HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Huron Expositor, 1933-01-06, Page 7ra
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LEGAL
P'h'one No. N91
...TWIN T. HUGGARD ,
Baau-i , 'Soliaiter,
, Notary Public, Etc. '
Beattie 'Block - -Seaforth, Out
HAYS & MEIR
4 Succeeding R. S. Rays
Barris'tears, Solicitors, Conveyancers
and Notaries Public. Solicitors for the
Dominion Bank. Office in rear of the
Iaoaninion, Bildt, Seaforth. Money. to
loan.
BEST & BEST -
Barristers, Solicitors, Conveyan-
cers and Notaries Public, Etc. Office
in the 'Edge Building, opposite The
Depositor Office.
VETERINARY n, •
JOHN 'GRIEVE, V.S.•
IIan'or graduate of"Ontario Veterin-
ary College. All dilseases of domestic
an'ima'ls treated. Calls promptly al
tended to and charges Moderate. Vet-
erinary Dentistry a specialty. Office
and residence on Goderich Street, one
door east of Dr. 'Mackayts office, Sea -
forth..
• A. R. CAMPBELL, V.S.
Graduate of Ontario Veterinary
College, University of 'Toronto. All
diseeses of domestic animals treated
by the most 'Modern principles'.
Charges reasonable. Day or . night
calls ppromtlptly attended to. Office on
Main Street; Hlensall, . opposite Town
Hall. Phone- 116. '
\ MEDICAL
DR.' E. J. B. FORSTER'
. Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat
Graduate in Medicine, University of
Toronto,
'Late assistant New York Op!thal-
mei 1 and Aural Institute, Moorefield( s
Eye and (oo.'lden Square Throat .Hos-
pitals, 'London, Eng. Alt Commercial
Hotel, S'eaflorth, third Monday in
each month, from 11 ,a.m. to S P.m:
58 -Waterloo-. Street, - South,- Stratford:
e.
DR. W. C. SPROAT
Graduate of FarCulty of Medicine,
University of Whatern Ontario, Lon-
don. Menrlber of College of Ph'ys'ic-
ians and 'Surgeons of 'Ontario: Office
in Aberhart's Drug . Store, Main St.,
Seaforth. Phone 90.
DR. A. NEWTON-BRADY ,
Graduate .Dublin University, Ire-
land. Late Extern Assistant Master
Rotunda ' Hospital for Women - and
children, Ihi5lin. Offi'ce,, at residence
lately occupied by Mrs. Parsons.
Hams: 9 to 10 a.m.; 6 to 7 p.m.;
Sundays, 1 to 2 p.m.
DR. F. J. BURROWS'
Office and residence Goderifch 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 of Physicians 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 Oplh'thalmle Hospital, London, :
England; University Hospital, Lim- :
don, England. Office-Bac'k of Do- ;
minion Bank, Seaforth. Phone No. 5. ,
Night calls answered from residence,
Victoria Street, Seaforth,
DR. S. R. COLLYER
Graduate Faculty 'of 'Medicine, Uni-
versity of Western Ontario. lilemfber '
College of Physicians and Surgeons ;
of Ontario. Post graduate work at
Nerve York City 1Po'spiltal and' Victoria
Hospital, London. Phone: • Hens'all, '
b'6: Officio, King Street, E,ensall.
DR. J. A. MUNN
Graduate of Northwestern Univers- "
Sty, 'Chicago, Ill. Licentiate Royal '
Celle+ge of Dental Surgeons, Toron't'o, '
Office over Sills' illlardiware, Main St.,
Seaforth. Phone 151.
DR. F. J. BECHELY '
Graduate Royal College of • Dental
Surgeons, Toronto. Office ove"r W. R. •
Smith's Grocery, Main Street, Sea- ,
forth. Phone: •,. Office, 185W; reei-
deaee" 18'5 J.
AUCTIONEERS •
( OSCAR KLOPP
Honor Graduate Carey Jones' Na -
die al School fon Anctioneering, ,,Chi -
cage. 'Special co'urs'e taken in• Pure •
fired Live Stock, Real Esftate, Mier- '
eha'ndiise and Farm Sales.' Rates in s;
-
keening with peat -ailing markets. Sait•
imWaation assured. Write or wire, .'
Near Rl'' pp, Zurich Onto Phones ,
.:
s. Ar. /IT
Jer
by Temple $ailey
Ile went on 'to explain eagerly
that what he hoped was thata Adelaide
would listen to reason as time went
v
on wgShe 11 •w'an't you to wane
perhaps' (before we sail. And if she
doesn't,; I'll know you're mine, for
time and for eternity"
"But why not tell her?"
"Because while she's in this: mood,
she'll never forgive us. We might
spill the beans."
Joan hated to have him say it like
that. It destroyed the illusion. Yet
as he wove for her the fabric of his
dreams, she wavered. ,
Silly wife! Joan, do you know how
lovely you are? I thought I had re-
membered, but when 'I saw you to-
night . . .."
•
She felt as. if a silken islet were
being drawn about her. Her consc-,
ienee, her com'm'on sense were against
the thing he proposed .but at last she
promised.!
"You will never regret it,'" Drew
told her, triumphantly.
'They went upstairs together, and
as' she went into her roomy Drew's
whisper rang in her ears like a chime
of 'bells: "Our wedding -day , . .
to -morrow."
'She lighted her candles, and moved
about •the room, finding the things
she- would need in the morning. Her
mind was in a whirl, It seemed as
if she were two people; that one side
oE,•,her consented ' to all that' Drew
had proposed; while the other (pro-
tested., '""I will not. -I 'will not."
'She decided that the grey dregs
which Drew had praised should be
her wedding gown. And there would
be the ivory (heads. And the little
violet hat. ,
'In the room next to Joan's 'Pe
lope ,lay wide awake. She had
gone to bed until Joan carne up.
had 'hoped the child might look•
upon her 'and say "Good -night," '
the light footsteps had passed
door. She had 'heard Joan moving
about, but now there 'was' -no , sou
'She had a sense of foreboding.
Joan had been her daughter,
would have gone to her. But 'Jo
was not her daughter. . ,
,.,At- last she -could _stand.. it. no , let
er. She .put an a dressing gown a
went along the hall. 'When she reach-
ed Joan's room; she found the d'
open, and Joan, like a ghost, in
white negligee, standing in the
dle of the, floor. "How strange
should come, Penelope," she said
a breathless- voice, "I was coat
to you. ."
!Penelope went in and closed
door- She sat down! in chintz-cov-
ereda'
chair. !loan sat 'on the .
She had lighted a. candle and its p
flame 'showed! the two women"
strange contrast.. Joan in' white,
her silky, shining hair, was like
of Raphael's angels. Penelope's. •h'
was in kids, and her dressing gown
was made of a red blanket:
shaccow on the wall s'how'ed little
horns, but there was nothing Mabel -
cal
ical about Penelope. She was sane
and sensible, and to -night • her he
was- troubled♦ . . . If Joan w
her daughter! . -
"`And now, 'my dear, who
"I couldn't sleep. , .
"'I had so much to think
'Pleasant things."
'Worrying .things. Penelope, dar-
ing, 1 • wish I' had a stiff backbone
"' 'She tet d•to laugh.
! t
to
nc�
not
She
in
but
her
nd'.
If
She
an
ng-•
and
ch-
oor
her
mid -.
the
bed' -
ale
in
with
one
air
Her
ol-
heart
were
•
tis it?"
„
of."
e le su'g ,
"'Does 'that -mean you 'are going to
ve in to your' shit?"'
"No. But I've found out that i
wasn't Drew's fault. He came,
tell me ."
' So you''v'e forgiven him."
"Oh, yes . you see
love him . "
Again Penelope had that sense of
something sinister. "My dear," she
said, "I don't know why you should
arish for a stiff 'backbone, 'but let me
say this, that in love as in every.
thing else there are just three things
which make for happiness -and they
are faith and honesty and courage.
f you bring these to your lover -and
ne brings them to you nothing can
prevail against them. If you were
troy daulghter, Joan, I would wish
rn'ly this for you, that the man you
Harry should hold you to your best.''
Joan sat very still, a little statue
n the starlight, and' at last she said
with a sigh: •'We are none of us
er'fect. . .10
"No:"
'They talked• after that of other
things and finally Penelope rose and
rtoo'd tby the bed. "I must say 'good
night;' imly dear""
"I *tient sleep," there was a quay -
✓ in Joan's voice.
""I will sit by you until you • leet
four eyes."
When at last Penelope went 'back
o her room, it was a long time be=
fore she slept, and in the darkness
the drewnear to the infinite Source
>f the strength which was within her.
'Help'her to, choose the 'best, Lord,"
rayed the wise old woman.
jean waked at dawn, and lay
Hatching . the light come into the
oom. It was a pleasant room, simp-
y furnished with sane of the nice
old things that 'Penelope had inher-
ted. Joan's bed was of the folding
:ype, with a crewel worked cover and
ester. There was a, hooked rug, a
iacobean dhest, 'a maple dressing -
able with a Queen Anne mirror a-
�ove it.
On the dressing table were laid
>ut Joan's toilet things' -the brush
and comlb and handglass of carved
vory and silver, the pale flagon of
perfume, the painted porcelain box-
. These were the only opulent art-
cles in the room. They belonged to
alre old life.
Joan seemed to see Adelaide sit-
ing beside the bed as she hard sat
,hat day in the hotel. . . After
all 'I"ve done for you , . . I've
treated you. like a princess'
lhbee pearls you hate on' are worth
fortune . .
The old voice had had venom in it,
faa,•�tfsa..
the old eyes ht.& 'been 'baleful. Joan
thought of Penelope's voice and eyes
as fast night she had sat beside the
bed
faith and honesty, and
courage!. ,
And set against the o a clandes-
tine marriage! ,-'
The sun was up, and as the light
'poured in through the window, it
seemed to Joan that a, greater lighr
entered her soul. 'H'onesty and cour-
age, and faith? None of these would
belong to her if she ran away with
Drew! ••
She got up and put on the 'grey
dress •which was' to have been her
wedding dress. Then she ,went .down-
stairs and followed the path which.
led to the bluff. She descended to the
moor and came finally to the sea. She
walked up the beach for Miles
It was a dull morning, and thero'were
flocks of wild birds flitting back and
forth across the sands. Their cries
were mournful and were answered'
by the mewing of gulls overhead.
When at last she turned, Joan
had made, her decision. .She knew
now that when she faced' 'Drew, ' he
could la. sway her. A'.battle had
been fought and she had won.
He was waiting for her atthe edge
of the bluff. "I saw you coming, -
where in the world have you 'been,?"
"For a walk. . "+
"Why didn't you wait for me?"
"I had to thinks things out
She lifted her face to his, "Drew,
darling . . I can't do it.'
"Do what?"
"Marry you to -day."
"Why not?"
"Because it • . . isn't right."
"That's silly. 'Why shouldn't it be
right?" •
("Because II can't -hide things."
"Don't you love me?"
"You know I do."
"Well, then," he caught up her
hands in his, "show me that you do."
She shook her head. He dropped
her hands, his• forehead frowning,
"You know, of course, that you may
be cutting yourself off from me --
forever?"
"Not if you really, love me."
He saw that she meant it. He
'stood looking down, at her. "You're
a strong little thing," he said, with a
sort of grudging admiration. "But
I'll tellyou this. Some day you are
going to marry me. On my own
terms-. And this is the sign and the
seal of it."
:He lifted her in his, arms and kiss-
ed her, and kjeed her again. Then
he set her down and strode away.
(Joan stood where he had left her.
And after a long time Penelope came
out, `Breakfast is ready. Where'
is Mr. •Hallam?"
"He's gone, Penelope. He isn't --
coming back. . ,"
CHAPTER XV -
THE FLAME OF FIRE
"Winter,'" said. 'D'i11y, • "is on the
way. Even the hens 'know it. They
go around' making mournful little
noises, and lifting their legs like
rheumatic oldlladies."
"It has rained," Giles , said, "for
seventeen days. If you hadn't come
this morning, Dilly, 'Scripps and 1
would have been drowned in the flood
of our own depression."
Dilly flashed a 'glance at him. "I
didn't know you were ever depress-
ed."
"But seventeen days of rain:
Dilly, if you've 'brought lunch for us
in that basket, I shall fall at your
feet in gratitude."
"I''ve more than brought lunl:h. I've
brought chowder, hot as hot, and ev-
erything to go with it."
Even 'Scripps 'brightened. ' "You al-
ways make us feel like children at a
party."
"it's because I like 'parties myself,".
Dilly told him. "You two are such
pleasant pals. William, 'calls us the
three m'us'keteers of the Iunch bas-
ket."
"Nobody 'by the wildest stretch of
the imagination could 'call me a pleas-
ant pal," Scripps said% "I commend
your charity, -Dilly."
The three of thenY were in Scripps'
room, The bookshop above was clos-
ed. (Giles came to it every day, set
his shelves in order, worked over his
accounts, and spent hours reading
the books he loved. But there were
no custo(.ners. No one used the board
walk at. this season, and a chemist's
shop in the town supplied casual
reauers with magazines and the lat-
est novels, •
Giles had taken one or two jour-
neys (besides the one to Portland and
!had added richly to his stock. But
the Portland trip stood out in his
mind. as a great, catastrophe, for
when he had come 'back he had found
Joan gone. "Fool that I was," he
had raged, inwardly, "to desert her
at such a time."
'For he felt it a desertion. There
had been a mystery about her going.;
The Hallams and -Mrs. Delafield had
stayed on at the hotel until its clos-
ing. But no one seemed to know
Miss Dudley's address, She had, it
was explained, simply gone on ahead
of the others. There was a rumour
that her engagement to ;Hallam was
broken. But no one knew.
Giles had felt that their friends ip
'deserved more than this. Surely -she
might have written him a line. But
she had not written. She had, ap-
parently, not thought of •him,. He had,
meant nothing to her, and, that was
the end of it.
But he knew it was not the end
nor him. .'She was in his heart for-'
ever. And becadse of her going win-
ter had, indeed, come to him.
IHe had done the 'best to be the
same to Scripps and Amelie. Yet
there were. times when he wondered
if they did not note the heaviness
which -had come upon him. He often
saw 'Scripps watching him,' and now
Wei nitratenabiattetereele,,
l and then Annelle eoaregained. "What
makes you so .quit?"
So more than ever to -day, .he wet-
corned Dally"with her brightness .and
her basket.
She seemed her usual gay self un-
til the feast was over. Then sud-
denly she stated: "I'M really not as
cheerful as .I look."
They demanded: "Why not?"
""'Oh, William and I are feeling the
weather. We've had a royal fight.
And we are still in the midst of it."
"But .my ,dear," Giles began.
know)" She iuterrulpted, "ev-
erybody thinks we are cooing doves.
But we aren't. William is playing
the heavy husband. Laying down the
law. He says I'm not to stay at the
lighthouse this winter. That it is
too isolated for baiby, and that when
the 'big storms .some, 'we can only be
reached by boats. He wants me to
live in town, and he'll come over
when he' can. And. I have said i
Won't .be separated • from him, and
there we've stuck.. . ." She
flung out her hands in a gesture of
despair.
"'Perhaps he's right, Dilly."
"No, he isn't, -Glees. How, can you
say it? It may be' better for baby.
But 'it 'isn't better for William. He'
never 'thinks of himself. But leve
never ,left him since the day we were
Married. And I won't now."
"In other words', it is an impasse?"
"Yes, I want you to come over
and talk to him. Will you?"
"Of course. But he . may throw
me, out for interfering."
"No. He'll listen' and I
want you to tell him that if I can't
have him ,and my little house and
my old hens, I. . . .
!He' promised and presently took
her down to her boat. When he came
back he said; . ''-There's a look of
snow in the sky."
"A bit early for snow," was Scripps
response.
Giles 'poked more wood- in the
round little stove -which heatrd••'the-
room,. and when the old gull settled
hiimself comfortably beside it he
said,: "Aren't you 'gold you have a.
warm hearth, Peter?"
• -It 'was • Scripps who --answered with
bitterness; `1}Ie'd rather have wings.
"If only we could have what we
want,- Scripps."
Scripps challenged him. "If you
could' have what you want, what'
would it be?" -
("Oh, a , thous'andi things ."
Giles tried to laugh • off the , dark
mood which had' again come upon
him. "Just now there are -some old
libraries in Portland that a man
wants me 'to 'Look at. ." -
"Oh, 'books! . . . Don't you ev-
ever think of anything else?"
""Sometimes,u lightly. "But any-
how I'll be running up there again
in a, few days."
less!Scri-"'pps hated' to -
have him go and
said so. "Amelie is always rest -
"I know. Yet I sometimes wonder
Scripps, if • I went oftener she :night
learn to -do without ire."`
"She'll never learn to do without
you. 'It is growing\worse, instead of
'better."
Giles knew that he spoke the truth.
Amelie's demands were more and
more insistent. With the shop 'clos-
ed, she saw no reason why Giles
should not spend the days, with her.
She was urgent in her • argument;
that she needed• him more than
Scripps in his shop. Giles humoured
her sometimes to a greater extent
than he feared was wise. Yet he
dreaded the moments of hysteria
with which any opposition to her
plans was .met.
He found his island home thus
taking on gradually the aspect of a
prison, :He seemed, indeed, spiritu-
ally, in • chains. In the' weeks of
dreary weather, Alm,elie in her bright
gowns, playing out her weird game,
seemed like' some fantastic puppet,
acting without her own -volition. Of-
ten as .he drove his boat through the
water and the Island rose dark and
forbidding against the grey seas, he
had a wild desire' to leave it all be-
hind him, and to find for himself
some separate adventure. 'Yet he
knew `that he could not, and would
not if he could.
A few days after Dilly's visit, he
found hie way to the lighthouse tow-
er and had a talk with William. "You
can throw me out if you wish, Wil-
liam, but Dilly thought you ought to
get an 'outsid'e,point of view."
"I don't see how an outside point
of view will help the two of us to
come to an understanding. ft *as
very bad last winter, with tha baby
a wee thing, and, ail those big storms.
And when we couldn't get a doctor,
Dilly was frantic. I thought then
that it must not happen again. God
knows I don't want to be here alone,
but I can stand the hardness,"
"She wants to 'stand the hardness
with you, Williams"
"Why should 'I let her?"
' For a mein -tent, Giles stood looking
out on the grey of the racing clouds
and tu'mthling sea. "Perhaps that's
the mistake we men make. We all
want softness for our 'women. Yet
Softness never makes for - strength.
Dilly would rather fight things out
with you, Williams Some women ask
only easy things. But Dilly doesn't.
And you are to be envied. If I were
you I'd let her stay."
"But if anything happens to the
baby?" ,
'"Giv use a ring on e telephone
and I'll dash the over."•
That seemed to settle it, and when
at last they 'went ,back to the little
house and announced the decision,
Dilly embraced them, both. '"You had
to make Wiliam feel he wasn't sel-
fish," she, said, as she stood :n the
circle of her husband's ,arta, "1
couldn't do it. He has such a nice
New England conscience that he
thinks .anything he likes to do must
be wrong."
•
las a .'
1"atlt •st`l #tte,tiig'
.,. k lr'11. :- • •gperr mef+yT cA�Cr r
Wt titin e lif lrthsttise evsx t see_
sails t Giles as lig ♦ittehits
till, 04n ; + e* sitid ferl<h het ,,ee
.the kaichf Jnikd dining roo'zp, w ole
some •anal' sweet, sling at• her
good i iiliaro en he' sat he #she fire
with the Quik},' •in the ebeti F of his
arm, was aware of at liftixng of , his
heart. !Ile, seemed stripped for the
moment of 'some' ghastly garment
'which in his own ',g,(lpomy house sen,*•
fined. his soul. -
"It's so good to be here," ht‘ said
to Dilly, and follovred' her to the kit -
,,hen and helped her bring in the
steaming dishes. They sat down, and
when 'William . ;said grace in his
steady voice, something 'in Giles an-
swered it like a cry:, "What I want
is this . . a chill . . . love
like this•. . . ."
After supper they went into the
bright living' room arid Dilly and
Giles sang nursery rhymes for the
baby-�"Oraniges and Lemons'" and
"I Had a Little Nut Tree"--anri
"What IIave You Got 'For Dinner,
Mrs. Bond?''- -,.-and "There, 'Van a
Lady Loved 'a 'Swine," and, "Dame,
Get Up and Bake Your Pies. . "
?Giles and Dilly had sung the songs
as children together, .and now as
they- kept time to the lilting •tunes;
Giles' felt something of a youthful
gaiety' of spirit, so that when they
came to London Bridge he ' caught
Dilly up and made. her dance it with
him.
They ,finished breathlessly. The
•bafby'was in ecstasies, - William ap-
plauded. Giles, light-hearted, was a
!boy again.
'When it was time for shim• to go, he
said: •"I hate to .leave, •You've made
such a gorgeous evening of it, Dilly."
"`You made it yourself."•
Na, No 'mere man can make an
evening • -like • this. A. man is only
the !bricks and. mortar of a house.
Thewoman,. is the hearthstone and
the flame of the fire and the' light of
the lamp," he smiled at her, "and
you're all that to your William and
he knows it."
"And so do I," said happy Dilly.
CHAPTER XVII
., WHITE ROSES
"You must feel," Joan said, "as if
your feet were flying.
Small John Briggs, said sturdily:
"Feet can't fly."
"Mine" can," Joan told him., "like
this," she made a little movement of'
lightness and grace, gliding upwards
with upstretched arms like a bird
on the wing!
'The children of the deaf' trig class
watched their teacher' with adoripg
eyes ' Theti -thovglit"leer wonderful.
This- was their second lesson, and' it
was like something out of a book to
come through the wind-swept woods
to the 'big .house, to • find • the great
living room waiting in a sort of gold-
en stillness, with its rugs up, its low
lamps, its glowing logs and with Miss
Joan in a shining silken tunic and
-with shining sandals on her slender
feet. •
To -day they all- had tunics aril
,sandals, twenty of them. For Joan
was teaching every scholar from the
little district school.. where Evelyn
Briggs taught. Some of the children
couldn't pay, but that made no dif-
ference. Penelope met their ex-
penses. -.
"But you must not,".,Joan had pro-
tested. '
"Why not? I .always 'wanted to
dance and I never had •the chance.
And these children shall have their
chance,"
- "You are sure. 'you aren't doing it
just for me?" Joan had insisted.
"And if I did, my dear? Wouldn't
I do it for my -daughter?"
And Joan had said shakily: "How
am I ever going to 'make uri for ail
your goodness?" and Penelope had
answered, "By loving me." •
'It was three weeks since Drew
Hallam had come and gone. . Joan
had heard nothing from him. And
Penelope had been a tower of
strength. Joan :had told her the
whole story. "I couldn't do it," she
said, "and yet sometimes it"seems aw
if 1 can't live without him."
She• -had sent back Adelaide's
cheque. bl am done 'with it all,'
she told herself, and' after that she
set herself sturdily to finding so•nrr
absorbing occupation. "It is the only
thing that will :ave me, Penelope.
I mustn't -think . , "
It'was, through Evelyn Briggs, the
mother of, the two children who had
danced in the wood that the sugges-
tion .came. "What had you thought
of?" she' had demanded, when Joan
went to see her.
"I might hove a dancing class,"
Joan said, "I can do things better
with my feet than with my head."
• So it, was decided. And it was in
planning for the class that Joan
cenaentc•d her friendship with Evelyn
Briggs and found in it a deep and
satisfying quality. •
Evelyn' was a 'widow. Her husband
had (been killed in alie Argonne, and
she lived now with cher farmer -father
and with an invalid mother. Her
father was too old now for heavy
tasks and labor was high: so there
were few crops harvested. Old John
Leonard tended the garden, looked
after the chickens, milked the cow.
and helped with the housework. He
Was always cheerful and was a
source of strength to Evelyn. Her
meagre income as a teacher had to
be stretched to meet the expenses of
the whole family, but she never
thought of her father as a failure.
She knew he might have been a
successful man if it had not bee:i
for his intfalid wife. He had sacri-
ficed a career' in the city for her
sake.
Cn the afternoon of the dancing
lesson, Evelyn and her father walk-
ed through' the wood to Penelope's.
They were to have a cup of tea, and
see that the children got home safe-
ly.
Evelyn spoke of Joan, "She days
very little about herself. But when
she was here in the early summer
•she was supposed to be her aunt's
heiress. And' now she seems to be
earning her living. And she is not
happy. . ' . ,"
"How do you know?"
"She's so restless, father, and her
eyes are sad."
"She is &oung. Happiness ,will
•
• Alia
•
iSher
.:0
walked tbsaide hffX>r.
he bad innirer l
that e'be$gr't€a
would! lose failbh i i# i hod.. "
gl, n Trey > 41.1 oanl i into .
golden li-ghted m, 4141.:El i
'llisttered ,acytp , the • i attP
theaxi "W'e're to ha'vrr a. Ti;tdttitsl
giv nlg pa, ',eal'it • •• 'glee
say's• - , , reties' Jeansay's:
Miss
Joan -'sas. . ; - /, ',Obey Waite
all talking at on'ee,
'Evelyn stopped than. Wait a
minute. Let Miss 'Joan tell ;it."' •
"'Well," said. Joan, standing in the
centre of
the amu"d
I
Si p. is.
t hiss.
this . we are' afraidrllvsretve
been too 'Muth interested iia turkey
and s'tuff'ing and everything, •a�•nd 'not
enough in 'being thankful, -.and. so we
thought we might bring harvest gifts
for the poor on Thanksgiving etre,
and make a ,pageant of it., What" do
you think?"
The children crowded close. "What
do ,you think?" they chorused.
Old John 'Leonard said: "I think
it couldn't be better. You see food
meant a lot to the Pilgrim• fathers,
because they .knew• what it was to
go hungry. None of you have ever
gone hungry; you have everything'
you want, and' forget Where you get
'Small John Briggs interposed: "I
haven't everything I want."
'None .of the children had, it seem-,
ed. They Tung hack as it were at
old John.. Leonard the words he had
spoken. In a perfect •- 'bel of sound
they p(•oceeded , to 'tell the things
they lacked.
Joan stopped them. "You tell first
what you want, John."
"Well," said young John, "I. want
money. • If you have money you can
buy everything."
'Then Joan, standing there in her
shining tunic and her 'golden slip-
pers made a speech. "No," she said,
theloney won't buy direly -thing. It
won't 'buy :self-respect. • It 'won't - buy
happiness. It • won't 'buy a mother
Iike you have, John, nor a grand -
tether like 'yours. Why, there are
boys. . and girls with money, and I
wish you could see their fathers -and
mothers -they 'are never at home,
and when the . children come from -
school there's no one to meet them
but servants. 'If you children were
rich, and your parents like some I
have seen, you wouldn't be •going
home to a cosy kitchen with your
mother dishing up the dinner and
your father 'coming in to kiss you.
You'd be wondering if your mother
would let -you see her a minute be-
fore she rushed off for a party, or
,whether. your father would leave his
guests long enough to come iii and
sty good -night. Rich• -children aren't
always happy, John . . . and
money won't' buy . . - everything.
'She stopped for breath and just
then Penelope came in and 'began to
serve simple refreshments, and the
children forgot for the moment the
things that Joan had said to theni.
But when a little later, they went
rushing through ' the woods, and
reached their homes and opened, the
doors and found their 'moters in the
bright warm kitchens land their
fathers coming in to kiss them„ they
remembered. •- '
And it was Old John Leonard who
said to Joan, as they watched the
children eat: "My dear,' you have a
great gift."
"Have. I? What' is it?"
"You know how to reach the
hearts of children."
Joan's .eyes • filled with tears. She
held out her hand to old John Leon-
ard. But she had no words for
him. •
• (It was on the day after the danc-
ing lesson that a man came to Pene-
lope's front door. Joan had gone to
Evelyn's, so Penelope answered the
bell.
(Tire man stood outside, said: "Is
this 'Mrs. Sears?"
"Yen"
"A friend has told me of your lib-
rary of rare books. I'm afraid I am
doing a most daring thing in asking
to see it. Am I?"
Rr e
. t ... z . ..!
f:�oaid's'sfirpro t} a e" R n R .-'.
'Obi* t, R Y •R! R
•Wnnlhate re', •rA . .•. .R.'•.
€i
(•C. N,�
. Bast'
•
aurit
Goderici , -............6.45 Pv,.
1Ctlintop 7.08
Seaforth 7.
Dublin .... . • 7.
Mitchell
We t.
Dublin ... 1.1.1p
Seabeds.:. .11.34 - 9.45
Olhntogn ' , 11.50. .9:09
Goderich • • • •, 12.10 10.25
C. P. R. TIME TABLE
East:
Goderich a.m. -
•.... 5.50
Menset 5.55
McGaw ••6.04
Auburn 6.11
Blyth 6125
Walton 6.40
McNaught 6.62
Toronto • '" 1025
West. ".
aims
Toronto 7,40
McNaught 11.48
Walton • ` 12:01
Blyth, 12.12
Auburn ' 12.23
McGaw 12.34 -
Menset , , ., 12.41
Goderich 12.46
She hesitated. "I don't mind your
looking at them. But if you're think-
ing of buying it won't do any good.
I got them, from my grandfather,
and I intend to 'keep them." • -
IHe had heard other people talk like
that, yet in the .end he had -`gone a-
way with what he wanted: There
were subtle methods of approach.
-'So 'he -said: "My .own, !hooks cause
from my grandfather. I know 'how
you feel.". :
""She opened the door. "Oh, Well,
it won't hurt 'to let you have a look
at them. ' ."
"I have a letter of' introduction
from a :bookshop in Portland," he
offered it, but she waved it away.
'I"I' donft need any letter," • she
said, "I can tell what a man ie -by
the looks of him. • . ."
'They, laughed and she led the way'
to the living room.' She showed him
the high book case. "There they
are." she said, "take -your time -I'll
have to ask you to excuse me. I'm
-baking a cake and I'll have to watch
my oven:"
iHis smiling eyes met hers..a "You
are sure • you can trust me?"
She laughed. 'Why not?"
As she went towards the kitchen,
Giles wished that he might follow
her. She 'iemembesed him in some
res'pe'cts of Dilly, there was'the same
wholesomeness, the same housewifely
preoccupation. He felt that he -would
mat rather watch her bake a cake
than look at rare editions. He was
tired of association with dead and
gone authors. What he wanted was
human companionship.
('Continued next week.) ,
It should be a criminal offence for
any Hindu to 'be treated as an "•un-
touchalbles"-Mr. Gandhi.
„b.
Gay, Modern Lamp Shades Madre
from Strips of "Cellophane
ONE of the most important adjuncts to
the charm of any room is its lamp
shades, and the modern trend for colourful
shades, each with a touch of individuality,
is nowhere better shown than in the in -
width. The strips can be rut the entire
length oft he roll by withdrawing the card-
board tube and slitting the roll length-
wise. This long transparent 'strip is
wound up, over, down and up again, over -
creasing popularity of shades, made iri the
home, of shimmery colourful material that
looks equally well when the light is on and
when it is not. The Diana Shade is 10
inches in diameter and made on a wire
frame, in many cases an old frame the
covering of which has been discarded.
"Cellophane", in a roll, some colored
crepe paper, a few gummed blue, red, or
gold stars and a yard and a half of ribbon
for binding are the materials needed.
Many color combinations can he made.
Having secured either an old or new
wire frame, cut the paper slightly more
than the height of the frame and as wide
as two of the sections made by'tthe wire
uprights. Stretch and paste it over two
sections, pressing it down neatly top and
bottom. Trim off the surplus. Proceed
Mound the frame until it is all covered
with the paper. Theri stick stars, or
colourful cut-outs ltif any sort, here and
there upon the paper.
"Cellophane" in csverlappipg strips S
used for the outer and inner wrapping.
The roll of this material should he cut, into
inch wide strips and folded to a half inch
84'74.01-
lapping
4',Wlapping the strips half their width until
the frame is covered.
The shade may be bound top and
bottom with silk, velvet or other attrao-
tive binding ribbon which may be glued
into place.
Main transparent or coloured "•Cello
phane" in rolls. may be obtained at de-
partment, stationery and chain -atoms.
"CELLOPAANP" is the rw�istered trade mark designating cellulose sheets and films, martuftr� ata'
in Canada under' ecial arrangements saint the duPont Cellophane Ca, Inc.
a'us aira4Jdati
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