Bellefonte, Pa., October 19, 1928. A SE RR TRG. THE TONE OF VOICE. It is not so much what you say, As the manner in which you say it; It is not so much the language you use As the tones in which you convey it. “Come here!” I sharply said, ‘And the baby cowered and wept; “Come here!” I cooed, and he looked and smiled, And straight to my lap he crept. The words may be mild and fair And the ones may pierce like a dart; The words may be soft as a summer air, And the ones may break the heart. Few words but come from the mind, And grow by study and art; But the tones leap forth from the inner self And reveal the state of the heart. Whether you know it or not, Whether you mean or care, Gentleness, kindness, love and hate, Envy and anger are there. Then would you quarrels avoid. And in peace and love rejoice, Keep anger not only out of your words, But keep it out of your voice. —Youth’s Companion. THE MOUNTAIN DECIDES. She could not resist stopping once more at the window to fill her lungs with the crisp, sweet air, and her eyes grew misty as they devoured the mountains’ awesome loveliness: the thundering Bow River, jade green, filigreed with silver and ridden by foaming crests, that swept her rapt gaze on to timbered slopes, with glaciers creeping down them, to range on range of mighty ridges blotched with snow and soaring diz- zily to silver crags and pinnacles, chaste against the inviolable tur- quoise. Her breast rose, and she flung back her head in ecstasy Ahhhh! Free- dom. Beauty. Delectable words! Dreamed of, hungered for, fought for, despaired of and at last, in the teeth of everything, realized—for three short weeks. And one of them was gone. » ‘As the cool fragrance of the pine- clad wilderness embraced her, she threw off her kimono that it might caress her wholly. She was a thing to delight the eye, had there been eyes to see, in mauve mules, delicate and slender, slim, stockinged legs, gay-gartered, and those intimate garments so beloved of the heart of woman, all of sheer ‘silk and bought by months—no, years—of fierce denial. If only she possessed no conscience, if she could but bring herself to han- dle this new problem in the ruthless, single-minded spirit she had used to bring about her tiny, perfect holiday. But she could not. To her dismay she realized she did not know whether she cared, whether she could care, for this Garth Rhodes in the way she knew she must if ever she could give her- self in happiness to any man. He would ask her soon, she was sure—she always knew when they were going to propose—and she want- ed to say “Yes,” she knew that, too. Never to interrupt this glorious round of days, to go on, on and on, to all the joys he drew for her. But did she want to marry him? To be his wife? He was waiting on the terrace, his slight, tall figure in its faultless din- ner clothes bent somewhat from the crossing of his hands behind him, and his face lit eagerly as he saw her come. He eyed her for a long moment. “You make me think of black cats, daffodils and ivory,” he said. Then, with a quick intensifying of his tone that made her heart leap: “D’you know how beautiful you are?” She had colored at his ardor, and her eyes fell. “I—didn’t. But I think 1 do, now.” She raised her head, and was sur- prised to catch a tiny shade of pain upon him. A lean, pale face, lips curved and sensitive, almost beautiful; a high- bridged nose that in another face might have been hawkish, sunken cheeks, pale gold hair, but dominating it all two warm gray eyes, serene and gentle, that met hers quite unwaver- ingly, but in which as her flush deep- ened there sprang a swift, hot flame. But he smiled at once, pointing to the lovely valley of the Bow with the bright river winding in majestic sweeps to where the ridges heaved. “I never saw anything like that in- tense violet haze that seems to hang in all the distances. I wonder if it’s because the air’s so clear, just as the clear depth makes the sea blue?” Though the terrace was thronged with people, it was easy to look past and over them, and feel as if they were alone together in all that space and beauty. “Isn’t it simply glorious ?” she said. “Yes.” His soul was in his voice. But he was not looking at the moun- tains. Then Dick Neal cantered into view, riding a lean, mean pinto with a pink nose and one white eye. Dick usually rode that cayuse when he came down in the evening, and it often chose the moment when he pass- ed the terrace to display a fine tech- nique in bucking. It was seldom seen to buck elsewhere. Today, though for some reason, it did not quiet af- ter a few vindictive pig-jumps, but proceded to exhaust a comprehensive repertoire of equine devilment. Dick stayed gayly, and a murmur of admiration rose. Melody’s eyes shone and she seized Rhodes’ arm in her excitement as with the thud of hoofs, snortings and the creak of leather, the frantic pinto with the laughing Dick astride whirled nearer. Then, with a ferocious “sunfish,” it was by the terrace parapet, and com- ing from a high pig-jump, Dick’s spurred foot caught the rail, unseat- ing him. He knew he was gone, yelled, kicked free of the stirrup and allowed the next buck to pitch him up, when with a yank on the horn and SE | must be a splendid EI bi touching the stone rail with a foot : something satisfying about these in passing, he leaped clear, landing | mountains. It comes stealing over one with a flying stagger close to them. : He also fell, but recovered and saw Melody. “I always big hat. he ever introduced me to a lady.” lushed more at the! Melody winthed orice -drawled tales of pine and ridge, ava- directness and frank admiration of his tone. He laughed, his big teeth white in the lean mahogany of his face, then flashed a quick, appraising . look at Rhodes, then nodded to Mel- ody, jammed his hat on his black knew that horse had | sense,” he drawled as he Swen 8 his “RB hat’s t rst time : ob es Ge { Then you’d know what silence is.” after you've been in them a little time.’ “There is. It gets you. You should be out on the Wolverine, all alone, at night, sometime, at the full of the moon, when there’s no wind. Soon Melody forgot herself in lanches and grizzlies, of high adven- ture, swift-flowing life in the clean mountains, till at last the little Mi- lane girl, whom Dick had brought, not comforted by his frank capitula- curls and vaulted the rail to where | tion to the svelte, dark, vital girl in the pinto drooped. Swinging up, he yellow, remarked petulantly that it wheeled and cantered up the trail, | turning as he entered the timber to | wave his hat to her. “Wasn't that lovely!” she said with delight. “Splendid! Good-looking beggar, too. Extraordinary the way these Western ponies buck, but are so quiet afterward.” “Yes. It freightened me a bit.” She gazed bright-eyed at the pinto’s white-blotched quarters flashing now and then between the somber pines. ! Dick and his father were an insti- tution in the Rockies. had a tidy fortune and gave Dick the best of education—Ridley’s and the Military (bllege. were in Dick’s blood, and they held him. The two lived in a big log house ! with a housekeeper and a Chinese cook, and Dick followed his father’s trade, after grizzly, goat or bighorn, seeking alone some record head for the great museums. | er sickness, restraint nor want, sing- ing his way through life with a vi- brant joy, half fierce, half childlike. The terrace was clearing now, the people going in to dinner. “Would you prefer to wait a lit- tle ?”’ Rhodes inquired. “Oh, no. I'm hungry.” “I'm glad, for I'd ordered some- thing very special for 7 o’clock.” It was late in September, and the nights were very cold. After dinner they sat in the small music room, she in a deep chair of profound blue vel- vet, under a stand lamp. The soft glow and her yellow gown against the blue struck a note so vivid that the colors seemed almost to burn. One by one the other people drift- | ed from the room till they were alone. By and by he went to the piano and, played softly. A stronger call than words could sound came to her: through the tones his hands coaxed from the keys. Then he struck a. firmer chord, threw back his head and : in a deep voice of the mellifluous color that only a man’s ean hold, swung into the Berceuse from “Jace- lyn.” Melody felt swept away on some exquisite tide. Whether it was her hunger to perpetuaje her happiness, whether she loved him, or whether she was enchanted by his singing, she could not have told. But she knew that she was lost, and a swift fear possessed her with the conviction that he would ask her now. - The notes died, and the last echo faded. He sat a moment with his bright head bowed, his hands upon the keys. Then he rose and came ov- er, sitting on the divan close to her. “Melody, I hope you are as happy as I am tonight. You've come to me like something from a brighter world. I was feeling disheartened, desperate- ly tired—of life, I mean, not work or things—I’d almost lost all interest. That’s one thing money does; kills all desire, all interest. But now I'm wondering how long I reasonably may hope to live * * * if life can be as it has been since you got on the train at Montreal.” Her heart raced. It was coming. And she didn’t know. She didn’t know if she could give herself. Only that she wanted to go on with her new happiness. If only he’d kiss her first, perhaps she’d know, then * * * “It’s hard to say the things I feel. There are things that you should know before——"’ He broke off and looked toward the door, starting slightly. There was a knot of people there, attracted by the music. They came in. “Did that music come from here?” a girl asked. “It was exquisite! Won’t you please play some more?” He smiled and shook his head. *I seldom do—mnow. It’s hard for me.” There was a dark, lithe, sunburned fellow with her, and he was surprised that it was Dick Neal of the buck- ing horse. Dick had galloped furiously home, changed and driven back in the car. In the well-cut dinner jacket Rhodes had not at first recognized the laugh- ing mountain man. : “We’ve met before, eh?” Dick said now. I'm Dick Neal.” He indicated the fluffy blonde beside him. Meet Miss Milane.” To bridge the moment Rhodes said. “My name’s Rhodes. Then Neal’s eyes sought Melody in the big blue chair. She, too, had failed to recognize him in his more formal dress. “I think you’ve already been intro- duced sufficiently,” smiled Rhodes, “but may I present Mr. Neal? Miss Vinner.” “You got home safely,” she ven- tured, remembering the pink-nosed pinto. Dick’s teeth gleamed. “I'm not of- ten piled, Miss Vinner.” A virile aura seemed to envelop the fellow like a tangible thing. As he pulled up a chair and sat down close to her, Mel- ody had a sensation of being pos- sessed. Rhodes placed a chair for the girl and drew up one for himself. “Handsome beggar,” he thought, watching Dick’s sprawling grace, his tanned face and the blue eyes laugh- ing into Melody’s. “It was you who guided Sladen’s party over the Jacknife, I believe, Neal 7” iest epics of the Rockies. Dick nodded. old mountains pretty well better than almost anybody, I’m told. | By the way, you any relative of ‘Ace’ Rhodes, the red-hot war pilot?” Rhodes smiled sadly, shaking his head. “No. No relative of his. Yours life. ; “Look here. The old man : But the mountains ! prospecting, leading hunters ' or! He knew neith- | | decisively: “No, Melody. The Sladen vanquishing of the high | Jackknife Pass was one of the might- | There’s | was past midnight and she had prom- ised her mamma to go upstairs at 11. Dick rose reluctantly. “You goin’ to ride any while you’re in Banff?” “We'd planned to make the Wolver- “Ummm. Five days, eh?” He flashed an appraising look at Rhodes. Let me take you two off alone for that five days. Ill show you places no tourist crowd’ll ever see. Come on!” “Oh, I'd love to!” exclaimed Mel- ody. “ “ine trip.” y all means,” Rhodes chimed in. “That would be splendid! It’s very kind of you, Neal.” Neal nodded his acknowledgment, a little ungraciously. Melody thought. “Fine, then. I can’t start for a day or two, though. We've an engineer inspecting some claim of ours. Does that matter?” “Oh, no. Were holidaying, aren’t we?” Rhodes glanced at Melody. Dick smiled down on her. “I’ll be down tomorow. May I see you?” There was no mistaking his enthu- siasm. and she nodded. “Tomorrow, then,” he said. His teeth gleamed and he turned and took the Milane girl’s arm, bend- ing low to talk to her and barely acknowledging Rhodes’ courteous ; “Good-night.” When his limber form had gone, there was a silence. Turning enthus- iastically to Rhodes, Melody was sur- prised to see again that pained look in his eyes. It was as though he looked on sunlight from a prison cell, knowing hope vain. He came back with a little start, then rose, extend- ing both his hands to her. “A perfect evening Melody! You've been happy?” “Oh, yes. He’s rather wonderful, don’t you think?’ “Yes. He's living. Some of us are —worse than dead.” “Whatever do you mean?” He bit his lip a moment. “Nothing that could touch you, I think.” His voice was deep and infinitely tender. “You're one of those who're living.” It was a crystal, sunny morning. The air wag icy, tanged with the aroma of pines. It hit the nostrils and the world was fresh and fragrant as a newly opened rose. They wound in single file along a narrow trail, Dick Neal, in chaps and buck-skin coat and high-crowned cow- boy hat, lounging astride a rangy dun ahead and Rhodes, in workmanlike and well-worn riding kit, behind her on a ewe-necked sorrel. On all sides reared the Rockies, stupendous, stark, grim, unutterably pure and lonely. They fell away be- side her, down and down, past tim- bered slopes to river-threaded valley, and all around they heaved and soar- ed to glittering spires serene in in- finite remoteness. The whole terrific universe of mountains bred no sound, and save for the “creak, creak, creak” of leather and the deliberate, flat “clack!” of unshod hoofs on stone, the hush was absolute. Melody sat her horse and struggled with a sense of complete unreality. Dick had captivated her as swiftly and completely as had Rhodes. More than once, during the last four days, only by the exercise of the utmost of her feminine resources had she pre- vented one or other of them from pro- posing to her. Complex and indefinable as had been her feelings as to Rhodes alone, with Dick’s impetuous advent they be- came chaotic. To be swept from such poverty of spirit to such riches, and vet not to know her own heart! The two men were so widely differ- ent, and yet for her so similar in that each offered a new, free life, no more to hunger, no more to bruise her spirit by eternal, hopeless fluttering against the bars of inexorable circumstance. Two doors to the same cage, and she knew where neither led. An hour since they had left the great, luxurious hotel, and in ten min- utes had been swallowed by primeval wilderness bearing no marks of man. Soon Dick led off the trail, winding his way on a side hill, with a sheer drop below into the valley. It made her catch her breath a little, but Dick was obviously quite unconcerned and the ponies made no sign of any nerv- ousness, without much effort. By and by she half turned in her saddle, resting her hand on her horse’s croup and calling over her shoulder back to Rhodes: “You're very quiet.’ He made no answer and she turned to look. He was sitting rigid in his saddle, holding desperately to the horn, his jaw hardset, so that the flesh gleamed white upon the knotted muscles. His eyes were screwed tight shut, and, though the air was chill, she saw the sweat stand on his brow. He had not heard her speak seemed quite uncon- cious to her presence. “What is it, Garth ?”’ she said kind- ly and a little pleadingly as she dis- mounted. “Are you ill or some- thing 7” She was startled at the grateful glow that instantly suffused his face “Er—you see——" he faltered. But then his face set. He straightened up, smiled his grave smile and said I'm not ill, or anything.” Their eyes met. Neither wavered; | rand for all her woman’s shrewdness ! “I know the darned | she ny nothing st, Sie bod Rok 318 re when she had wondered ; by oR; seen Defoe ! crowding Melody that way.” if she loved him. Now Dick stepped up with her horse’s bridle, holding her stirrup, and as she remounted he snapped ov- er his shoulder to Rhodes: “You sit still on your pony! Don’t ever inter- fere with him when you're on a ledge so she reassured herself or you will bust vour neck, sure.” She saw Rhodes turn white again, but he made no other sign that he had heard. She found herself restraining a wild desire to cut Dick with her quirt across his handsome face. They filed on through the tranquil mountains; on sparsely timbered hill- sides, along the ~crests of hog-back- ed ridges, down steep moraines, through brooks and up the other side, on shale-strewn hill-sides, winding a tortuous way toward the slim white silver of the waterfall. The sun was high when Dick pulled up on a broad shelf grown with gnarled and stunted pines. “Here we are. We'll boil the pot here. There’s a bit of grazing for the horses on the sunny side. I discover- ed this fall myself. Nobody but the trappers in the winter come here. It’s too rough for the brokers and fat blondes who go on the routine rides.” Rhodes, with the pack ponies, en- tered the space, and Dick slipped the hitch from one load and pulled ou the ax. “Going to make a fire?” asked Rhodes as though there had been no untoward happening that day. “Yes,” said Dick shortly, and turn- ed his back on him. Rhodes gathered a heap of twigs and made busy breaking larger sticks across his knee. Melody lav on the fragrant carpet of pine needles, gaz- ing at the snows and striving to clar- ify her thoughts. When Rhodes lit his fire the smoke came to her nos- trils with a bitter tang, and in the years that followed, the reek of wood- smoke would bring her instantly a living vision of the little plateau with its wind-gnarled pines and Garth kneeling by the fire from which the biue skein wound. The chopping done, Dick came be- hind her. “Stroll around and see the fall, while the pot boils.” She rose in acquiescence and turn- ed to Rhodes. “Coming, Garth?” He nodded, smiling. Dick looked him up and down. “Farther round the path gets devilish narrow, with a clean drop,” he said pointedly. His tone made clear that he did not indorse Melody’s invitation, and also that he thought his comment would insure Garth’s absence. There was a moment’s tenseness, while Rhodes stood with his lip be- twen his teth. Then Dick took her arm and led to where the bench nat- rowed and the trees died out. On their left was a sheer rock wall, irom whose base for some twenty feet receded one of those broken slopes made by the sliding down of fragments, and which ended in a clean drop to the river 300 feet or so below. After the terrific heights which they had skirted, this seemed almost puny. Dick led along the top of the slope, close to the cliff. The traveling was easy, though somewhat rough. Mel- ody glanced behind her and saw that Garth had followed, walking most carefully, one hand pressed on the wall of rock. Picking his way among the frag- ments, suddenly Dick stopped short, flinging up his head like a startled buck. For a split second she was mystified. Then she felt what had ar- rested the keener senses of the moun- taineer. The rocks were moving un- der them! There came an awful grinding sound, some fragments rolled, and suddenly the entire slope dropped sickeningly several feet, and the bits that made it began to slide toward the brink. Half the plateau, with their fire, plunged into space, and a great slab of the rocky wall beside them broke from the parent cliff and moved down with the rubble, pushing the three before it. Melody screamed as she lost her footing, saw Dick claw madly as the moving rocks betrayed his feet, and the three of them with the huge slab of rock behind slid deliberately to- ward the precipice where the frag- ments that had made the slope pour- ed over with a roar like thunder. She struggled to regain her footing, looked up and saw the monolith above her start to topple, flinched from it and then recoiled in terror as the brink drew nearer inexorably. Near- er it came. Nearer. But the move- ment slowed—stopped. The rattle of a few still-falling fragments sounded. Then the silence closed, as the moun- tain settled to repose until the river growing at its foot, should undermine it once again. For many moments Melody lay mo- tionless, terrified lest the slightest move should recommence that awful sliding. Then the voice of Rhodes behind her said: “Melody. You all right?” She sat up, turning. He was close to her, sprawled at the cliff edge. SOhhhh!? she gasped. “What was it? “Heaven knows! But it wasn’t my fault,” he said wryly, regarding the blood which trickled from a cut in his hand. “You all right, Neal ?” Dick moved beside her and sat up, crouching under a shoulder of the overhanging slab. “My God!” he said. They were almost at the edge of the precipice, on a sloping ledge no more than ten feet long by four, all that remained of the path they had been traveling. Behind them hung the rock that had parted from the wall and which alone had saved them from being swept off by the hurtling stone. Where the plateau had been was now a sheer cliff and the trail ahead of them had disappeared. Dick had crawled to the edge and was lying on his stomach, looking down and to and fro. Then he sat up and got to his knees as far as the overhanging rock would let him. He reached to its upper edge, tried it with his hands, then drew himself up slowly to peer over. But at once with a rattling roar a ton or two of loose stone shot past them into space. He ducked and crammed himself against Melody, hurling her upon Rhodes. Dick turned, glaring. “I couldn’t help it.” “I don’t mean the rock. I mean “Aw, shut up. Man alive, we're caught ! Trapped, I tell you! There's no way out of this. There’s just a heap of loose stuff behind us on the ledge. Back of that it goes up sheer “Can’t we-climb-down below ?” “I can’t! It’s overhanging dev- lishly. Perhaps you can!” There was no mistaking his allusion, but Rhodes ignored the sneer and looked thoughtful. “Well?” Dick prodded. “Some one’ll see us.” “Huh. No one comes here in sum- mer, ever. And they won’t begin to wonder about you for ten days, know- ing you’re with me and that we've grub and horses.” “Ah! The horses! Theyll go home.” “They won’t. There’s grazing for three months where I left ’em. We can’t get out. Can’t even make a start !” His voice rose to a queer squeak. We're caught. To think—-" “Don’t panic, anyway,” Rhodes cut him off, and Dick recoiled as though he hea been lashed, turning a turkey red. “Oh! That from you iif Rhodes ignored him. “This is too ridiculous,” he said, turning to Melody, whose presence Dick seemed to have forgotten. “We'll look around and figure out some way.” It was sunset, six hours since the landslide had entrapped them. The living gold upon the peaks across the gorge was swiftly turning to a sullen red. A chill crept on the air and the sonorous rushing of the little fall be- hind them served only to accentuate the mountain’s awesome quiet. Melody must have been dozing, for she came back to reality with a little start. She ached in every bone. Al- ready she was meticulously familiar with the details of the view from their grim eyrie. As she moved un- easily, Rhodes, who with arms folded leaned against the rock, smiled at her. Dick sat huddled with his chin between his knees, sullenly glaring into space. They had all three ex- hausted all there was to say about the situation. To Melody, though, after the fright of the phenomenon had passed off, it was all quite unreal. She felt it mere- ly a thrilling episode, one more in her wonderful holiday, which would soon be ended in some quite ordinary fashion. Her mind had been much more occupied with the searching of her heart for a decision which she knew she soon must make. But as the gold on the peaks waned to red, the red paled to saffron, the saffron chilled soon to icy blue and the stars came out and the cold be- gan to bite into her limbs, the truth came to her with the shock of a phy- sical blow. They had been on that rocky ledge all afternoon because there was no way of escape from it! Not Dick, who seemed to have forgotten her, glaring so sullenlv into spaces, nor Garth, who smiled into her eyes whenever he could catch them, could discover any avenue. Perhaps no one would come. Dick had said this. Then thev’d be there days, weeks? They'd starve! Already she was ravenous. If it went on they'd die. The ironic humor in it struck her. For four days she had been wracked mentally by the effort to decide whether she cared enough for either man to spend the rest of her life with him. Now she would spend the re- maining short span with them both together ! Oh, preposterous! Soon they’d get out and go back to her de- lightful room at the hotel. She'd bathe and put on the daffodil dress Garth liked so much. She’d have dinner with Garth. He was nice. But he was no man. He was a weakling, afraid to go near the edge. Shut his eyes. Couldn’t force himself to go, even though Dick sneered. Dick was sort of callous. He was awfully handsome, though, and so gay and brave. He’d walk on the thin edge of abysmal emptiness and chat. But he seemed to have forgotten her. She shivered violently. Garth sat up and took off his coat. “Cold? I'm not a bit.” In spite of her vehement protests he wrapped it round her shoulders. Dick turned and saw. His face was drawn and sullen. But as he saw Rhodes’ arm about her his eyes gleamed and he unbuttoned his coat slowly and took it off, wrapping it round her legs. “Can’t we do something, Neal?” said Rhodes. It seemed to jerk Dick back to the reality. He swallowed and licked his lips, furtively glancing over his shoulder at the purpling gorge, the peaks now dark against the icy sky on which new stars appeared. He shook his head, and his eyes widened. “God knows! It’s hopeless.” “Sit up close to her—Dick. Keep her warm, anyway.” They pressed close to her, one on either side, and she curled herself in- to the nearest approach to comfort she could effet. The dark came down and the hours dragged by. Sometimes she dozed, to waken cramped and painful, to change her position and sink again into un- easy stupor. Once Garth’s voice said: “All right, Melody?” His hand slip- ped into hers, squeezing it. A warm flood seemed to surge from it into her heart. Once or twice she was awake again, and some one gently drawing the coats around her. She came slowly from oblivion with the sensation that something warm was gently pressed upon her lips, that some one was kissing her. She opened her eyes and saw the peaks across the gorge stand black against a golden shield, as the sun climbed up behind them. Even in that moment she was conscious of the liveliness and of the icy purity of the air she breathed. Then a figure rose between her and the flaming sky. It was Rhodes. He stood for a moment with his hands a little apart from his sides and his face turned upward. Then he de- liberately stepped off the edge, flung ;up his arms and disappeared. “Steady on, man!” said the latter. |! 1 | leap from his perch to night. | shot through her frozen limbs, but she crouched on the i brink and peered down. ‘the swirling river laced with white ,and dotted with the black bowlders far below. How long she stared she : did not know, but a hand touched her {and she rose to face Dick, red-eyed, Her wild scream made an eagle Pains stiff and almost Nothing but a hundred feet and down each side.” ! blue-lipped, his teeth a-chatter “W-w-w-what is it? Where's Rhodes ?” Her eyes were wide. “He jumped off. This minute. Ohhhhh.” her hands. “Crazy. That's the kind he was. There’s not a chance. Three hund- red feet. The river’s full of bowlders, icy cold.” Then she saw an envelope held down by a stone. It was an old let- ter with the address crossed out, and: “Melody” written over it. With hands that fumbled hopeless- ly from cold she took out the sheet. He had written on the back of the: original “My Dear: “The moon is bright enough now to write. It seems we're up against it. But the river is below. The only chance is to try the drop. It’s one: in a million; but there is a chance— and it is all there is. “Life’s a queer business, Melody. There’s an uncanny constructiveness about it. I mean that this thing that’s happened might have been ar- ranged especially for me. “You see, I was a sort of airman in the war. I was shot down from 20,000 feet, hit and sparalyzed, but managed to straighten her at the last moment so that she didn’t kill me.. It would have been better if it had. I was worse than dead. My nerve was absolutely shattered. I couldn’t. play polo, drive a car—anything. At first a slammed door would make the sweat break out on me. Heights were- bugbear—couldn’t even look out of a window. My life was hades. The eternal solicitousness of people mad- dened me. “I began to lose my self-respect. Even thought of sucide. Then a. neurological chap told me that if I could master the fear of falling I'd be all right, as that was the root of my trouble. “So I came to the mountains and swore I wouldn’t go down till I had mastered myself. You saw what hap- pened, how futile. I couldn’t beat it. My legs just wouldn’t take me to the precipice. But I think that for you I can do this thing. If by some mir- acle I come through, Ill have my" self-respect again. If not—that will be better for me than the way I've lived. “I'm not sure whether I can do it. But when the sun comes I shall try.. “Of course, you know I love you. These things are not hidden. “So, good-by, my Melody. The rest is- with Allah.” She turned the letter over numbly. . The original address was typed there. “Lieutenant Colonel Garth I. Rhodes, . V.C.,D. 8.0, MC” Dick, who had been reading over - her shoulder, breathed: “ ‘Ace Rhodes. Great heavens!” His voice was like a spark to pet- rol. She wheeled upon him fierce- ly: “And you hurt him—you bully?” The hot sun shooting from over the peaks warmed her gratefully. Thirst, and sick hunger. Dick crouching in the angle and swallowing eternally, his half-closed eyes peering down the gorge. A great bald eagle sweeping past with sonorous wings. Pain in her body, in her eyes. But warmth in her heart and music in her ears. The sun overhead, and savage heat. . Her brain throbbing, throbbing. Dick looking at her queerly, and she edg- ing away to the far end of the ledge. Hours after endless hours in a silence that pressed on her eardrums. The glow on the far peaks and the chill creeping again on the air and the fear of night. She crouched against the rocks, sucking a pebble—she remembered reading that this would aid thirst— watching the living gold. Dick was stretched on his back. Suddenly she sat up. “A-hoogo- ah.” Like the echo of her own Jlonglis came an infinitely distant ail. She seized Dick, shaking him dese - perately, and he sat up with a scowl and made to speak. She held up her hand. f He started up, his eyes ablaze. “Say, that’s an Indian calling. He's made it! Rhodes made it!” Then he shook his head and slump- ed. “ ’Tisn’t possible. We're hearirg - things!” “A-hoooo-ah!” He was up again. His voice crack- ed and climbed queerly. “That’s Tom Two Eagles! We're safe! We're safe!” After a while there was a shout above them. Melody looked up at the cliff behind. Garth stood on its very brink, his figure black against the jade and turquoise of the evening sky. He saw her and raised his hand. She crouched on the rock, while Dick yelled hoarse directions about a descending rope. Her heart sang - and her breath came fast. The five peaks glowing against the turquoise seemed like the gold spires of the castle of her lifelong dreams.—From - the Public Ledger. Dedication of the Trinity at Springfield, Mass. I saw him go! She covered her face with. Carillon, The dedication of the Trinity Car- illon, in the Trinity Singing Tower, . the gift to the Methodist Episcopal church at Springfield, Mass., of Hor- ace Moses, took place September 16. The pastor, the Rev. Fred Winslow Adams, was in charge of the very beautiful exercises. Recitals through- out the day and each day at 5 o’clock of the week following were given by Anton Brees, Laureate of the Royal Flemish Conservatory of Antwerp, now official carillonneur of Mercers- burg Academy in Pennsylvania. His father, Gustaf Brees, from whom he learned his art, was for forty-seven years organist at Antwerp Cathedral, Belgium, and is still City Carillon- neur in Antwerp. The carillon con- sists of sixty-one bells. On the larg- est, weighing 7,918 pounds, is inscrib- ed: To The Glory of God. This carrillon is the gift of Hor- ace A., Alice E., and Maleline Moses. Trinity Methodist Episcopal Church, Springfield, Mass. It was made by the famous bell founders, John Taylor and Company, of Loughborough, England, and was ordered by Mr. Moses after a visit to - England, where he become deeply in- terested in carillon musie.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers