and his wife next door in
one direction; Aunt Evie Taine, and
Uncle Justus, and Rab and Asa in
the other. This was the only world
she knew; a world a mile square,
with the three houses as the focus.
And these were the only folk she
knew—these kinfolk and one other,
the man who lived in the cabin by
the pond which was hidden in the
sunlit woods behind the house, and
who liked to have her call him Uncle
Jim.
She had first met this man one
Jay a good many years ago. As
she grew from babyhood to child
hood, Grandpa Hurder used to take
her for long walks about this mile
square tract of land that was the
Kenesaw domain; and later, when
she was old enough to adventure
abroad alone, she explored in all
directions. She liked to slip down
toward the river, moving secretly
among the young growth which was
recapturing the old pasture there;
and she discovered a screened knoll
above the stream where she could
sit unseen and watch the bright
hued canoes slip softly by.
At other times she went to roam
fearlessly in the. woods behind the
house. Half a mile below the crest
of Kenesaw Hill, the woods ended at
a broad highway along which cars
passed all day long in a weaving
pattern to and fro. She knew the
spring-fed pond deep in the woods,
and sometimes she took off her
shoes and stockings to wade in the
clear water there; or she would sit
very still on the rocky summit of
the knoll above the pond to watch
through the intervening branches of
the trees the cars go by.
Uncle Jim found her there one
day. She was at the time about ten
years old. He spoke to her, smiling
ly, and asked her name; and she
told him what it was, and watched
with interest how the blood drained
out of his lips. Later she saw him
more than once again, and one day
she told her mother of these en
counters.
Kitty Leaford was a soft, queru
lous woman, who lived resentfully
but not rebelliously, complaining
without struggle. She heard June’s
report in an unaccustomed silence,
and without comment; but she must
have reported the matter to Aunt
Evie, because later Aunt Evie told
June, in her soft, implacable tones,
not to walk in the woods again for
a while, and she bade the girl for
get this man she had seen.
Kitty Leaford herself would have
submitted—though rebelliously—to
this prohibition; but June was of a
Mr. and Mrs. Bowdon were
playing anagrams at another
table.
stronger fiber than her mother. She
disobeyed Aunt Evie once, and met
Uncle Jim and told him what had
happened. He came to the house
that afternoon June saw him meet
Aunt Evie. She did not hear what
passed between them; but after that
Uncle Jim built a cabin on the
rocky knoll above the pond, and
dwelt there sometimes for weeks on
end; and June often went that way.
These hours when after her les
sons under Aunt Evie’s tutelage
were done June could slip away to
the river, or to see Uncle Jim, made
life endurable for the child. As she
grew into a young woman, they
were a part of the routine of her
days. Her days all were routine;
just as it was a part of the routine
which held them all, that every Sat
urday night after supper they came
together in the big sitting-room in
the Hurder house. They did not
meet for supper, because that meant
extra work and even a certain ad
ditional expense. But after supper
they all met and were determined
ly festive.
“It is a duty we owe the chil
dren,” Aunt Evie used to say. “To
make home pleasant and attrac
tive for them in whatever ways we
can.”
June and Rab and Asa were the
children. When June was eighteen,
Rab was twenty-six, and Asa seven
years older; children no longer. But
the routine bound them still . . .
When this particular evening be
gan—though June would remember
its every detail all her life—there
was nothing to make it seem any
different from others that had gone
before. The day had been warm
and sullen, and there was promise
of a thunder-shower to relieve the
heat; but Kitty Leaford hated thun
der-showers, so that June did not
welcome the prospect of this relief.
She was always apt to suffer when
her mother did.
The girl did the supper dishes to
night as her regular duty was; and
while she was thus engaged, Uncle
Justus and Aunt Evie came in
through the kitchen from their house
next door. There was a half-bottle
of milk on the table, and Uncle Jus
tus, as he passed where it stood,
knocked it off with his elbow, so
that it spilled across the floor. June
had to mop it up, while Aunt Evie
thrust Uncle Justus on toward the
sitting-room. She did not scold him,
because she always spoke in low,
gentle tones; and Uncle Justus was
stone deaf and never heard anything
she said. June sometimes thought
his deafness was an armor that
served him well.
After she had finished her tasks,
BAKER COUNTY NEWS
she went upstairs to her bare, high
ceiled room to wash her hands and
smooth her hair, and when she re
luctantly came down again, the oth
ers were already gathered in the
sitting-room. Uncle Justus sat in
the shabby old chair by the piano
reading his paper. He would go
presently to sleep, his chin on his
chest, his glasses on his nose, his
paper on his knees.
June’s mother and young Rab
Taine and Asa were playing three
handed contract bridge at a card
table at one side. Rab had a friend
ly eye, a light and amiable tongue.
When June now came to the door
and hesitated for a moment here,
he called to her:
“Come along and play with us to
night, June. You belong with us
young fry, not with the patriarchs!”
Mr. and Mrs. Bowdon, Grandma
and Grandpa Hurder, and Aunt
Evie were playing anagrams at an
other table; and a chair waited
there for June. June hesitated, but
Mrs. Bowdon interfered. Mrs. Bow
don—she insisted that June call her
Grandma, although she was in fact
June’s great-aunt—was a ponderous
white lump of a woman, white hair,
white cheeks, small tight lips. June
thought of her as a crushing weight.
Grandma Bowdon said now to Rab,
in her slow, heavy fashion:
“Rab, June’s place is here with
us. June, here is your chair.”
June had no thought of exercising
any choice in the matter. She might
have a choice; but if she had, she
kept her wishes to herself. She had
found by experience that nothing
but bruised knuckles could result
from battering a stone wall. She
sat down where she was bidden, and
she began to play with them the
game called anagrams.
Uncle Justus went to sleep in his
chair and began to snore, and Aunt
Evie made him move into the hall,
into the straight, heavily carved
chair by the table there. The sound
of his snores still reached them, but
no longer so disturbingly. That he
should thus move into the hall was
a usual occurrence and June scarce
noticed it at the time. Later she
would be puzzled by the fact that
Inspector Tope attached to it so
much importance,as he did to every
movement of the others here this
evening.
Shortly after ten o’clock, a mild
argument developed. The discus
sion went on and on, till Kitty Lea
ford rose with a sudden angry move
ment and said fretfully:
“I must go to bed! I’ve a head
ache. This heat torments me be
yond enduring.?
Grandma Bowdon protested:
“Why, you can’t go yet, Kitty. It’s
not half-past ten. We never stop
till eleven.”
“I must,” said Kitty Leaford. “I
must get to sleep before the storm.”
Aunt Evie Taine remarked in her
calm, gentle tones:
“Os course, Kitty, you ought to go
to bed, if you feel tired. I’ll bring
some milk up to you. I always say
when I’m tired, a glass of warm
milk makes me feel better than any
thing else. Where is it, in the ice
chest?”
June confessed: “I'm afraid there
isn’t any.” Uncle Justus had spilled
the last of the day’s supply.
But Aunt Evie ignored her.
“We’ve none over at our house,”
she reflected. “Nothing but the top
milk that I saved for the coffee.
Mother, have you any?” Grandma
Bowdon nodded; and Aunt Evie
said: “I’ll run across and get
some.”
“It doesn’t matter, really,” Kitty
Leaford repeated. “Good night.”
She went out into the hall and they
heard her speak, loudly, to Uncle
Justus. He answered her, his voice
sounding from halfway upstairs.
Aunt Evie followed her. "Justus,
French Archeologists at Work Upon
Alesia Battlefield Find Roman Coin?
Thirty-seven Roman coins, also
179 diverse objects which might
have belonged to Julius Caesar, all
of them dating back to the Roman
occupation of Gaul, have been dug
up by a group of French archeolo
gists at work upon the historic bat
tlefield of Alesia, 40 miles from
Dijon.
For three decades excavations at
Alesia have been carried on, but
during the past few months the
“harvest” was so abundant that it
has inspired the archeologists,
working under the direction of M.
E. Esperandieu, to continue their
digging with increased vigor.
Among the 179 Roman objects found
were locks, keys, cramp irons, nee
dles and fragments of pottery; also
an elaborately decorated table in
the form of an altar and a striking
lion in bronze (almost intact). A
"hypocaust,” an underground fur
nace for heating baths, was also dug
up.
Every American school boy who
has plodded through Caesar’s “Com
mentaries” is acquainted with Ale
sia; it is the place where Vercinge
torix, intrepid chieftain of the
where are you going?” she demand
ed. “Come here!” He must have
obeyed her, for when June reached
the door, he -was just sitting down
in the hall chair again. Aunt Evie
told her: “I’ll bring the milk right
away, June. From Grandma Bow
don’s.” ‘b
She hurried away, and June start
ed to go upstairs, to be with her
mother. Sometimes Kitty Leaford
wanted her help in preparing for
the night; for there was a consid
erable ritual involved in this pro
cedure. But Rab Taine called her.
“June,” he urged cheerfully,
“come back here. It’s not bed-time
yet. Stay awhile.”
She stood uncertainly in tne door
way, a tall, dark-haired girl, slen
der and strong, but clad in a shape
less and unbecoming gown.
“You know,” Rab told her smil
ingly, crossing to speak to her in a
lower tone, “you need to learn to
play, June. This tomb is no place
for you. It’s time you were meeting
some young fellows.”
June nodded.
“I’m not going to stay here al
ways,” she told him. “I’m going
away some day. Mother has prom
ised me.”
“Any time you want to step out,”
Rab invited, chuckling, “I’ll give
you a hand. I like you, June. And
I can show you around.”
Asa passed them on his way to
the kitchen. “Glass of water,” he
said, byway of explanation. June
heard Aunt Evie come in to the
kitchen, from out of doors, heard
them talking together there.
The girl went along the hall to
join them, to see if she could be of
help. Aunt Evie had poured a little
milk out of a bottle into a stew-pan
and set it on the gas-stove. The
bottle was empty. Asa was stand
ing by the stove, a glass of water in
his hand, while Aunt Evie looked for
matches. But she did not readily
find any; and June confessed:
“I think they’re all gone. W»
meant to order some.”
“I’ll get some from Justus,” Aunt
Evie decided. She went into the hall
to rouse Uncle Justus, and June
picked up the pan of milk.
“Mother has a gas-plate in her
bathroom,” she told Asa. “I can
warm it there.”
He nodded without speaking. Asa
was always a dour, silent man. He
went ahead of her through the hall
and back to the sitting-room, and
June followed him as far as the
hall. Uncle Justus was awake, fum
bling in his pockets for the matches
Aunt Evie demanded; and June set
the milk down on the table beside
him.
“I’ll warm it upstairs,” she told
Aunt Evie, and went into the sitting
room to say good night to Grandpa
and Grandma Hurder. Rab came
out with her, when this duty was
done, and picked up the milk.
“I’ll carry this upstairs,” Rnb
told June, smiling. “I want to say
good night to Aunt Kitty. Besides,
it’s too much of a load for you!”
His eyes were twinkling.
June was not particularly atten
tive; yet later, under Inspector
Tope’s gentle inquiries, she would
remember and relate every detai)
of this evening. That stew-pan with
a little milk in the bottom was to
assume a dark and dreadful signift
cance in her eyes.
But just now, she followed Rab
upstairs. He knocked on her moth
er’s door, and June was at his el
bow. “It’s Rab,” he called. “Juna
and I have come to tuck you in.”
Kitty bade them enter. She waa
in her dressing-gown, brushing her
hair. Her hair was a flaxen yellow.
June thought it looked younger than
her mother’s face looked; but she
knew why this was so. These twih
mother and daughter, were close in
many ways.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Gauls, met his fate and wu com
pelled to surrender to Caesar. Ale
sia today bears the name of Alise-
Sainte-Reine and, since the Middle
ages, has become a religious shrine
much frequented by Burgundians.
Saint Reine was one of the early
Christian martyrs in Gaul and every
September her fidelity to her faith
is evoked in a picturesque proce»>
sion.
Each year an average of 10,000
visitors comes to Alesia, some as
religious pilgrims, others as tour
ists. All of them walk about the
battlefield where the independence
of Gaul was lost some 2,000 years
ago; they stand in awe before the
heroic statue of Vercingetorix,
erected on the summit of Mont
Auxois.
Five Million Years Old
Scientists claim redwood trees
found in the Petrified Redwood for
est, California’s redwood empire,
are more than five million years
old. Volcanic action centuries age
covered the region with fine dual
causing preservation of trees h
their present petrified form*
Jlsk Me Jlnother
• A General Quiz
1. Why is the speaker of the
house of representatives so called?
2. What country is the Land of
Cakes?
3. How big a trunk did the Char
ter oak have?
4. What is the oldest parliament
in the world?
5. Is there a word descriptive of
the feeling of annoyance one has
in a noisy place?
6. About how much of the
world’s habitable land surface
does the British empire cover?
7. Is there a tropical valley in
Canada caused by hot springs?
The Answers
1. The name was borrowed from
British parliament.
2. Scotland is so called from its
oatmeal cakes.
3. Nearly seven feet in diam
eter. It was in Hartford, Conn.,
and blew down in 1856. Its age
was computed to be nearly 1,000
years.
4. The Althing of Iceland is the
oldest parliamentary assembly,
having celebrated its I,oooth an
niversary in 1930.
5. The word is dysacousia.
6. About one-fourth.
7. Many stories have bedn writ
ten about this legend. The hot
springs exist but they have no ef
fect upon the climate.
COUNT THE EXTRA
SMOKES IN
CAMELS
I®
By burning 25% slower than
the average of the 15 other
of the largest-selling brands
tested —slower than any of
them—CAMELS give smok
ers the equivalent of
In
si
' ' 'H
nIH
m|
TODAY’S big news in cigarettes
means real smoking pleasure and
more of it for SMOKERS! Read the
results of scientific laboratory tests on
16 of the largest-selling brands:
1 CAMELS were found to contain
MORE TOBACCO BY WEIGHT
than the average for the 15 other of
the largest-selling brands.
2 CAMELS BURNED SLOWER
THAN ANY OTHER BRAND
TESTED - 25% SLOWER THAN
THE AVERAGE TIME OF THE 15
OTHER OF THE LARGEST-SELL
ING BRANDS! By burning 25%
slower, on the average. Camels give
smokers the equivalent of 5 EXTRA
SMOKES PER PACK!
3 In the same tests, CAMELS HELD
THEIR ASH FAR LONGER than
the average for the other brands.
Camels smoke cooler! Costlier tobao*
cos, delicate in taste and fragrance.
That’s smoking pleasure at its best^
Camel’s added bonus. America likes a
shrewd fiwy... America favors Otmek!
CAMELS
COSTLIER TOBACCOS
PENNY FOR PENNY YOUR
BEST CIGARETTE BUY!