Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 230, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 September 1916 — Page 2

by WALTER PRICHARD FATON

SYNOPSIS. —ll— grow tired of mjr work as a college Instructor and buy <a New England farm on sight. I Inspect my farm and go to board at Bert Temple’s. Bert helps me to hire a carpenter and a farmer. Hard Cider, the carpenter, estimates the repairs and changes necessary on the house. Mike commences plowing. I start to prune the orchard tree. Hard cider builds bookcases around the twin fireplaces. Mrs. Temple httes Mrs. Filllg for me as a housekeeper, and announces the coming of a new boarder from New York, a halfalck young woman who needs the country air. I discover that Stella Goodwin will make a delightful companion and believe she ought not to return to the hot and dusty city for a long time. I squeeze her hand slyly. Together we dedicate “Twin Fires." I surprise her wading In the brook and enjoy a delightful thrill. Mrs. Pillig, my housekeeper, arrives with her son Peter and his dog Buster.

John Upton Is touched by the wondrous spell of spring flow- j era and birds, the gurgle of the < little stream, and of Stella Good- \ win. He doesn’t know whether • lor not he loves her. Doubts assail him mightily—the freedom of bachelorhood seems good to , him, but so does the girl. Howuj he takes a quiet walk with her ' and how he comes almost to a | decision is told in this install- 1 ment—in a manner specially ] recommended to sweethearts. I A

CHAPTER XI. A Pagan Thrush. '=* — All that next June day I worked In my garden, in a dream, my hands performing their tasks mechanically. I ran the wheel hoe between the rows of newly planted raspberries and blackberries, to mulch the soil, without consciousness of the future fruit which twas supposed to delight me. My mind was not on the task. Over and over I was asking the question, “Do I love her? What permanence is there in a spring passion, amid gardens and thrush songs, for a girl who caresses the sympathies by her naive delight in the novelty of country life? How much of my feeling for her is passion, and how much is sympathy, even pity?” Over and over I turned these questions, while my hands worked mechanically. And over and over, too, I will be honest and admit, the selfish incrustations of bachelor habits imposed their opposition to the thought of union. I had bought the farm to be my own lord and master; here I was at work, to create masterpieces of literature, to plan gardens, to play golf, to Bmoke all over the house, to toil all Bight and sleep all day If I so desired, to wear soft shirts and never dfess for dinner, to maintain my own habits, my own individuality, undisturbed. What bad been so pleasant, so tinglingly pleasant, for a day, a week—the presence of the girl in the garden, in the house, the rustle of her skirt, the sound of her fingers on the keys—would it be always pleasant? What if one wished to escape from it, and there were no escape? Passions pall; life, work, am- t bitions, the need of solitude for creation, the individual soul, go on. “All of which means,” I thought, laying down my brush scythe and gazing into the brook, “that I am not sure of myself. And if lam not sure of myself, do I really love her? And if I am not sure of that, I must wait.” That resolution, the first definite tilings my mind had laid hold on, came to me as the sun was sinking toward the west. I went to the house, changed my clothes, and hastened up the road to meet her, curiously eager for a man In doubt.

She was coming out of the door as I crossed the hit of lawn, dressed not in the working clothes which she had ■worn on our gardening days, but all in white, with a lavender ribbon at her throat. She smiled at me brightly and ran down the steps. “Go to New York—but see Twin Fires first,” she laughed. “I’m all ready for the tour.” I had not quite expected so much lightness of heart from her, and I was a little piqued, perhaps, as I ansVered, “You don’t seem very sorry that you are seeing it for the last time.” She smiled Into my face. “All pleasant things have to end,” she 6aid, “so why be glum about It?” “Do they have to end ?” said I. “In my experience, always,” she nodded. v I was silent My resolution, which I confess had wavered a little when she came through the doorway, was fixed again. 7 Just the light banter in her tone had done it We walked down the road, and went first around the bouse to take a look at the lawn and rose trellis. The young grass was already a frail green from the house to the roses, the flowers around the white •undlal pedestal, while not yet in bloom, showed a mass of low 'foliage, the nasturtiums were already trying to

The IDYL of IWINFIRES

cling, with the aid of strings, to the bird bath (which I had forgotten to fill), and the rose trellis, colored green by the painters before they departed, was even now hidden slightly at the base by the vines of the new roses. “There,” said 1, pointing to it, “is the child of your brain, your aqueduct of roses, which you refuse to see in blossom.” “The child of my hands, too; don’t forget that!” she laughed. “Of our hands,” I corrected. “The ghost of Rome in roses,” she said, half to herself. “It will be very lovely another year, when the vines : have covered it.” “And it will be then, I trust,” said I, “rather less like ‘the rose of beauty on ! tiie brow,o| chaos.’ The lawn will look like a lawn by then, and possibly I shall have achieved a sundiaj plate.” “Fossibly you will,” said she, with a suspicious twinkle. “And possibly you’ll have remembered to fill your bird bath.” . She turned abruptly into the house and emerged with a pitcher of water, tiptoeing over the frail, new grass to the bath; which she filled to the brim, pouring the remainder upon the vines at the base. “My last activity shall be for the birds,” she smiled, as she came back with the pitcher. As if in gratitude, a bird came winging out of the orchard behind her, and dipped his breast and bill in the waters “The darling!” I heard her exclaim, junder her breath. We took the pitcher inside, and I saw her glance at the flowers in the vases. “I ought to get you some fresh ones,” she said. “No,” I answered. “Those shall stay a long while, in memory of the good fairy. Now I will show you my house. You have never seen my house above the first story.” “It isn’t proper,” she laughed. “I shouldn’t be even here, in the south room.” “But you have been here many times.” Again she laughed. “Stupid! But Mrs. Pillig wasn’t here then!” “Oh!” said I, a light dawning on my masculine stupidity, “I begin to realize the paradoxes of propriety. And now I see at last why I shouldn’t have asked you to pick the paiut for the dining room—when I did.” Her eyes narrowed, and she looked into my face with sudden gravity. “I wonder if you do understand?” she an-

“The Bed Clothes Aren’t Tucked in Right.”

swered. Slowly a half-wistful smile crept into the, corners of her mouth, and she shook her head. “No, you don’t; you don’t at all.” Then her old laugh came bubbling up. “I suspect Mrs. Pillig is more of an authority qn pies than propriety,” she said in a cautious voice, “and, besides, I’m going away tomorrow, and besides, I don’t care anyway. Lead on.” We went up the uncarpeted front stairs, into the square upper hall which was lighted by an east window over the front door,' I showed her first, the spare room on the northeast corner, which connected with the bath, and then the second front chamber opposite, which was not yet furnished even with a bed. Then we entered my chamber, where the western sun was streaming in. She stood in the door a second, looking about, and then advanced and surveyed the bed.,, “The bedclothes aren’t tucked in right," she said, “I know it,” I answered sadly. “I have to fix them myself every night. Mrs. Pillig is better on pies.”

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, INP.

COpyftiOHT OOU&L6DAY, PAG6 3> CO.

The girl leaned over and remade my monastic white cot, giving the pillow a final pat to smooth it. Then she inspected the shingles and old photographs on the walls, turning from an undergraduate picture of me, in a group, to scan my fSCe, and shaking her head. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Don’t tell me I’m getting bald.” “No, not bald,” she answered, “but your eyes don’t see visions as they did then.” I looked at her, startled a little. “What makes you say that?” I asked. “Forgive me,” she replied quickly. “I meant nothing.” “You meant what you said,” I answered, moving close to her, “and it is true. It is true of all men, and all women, in a way—of all save the chosen few "who are the poets and seers. ‘Shades of the prison house begin to close’ —you know that shadow, too, I guess. I have no picture of you when you were younger. No—you are still the poet; you see aqueducts of roses. So you think I'm prosy now!” “T didn’t say that,” she answered, very low,.

“One vision I’ve seen,” I went on, “one vision, lately. It was—it was —” I broke abruptly off, remembering suddenly my resolve. f “Come,” said I. "and I’ll slfow you Mrs. Pillig’s quarters.” She followed in silence, and peeped with me into the chambers of the ell, smiling a little as she saw Peter’s clothes scattered (fa the floor and bed. Then, still in silence, and with the golden light of afternoon streaming across the slopes of my farm, we entered the pines by the woodshed, and followed the new path along by the potato field and the pasture wall, pausing here and there to gather the first wild rose buds, and turning down through the cloister at the south. As we slipped into the corner of the tamarack swamp my heart was beating high, my pulses racing with the recollection of all the tense moments in that grove ahead, since first I met her there. I know not w T ith what feelings she entered. It was plain now even to me that she was masking them in. a mood of lightness. She danced ahead over the new plank walk, and laughed back at me over her shoulder as she disappeared into the pines. A second later I found her sitting on the stone I had placed by the pool. She looked up out of the corners of her eyes. “I should think this would be a good place to wade,” she said. “So It might,” said I. “Do you want to try it?” “Do you want to run along to the turn by the road and wait?” The eyes still mocked me. “No,” said I. She shook her head sadly. “And I did so want to wade,” she sighed. “Really?” I asked. “Really, yes. I won’t have q chance again so never, maybe.” “Then of course I’ll go ahead.” I stepped over the brook, out of sight. A moment later I heard a soft splashing of the water, and a voice called, “I’m only six now. Oh, it’s such fun—and so cold!” I made no reply. In fancy I could see her white feet In the water, her face tipped up in the shadows, her eyes large with delight. How sweet she was, how desirable! I stood lost in a rosy reverie, when suddenly I felt Ijer beside me, and turned to meet her smile. . “How you like the brook,” I said. “How I love It!” she exclaimed. “Don’t think me silly, but it really says secret things to me.” “Such secrets as the stream told to Rossetti?” I asked. She looked away. “I said secret things,” she answered. We moved on, around the bend by the road where the little picture of fat hills came into view, and back into the dusk of the thickest pines. At -the second crossing of the brook, I took her hand to steady her over the slippery stones, and when we were across, the mood and memories of the place had their way with us, and our hands did not unclasp. We walked on so together to the spot where we first had met, and where first the thrush had sounded tot us his elfin clarion. There we stopped and listened? but there was no sound save the whisper of the pines. “The pries sound like soft midnight surf on tlfe shore,” she whispered. “I want the thrush,” I whispered back. “I want the thrush!” “Yes,” she said, raising her eyes to mine, “oh, yes!”

Do you think that John Is about to make an unconditional surrender of bachelorhood and go over to the “dear enemy,” body and soul?

(TO BE CONTINUED^

BIG GUNS SWELL FROM AWFUL HEAT

Rapid Rate of Firing on Somme Causes Expansion of the Metal. MUST STOP TO COOL OFF Nuts and Various Small Parts of Guns Fly in Faces of Gunners Owing to Terrific Strain of Con- — stant Firing.

London. —The following letter received at the home of Driver W, J. Edie of the British Royal Field artillery is a graphic description of his experience in the “great* push.” Mr. Eadie was a London business mun before joining th£ army: “You start from a village about four kilometers In the rear on a fine summer night. The noise is terrific us you ride along; batteries all round you are firing salvos; shells from the heavy batteries and siege guns behind yoti, hurtling through the air overhead, go roaring along on their way to the German lines. Ahead of you star shells may be seen going up merrily into the night air, to float gracefully -down and then go out. “Great clouds of smoke hanging over the trenches; our shells bursting on top of the German position; red rockets going up from the Gentian infantry asking their artillery for more support (in vain, however!) and, above all, the ceaseless rattle of the machine guns. All combine to make a perfect inferno of flame and sound, “Last, but not least, while you see and hear all this, you have a considerable amount of attention paid you hy German shells—the shrapnel bursting with its peculiar and wicked whine, and the tear shells which, if you don’t get your mask on quickly, produce such an unpleasant effect on your eyes. This gas, by the way, smells very much like strong mustard and cress, 1 “You have the satisfaction, however, of knowing that, for every shell that conies, we let about 100 per cent back in return, believing as we do that *’Tis better far to give than to receive!’ Our airmen have brought down all the enemy’s ‘spotters,’ or ‘sausages,’ while ours can be seen .floating in the air all along the line. In Constant Stream. “At last, the day dawned and, after tin early cup of tea, we started to dispatch a few more specimens of English metal into the enemy lines. “For a coup)e of hours, we (as well as every other battery in the line) poured a ceaseless, stream of metal upon the poor ‘blighters’ waiting for our infantry attack. In the gun pits, stripped to the waist, with sweat running, down us and covered with oil and dirt,, we do some record firing. “Deaf, owing to the terrific noise and concussion; smarting eyes where lachrymatory gas had penetrated under our masks, strained faces due to lack of sleep; but. withal, a look of satisfaction on every face. “We get the signal to pause for a minute, as the Infantry is going ‘over the top.’ London Terriers (London Scots, Rifle brigade, etc.), who were in front of us, went steadily across, and in exactly 30 minutes from the time of starting had penetrated the enemy's fourth line of trenches. ' “As they got nearer the German lines, the latter rushed out and threw up their hands, but on the Terriers went to the next trench, though not without bestowing a kick on the tender part of the ‘blighter’s’ anatomy, leaving them for those who followed. “We start firing again at a longer range, and work like demons ns our range gradually creeps up. and the fuses are lengthened accordingly, for we know our men are going on rapidly. We set up a cheer when we knew they had reached the fourth line of trenches. “At one time we reached such a rapid rate of firing that water had to

COMMISSION NAMED BY CARRANZA

These are the men named l y General Carranza to meet the American commissioners and adjust the differences between Mexico and the Lntted States. Left to right, they are: Ignacio BoniUas, subsecretary In charge of ministry of communicatiops and public works j Alberto J. Pani, general manager constitutionalist railways of Mexico; Luis Cabrera, secretary of finance and public credit. .

IS REAL STRONG GIRL

Miss Mabel Furry of Seattle,. Wash., who ' out of 218 classmates in the department of physical education of the Harvard summer school lius woa the distinction of being the Sandow of the school. Miss Furry stands five feet 7% .inches and weighs 180 pounds. There is not a pound of superfluous flesh. She is all muscles and concentrated energy. •

be poured down the muzzles of the guns to cool them. All that came out the other end was —steam, and, the steel of the breach expanding, we had to force the breach open after each shell with a stave of wood.' At length the guns became so hot that one could hardly stand near them, let alone touch them. The steel, of course, expanding under the heat, stopped the gun from sliding back into its proper place r after the recoil. Two of the guns In' our battery were tints compelled reluctantly to ‘cease fire’ till they cooled down a bit. .. At Gunners’ Own Risk. “Two guns, I Plight say, had been firing for quite half an hour at the gunners’ own risk, with nuts, oil, etc., flying in their faces owing to the terrific strain they (the guns) were subjected to. But as soon as there was a lull, the guns were soon put right again. “As you will no doubt have read by now the wood round which we were attacking was a tough job, but the idea was to keep large numbers of enemy troops engaged while on our right our troops were advancing. We attained our object and when the others had a firm hold, on the villages they had captured, we withdrew to our old positions. , . ■ m “Our wounded came down the road —at least, those who were able to waif —most of them with a flower In their buttonhole or hat, and quite cheerful. “The German prisoners I saw looked as if they had had a terrible time of It. One of them picked up a potato from a field and started eating it. During the ‘great push’ the most difficult push of all is pushing _hard biscuit down your throat accompanied by bully beef 1 But we don’t mind, so long as we ore giving the Germans a hot time. When it rains hard, we have the consolation of knowing that the enemy is getting wet as well os ourselves. “I should have mentioned that, towards tiie close of the first day of the advance so numerous were the German

dead, both In the trenched and butslde, they nsked for a ahor’’ armistice to enable them to dear away the bodies. Even then the ‘rotters’ couldn’t play the game, but opened fire upon some of our men who were exposed. By way of punishment every one of our guns let fly six rounds of rapid Are, from which the Germans suffered considerably."

TOBACCO KEEPS HER ALIVE

Indiana Woman Takes a Smoke on the One Hundreath Anniversary of Her Birth. Washington, Ind. —Sarah Ellen Denny has celebrated her one hundredth birthday anniversary. Sitting on the porch at the home of her daughter, Mrs. Dave Dove, she smoked her oldfashioned clay pipe and spent the day telling her friends of her early life. She Ims used tobacco since she was sixteen years old, and says she believes tobacco is what “kept her alive.” Mrs. Denny was born in Tishlmlnga county, Tennessee, but has been a resident of Washington for many years. She gets about without the aid of a cane and does not wear glasses. She has traveled over, 12 different states, behind a team of oxen for the most part.

WOMAN SHOOTS ANGRY BULL’

Wife Saves Her Husband’s Life From _ Enraged Animal on Minnesota Farm. Thief River Falls, Minn. Mike Zimney, a farmer living east- of here, was saved from being trampled to death by an enraged bull by the courage and prompt action of his wife. The animal took offense at the flapping of Mr. Zimney’s raincoat and attacked him, throwing him to the ground and breaking several ribs and his collarbone. Mrs; Zimney, seeing the plight of Jier husband, quickly secured a shotgun and some shells. While she had never attempted to use firearms of any kind, she managed to load the gun and shoot the animal, stunning him sufficiently to enable her.to drag her unconscious husband out of danger. Mr. Zimney was brought to the hospital here for treatment.

HELPS RUN DOWN THIEF

Senora Luz Mendez, daughter ofl Don Jouquin Mendez, minister to the United States from Guatemala, and famous Lntin-Amerioan beauty. Jewels valued at SIO,OOO were stolen from the Mendez home in Brooklyn a short time ago. Senora Mendez accompanied detectives to haunts in the underworld and pointed out the thief.

BARS BARE LEGS ON BEACH

Atlantic City Authorities Find “Stockingless Fad Is Carried to Extremes.” Atlantic City—Bare-legged women will not be tolerated on Atlantic City’s bathing beach next summer. Harsh or not, the decree has gone forth to take effect June 1, 1917. Its promulgation at this time is designed to give ample notice to thousands of summer visitors, shortly to depart, who include fascinating bench toilettes of the latest modes among the wardrobe they bring shoreward every season. , “The stockingless fad lias been carried to extremes,” Beach Director Boasert stated.

Pressing of Necktie Cost $500

Sandusky, 0.-*Clmrles A. Trinter had occasion, during the absence of his faintly, to press a necktie. He used an electric irdn and after smoothing his tie went away without turning off the current. The next morning Trinter was awakened by a cry of afire.” ayd found that it was his dwelling that was in flames. The iron was the cause and the loss amounted to 5500.

Lightning Burned Her.

Racine, Wis Mrs. Chris Due of Jfo. i:?09 Gerhard avenue was struck by lightning during an electrical storm and badly burned. Mrs. Doe *was at work in her home at the time and went to a window to shake a rug when a flash df lightning entered the window and, burned off her shoes and stockings. # ;/