Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 304, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 December 1915 — Page 2

THE RED EAR

By MARCELLA DUBOIS.

With a shriek of excitement and glee the prettiest girl at Farmer Doane's husking bee jumped up from the stool she had occupied, scattering a great heap of corn all about h,er and daringly, invitingly waving above her head the third red ear found within the hour. There was a grand rush after her as she darted through the broad open doorway of the great barn out into the moonlight, to lead her eager pursuers a brisk chase. *' There was one young man who did not join the group, however. This was Abel Drake. Also, taking no part in the mad rush, but smiling indulgently after the receding mad. laughing, cheering crowd, Alice Leslie kept on mechanically tearing the husk from the ear of corn In her hand. She was not conscious that she had uncovered the tip of a blood-red ear until the companion by her side and escort uttered the quick words In eager breathlessness : "Why, Alice, you are a lucky one, too!" He was a bashful, reticent young fellow, and as Alice flushed his embarrassment was equal to her own. The penalty of finding a red ear was a kiss, but Alice had not invited a chase for the conquest. Her eyes wore almost a frightened look. As Abel, smiling slightly, moved towards her, in his ardent soul craving the salute as the fondest boon in the world, she shrank back. "Oh, please no!” she fluttered. "Nobody ever kissed me —except my brother.” “Nobody ever let me kiss them at all,” observed Abel, quite gravely. “I wish I was your brother!” and then he

'Nobody Ever Kissed Me —Except My Brother."

added: “But don’t deny me one pleasure, Alice. Let me have the red ear as a —a memento, won’t you?” She extended It towards him eagerly. Her heart thrilled, almost sorry was she that she had denied this hon-est-eyed, clean, earnest, lovable fellow his wish. He was a loyal friend and she knew that he fairly worshiped her. She tried to make amends by being more than gentle and attentive to him the rest of the evening. She was touched infinitely as she noted that he placed the red ear inside his vest on the side nearest to his heart. Alice talked of a social gathering a week ahead as though it was a settled fact that Abel would be her escort upon that occasion as usual. He was not very responsive, however, and left her at the home door as though something had depressed and chilled him. “Poor fellow!” sighed Alice regretfully as they finally parted. “He is so good, so true, and I am afraid I hurt his feelings. I hope he does not think I would rather have somebody else—oh, dear! I wish —”

That he had kissed her! There, that was the truth, and she hid her bonny face in her hands, half-shamed, half-delighted, and ran into the house red as a peony and hoping that Abel really would cherish the strange souvenir he had so craved. Humble, self-deprecatory, Abel Drake had ever considered that he was fairly unworthy the beautiful girl, to him a goddess. He compared himself despairingly with the self-important young men he met. He began to believe that Alice liked him as a friend, but beyond that —she had shrunk from paying the penalty of the read ear of corn. The realization of this wounded his sensitive nature and discouraged all love pretensions. It was the third day after the husking bee that Alice, busy about the

kitchen, was startled and then terrified as a neighbor’s boy about eight years of age came rushing in at the doorway, his face colorless and his eyes a-stare with fright. “Oh, Miss Alice!” he bolted out—"little Ina!” "My little sister —what of her, quick! has she come to any harm?” cried Alice, her mind taking vivid alarm. “She was playing boat with a tub,” panted forth her informant “It tipped over. Drown-ded!” was the ominous concluding word. With a wild shriek Alice dashed towards the river which bounded the rear of the lot She saw people rushing down the shore, two forms struggling in midstream to reach dry land. She saw a man gain it drop his dripping burden, reel and sink prostrate. g Alice arrived breathless and an-

gulshed at the acene of the rescue, to see little Ina, scared and trembling, but unhurt and alive, and she gathered her up in her arms with a choking sob. Amid the confused babel of bussing voices she made out that the man who had rescued her little sister had gone through a terrible struggle in getting out of the swift river current, and several men were striving to restore him to consciousness. Alice uttered a sharp cry as she glanced down at the Inanimate form—it was that of Abel Drake. "Oh, he is not dead —tell me! tell me!” quavered Alice, and then, as the man kneeling beside Abel unloosed his collar, he announced: •'Give him air. He is only exhausted.”

Then Alice thrilled. In folding back the collar of the prostrate man a ribbon about his neck was disclosed. As it was disengaged, attached to its end Alice saw the souvenir, the red ear of corn. “Give it to me!” burst forth Alice, and then shrank within herself; but, with a wondering look, the man who had disengaged the souvenir obeyed her bidding. She clasped it and the rescued Ina closer to her bosom and drew back from the anxious circle and did not leave the spot until it was announced that Abel had recovered, but was still weak, and a vehicle was brought to send him home. Half a dozen times that day Alice sent a messenger to receive almost hourly bulletins as to the condition of Abel. The reports were encouraging. A grateful, happy girl, some new spirit of emotion seemed borne into her through that day’s exciting occurrences.

Her whole being glowed as, about noon the next day, the gate clicked and Abel Drake, looking somewhat pale but otherwise apparently none the worse for his experience of the previous day, entered the garden. Alice greeted him with a genuine welcome of joy and gratitude. "You are so kind to come to —to relieve our anxiety,” she said. “Why, even little Ina has been longing to see you and thank you for your great, great bravery!” "It was fortunate I was at hand when the tub upset,” said Abel. “I missed something when I recovered — the souvenir. I understand you have iL lam quite lonesome without it” Alice flushed and trembled. She dropped her glance in embarrassment as the clear, kindly eyes of Abel rested upon her. Then her own flashed. A daring resolve actuated her. “Come,” she said simply, and led the way to a side window, upon the sill of which rested the souvenir, left there to dry out after its bath in the river. “Thanks —” began Abel, extending a hand to receive the ear of corn.

“Not until you win it!” cried Alice, and darted away light as a fawn. He was staggered at the challenge. Then his wits directed him. What a wild, joyous chase it was! Under a great tree he caught her. The delirium of delight swayed him as his lips met hers —and her his own willingly. “Shall we own the souvenir together you and I, after this?” he ventured to suggest, with heart of hope, but dubious. “Yes!” her soft whisper reassured him, and all the world was sunshine. (Copyright. 1915. by W. G. Chapman.)

Architecture and Art.

The architect of the Renaissance I see as one who, as like as not, was himself a sculptor, or a painter; sometimes both. So that as he worked with others who, like himself, lived in the arts, there came out of it buildings of "which you cannot say where architecture ends and sculpture and painting begin. How may all this be brought back? I don’t know, nor do wiser men than I. I do not venture to say that architects must become painters and sculp tors; that would be rather utopian But at least they should be brought closer together, personally and pro fessionally. and the time to do it is while they are still in their formative period. The problem is not being neglected; beginnings are being made. Few of the most eminent and thoughtful men in the American world of art but are concerned with it. —<3. Grant in Scribner’s Magazine.

In the Stadium.

The word “stadium" is the Latin form of a Greek name for the measure of distance —a stade, 606 feet, or i approximately an eighth of a Roman i mile. As this was the usual distance i for foot races at Olympia, the name j came to be given to the structure wherein the foot races and other athletic contests were held. All the ancient Greek stadia —of which the stadium at Athens, built by Lycurgus 350 B. C. and restored by King George oi Greece in 1906, is a fine example—were semicircular at oi'e end and open at the other, while the perfect elliptical design was the Roman modification to be noted in the Coliseum at Rome and the amphitheater at Pompeii,

Canny Scot.

When electric tramcars first started in his native town a canny Scot got on one, intending to make the full journey, costing three pence, but only took a penny ticket and renewed it twice at the end of each stage. On the last stage the conductor remonstrated with him, saying he ought tc have taken out a three-penny ticket at the beginning of the journey and saved unnecessary trouble. “Na, na!” said the Scot, “had I dune sae, and yer had broken doon, I micht hae lost thrup-pence, but, as it is, I canna lose mair than ae penny.”

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

SEES BELGIAN ARMY LAND AT FAR ARCHANGEL

Correspondent Describes Surprising War Scene on the Rim of World. RUSSIA’S PORT ALL ASTIR British and French Uniforms Sighted —Austrian Prisoners Toll in Acres of Freight—Pasture Becomes Great Quay—An Odd Little Town.

By NIKOLAI KOSLOV.

(Correspondent of the Chicago News.) Moscow, Russia. —Up on the coast of the Arctic ocean, in a latitude north of Nome, I have just seen the arrival of a section of the Belgian army. This time last year the world was ringing with that gigantic hoax about a Russian army going to Belgium. Who would have dreamed that by October, 1915, an army of dapper little Flamands and Bruxellois, convoyed by British torpedo-boat destroyers, would sail around the top of the world and down the White sea to Russia and that Archangel would be invaded by Belgian gunners and armored automooile crews, roaring the “Brabanconne” and frescoing Russian transport trains with Rabelaisian sketches of victorious encounters with the Teuton? I found FTench soldiers and Belgian airmen and British bluejackets up there, too. And some hundreds of Austrian prisoners doing odd jobs in the docks. Scores of American Autor. It is quite a journey to Archangel. In America a train would have got one there between breakfast and supper. However, this is Russia. It takes two days and two nights. Among other traffic we passed on the sidings was a long stalled train of scores of American automobiles, doing the last lap of their Journey from the docks of Vladivostok.

The freight-car load of soldiers at the tail of it said they had been five weeks on their way. At Vologda I transshipped to the narrow gauge single-track line running 400 versts (267 miles) due north through the bleak subarctic tundra. It was a train with no springs, an incessant and abominable rattling and an eerie trick of buckjumping whenever the brakes were applied.

No Hurry About Double Tracking. They are supposed to be double tracking their little line, which the Germans installed, Osnabruck rails and all, in 1876 —double tracking and standard gauging it. It is the sole highway to the sole open Russian port, the only channel for the admission of munitions, apart from Vladivostok, thousands of miles east. All the foreign residents in Russia say that it should have been double tracked and broad gauged a year ago, at least. Even now, however, whoever is responsible for it seems to be playing with it. “I wonder,” a Frenchman remarked

PLEADS FOR INDIAN FRIENDS

Mary Roberts Rinehart, the only woman correspondent who got to the actual fighting front in Europe and whose writings on the warfare filling many pages of the magazines, was in Washington a few days ago in the interests of her friends and tribal brothers, the Blackfeet Indians. Mrs. Rinehart, who lives in Pittsburgh, visited Glacier National park last summer after her return from Europe and was adopted into the Blackfeet tribe, whose reservation is adjacent to the park. In Washington Mrs. Rinehart visited both the president and Secretary Lane and through the latter was promised that extra rations would be issued to the Blackfeet to the coming winter.

YOUNG VICTIMS OF THE GREAT WAR

A young boy and girl are here seen being ministered to by Red Cross nurses in France after being wounded by German shells. Such scenes are frequent, for many refugees are bit before they can get out of the zone of tire.

to me on the train, "if they will have done this vitally necessary work by this time next year?” A few gangs of track laborers were going through the motions listlessly. Nor did the numerous gangs of convicts seem to be losing any sleep over their construction efforts.

For four and twenty hours we Jolted up the narrow groove, cleared through primeval forest and swamp. Already there was ice in the peaty streams meandering across our path and a powdering of snow on the murmuring cedars. Then we emerged into a district of stubble field and meadows. And suddenly into the thick of a great entrepot of freight. Pasture Becomes Great Quay. This was Bakareetsa, the main White sea railroad depot from which Russia's stores are coming. Along the Dvina bank, a strip of deserted cow pasture a few months ago, now is a great quay. Ten or twelve steamers were alongside unloading. Tens of thousands of tons of coal towered in hills and massive ridges. Rows on rows of turf-roofed leanto barracks housed the laborers. A score of sidings and acres of mud were stacked with packing cases and sacks and bales. Freighters with the colored painting of the bursting bomb betokened shells and dynamite within — regiments of freighters with everything aboard from aeroplanes to zylonite; rows of freight cars piled with great crates consigned from Cleveland, in Ohio, to Tiflis, in Asia Minor, via the environs of Spitzbergen and the watery wilderness of the Arctic ocean.

A few miles farther on the train stopped, still in a desolate region of muddy fields, for the Archangel terminus is not Archangel. We all crowded on to a steamer and navigated two miles downstream to the town, which lies on the other side of the Dvina estuary, here a couple of miles across. An odd little town is Archangel, with a pervasive atmosphere of remoteness and aloofness from the world. In summer there is no night, and the thawed swamps cut off all overland journeyings but those of mosquitoes and birds. In winter there is next to no day and the quarter mile of Troitskaja street lined with shops is all a-jingle with the bells of reindeer. Sinuous dog-sled caravans, laden with polar bear and wolf pelts, snake their way into the thronged bazaar, to barter for the summer’s bread. Busy Times in Archangel. Archangel is busy now. Archangel has never known such goings on. Soldiers and sailors and millions of tons of freight have come from the ends of the earth.

It is a town transformed into a freight yard—freight piled mountain high on the quays, waves of freight passing inland up the slope behind the custom house. All over the square there and overflowing into the main street itself lie acres and acres of bales and rails and crates and tubs and boxes, and tens of thousands of a mysterious breed of reddish sack. Archangel has original ideas about sidewalks that would not commend themselves to American motorists. Streets have these raised wooden sidewalks running up the center. Every now and then along these sidewalks passed British naval officers and seamen, intermingling with transplanted men of the Russian Baltic squadron. Past the shabby town duma, one enters what has hitherto been known as the German quarter, a long avenue of the best houses in town, running due north toward the suburb of Solombola.

Motor jitney boats, ferries, dinghies, tugs, liners, sailing skiffs, barges, ocean tramps and long log rafts from the forest of Viatka busy themselves out in the Dvina, well displayed against the low bank and flat horizon leagues to the westward, where dainty distant silhouettes of monasteries and churches fleck the rim of the earth. I passed a great red brick brewery on tho Dvina bank, converted into a Red Cross hospital. Convalescent soldiers were standing in the ward windows, gazing glumly upon about five acres of boxes of empties piled as high as a house. Not so bad for a little town of 20,000. At a marine departmental office on the Troitskaja was a fine automobile. The chauffeur was a Russian naval man, and its door was opened by a

British bluejacket orderly as the two admirals, Russian and British, came out. Prisoners Look Comfortable. Ahead, down the bank, appeared a great cluster of masts. That was the Solombola suburb, the lower docks of Archangel. I reached it by a wooden causeway bridging a broad creek, the banks of which are occupied by timber yards. Women were loading log barges. On the opposite bank, half a mile away, I saw gray figures moving. Austrian prisoners or German?

I came closer. Oh, Austrians. Austrians clean and very well clad in their warm, scarcely soiled uniforms and greatcoats. They were on general dock laboring jobs, mostly in a great field of bales of American cotton, surrounded* on all sides, except the river, by an eight-foot timber palisade, with sharpened tops. They looked well fed and cheerful. I might add here that whatever adverse criticisms may justly be made of the Russians, they treat their prisoners as gentlemen. The Russian is a pretty good fellow, from the human point of view —a natural born democrat and a sportsman.

There were a lot of guards about in Solombola, civilian armed, civilian unarmed and Russian soldiers. Unfamiliar passers-by are eyed suspiciously. At the dockyard entrance holes in the palisade stood civilian guards with belt loaded rifles slung across their backs. Above the gates were holy ikons, gilded pictures of saints, with two peculiar tippets of fur hanging from them.

There was an intensely interesting flow of traffic along this road to the Solombola docks, a medley of races, a library of odd human documents. Through the deep black mud passed wagons driven by slant-eyed Samoyeds, an Eskimolike tribe of the Russian arctic littoral, hnd skull-capped Mohammedan Tartars from the parched deserts of Turkestan. And there were carts driven by hairy Russian moujiks of the north, with huge reddish beards; and carts driven by clean-shaven dapper little Austrian prisoners, each with a civilian guard in tow. Cossack soldiers were on scampering ponies and Malo-Russian soldiers plodded afoot. British jack tars navigated the sidewalk with a fine, free roll and men of the imperial Russian navy walked in quick, short steps.

Sees Two French Soldiers. Just as I was passing the clanging foundry two French soldiers appeared, among the passers-by, real French poilus in their long blue greatcoats and baggy red breeches. What they were doing and whether or not they were forerunners of a big landing like that of the Belgians I do not know. In the main street of Archangel one afternoon I saw what I thought was a group of British army officers. I found they were Belgians in the new smart khaki uniform, closely copied from the British. A few Belgian soldiers appeared on the streets the following day, to the intense interest of the natives, many of whom took them for a new brand of Austrian.

Next morning Archangel was snowed Under with Belgian soldiers, mainly gunners and flying men and men well versed in running armored automobiles and perambulating forts. Little men, hardly bigger than Japanese, enveloped in blue greatcoats; the gunners with crossed cannon in red braid on their arms. Polite little men, too. Meeting on the step, they hold a shop door open for a woman to enter first, with a bow, and a “S’il vous plait, madame!”

It was difficult to get a shave in Archangel that day, though there are plenty of barber shops for the use of sailors. Rows of Belgian soldiers occupied the chairs and benches in the hinterland. It was next to impossible to get stamps at the post office because of the Belgians there.

Tn a group of Belgian officers in the Offitzerov restaurant was a priest, also in militant khaki. He was dressed like an officer, except for his fasten-behind clerical collar and a red, black and gold cross pinned to his breast. The gold tassel dangling from the front of the Belgian officer’s cap, by the way, is a cause of much giggling to the Russian maidens. For three days the Belgians remained. Then, as mysteriously as they had appeared, they faded away toward the south.

0 0 Ooa 8S “Just What , m QQ I Want!” KS ftJC 'Give me cake made Wfl aQC with Calumet —I know what D* q ftfl I’m getting I know , it’s IO q fljfl pure,wholesome, nourishing, z /Ql tempting and tasty. ft > KXq “It’s all in Calumet’s won- ft fl aXflj derful leavening and raising OU UDI power —its absolute purity, ft 3 mKi Use Calumet for uniform ft 1 fO d results and economy.” ft 1 Io J Received Highest Awards Lft/V Nn> C-i M Trtr- jC I rtf fl Sw SUf Css. U , s 5 1 O J 1 X Mfla T «a! A £E BYTHETROS L«D IAWMO baking pcrftf J Cheap and big canßakingPowders do not save you money. Calumet does—it’s Pure and far superior to sour milk and soda.

INDIANS ARE PROGRESSING

Figures Show That the Wards of the Government Take Advantage of Their Opportunities. The “Five Civilized Tribes,” whose original domain was formerly known as Indian territory, comprise the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek and Seminole tribes of Indians in Oklahoma. Their total number of enrolled members and freemen is 101,200. Of the total area of land embraced within the tribes’ domain there were allotted to members 15,794,400 acres. On sales the total deposited to the credit of the five tribes July 1, 1898, to June 30, 1914, was 517,099,826, and there is yet due and drawing interest at six per cent the sum of $5,623,950. The tribal form of government of the Cherokee tribe was practically abolished at the close of the fiscal year June 30, 1914. Pursuant to previous acts of congress applicable to all the tribes, the Choctaw, the Chickasaw and Seminole tribes have been deprived of their legislative and judicial functions, retaining only a couple of executive officers for the transaction of business matters. In the Creek nation the only work of importance looking to the ultimate disposition of tribal affairs is the equalization of Creek allotments. Of the total enrolled populatidta of the five tribes the restricted class numbers 36,957. By the latest available figures the total number of Indians who have professed Christianity is 85,302; the number in 1912 was 65,529. There are 583 churches among the Indians now, as compared with 513 in 1912. The latest figures show 27,775 Indian children in government schools and 4,829 in mission schools. The average school attendance in 1914 was 26,127; in 1912, 26,281; in 1900, 21,568; in 1890, 12,323. The number of schools in 1914 was 399; 1912, 412; 1900, 307; 1890, 246.

He Got It.

A negro boy, while walking along the street, took off his hat and struck at a wasp. He turned to a man and said: “I thought I got dat ar ole wass.” ••Didn’t you?” “No, sah; but I —" he snatched off his hat and clapped his hand on. the top of his head, squatted, howled and said: “Blame ’f I didn’t git dat ole wass!”

Neither Payer Nor Teller.

"The idea of calling that man in the cage a paying teller," exclaimed young Mrs. Green. “Why, 1 asked him to tell me how much my hnsband had in the bank and to please give it to me, and, do you know, he would neither tell me nor pay me.”—Boston Transcript. Don’t hug a delusion —especially if she is the sweetheart of a burlier man. 'Y