HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Huron Expositor, 1932-06-10, Page 75
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TUNE .,; r. 198
RUP.I,G V RAFT SSEC1ALIS r
Rupture Varicocele, Varieose'Velma
,
Abdorninal Weakness, Spinal Deform •
its. Constltation free. Call or
write. 4. G.. SIMIIIIEII, British Appli-
ance Specialists, 16 Pewnie St., Stret-
ford, Ont. 3202-26
LEGAL
Phone No. 91,
JOHN. J. HUGGARD
• Barrister; Solicitor,
Notary Public. Etc.
Beattie Block - - Seaforth, Ont.
R. S. HAYS
Barrister,Solicitor, Conveyancer
and Notary .Public. !Solicitor for the
Domdi'iiole Bank. Office in rear of the
• Dominion Bank, Seaforth. Money to
loan.
BEST &. BEST
Barristers," Solicitors, Conveyan-
cers and Notaries 'Public, Etc. Office
in the' Edge Building, opposite The
Expositor Office.
• VETERINARY
JOHN GRIEVE, V.S.
Honor graduate of Ontario Veterin•
ary College: ATI diseases of dnmestic
animals treated. Calls 'prempt'y at-
tended to and charges moderate. Vet-
erinary Dentistry a specialty. Office
and residence on Goderich Street, one
door east of Dr. Mackay's , office, Sea -
forth. .
A, R. CAMPBELL, V.S.
Graduate 'of Ontario Veterinary
College, University of Toronto. All
diseases of domestic animals treated
by the . most modern principles.
Charges reasonable. Day or night
calls promptly attended to. Office on
Main Street, Hensall, opposite Town
Hall. Phone 116.
MEDICAL
DR. E. J. R. FORSTER .
Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat
Graduate in Medicine, University of
Toronto.
Late assistant New York ' Opthal-
mei and Aural Institute, Moorefield's
Eye and 'Golden Square Throat Hos-
pitals, London,' Eng. At Commercial
Hotel, 'Seaforth, third Monday in
each- month, from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m,
58 Waterloo Street, South, Stratford.
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Dr. W. C. 'SPROAT
Graduate of Faculty of Medicine,
University of Western Ontario, Lon-
don. 'Member of College of Physic-
ians and Surgeons of Ontario. Office
in Aberhart's Drug Store, 'Main St ,
Seaforth. Phone 90.
DR. 4. NEWTON-BRADY
Graduate Dublin University,
' Ire-
land. Late Extern Assistant Master
Rotunda Hospital for Women and
• children, Dublin. ' Office at residence
lately occupied by Mrs. Parsons.
Hours: '9 to 10' a.m., 6 to 7 p.m.,
Sundays, 1 to 2 p.m. 2866-26
DR. F. J. BURROWS
Offide and residence 'Goderieh ,Street,
east of •• the United Church. Sea -
forth. Phone 46. Coroner for the
County of Huron.
DR. C. MACKAY
C. Mackay, honor graduate of Trin-
ity University, and gold medalist of
Trinity Medical College; member of
the College ofPhysicians and Sur-
geons of Ontario.
DR. H. HUGH ROSS
Graduate of University of Toronto
Faculty of Medicine, member of Col-
lege of Physicians and Surgeons of
Ontario; pass graduate courses in
• Chicago Clinical ,School of Chicago
Royal Ophthalmie Hospital, London,
England; University Hospital, Lon-
don, England. Office`Back of • Do-
minion 'Bank, 'Seaforth. Phone No. 5.
Night calls answered from residence
Victoria Street, Seaforth. 4
DR. S. R. COLLYER
Graduate Faculty of Medicine, Uni-
versity of Western 'Ontario. Member
College of Physicians and Surgeons of
Ontario. Post graduate work at New
York.City Hospital and Victoria Hos-
pital, London. Phone: Hensall, 66.
Office, King Street, HlensaIl.
DR. J. A. MUNN
Graduate of Northwestern Univers-
ity, Chicago, I11. Licentiate Royal
College of Dental Surgeons, Toronto.
Office over Sills!, H'ard'ware, Main St.,
Seaforth. 'Phone 151.
DR. F. J. BECHELY
Graduate Royal College of Dental
-Surgeons, Toronto, Office over W. R.
Smith's Grocery, Main Street, Sea -
forth. .'Phone: Office, 186 W; resi=
dente, 185J.
• ,
CONSULTING ENGINEER
S. W. Archibald, NB.A;Sc., (Toronto),
O.L.S., Registered Professional En-
gineer -and Land Surveyor. Victor.
Building, 2881/2 Dundas 'Street, Lon-
don, •Optario. Telephone : Metcalf
28O1W.
AUCTIONEERS
OSCAR KLOPP
Honor Graduate Cai'b$� Jones' Na-
tional School for Auctioneering, Chi-
cago. Special course' taken in 'Pare
Bred' Live 'Steen, Real Estate, Mer-
chandise and Fen Sales. Rates in
keeping with prevailing markets. Sat-
isfaction asavred, Write or wire,
Oscar '(dope, Zurich, Ont. Phone
;
A MATIN
WIliDS
•
•ti
BY OTTW ELL BTNNS
W
(Continued from last week)
She turned away, and after per-
haps half an hour he caught the
sound of an axe at work in the wood
a little way from the tent. The sound
reached him intermittently for' some
time, and then ceased; and after a
few minutes there came a further
sound of 'burdened steps, followed by
that of poles tossed on the ground
close to the tent, Then the girl look-
ed in on hirru. Her• face was flushed
with her exertions, her forehead was
bedewed with a fine sweat, her hair
was tumbled and awry, and he not-
iced instantly that, she had changed
her torn' blouse and skirt for the
clothing which his foresight had bur-
dened her pack with. The grey flan-
nel shirt was a little open at the neck
revealing the beautiful roundness of
her throat, the sleeves of it were
rolled up above the elbows after the
workman -like fashion of a lumber-
man, and showed a pair of forearrhs,
white and strong. His eyes kindled
as. he looked ons her.
She was radiantly beautiful and
strong, he -thought to himself, a i':
mate for any pian who loved strength
and beauty in a woman, rather than
prettiness and softness, and his ad-
miration found sudden vent in words.
"Miss Yardely, you are wonder-
ful!'
The colour in her face deepened
suddenly, and there was a quick
brightening in her grey eyes.
"You think so?" she cried, laugh-
ing in some confusioli.
"I certainly do!" he answered ferv-
ently.
"Why?" she demanded.
"W.ell," he replied quickly and ,net
uttering what had been in her mind,
"you adapt yourself to difficult cir-
cumstances so easily. I don't kno
another girl in the world who wci
so cheerfully do' what you are do-
ing."
'Oh," she retorted gaily, "needs
must when the devil drives! But was
that all you were thinking?"
She knew it was not, for she had
seen the look in his eyes, 'and her
question was recklessly provocative
and challenging. She knew it was
such as she had flung it at him; and
Hubert Stane 'knew it too. His face
flushed, his heart pounded wildly:
and fora moment there was 'a surg-
ing desire to tell her what he really
had been thinking. The next ,mom-
ent he put the temlptation from him.
"No," he answered with an attempt
at laughter, 'abut the rest is not for
publication."'
There was a' little tremor in ---Iris
voice as he spoke which Helen Yard-
ely did not fail to notice. For a
moment she stood , there undecided.
'She was conscious of an uplift of
spirit for which there appeared no
valid reason, and she visioned open-
ing out before her a way of life that
a week' ago she had never even.
dreamed of, Three days in the soli-
tude of the wilderness' with Hubert,
Stane shad 'brought her closer to him
than an acquaintance of years could
have done, 'and she 'was aware of wild
impulses in her heart. As elle stood
there she was half -inclined then and
there to challenge fate, and to' force
from him the words that he withheld.
Then, with a great effort, she check-
ed the surging, impulses, and gave a
tremulous laugh.
"That is too bad of you," she cried.
"The . unpublished thoughts are al-
ways the most interesting ones.
But I must away to my' house -build-
ing or I shall have to spend another
night under the stars."
She turned and walked abruptly a-
way. In her eyes as she went was
a joyous light and her heart was
gay. 'Ag: she swung the axe upon
her shoulder and moved towards the
trees she broke- into song, the words
of which reached.'Stane:
"It was a lover and his lass
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey noni-
no,•
That o'er the green cornfield did pass
In the spring time, the only pretty
ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding,
ding,
Sweet lovers love the Spring."
He lay there . beating out thu' el-
ody with his fingers. A musing look
carne in his eyes that remained there
when once more the sound of her axe
came through the forest stillness.
Then it died away and his face grew
grim.
P"It's nonsense, the tmerest mad-
ness!" he whispered to himself. "And
even if'it were nota man can't
take advantage of such circumstanc-
es. It would be too caddish for
words--"..
.'For a long time he lay there lis-
tening to the sound of h; r mo
ments, which told him when he ' as
near and when further aw. :'nd
presently he heard her fixing • 1 an
to of her improvised hut. Sh
ed steadily, sometimes singing t
herself; but -she did not enter the tent
again 'until noon, when she came in
to "inquire if ,'�ie were comfortable
and to say thattneal would be ready
shortly.
"'I%ow does the hut go?" he asked.
"Oh, finely!" she cried with en-
`6husiasin. "The framework is up,
thotrgh I've used all the pack -rapes
over the job. I wish I had some
Bails. I'm sure I could drive them
Straight,';
"Pm sure you could," he replied
liaug'hhigly,
"Girls are not nearly so -incapable
as they let men make them out'to he,
I never built a house before, 'but I
am sure this one of mine is going
to be a success. After we have eat-
en I ern going to look for biech-bark
to make tile eoverin', but• there's one
thing that is worrying me."
"What is .that ?",,he asked.
"I am wonderitr how to fasted
the Vail; tnttetl=eet: I shall have to
n
di
get it in stripe, I know, and the strips
wilt have to be sewn together. I
know that, but the question is—how?
If I had stout twine and a packing
needle it would be easy, but -4--."
nit 'is still- easy," he interrupted.
"You will have to get the roots of
the white spruce, and- sew with that,
as a cobbler sews, using a• knife for
awl." •
'"Oh," she laughed, "I never thought
eif that, and it is so simple. I shall
manage all right now."
After the meal of. fish and beans
and coffee she disappeared once more,
and later he heard her "busy outside
again. From the sounds he judged
that she had found the -bark and the
other materials that she needed, and
was busy sewing the covering for her
tepee, a i presently he heard eher
fixing it. The operation seemed to
take quite a long time and was evi-
dently troublesome, for once or ttvice
sounds of vexation reached• him and
once' he; -heard her cry roundly: "Con-
found the 'thing!"
He laughed silently to himself at
the heartiness of her expression, then
wished that he could go out, and help
,her; but as he could not, and as she
did not come. to him in her difficulty
he refrained from asking what the
difficulty was, and from offering ad-
vice. Half an hour later she stood
in the tent doorway, flushed but tri-
umphant.
"Finished," she . cried, "and Sir
Christopher Wren was never more
proud than I am."
"I should like to see your castle,"
laughed Stane.
"You' shall, sir,". • she cried gaily.
"You shall. I will lift the canvas of
the tent that you may feast •your
eyes on ,my ..handiwork:" feast
later she was busy roll-
ing up the canvas at one side of th'e
tent, and presently he found himself
looking out of a very fair imitation
of an Indian hunting tepee. He gave
the work his ungrudging .admiration.
"It is a very creditable piece of
work, Miss Yardely."
▪ "Yes," she r•espended lightly, "and
Pim not going to pretend that I'm
not proud of it. I am, and having
done that, I don't think Robinson
Crusoe was so' very wonderful after
all! I think that I could have man-
aged as well as he did on his desert
island. .But'here's a fanfare on my
own trumpet!, And I've work yet to
do, and I must 'do it before my doll's
house goes 'completely to my head."
She dropped the canvas of the tent,
fastened it into its place, and then
proceeded to arrange a bed of young
'spruce boughs for herself. That done
to her ' satisfaction she prepared the
last meal of the day, and then in the
stillness of .the bright Northland eve-
ning she went off' towards the lake
,she had discovered in the morning,
with the intention of setting the
snare that she had spoken of. •
'But she did not do so that night,
for before she came' in sight of it
she was aware of an alarmed clamour-
of
lamour
of the water -fowl, and wondering
what was the cause of it, she made.
her approachwith caution, pp a on, The
stream which she had followed fell
over a small cliff- to the shore of the
lake, and as she reached the head of
the fall she became aware of two. men
beaching a canoe. Instantly she slip-
ped behind a tree, and from thio
poilit of vantage looked again. The
men had lifted the canoe clear of the
water and were now standing upright
with their face to her not twenty-
five yards from the place of her con-
cealrnent. On this second glance she
recognized them instantly. One of
the men was Gerald Ainley and the
other was the Indian, Joe.
For a ,moment she stood there with-
out moving, then very cautiously she
drew .back into the wood behind her,
and gradually worked her way to a
place along the lakeside. where the
undergrowth was very thick, and
where she could watch without fear
of discovery. She was less than a
quarter of a mile away from the
place where the .two had landed, ani
as she watched them making camp,
the smell of their fire was blown a-
cross to her. --'Neither of • the two
travellers showed any disposition to
leave the lakeside, and she watched
them for quite a long time,•a look
of deep •perplexity on her face.
They were friends! She had no
doubt that they were looking for
herself. They represented ease and
safety, and a quick return to the am-
enities of -civilization, but she bad no
desire to discover herself to them.
She thought of the injured' man lying
in the tent a mile away. It was pos-
sible that the coming of these two,
in she made her presence known,
might prove to' be beneficial for him.
She weighed that side of the matter
very carefully, and her eyes turned to
the canoe ip which the men travelled
It was, she recognized, too small to
carry four people, one of whom would
have to lie at length in it; and she
knew instinctively that Ainley would
propose to leave the Indian behind to
look after Stane whilst he took her
back to her uncle. And she was
conscious of a surprising aversion to
any such course • a dare that she was
'sratisfied with things as they were.
She crouched' there for quite a long
time, then a whimsical smile came
on her face, and without a regret
she crept quietly away through the
forest, leaving the two searchers un-
eware of her presence,
Whet she reached the eneampment
she looked into the hut and found
that Stane was fast asleep. She
smiled to herself, and instead of re-
plenishing the failing dire, carefully
extinguished it with earth, that nei-
ther the glare nor the smoke of it
might reach the two searchers and
so lead to the discovery of the camp.
Then, having done all she could to
ensure 'Stave and herself remaining
undis'turbed in their wilderness se-
cludion, "alae looked in the tent again
smiled once more, and. dropping the
fiy of the tent, went to her own
tepee.- Though she lay' long awake,
she was up betiimes next morning,
and after one glance into the tent
to assure herself that ,her patient was
yet sleeping; she moved off in the di-
rection of the lake. When. she carne
in sight of. it she looked towards the
foot of the waterfall. ' for Aipley's
camp. It was 'no. longer there, but.a
mile and a half away _she descried
the canoe making down the lake. As
she did so, she laughed with sudden
relief and 'gladness, arid hurried back
to the camp to fight the fire and pre-
pare breakfast..
CHAPTER XI
A FOREST FI'R'E
Sir James .' ardely sat in the shel-
ter of -his teht looking', anxiously at
Gerald Ainley.
"Then you•'have•.not found my niece,
Ainley?"'.
"No, Sir James! But I beep hews
of her, and I' am assured she is a-
live:"
'"Telt me what gives you that as-
surance."
Ainley thereupon described the
search he had made, and produced
the swastiki 'brooch; explaining the
cii•mustances under which he had
found it, and- then gave an account
of the meeting with the half-breed
and of the latter's declaration that
he had seen Helen going up the main
river in a canoe with a white man.
"But why on earth should Helen
go up there?" asked'Sir James won-
deringly.
'"I cannot say, Sir James! I can
only guess, and that is that MLss
Yardely knew that we 'were making
for . the old Fort Winagog, and men-
tioned it to her rescuer, who was
probably journeying that way. Any-
how, I went up to the Fort. The In
diens there had not seen nor heard,
of any white girl in the neighborhood
but I 'gave them instructions to look
for her promising' a reward if she
were found; then I hurried back here
by the shorter route in the hope that
possibly'1YIise Yardely might have re-
turned in the meantime.
Sir James stared through the tent -
door at the wild .landscape before
him. 'His face showed a lightening
of his anxiety, though it was clear
that the turn of events puzzled him.
"I can't understand it," he said.
'Why wouldn't Helen' have made her
way straight -back here?" '
"Can't 'say, Sir James! Possibly
the man who helped her doesn't know
the country, and of course Miss
Yardely is quite ignorant of it."
"And here she is, lost in the wild-
erness, careering round the compass
with heaven knows what ' come -by -
chance fellow!" commented Sir James
adding quickly:
"`Ainley, she • has got to be found!"
"Yes, Sir James!"
"This unfortunate affair has upset
men It has quite disarranged my
plans. 'We have lost . five days here,
and I shall be compelled to. curtail
my journey. I have decided to cut
out -thevisits is thetoposts po s north of
this, and to work across to the Peace
River, and so sou'thwnrd."
"You are going back?" cried Ain-
ley in some .consternation. "You are
going to leave Miss Yardely�---_"
"No, my dear fellow," . interrupted
Sir James, anticipating the conclu-
sion of his su'bordinate's sentence. "I
am not going to leave her to her
fate: I am going to lease you to find
her. I have thought the matter out
very'., carefully. I shall leave four
Indian's with you, and shall establish
a camp at this point, so that in the
event of Helen returning here you
will not miss her by any chance. 1
shall send a messenger to Rodwell,
at Fort 'Maisun, •• instructing him to
send you down an outfit that will
last the winter if necessary, and you
will have carte blanche to follow
your own plans, only you must un-
derstand, Ainley, my niece must be
found. Even though you have to
comb this country through with a
dustcomb she trust be found."
"She shall be, Sir James,"' answer-
ed Ainley with conviction.
"It is, of course, just possible that
the man with whom your half-breed
saw her *as making north to the
post at Lolbstick Creek and it will be
as wellAfte make an early inquiry
there,"
"`Yes, Sir James, I have thought of
that."
"By the way, did you get any
description of the ,man whom my
niece was with?"
"`Yes. You *member that man
who was at Fort Maisun,' and who
departed quietly one night?"
"You mean'that fellow whom you
knew at Oxford, and who has -since
gone under?"'
"That is the man, Sir James; I'
am convinced of it, from the half-
breed's description."
A look of anxiety came on the
great man's face. "A discharged'con-
v'ict, wasn't he, Ainley?"
"Yes, Sir James. He is of good
family, and 'I fancy he is wealthy,
for he succeeded to the estate whilst
he was in prison, and came out here,
I. imagine, because the old country
was impossible to him."
"What was the crime that knocke•1'
him out of things?"
"Forgery!"
"Um!" was the reply. "Things
might have 'been worse. Possibly the
fellow will remember that he used
to be a gentleman."
"Possibly,', agreed the younger
man.
"Anyhow, you know exactly who
You have to look Tor, and that ought
to make your task much easier, Rod -
well will instruct all the Indians who
show up at Fort. Maisun to keep a
bright look -out, and no doubt in a
few days you will get track of her,
J.3ut as 'I said just now, she must b4
(found: ail all -leost& 'she must be
Wort to that enc, and ., tUY a n e
Pat/ ii' posdblae, I AM evert more anis: ki ie
),pus ar; lit her then you."
A half smile came on tha seat.
man's. tabs, as he nodded '!I undea.A
stand, Ainley, I' azn not .blind. it
was' for that reason I decided that
you 'should have charge of the seam
party, seeing that you have--en-tee
tra inducements. Find my niece,
bring her - back to me, and than we
can talk over the matter. And now
you had 'better go and think out your
plans carefully!. I' shall have . to
leave here in the 'morning, but now
that 1 know 'Helen is alive, I shall
go with a comparatively easy heart."
Gerald Ainley.went to his own
tent with a smile on his face. For
the Adherence of his ultimate plans
things could scardely have fallen out
better. • It was true that::Helen yet
remained to be found; but he was to
be left to find her,' and was to have
a free hand in bhe ,matter. After a
week or ,two in the wilderness Helen
would be glad enough to meet with
an old friend bringing deliverance,
and the intimaer of daily travel to-
gether would inevitably bring her
to his arms. His brow darkened a
little as he thought of her present:
protector. Then it cleared again.
Helen was very proud. Circumstanc-
es for the 'present had thrown her
into Stane's company, .but she was
the last person'.in 'the 'world to for-
get that Stane was an ex-convict,•
and as he • thought of that all appre-
hension of possible complications in
that quarter vanished instantly.
Had he known all, or had he even
at that 'moment been granted' a vis-
ion of the camp by the great deadfall
he would scarcely have.. •been so com-
placent of mind. For at the very
time when he was congratulating
himself on the opportunity opening'
out before him, Helen Yardely was
seated on a log by the side of the
man whom he hated. There was a
high color' in her face, and she was
laughing •a little nervously as she
looked at the astonished face of the
sick man who had been her rescuer
and was now her patient.
"Miss Yardely," cried 'Stave, "do
you really mean what you say?"
"Of course I do," replied. the girl
lightly. •
"And. Gerald Ainley with another
man camped within two miles of here
two nights ago?"
"I should say the distance to • the
lake is even less than that," replied
Helen with a little laugh.
"And you let them. go without a
sign."
"I hid myself in the bushes," re-
plied the girl gaily.
"But do you realize t'h'at they were
probably searching for you?"
"Yes! And I was afraid that they
might find me. I even' put out the
fire that they should not idiscov'er our
camp and come 'up to investigate..
When I saw them going away yester-.
morning I could .have clapped .my
hands for gladness." •
Stane looked at her' incredulously:
Here was somethingethat was beyond.
him.
"Why—why did you'let them go?"
he cried sharply.
"You wish I had revealed myself?"
she asked .with compunction, misun-
derstanding his question.
'"You think'I ought to have
brought them up here?".
N�i��• #�� �he��r� x• " �.�,y J sed.: �,",
- oma^ 'uy' �eiY:'`;�•et.� �'P?
froth. the p1
hod pas'sb•y on `theats
:41
:",Ohs„replied 1'eiepfusion "I rep i4rer that n A}'s .. tints'
like , eratd , ipleyl
"ant," he protested" tl1 Z Ii! ;
yourself to thtnk ofe "•
"Yes," was the reply, gkven y ja
Iaughter, "and 1 was, ;ding ee,, K
you only.. knew it.,"
"lbw? I cannot .see itnn
"You forget my' prido-agearriatenr
surgeon and nurse," She retorted. 41
like to see the end of things . that :I
begin, and if'I had• brought !flit. Ain
ley Op here he'Would have wanted to
take me away, and leave you with til
Indian." She broke off, and l;poleed
at him with a gay smile, "Ferha s.
you would have preferred-..--"
"No! Nol" he interrupted• protest-
ingly.
'And there is another reason, -.-quite
as selfish as the last. You' see, Mr.
Stave, I'` have beep delicately reared,
boarding•ischool, Newnham!--the us-
ual round you know! London in the
season, Scotland in the autumn and
the shires for the hunting months.
It is an inane aort of life, as I have
always felt, pleasant enough at 'first,
but inane for all that, and after a
time rather a bore.' Can you under-
stand ,that?'5
"Yes," he said, with a nod, "I think
I can."
'Most of the men of our set have
something tn', do! Either they are
in the army, or in 'Parliament, or
managing estates, but the women—
well, they Iive a butterfly life. There
seems to me no escape •for them. Do
what they will, unless theybecoin':
suffragettes and smash windows or
smack fat policemen, their life drifts
one 'way. Charity?—it ends in a
charity ball. Politics?—it means
just garden •arties or stodgy week-
ends at ca„}¢ga y houses, with a little
absurd can ssing of rural laborers
at election times. Sometimes I used
to consider it, and with the bus -driver
of Stevenson's'who drove to the sta-
tion and then drove back, cry 'My
God, is this life!' There was nothing
real anywhere. Nobody, ever expect-
ed a woman in our set to do anything
worth doing.” She 'broke off, and
gave a little laugh, then continued:
"Now I have my chance to prove I'm
something better than a doll, and I'm
not going to be robbed of it by Ger'
ald Ainley, my uncle, or any one else!
This ca'r'p depends on me for a time
at least, •and I'm going to make good;
and prove myself for my own satis-
faction. • Do you understand?"
"Yes," answered Stane, his eyes
shining with admiration.
"That is what I meant when I said
that if you only knew it I was think-
ing of myself. It would strike some
people as a little mad. I know 'some
women who in a situation like this
would have sat down and just cried
themselves .,to death."
"So do I. 'Lots of then'."
"I don't feel that way. I feel
rather like a man I know at llome
who was brought up on the shelter-
ed! life system, nursery governess,
private tutor; etc., who when he came
of age just ran amok, drank, ' fought.
with 'the colliers on his own estate;
:and then enlisted in an irregular
lards
cones in anOd•'wubaent,just 'to t!dogittprpve ': i
to
self that he wasn't the ninny "' h
tiaemake. him,
cfathockered hhisd trineigdhborsto th'oxp'ughly', but
he's a man to -day,, listened to wheni•
he speaks and just 'adored by the
miners on his estate. • , . .I vans:
to make good, and though Mrs. Orme- ,,
dy would chatter.,irf she knew5�rhat '
had deliberately chosen to remain and:'
nurse a sick man in such conditoa,
i ,don't care a jot."
You needn't worry 'about Mrs.
Grundy," he laughed. "She .died up
here about 1898, and was `buried on
the road to the Klondy'ke."
Helen Yardely joined in his laugh-
ter. "May she never be, resurrected
—though I am afraid she will be.
Where there., are half a dozen eon-
-ventional women Mrs. Grundy is al-
ways in the midst. But I'm. free of
her for the time, and I'm just going
to live ,the primitive • life whilst Pm
here. I feel that I have got it 'in
me tc enjoy the life of the woods,
and to endure hardships like any
daughter of the land, and I'm going
to do it. Not that there is u''uch
hardship about it now! It is just
an extended picnic, and I wouldn't "
have missed it for anything."
Stane smiled. "I am very glad you
feel like that," he said. "I myself
shall be much happier in mind and I
count myself lucky to have fallen in
such capable hands!"
"Capable!" She looked ather
scratched and rather grimy hands.
kitchen -maid's are more capable!
But 1 cah learn, and I will, however
much I bungle. Now, as the univer-
sal provider, I am going out to' look
at my snares."
She rose, and left the tent, and he
heard her pass into the wood singing
to herself. A thoughtful look came
on Stane's face, and presently gave
place to a ,smile. "Happy in 'these
cireumstanees!"• he murmured to
himself. "What a treasure of a girl." •
(Continued next week)
A little Boston girl, hearing her
mother say that a dog belonging to
one of the neiighbors, was missing,
remarked: "I guess, mother, the dog-
napers....got it."' Boston Transcript.
1
YOU
SHOULD BE
DISCONTENTED
TIIAT !.(IAN or woman who is completely contented is in a sorry state. Every
man, woman and child should have aspirations—desires for something higher and
better than is now possessed. It is Godlike to be discontented.
Poverty of mind and estate is a manifestation of
contentedness.
Laborers; if they were properly discontented, would
raise the character and quality of their work, •and
would receide higher pay.
Men and women in salaried robs doing manital or
clerical work are unlikely td receive promotion if they
exhibit contentedness.
Those who go farthest and highest in the world's
estimation are they who have the creative impulse, plus
initiative; they are those who strive to possess or reach
what is beyond,them.
Things beyond us are made known to us by,.,and in
advertisements. Advertisers dangle an front of us elec-
tric refrigerators, electric labor-saving domestic mech-
anisms, personal •chh.rm and beauty, the 'pleasures of
travel, fine furniture and furnishings, the vigor and
benefits of better health, cultural occupations and re-
creations, higher -paid employment, and the ways and
means by which we e'en' make our time and tabor give
us more Money and more leisure.
Advertisements are designed to stir us out of bovine
content by putting pictures before use -pictures of the
imagination. . These pictures create longings in us, and
longings find a way of translating themselves into pur-
pose, ambition and resolution.
NOT THE news, not the stories, not the information, not the entertaining and
educational articles,' contained in newspapers and magazines are the pushers of us
toward something better and higher; it is the advertisements in them. They are
urgent and narrow -purposed, and are vivid. They are deliberately devised to make'
us do something.
Perhaps contentment is permissible in those who
have reached their seventieth birthday, but those young-
er than 70 who say they are completely content merely
say that they have collapsed mentally and physically.
• Ideals change, desires change, objectives change,
but never should any of us be contented. And we'll
never 'be contented if we keep reading advertisements.
Pictureful, pressureful advertisements!, Let us all
be grateful for and to them.
Advertisements Are the Foes of Contented
Men and Women
This Advt. le sponsored by the Canadian Weekly Newspaperit"'
Association, of which The Huron Expositor is a Member.
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