Deora adn
Bellefonte, Pa., March 23, 1923.
A SHRINE.
No sanctuary can compare
With an orchard that I know,
When April slips into its aisles
And swinging censors blow—
When, ‘neath its wondrous traceries,
The choristers that sing
Are robins, at their matins or
Their vespers in the Spring.
A deep sky stains its windows blue,
and the nun-like breezes pass,
Embroidering bright petals on
Its altar-cloth—the grass.
No guide is needed but the heart,
For every passer there
May pause and see its loveliness
And offer up a prayer.
Each one can say his vespers well
In that old orchard close,
When the Sun sends dying blessings down
Its deep aisles, as he goes—
And through those aisles an acolyte
Comes stealing from afar—
It is the Dusk, and in the East
He lights the Evening Star!
—Virginia Jeffrey Morgan in the March
Scribner’s Magazine.
WHAT THE MOVIES SHOWED.
Federal Conservation Agent Jimmy
May, and Bill West of the Louisiana
commission, were delayed two weeks
“up front” on the river while their
stout little launch was being repaired
after the adventure that pretty nearly
put them out of business for good
down in the coast swamps. Bill was
especially impatient; he wanted to be
down in the heronries after his mo-
tion pictures of the egrets during the
nesting season to aid the great cause
of saving the bird life of America, for
it was during the time of rearing their
young that the beautiful herons had
their best plumage, and the pictures
were designed to show the cruelty of
killing them then and leaving the
young to starve.
“What we want to do,” said Bill “is
to make it so that every boy in Amer-
ica who sees his mother, sister or cous-
in wearing an aigrette plume will
make a holler until every woman re-
alizes what a heartless business she is
helping to support. So, Jimmy, this
trip it’s more important to get pic-
tures than it is to make arrests.”
“Go to it,” said Jimmy, “but I'm
going in to have a mix-up with the
plume hunters themselves. Also get
in touch with this kid, Paul, and pull
him over to our side of this war.”
Consequently when the Pelican pok-
ed her nose again into the shallow
lakes that led to the haunts of the
egrets, Bill talked movies incessantly,
while Jimmy discussed stratagems to
get the evidence on Joe Abadie and |
his chief lieutenant, a “Manilaman”
named Mariano. The last worthy had
just been driven out of the Rockefel-
ler Refuge by a raid of the conserva-
tion men and had joined the Abadie
clan, the wardens learned. Also, he
was a “bad man,” a gun fighter, and
as dangerous as Felix Abadie, the out- !
law son of Old Joe who was reputed |
too cautious to mix in a real battle
with the deputies.
“Hum,” mused Jimmy, when the
Pelican was chugging through the
mud flats as close in to the cypress
woods as her depth would let her.
“Mariano—hey? More bad company
for our reluctant young friend, Paul.
Going to get this kid away from ’em
now for sure.”
But even after the affair of the big
falling cypress, when Paul had endan-
gered himself to save the wardens,
Bill was skeptical of the boy’s worth
to the cause of the law. He just liked
Jimmy May because Jimmy was a
good deal of a youngster himself, and
appealed to the self-reliant swamp
lad.
The Pelican came to anchor in the
mud where Bayou Traverse led north-
ward through the great grassy moras-
ses towards the gloomy cypress woods.
They wouldn’t take a chance up in the |
bayou where the misadventure befell
them last month. Bill took a skiff and
made a survey into the marsh that
brought him out enthusiastic. Not
only did the higher tides float him in
near the herons’ nesting places, but he
discovered multitudes of wading birds
—gallinules, grosbeaks, and even a
beautiful roseate spoonbill almost as
rare as the trumpeter swan, of which
there was reputed to be but one alive
in all the State and federal refugees.
“Great!” said Bill. Tomorrow we
go in and build a blind for the cam-
era. Great location Jimmy! I'll take
my lunch and mosquito bar and stuff
into the blind with the pirogue and
hang out from dawn to dark and you
can go round sleuthing your Abadie
friends if you want.
Jimmy paddled his own canoe in
with the motion picture expert. They
poled over mud flats among big black
“congo” snakes, hammered a ten-foot
alligator over the snout with a pad-
dle when he poked an inquiring nose
out of the lilies, and then fell to work
on the blind.
It was just across a little lagoon on
the other side of which was the thick-
et of trees that comprised the heron-
ry. From the branches a score of
beautiful snowy egrets arose and
sailed off in the sunlight. A mother
bird circled back and watched the
wardens sharply.
“Great stuff!” repeated Bill. “Don’t
think the plume hunters ever so much
as scared these birds, they're that
friendly.”
Crawling up on the trembling soil
the wardens built a blind of sticks and
then covered it with green cane. Bill
had some trouble in getting firm sup-
port for his tripod, and the tarpaulin
that he laid for a floor kept sinking
in the ooze. But he had no prejudice
against getting wet, if he could get his
pictures. Mosquitoes were far more
of a nuisance. But when the photog-
rapher crawled into the blind he whis-
tled his satisfaction. The motion pic-
ture machine was entirely hidden but
it covered the whole field—the lagoon,
the clump of trees where the herons’
nests were visible, and the whole mar-
shy bank across.
“Good bye, Jimmy! Hate to chase
you off, but you ain’t needed here!”
Jimmy laughed and paddled his ca-
noe out of the lagoon. A half mile
down the bayou, he changed his mind
about returning to the launch and
dragged his pirouge up on the sinking
grass roots to get an observation of
the distant woods. Then a gunshot
attracted him far over the cane prai-
rie. He caught a glint of white wings
against the blue.
“Well, looks as if the plume hunters
were out, too,” he muttered. Then
Jimmy whistled softly. Coming from
the marsh by the tiny slough were
three pirogues. One he swiftly recog-
nized as Paul, the youngster whose
life he had saved; the other man was
Mariano, the Manilaman; and the
third, who had just fired at a heron
apparently, was Felix Abadie.
“Going to raid the roosts, too,”
whispered Jimmy. “Lucky I just pass-
ed out of that logoon. But Paul—I
didn’t think of him!”
And then, as he watched the three
swampers, thinking discouragedly of
his vain efforts to detach the lad he
liked so well from this lawless gang,
he noticed that Paul idled along the
canebreak when the two men had pad-
dled out unsuspectingly to the bayou
and turned westward—toward the la-
goon where the heronry was situated.
Crouched up in the concealing cane,
Jimmy watched curiously. It was not
until the two plume hunters had
rounded a bend of the channel that the
lad came to life. Then he whirled his
canoe and began paddling swiftly to-
ward Jimmy, and on past him as if
his life depended on it.
From the cane Jimmy uprose and
hailed him softly. The boy started,
then stoppod, his keen eyes searhing
the bank.
“Paul, old buddy!” sang out Jimmy
softly, “where are you going ?”
The lad turned excitedly. “To your
boat Mr. Warden! Our men are going
to shoot in the lagoon today. They
left me to watch since daylight,
and—"
“You saw the Pelican come in from
the lake but didn’t tell ’em.”
“No,” admitted Paul, “but they'll
raid the egrets before ever you could
get in up here—I thought!”
“You did? Say, Bill West beat you
to it by an hour. Got his picture set-
up all fixed for the birds.”
Paul looked frightened. “Mariano,
the bad man, and Felix are just goin’
in there! There’ll be trouble!”
Jimmy watched him narrowly. “Say,
is there a way to beat them to it?
If Bill could be reached in his grass
blind!”
“Come” whispered the lad, “across
the prairie—if you're any good as a
swamper! Drag your pirogue over
this grass. I know a run that leads
to the lagoon.”
Swiftly Jimmy stumbled along
through the cane which was high over
their heads. Once in open water
again they spoke not a word until
Paul paddled and poled his eraft into
a mud flat that lay just behind the
spot where Bill and Jimmy had la-
boriously built their camera blind not
two hours before. Then Jimmy took
the lead and swung his little canoe
fairly under the rear of the grass
covering.
Instantly came Bill’s protest: “Keep
quiet you, Jimmy. I was just think-
ing those birds would come back—it’s
all so peaceful now!”
“Peaceful! Mariano and Felix are
just sneaking around by the bayou to
get in here. Going to make a final
clean-up of the egrets, Paul says.”
“Paul 7—" Bill stopped monkeying
with the crank of his motion picture
machine and stared back at the two
who shot their canoes in under the
heavy overhanging cane. It was a
deen shade in the blind but Paul's
freckled, perspiring face was visible
to the astonished Bill West. “The
swamp kid, again? Say, Buddy, pad-
dle out there and I'll take your picture
—a real swamp Cajun robbin, the her-
on roosts—"’
And then Jimmy May whirled about
on the operator as if hit by an elee-
tric current. “Picture? Bill! What
d’ you think of this? The plume
hunters” be slipping into this slough
in a minute, and if a bird flies they’ll
pot him! Say—Felix and old Maria-
no, the famous old egret hunter! Bill
evidence—and you can pump it to ’em
so they never can wiggle out, with
that movie machine!”
Bill gasped incredulously. So did
Paul—with something like dismay.
“Lie low, Paul—and I will, too. Bill,
you do the vest. Mariano, the big
chief of ’em all—will be right in the
movies with his work!”
Hardly had he spoken when a gun
cracked, and far across the slough a
white bird crumpled to the water. The
motion picture man stared out past
his concealed camera. Then he look-
ed at Jimmy.
“They’ll sure cross the pond to get
that bird. Just wait!”
The rubber floored shelter was sink-
ing on its flimsy branch supports with
Jimmy’s added weight. But he knelt,
peering out of the aperture where the
black picture box swung. Bill West
was trying to keep it steady and level
as he might.
“Be still,” whispered Bill; there’s
the first one! There's old Mariano be-
hind him—watching for another shot!
Egrets, now—two of ’em sailing in!
They're all anxious to get back to
their young ones!”
Crouching by his camera Jimmy
looked steadily out. Paul’s head was
over his shoulder. Breathlessly they
watched the two dugouts come from
the shadows of the distant cane and
into the sunlight of quiet pond. Felix
went slowly to retrieve the dying her-
on. But Mariano, when he had come
half across, spoke in a low voice. Then
crouching a moment he suddenly
whirled and lifted his shotgun almost
above his head.
Paul punched Mr. West in the back.
Then he heard the soft, low purr of
the reel, which was especially dead-
ened for wild life photography. The
next instant came two explosions as
the plume hunter fired. A skurry of
frightened birds still remaining in the
thicket roost arose. The younger
man fired quickly. And plop! One of
the white mother egrets fell heavily
not forty feet away. There was a sat-
isfied shout out in the pond. Mariano
was paddling hastily to get the victim,
All the time Bill West's arm was mov-
ing stealthily under the blind. He
swung the camera on its pivot as the
other plume hunter came in the radi-
us. Old Mariano stood up holding the
two dead birds.
“You—Felix!” he shouted, “get the
other! Four, eh—that is a good shoot
—three of them with breast plumes,
too!”
“Bien! But we are close to the ba-
you, man! Shooting is easily heard
if a boat passes. Three plumes! We
had better get to the woods and lay
quiet a bit. Then, at sunset, the birds
will come in again.”
Mariano grunted assent to the grin-
ning Felix. They shook the water
from the dead egrets, tossed them to
the pirogues, and lit their pipes.
“Mariano,” suddenly muttered Fe-
lix, in the swamp patois which was
easily understood, “that makes six
big plumes to sell Peterson—next
week out front!. And the wardens
think we are down around the big
roosts where they keep such close
watch!”
The old hunter grinned. He was
looking warily around the pond, and
Bill thought he seemed suspicious of
some movement or sound in the cane-
brake jungle. Dipping his paddle the
fellow swept his canoe close to the hid-
den camera; but his gaze was turned
now to the sky, watching the distant,
frightened egrets.
“Come,” he muttered; “they will
not return while we wait here.”
And leading the way, the old Ma-
nilaman disappeared in the canebrake
slough. The watchers in the bird
blind waited until they were sure the
poachers were fair on their way to the
woods, and then Jimmy slapped his
comrade on the back.
“Say, we got to get out front with
this and tell the office. Then Ill bring
vou back for a week with your old
machine! Sure you got ’em dead to
rights 7”
“Don’t think I missed a detail!
They couldn’t have posed any better.
Boy the mosquitoes are under my net,
and it’s too dark to work anyhow!”
Jimmy turned to watch young Paul
who had been breathlessly watching
the moving picture machine as if real-
ly incredulous of what was going on.
“Ever see a movie, Paul?” said
Jimmy.
“No.”
“Never did!” yelled Bill West.
“Well, what you think of that! He
must be the only kid in America who
never saw a movie!”
“I never been out of these swamps
in six years—since I was about eight,
I guess,” said Paul, soberly, his eyes
always on the magic box. “Our peo-
ple ain’t much on going to town, ex-
cept Felix and the old one when they
think it’s safe.”
“Felix was boasting around
Plaquemnine last week, after his re-
lease from jail, that he was coming
back next week to buy some camp
stuff. Said the State had nothing cn
him now. Wouldn’t it be great, Jim-
my, if we could entice ’em into a pic-
ture show—and turn this film on
‘em ,”
I —
Jimmy May sprang up so suddenly
that he bumped his head through the
grass roof, “Great? I should say
so! And Paul—if you want to see a
movie, you come back with us and
we'll spring something that will sur-
prise even you!”
“Well,” said Paul, “I sure would
like to. But I—never would dare go
home again.”
“Home? That place is no home for
you. I reckon the State Commission
will be so glad for the way you've
helped us that it’ll find a job for you
—and a chance to go to school also.
Come on, son!”
The swamp lad looked on with
yearning eyes when Jimmy and Bill
were packing up on the launch to go
out front. And at the last moment,
staring at the distant recesses of the
flooded forest, he shook his fist at it
and jumped aboard.
“All right, Mr. Wardens! I'm
done with em. I want to see a mov-
ing picture the worst way—and you
been right kind to me too!”
Jimmy felt his heart tug as he look-
ed at the lonely lad who had all the
time been trying to square his strug-
gle for decency with his old feeling of
clan loyalty to the people who had
reared him. Bill West, also, was
touched, and they both hid it beneath
boisterous gayety. They would let
the egrets go again and set out for
town with this undefeatable evidence
against the plume hunters.
And the next week it all fell out as
Bill predicted. Four of the Abadie
clan came out to the little river town
and swaggered insolently about for
two days, given confidence by the fact
of Felix’s acquittal in court so recent-
ly. And the game agents said noth-
ing and did nothing, meantime keep-
ing Paul out of sight. Then, one
night, when all was ready, they con-
trived to have some friendly swamp-
ers invite Felix and Mariano to the
little local moving picture theatre.
They got them well down front, too,
while half a dozen watchful wardens
lingered in the rear.
At the first glimpse that the outlaws
got of the swamp picture, after an in-
nocent little comedy had been run,
Felix jumped to his feet with a terri-
fied yell. There was himself paddling
to pick up a dying egret, and then, on
the screen flashed old Mariano in the
act of firing at another bird! Maria-
! no turned and made a dash for the ex-
it—and walked straight on four armed
deputy game agents. He stopped
dead still as Jimmy May and Bill West
hailed him cheerfully.
“Hello, boys—you and Felix! What
i you think of our show, eh?”
Then Jimmy turned to the theatre
, man. “Switch on your lights, there. I
t want to read four federal warrants
for the arrest of these fellows. Got
the goods on ’em sure this time!”
And back in the dark, Paul, the
swamp waif, breathed with relief; he
knew he was done with the gang for
good, once they were behind the bars,
and he was free to take up a new life
of usefulness under Jimmy May's
guidance.—The American Boy.
F. 0. B.
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Easter Sale
of Womens and Misses Suits, Wraps and Capes
Every woman and Miss, who wants to be fashionably
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