Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 209, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 September 1915 — Page 2

HIS LOVE STORY

By MARIE VAN VORST

OXUSTIMTJOK3 (^PAyVALTERS TMraaaes+tnixdi __

CHAPTER XXV—Continued. —l7 Sabron could not reply. Her ribbon* and flowers and Jewels shook In his eyes like a kaleidoscope. His flush had made him more natural. In his Invalid state, with his hair brushed hack from his fine brow, there was something spiritual and beautiful about him. The Marquise d’Escltgnac looked on a man who had been far and who had determined of his own accord to come back. She said mors gently, putting her hand affectionately over his: "Get strong, monsieur—get well. Bat all the good things we are making for you. I dare say that the army cannot spare you. It needs brave hearts." Sabron was so agitated after her departure that the nurse said he must receive no more visits for several days, and he meditated and longed and thought and wondered, and nearly cursed the life that had brought him back to a world which must be lonely for him henceforth. When he sat up In bed he was a shadow. He had a book to read and read a few lines of It. but he put it down as the letters blurred. He was sitting so, dreaming and wondering how true or how false It was that he had seen Julia Redmond come several times to his bedside during the early days of his Illness here In the hospital. Then across his troubled mind suddenly came the words that he had heard her sing, and he tried to recall them. . The Red Cross nurse who so charitably sang In the hospital came to the wards and began her mission. One after another she sang familiar songs. "How the poor devils must love it!” Sabron thought, and he blessed her for charity. How familiar was her voice! But that was only because he was so ill. But he began to wonder and to doubt, and across the distance came the notes of the tune, the melody of the song that had haunted him for many months: God keep you safe, my love, ▲ll through the night; Rest close in his encircling arms Until the light. My heart la with you aa I kneel to pray. Good night! God keep you in his care alway. Thick shadows creep like silent ghosts ▲bout my head; I lose myself in tender dreams While overhead The moon comes stealing through the window-bars, ▲ silver sickle gleaming ’mid the stars. For I, though I am tar away, Peel safe and strong. To trust you thus, dear love—and yet. The night la long. I say with sobbing, breath the old fond prayer. Good night! Sweet dreams! God keep you everywhere!” When she had finished singing there were tears on the soldier’s cheeks and he was not ashamed. Pltchoune. who remembered the tune as well, crept up to him and laid his head on his master's hand. Sabron had just time to wipe away the tears when the Due de Tremont came in. “Old fellow, do you feel up to seeing Miss Redmond for a few moments?** •••• • • a „ When she came in he did not know whether he most clearly saw her simple summer dress with the single Jewel at her throat, her large hat that framed her face, or the gentle lovely face all sweetness and sympathy. He believed her to be the future Duchease de Tremont. ‘'Monsieur de Sabron. we are all so glad you are getting well." “Thank you. Mademoiselle." He seemed to look at her from a great distance, from the distance to the end of which he had so wearily been traveling. She was lovelier than he had dreamed, more rarely sweet and adorable. “Did yon recognize the little song. Monsieur?" “It was good erf you to Bing it" “This Is not the first time I have teen you. Monsieur de Sabron. I came when yon were too ill to know of It" “Then I did not dream,*’ said the officer simply. He was as proud as he was poor. He could only suppose her engaged to the Due de Tremont It explained her presence here. In his wildest dreams he could not suppose that she had followed him to Africa. Julia, on her part having done an extraordinary and wonderful thing, like every brave woman, was seized with terror end a sudden cowardice. Sabron. after all, was a stranger. How could she know his feelings for her? She spent a miserable day. He was out of all danger; in a fortnight he might leave the hospital. She did not feel that she could see him again as things were. The Comtease de la Maine had returned to Paris as soon as Tremont came in from the desert “Ms taste," said Julia Redmond to the Marquise d’Escllgnac. “can we go back to Dues ItnmwllstHy —liy daw Jaffa!" bar

aunt, in surprise and delight "Robert will be enchanted, but he would not be able to leave hla friend so soon.” "He need not,” said the girl, "nor need you leave unless you wish." The Marquise d’Esclignac entertained a thousand thoughts. She had not studied young girl’s minds for a long time. She had heard that the modern American girl was very extreme and she held her in rather light esteem. Julia Redmond she had considered to be out of the general rule. "Was it possible,” she wondered, “that Julia, In comparing Tremont with the Invalid, found Robert more attractive?” “Julia,” she said severely, as though her niece were a child, pointing to a chair, "sit down." Slightly smiling, the young girl obeyed her aunt "My dear, I have followed your caprices from France to Africa. Only by pleading heart-failure and mortal Illness could I dissuade you from going into the desert with the caravan. Now, without any apparent reason, you wish to return to Franca’* "The reason for coming here has been accomplished, ma tante. Monsieur de Sabron has been found.” "And now that you have found him,’’ said the marquise reproachfully, “and you discover that he is not all your romantic fancy imagined, you are going to run away from him. In short, you mean to throw him over." “Throw him over, ma tante!" murmured the girl. “I have never had the chance. Between Monsieur de Sabron and myself there is only friendship.” “Fiddlesticks!” said the Marquise d’Esclignac impatiently. “I have no understanding of the modern young

When He Sat Up in Bed He Was a Shadow.

girl. She makes her own marriages and her subsequent divorces. I am • our aunt, my dear, your mother’s sister, and a woman of at least twen-ty-five years’ more experience than you have.” Julia was not following her aunt’s train of thought, but her own. She felt the hint of authority and bondage in her aunt’s tone and repeated: “I wish to leave Algiers tomorrow.” “You shall do so,” said her aunt. “I am rejoiced to get out of the Orient. It is late to order my dresses for Trouvllle, but I can manage. Before we go, however, my dear, I want you to make me a promise.” “A promise, ma tante?” The girl’s tone implied that she did not think she would give it “You have played the part of fate in the life of this young man, who, I find, is a charming and brave man. Now you must stand by your guns, my dear Julia.” “Why, how do you mean, ma tante?” “You will go to Paris and the Capit&ine de Sabron will get well rapidly. He will follow you, and if it were not for Tremont, myself, your Red Cross Society and the presence here of Madame de la Maine, you would have been very much compromised. But never mind,” said the Marquise d’Esclignac magnificently, “my name Is sufficient protection for my niece. I am thinking solely of the poor young man." “Of Monsieur de Sabron?" “Of course,” said the Marquise d’Esclignac tartly, "did you think I meant Robert? You have so well arranged his life for him, my dear.” “Ma tante,” pleaded the girl. The marquise was merciless,. “I want you to promise me, Julia, before you sail for home, that if Sabron follows us and makes you understand that he loves you, as he will, that you will accept him.” Julia Redmond looked at the Marquise d’Esclignac in astonishment. She half laughed and she half cried. “You want me to promise?" “I do," said her aunt firmly, regarding her niece through her lorgnon. “In the first place the affair ip en-

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

ttrsly unconventional and has been since we left France. It is I who should speak to the Capttalne de Sabron. You are so extremely rich that It will be a difficult matter for a poor and honorable young man. . . . Indeed, my dear, I may as well tel) you that I shall do ao when we reach home.” “Oh,” said the girl, turning perfectly pale and stepping forward toward her aunt, "if you consider such a thing I shall leave for America at once." The Marquise d’Esclignac gave a petulant sigh. “How impossible you are, Julia. Understand me, my dear, I do not want a woman of my family to be a coquette. I do not want it said that you are an American flirt —it la in bad taste and entirely misunderstood in the Faubourg St.-Germain.” The girl, bewildered by her aunt’s attitude and extremely troubled by the threat of the marriage convention, said: “Don’t yon understand? In this case it is peculiarly delicate. He might ask me from a sense of honor." “Not in any sense," said the Marquise d’Esclignac. “It has not occurred to the poor young officer to suppose for a moment that a young woman with millions, as yon are so fortunate to be, would derange herself like this to follow him. If I thought so I would not have brought you, Julia. What I have done, I have done solely for your peace of mind, my child. This young man loves you. He believes that you love him, no doubt. You have given him sufficient reason, heaven knows! Now,” said her aunt emphatically, “I do not intend that you should break his heart.” It was more than likely that the Marquise d’Esclignac was looking back twenty-five years to a time, when as a rich American, she had put aside her love for a penniless soldier with an insignificant title. She remembered how she had followed his campaign. She folded her lorgnon and looked at her niece. Julia Redmond saw a cloud pass over her aunt’s tranquil face. She put her arms around her and kissed her tenderly. “You really think then, ma tante, that he will come to Paris?” "Without a doubt, my dear.” “You think he cares, ma tante?” Her aunt kissed her and laughed. "I think you will be happy to a bourgeois extent. He is a fine man.” “But do I need to promise you?” asked the girl. “Don’t you know?” “I shall be perfectly ashamed of you,” said the Marquise d’Esclignac, “if you are anything but a woman of heart and decision in this matter." Evidently she waited, and Julis/Redmond, slightly bowing her lovely head In deference to the older lady who had not married her first love, said obediently: “I promise to do as you wish, ma tante.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

WOMAN THE HOME BUILDER

Undoubtedly the Chief Trade In Which Females of the Country Are Engaged. Yes, of course. It is homemaking. Everybody knows that, but the figures for it, compiled by the United States Board of Education statisticians, are worth noting. Of the 31,000,000 females over ten years of age in the United States 24,000,000 are engaged in homemaking. Girls may be entering more and more into other trades, but in the last analysis they generally fall back or advance to the rank of homemakers. Hence, says the Federal Educational board, the Importance of giving special attention to scientific cooking in the vocational schools. The girlish hope of being able to hire a cook is apt to be disappointed as frequently as the hope of keeping one when she is hired. It is one of the oddest things of life that cooking, the preparation of the food that sustains life, the art that can waste or economize in the chief item of family expenditures, is so largely left to be picked up as best it may be without serious consideration or training. If the woeful waste resulting from amateur cookery could be computed in dollars and cents it would rival the war bills of Europe. If the indigestion, dyspepsia and kindred physical disturbances caused by incapable cooks could be tabulated they would dwarf the list of killed, missing and wounded.

Lost Hand Digging Grave.

Grave digging is not an extra hazardous occupation, even though in excavating graves it is necessary to use dynamite to break hardpan, the indue trial insurance department has decided. The department rejected the claim of John Borgford. a Seattle sexton. whose left hand was partly blown off by a dynamite cap. Although use of explosives generally makes & class extra hazardous, the general occupation of grave digging is such a peaceful one that exception cannot be made when blasting is neces> sary, the commission holds. —Olympic (Wash.) Dispatch to the Portland Ore gonian.

Flag for New York City.

The board of aldermen adopted • flag for the city of New York—thret perpendicular bars of blue, white and orange, which were the colors of the Dutch flag used when New York was New Netherlands. The board also adopted a new city seal, which will appear in blue on the white bar of the flag. The new eaqjjlem will be raised on the city hall on June 12, the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the establishment of the board of al dermen

ALL ROMANCE OF THE WAR BELONGS TO THE AIRCRAFT

The Thrills and the Danger of Scouting All Theirs, Says Frederick Palmer. ARCHIBALD IS ON THE JOB Exciting Work of tha British Antiaircraft Qun Described—Blght of Aeroplane Under Bhell Fire Never Loses Its Thrill. By FREDERICK PALMER. International New• Service Correspondent. British Headquarters, France. —A crack and a whish through the air! No sound Is more familiar at the front where Jhe artillery is never silent — the sound of a shell breaking from a gun muzzle and its shrill flight toward the enemy’s line to pay the Germans back for some shell they have sent Only this one did not pass out over the landscape in a long parabola or toward the German lines. It went right up into the heavens at about the angle of a skyrocket—for it was Archibald who was on the Job. Six or seven thousand feet over the British trenches there was something as big as your hand against the light blue of the summer sky. This was the target, a German aeroplane. By the cut of his wings you knew it was a Taube, Just as you know a meadow lark from a swallow. So high it that it seemed almost stationary. But it was going somewhere between fifty and ninety miles an hour. It seemed to have all the heavens to itself; and to the British it was a sinister, prying eye. It wanted to see if they were building any new trenches, if they were moving bodies of troops or of transport in some new direction, and where their batteries were in hiding. That aviator, three miles above the earth, had many waiting guns at his command. A few signals from his wireless and they would let loose on the target he indicated. Never Loses Its Thrill. Other features of life at the front may grow commonplace, but never the work of the planes—these wings of the army’s intelligence. In the hide-and-seek digging and dodging and countering of siege warfare the sight of a plane under shell fire never loses its thrill. A couple of seconds after that crack a tiny puff of smoke breaks about a hundred yards behind the Taube. A soft thistle blow against the blue, it seems at that altitude; but it wouldn’t if it were about your ears. Then it would sound like a bit of dynamite on an anvil struck by a hammer, and you would hear the whizz of scores of bullets and fragments about your ears. The smoking brass shell case of Archibald’s steel throat, and another shell case with its charge slipped in its place and started on its way before the first puff breaks. The aviator knows what is coming. He knows that one means many, once he is in range. Archibald rushed the fighting; it is the business of the Taube to sidestep. The aviator cannot hit back except through its allies, the German batteries, on the earth. They would take care of Archibald if they knew where he was. But all that the aviator can see is mottled landscape. From his side Archibald flies no goal flags. He is one of ten thousand tiny objects under the aviator’s eye. All the Romance Theirs. Why he was named Archibald nobody knows. As his full name is Archibald the archer, possibly it comes from scpne association with the idea of archery. If there were ten thousand antiaircraft guns in the British army, every one would be known as Archibald. When the British expeditionary force went to France it had none. All the British could do was to bang away at Taubes with thousands of rounds of rifle bullets, which might fall in their own lines, and with the field guns. It was pie in those dayß for the Taubes. If was easy to keep out of range of both rifles and guns and observe welL If the Germans did not know the progress of the British retreat from on high, it was their own fault Now the business of firing at Taubes is left entirely to Archibald. When you see how hard it is for Archibald, after all his practice, to get a Taube, you understand hov foolish it was for the field guns to try to get one. Archibald, who is quite the swellest thing in the army, has his own private car built especially for him. While the cavalry horses back of the lines grow sleek from inaction, the aeroplanes have taken their places. ah the romance and risk of scouting are theirs. They get most of the fun there is in this kind of warfare. If a British aviator gets a day’s leave, he does not take a train or steamer. He rises from the aviation grounds about half-past four and is at home in England for dinner and returns after lunch the next day. All the action the cavalry see is when they go into the trenches as infantryImportant Work Is Archibald'sSuch of the calvary’s former part as the planes dp not play, Archibald

plays. He keeps off the enemy’s scouts. Do you seek team-work, spirit of corps sad smartness in this theater of France, where all the old glamour of war is lacking? You will find it in the attendants of Archibald. They have pride, alertness, pepper and all the other appetizers and condiments. They are as neat as a private yacht’s crew and as lively as sn infield of a major league team. The Archibaldlans are naturally bound to think well of themselves. Watch them there, every man knowing his part, as they send their shells after the Taube! There isn’t enough waste motion among the lob to tip aver the range-finder or the telescopes or the score board or any of the other paraphernalia assisting the man who is looking through the sight in knowing where to aim next as a screw answers softly to his touch. Is the sport of war dead? Not for Archibald. ~ Here you see your target, which is so rare these days when British infantrymen - have stormed and taken trenches without ever seeing a German —and the target is a bird, a bird-man. Puffs of smoke with bursting hearts of death are clustered around the Taube. They hang where they broke in the still air. One follows another in quick succession, for more than one Archibald is firing, before your entranced eyes. An Artful Dodger. You are staring like the crowd at a country fair at a parachute act. For the next puff, may get him. Who knows this better than the aviator? He is likely an old hand at the game; or, if he isn’t, he has all the experience of other veterans to go by. His sense is the same as that of the escaped prisoner who runs from the fire of a guard In a zigzag course, and more than that. If a puff comes near on the right, he turns to the left; if one comes near on the left he turns to the right; if one comes under he rises, over he dips. This means that the next shell fired at the same point will be wide of the target. Looking through the sight, it seems easy to hit a plane. But here’s the difficulty: It takes two seconds, Bay, for-the shell to travel to the range of the plane. The gunner must wait for its burst before he can spot his shot. Ninety miles an hour Is a mile and a half a minute. Divide that by thirty, and you have about a hundred yards the plane has traveled from the time the shell left the gun muzzle till it burst. It becomes a matter

BURNED ZEPPELIN HANGAR IN GERMANY

As one of the results of a raid by British aeroplanes this Zeppelin hangar was set afire by inflammable bombs and not only the shed, sut also an airship within it, destroyed by fire.

SCORNS SPECTACLES AT 105

Aged Indiana Woman Also Spends Much Time Working In Her Garden. Terre Haute, Ind.—Mrs. David R. Hayden of Worthington Is one hundred and five years old. In a radius of comparatively few miles two other women live who are more than one hundred years old. Mrs. Hayden never has used eyeglasses, her hearing is good, and until this year she spent_ much of her time in her garden. Across the county line of Sullivan county lives Mrs. Eleanor Combs, who was one hundred and five last October. She has 67 grandchildren, 147 great-grandchildren and 17 great-great-grandchildren. Mrs. Nancy Tincher, at Linton, was one hundred last December. She has lived in the Linton neighborhood since birth.

SOME STORM AND SOME TALE

Louisiana Man Has Bome Hard Luck During a Recent Gale In That - Section. Oakhurst, La. —J. B. Hopson of Oakhurst, La., in speaking to several friends of a recent storm, said that he had suffered a little bad luck and. knew how to sympathize with the good people of Friars Point, although,” said Mr. Hopson, “my case is rather laughable. Yesterday after the storm had passed my yardman approached and said: ‘Boss, we done suffered some damage, too, one of de cow’s horns has been knocked oft’ “Soon the animal was brought forward. and, sure enough, the horn was gone. The yardman thinks the wind blew off the horn, and still sticks to his belief."

EGGS AND NEST PETRIFIED

Washington Miner's Find In 1869 to Be Curiosity at Panama V’ Exposition. Seattle. Wash.—J. 8. Hilley of Kirkland has in his possession a petrified bird's nest containing four petrified eggs. The nest and eggs are said to be a perfect petrified specimen. They were found by a miner in 1869,

of discounting the aviator's speed and guessing from experience which way he Will turn next That ought to have got him, the burst was right under him! No! He rises. Burely that one got him, anyway. The puff is light in front of the Taube, partly hiding it from view. You see the plane tremble, as if struck by a violent gust of wind. Must Hit Vital Bpot. "Closer* Within thirty or fortyyards, the telescope says. But at that range the naked eye is easily deceived about distances. Probably some of the bullets have cut his plane. But you must hit the man or the machine in a vital spot in order to bring down your bird, A British aviator the other day had a piece of shrapnel Jacket hit his coat, its force spent, and rolled into his lap. The explosions must be very close to count It is amazing how much shell fire an aeroplane can stand. Aviators are accustomed to the whiz of shell fragments and bullets and to have their planes punctured and ripped. Though their engines are put out of commission, and frequently though wounded, they are able to volplane back to the cover of their own lines. To make a proper story we ought to have brought down this particular bird. But it had the luck which most planes, British or German, have in escaping antiaircraft gunfire. It had begun edging away after the first shot* and soon was out of range. Archibald had served the purpose of his existence. He had sent the prying aerial eye home. Fights In the Air Rare. A fight between planes in the air very rarely happens, except in the imagination. Planes do not go up to fight other planes, but for observation. Their business is to see and learn, and bring home their news. The other day, in the communicating trench between the frontal and support trenches, British shells were screaming overhead into the German trenches. Four or five thousand feet up were two British planes, with a swarm of puffs from German shells around them. Two or three thousand feet higher was a German plane. They maintained their relative altitudes and kept on with their work, each spotting the bursts of the shells fired by its side and correcting the gunners’ aim by wireless. The British aviators always fly lower than the German, they are much oftener in the range of anQaircraft gunfire.

iff the lower end of the Grand Canyon of Colorado. Mr. Hilley obtainedthem 15 years ago and has since exhibited them in many parts of the country. He expects to take them to the Pan-ama-Pacific exposition next month.

MISS ELIZABETH BURKE

Miss Elizabeth Burke, daughter of former Gov. John Burke of North. Dakota, now treasurer •of the United States, has Just returned to her home in Washington after an extended trip through the West.

Horse Travels 44,000 Miles.

Beloit, Wis. —The last lap on a 44,-000-mile course, which it took him nine years to run, was finished by Harry, the horse of Edwin Bailey, «fity mail carrier. The animal actually died in the harness while making the round it made tor nine years.