Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 123, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 June 1918 — Page 3

THE HOPE OF THE WORLD

1 n HE hope of the world is not alone that the armies of humanity will 'be victorious, but that the spirit and purpose of our warfare will prevail in our victory. The hope of the world is in the Red Cross, because the Red Cross iii voicing this spirit and purpose that must, through the force of our arms, triumph. Just to the degree that we can, evidence this Red Cross spirit of mercy and brotherhood we will hold true in the dangerous hour of victory to the ideals that, have forced us into the trenches in the defense of human rights and human liberty. The one sane and saving thought Id this delirium of death that now possesses the world is the Red Cross. Wherever the storms of battle hell rage, amid the fires of ruthless destruction, in trench and camp and hospital, these soldiers of mercy with heroism unsurpassed are carrying the flag of the highest conceivable ideals of humanity. The ideals for which our armies have taken the field are, by these unarmed hosts, proclaimed to friend and foe, in that unmistakable language of universal mercy and brotherhood. In the terms of wasted . towns rebuilt, of broken humanity salvaged, of dying children rescued, of desolate families succored, the Red Cross declares the cause for which we war and proclaims the principles and ideals that must and will in the end prevail Above the thunder of the guns, the roar of exploding mines,

The American Red Cross

PUTTING HIS MONEY TO WORK

"A Great Net of Merty drawn through an Ocean of Unspeakable ram

By HAROLD BELL WRIGHT.

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Contributed by Charles Dana Gibson.

the crash of fallen cities and the cries of tortured humanity, the voice of the Red Cross carries clear and strong the one message of hope to our warburdened world. The black horror of this world’s crisis would be unbearable were it not for the spirit and work of this mighty force. The normal mind refuses to contemplate the situation without this saving power: ' It is the knowledge that in every city, town and hamlet, men, women and children are united in this work of declaring to the world, through the Red Cross, our message of mercy and brotherhood, that keeps our hearts from sinking under the burden of woe and sustains our faith in human kind. It is the constant daily, almost, hourly touch with the Red Cross work that is felt by every citisen in the land, that inspires us with courage and hope. ’ Out of this hell of slaughter the Red Cross will guide the warring nations to a heaven of world-wide peace and brotherhood. Because it is the living expression "of those ideals and principles in defense of which we are giving our all in lives and material wealth —because on every field of death it is proclaiming its message of life—because it keeps ever before us and the world the cause for which we war—because it will preserve us in the hour of our victory from defeating ourselves —the Red Cross is the hope of the world.

The Maker of Bandages

Red Cross Workers Solve in One Minute the Mystery of the Stony Hearted Mrs. Britt.

A diamond Is not the hardest thing tn the world. A diamond will cut glass and bore through case hardened, tempered chrome steel, but glass and steel—the diamond Itself too—are soft compared to some things. The hardest thing tn the world is a hard woman. Mr*Brltt was such a woman. 1 have seen hard women In my time, but never one who was harder. She smiled seldom, and when she smiled it was like the glitter of lee. She spoke Infrequently, and when she spoke her speech was the tinkle of hall on slate roofing. She did not look as if she had ever wept in her life. Every morning Mrs. Britt appeared at the Bed dross auxiliary In upper Broadway. She was the first to arrive in the marking; the last to leave at night No one knew much about tor, though. She was not the sort that make confidences. But that she was a worker—a hard worker—no one would dispute. Efficiency, as you’d suppose, wai a trait of Mrs. Britt’a Are Efficient Women Hardt V Efficiency—dreadful word that I How often hard women are effidentl How often efficient wonmn are hard I She was both, Mrs. Britt The moment she came in at the door She had her hat and Jacket oft The next Instant she - was at her place, her mouth set grim, ■ austere and hard—hard at work. Probably She did her work only from a sense of duty. Hard women always profess that trait Duty, duty I But then, fisw Women are as hard as Mrs. Britt In contrast tn her was Mm Farlow. She waa soft and womanly and* gentle —Che exact opposite. She was not very efficient of course, though she tried. Day. after day Mm Farlow sat at’the work table, her mouth quivering; smiling wistfully, the tears starting tn her eyes. The bandages that came fran her were often soiled and rumpled, pboriy sewn, too, by her poor Uttlo trembling fingem It was a wonder she could even see to sew at all a—tn and again what she turned tn had to be thrown away. But no one reprimanded her. Noone even let fun a hint that site was more es a burden than a help. The hearts of all those women ached with womanly pity for the poor, stricken mother. Once in awhile, though, In her comer at the back of the room Mm Britt would turn around and throw a glance at her. The glance waa as hard as rocks harder, in fact. Mm Farlow had a son in the Bainbow division. The son was the oldest es her four children, and until he went away the little mother had been the happiest woman in the world. Now any day be might be ordered off to France.

TA Grant Net of Mercy drawn through an Ooaan of Unspeakable Rain

The American Red Cross

By MAXIMILIAN FOSTER

His picture was in the locket she worn Every half hour she would stop her work to look at'lL Sometimes, her face wistful, she would show It to the other workers, voicing the anguish that with every waking breath she drew twanged hollowly in her mother’s heart., .One afternoon Mrs. Farlow’s oldest daughter came hurrying In. Her face was white. She had Just leamed that the Rainbow division had been ordered overteas. Mrs. Farlow rose, her face tragic. One glance she gave about her, then she collapsed, sinklug to the floor. In her fall she overturned a huge pile of antiseptic gauze Just torn into squares for Triangiilars No. 13. The room Instantly was In confusion. Instantly every one sprang to the mother’s aid—that Is. every one but Mm Britt Rhe rose and rescued the bandages under foot Then, her face bard as nails, grimly Mm Britt went back to her work. When Mm Farlow, still stricken, was led away to her car outside the drab figure to the corner was plugging away as mechanically and methodically as ever. The one glance she threw over her shoulder at the weeping woman was almost contemptuous. A hard woman. Mm Britt ; a heartless one, too. It was agreed. For days nothing was seen at the auxiliary of Mm Farlow. It was understood that to her grief and apprehension she was 111 In bed. Then one afternoon, pallid and quivering, she came to at the door. She smiled wistfully when the others gathered about her. “Let me work,” she appealed plaintively. "Work may help me not to think.” Her Bandages Worthless. She took a bandage and tried to sew. She made poor ’work of It, however. Then her head sank on her breast and the bandage slipped from her hands. “I can’t—oh, I can’t I" she wept. Once more she was led away. The same thing happened three or four days later. A week later the mother wandered to again. By now the first of the troops were to the trenches, and her pale, transparent face was like a wraith’a She took a bandage; she tried to sew. and for a third time Mm Farlow gave in. “Ota, my boy, my boy I” rite walled. The next Instant a face was thrust Into hem The face was Mm Britt’s, and the bard, bony visage was quivering with 111 concealed anger and ItTliipT“Sit down! Stop It!" said Mrs Britt. With one hand she thrust Mm

Of the Vigilantes.

Farlow back 00 her chair; with the other she thrust at her the half finished bandage. Her tone as grim as her face, she spoke, and* again the sound of it was like hall pattering on slate. “You’re not thinking of your son,” she said. “You’re just thinking of yourself I" There was a murmur of remonstrance. Mm Britt beard it, and she flashed a look about her. But when she spoke again It was to Mm Farlow she spoke. Think of Your Son. “You’re not the only mother In this war,” she said. “M you thought a Ito tie more about them and a little less about yourself you’d be doing somo thing. You’d be helping your son, for one thing I" “Why, what do you mean?" gasped Mrs. Farlow. Mm Britt smiled another adamant. Icy smile “Your son wouldn’t die for want of cam Any one of those seen you ruin might save his life. Any one of them might save the life at some other mother's son I" Mm Farlow shrank as if she had been struck. She’d never thought of It that way before. The silence, the grim reserve, which bad cloaked Mm Britt seemed for a moment to quit her. “1 have no son,” she said, her flinty voice biting out the words. “I bad one. but he died at Guantanamo It was tn the Spanish war,” snapped Mm Britt, “and there were no bandages—nothing. That** why he died. That’s why Fm here now. It's to keep other women—mothers—from becoming the sort of woman I-am" A harsh, brittle laugh escaped her. “Oh, I know what you think at me. - Fve heard what you said. Well," aald Mm Britt, “my son wouldn't have died Hke that maybe If 1 hadn’t sat around sniffling and snuffling, never doing , a thing.” Then. her tips drawn into a bony smile, she glanced about her once more and stalked back to her place la the corner. That night Mm Farlow rose from her place at the bandage table and sought the table at the back. For the first time that day Mm Farlow had managed to create haff a dozen bandages. none of which had to be thrown away. Timidly she held out a hand to the drab, dingy figure in the corner. “I—Fve done better today.” she said timidly. Mm Britt looked up at her. Out of the corner of one glassy eye something walled, then fell, running slowly down, her cheek, “He was only twenty. He was all I had,” sa»‘l Mrs. i’.Mtt, . _