An rl 4
Ak TIN SRA SR ak TR ee
RE RE ASC u
Deworvaiic, Wat,
“Bellefonte, Pa., October 10, 1930.
THINGS THAT ARE CAESARS.
Lucy Birchfield took her stand be-
fore the massive chimney piece with
a determined air of ; ssession. As
the new mistress of the house enter.
ed she turned sharply, not caring to
conceal the assertive spark in her
eye. Electa let fall the out-stretch-
ed hand that offered a timid hospi-
tality.
“Please be seated,” she said,
“You must be tired. It's a long trip
out from town.”
“A trip I'm used to, thank you!"
Lucy replied, the glow of owner-
ship deepening as she settled her-
self in a chair which was not the
one
ward, “You seem to forget that
my people lived at Thorndale long
other woman, this Miss Cragin. I the. plaintiff cut sharply across her side, holding a , glass of
can't quite make her out. A fanat-
ic, of course—"
“Fanatic fiddlesticks! An adven-
turess—afier the money from the
start. Don’t be fooled by her Fra
Angelico face and skimpy dress.”
“Not an adventuress,” said Hollis-
ter, “I can’t believe that.”
“Well, wait till we get her onthe
stand. We’ll find out what she's
made of when you begin to cross-
examine her, my boy. . Don’t be
afraid of pricking her heart. She
hasn’t any. A heart means fire,
(and if it’s there a flicker will get
up to the face occasionally. These
cold people who sit on the snowy-
bank side of life—they are the
schemers, John, who get away with
the goods. But we'll pull up this
,one all right.”
i It was the second day of the
trial. After calling as witnesses the
family physician, and a few rela-
quent visitors at Thorndale,
! plaintiff had rested her case.
te A
eloquence.
“Irrelevant and immaterial,” said
John Hollister.
Electa fell back, her cheeks help= The giddiness over,
lessly aflame.
“There’s fire there—and a heart,”
‘thought Hollister in an unprofes-
sional instant.
Electa finally tesified as ito the
clearness of Miss Thornbury’s mind
when her last will was drawn, stat-
ing that she had not been present
and had not been told anything what-
ever in regard to it. Mr. Pollock
, then yielded to the counsel for the
plaintiff. Electa had a wild impulse
to run. She felt that a relentless
machine was opening to entrap her.
John Hollister drew his chair for-
ward for the cross examination.
| Their eyes met, and his were as
steady and candid as her own. In-
siantly she felt a soul in the ma-
chine. This man cared for something
; . tives and friends who had been fre-|.icce than the winning or Yosing of I
Eiecta had softly pushed for the a case. The spirit of justice inher ties? Strong, real,
She sprang to meet the spirit of justice '
before vou ever saw or heard of it,” had alleged that FElecta Cragin, a in him.
“Oh, I understand how dear the
old place must be to you, and I do
Hope you will always feel—”
“Dear to me! Why, It’s home!
My father was born here, and my
grandfather left it to Aunt Rachel
because she loved it and had
ways lived here. How could she let
it go out of the family? How could
she?” Lucy's voice shook as she
threw a loyal glance around the dim
wainscoted room lined with books
collected by generations of Thorn-
burys.
Electa paused. She wanted to be
patient with this irritated soul who
knew nothing of the peace that
made the present atmosphere of the
old house.
“It is hard,” she said at last.
“But there's a larger view. We
don’t feel as you do about property.
In our work there’s no mine and
thine.”
“That's easy, after you've got it
all! I'd like to know how long
this ‘work,’ as you call it, would go
on, or what you'd be doing with
yourself, if it weren't for Thornbury
money!”
‘I'm not helpless,” flashed the
girl, with sudden spirit, her calm
beauty kindling in so unexpected a
way that Mrs. Birchfield felt her
self-erected pedestal tremble be-
neath her.-
“Surely you know,” Electa went
on, “that I'll never use the money
for personal ends. I will use it as
she used it. I mean to carry out
all her wishes. I am bound by the
most sacred obligation—her trust in
me.”
“Her trust in you! It’s incredible
—putting a fortune into your hands
like that, away from her natural
heirs forever!”
“Why not? The house where she
carried on a great work—"
“Pauperizing a set of lazy men
and women who ought to be out in
the world making a living!”
Electa’s faith in her work made
her careless of the sneer, but she
longed to justify the dear old friend
who had trusted her. “You know,”
she said, “how strongly Miss
Thornbury felt about the right and
wrong use of money.” :
“Oh, I suppose she told you that
my husband was a gambler,” the
other interrupted hardily, “because
he took risks and lost money on
the Stock Exchange. Well, it’s true.
I don’t blame him—not a bit.”
“She thought that he should have
been content. You had enough—"
“What did she know about enough,
or you either? Does one ever have
enough when there are five children ?
Oh, it’s too much; I can’t bear it!”
Lucy sprang up, passionately strik- :
ing her little hands together. “You
shut yourselves away from the world,
you see nothing as it really is, and
then you attempt to judge the rest
of us; to decide what we need or
don't need. I'm not afraid to tell
you what I believe! TI believe a
family is the best thing on God's
earth, and family claims come first
every time. I want my children to
take the place my father and grand-
father had before them, I want them
well-educated, well-dressed, well-es-
tablished, to live with their own
sort, to be proper figures in the
world they belong to. That's their
birth right, and you've robbed them
of it; you've schemed to get it
away from them. It takes money,
and lots of it too, to keep one’s
place in the world; there’s no use
pretending anything different. I'm
not a hypocrite; I say what I
think. I want my children to have
their place. That's my duty, and
it’s my religion, too!”
Electa had risen and stood look-
ing down at the little hard, hot face
and trembling hands.
she feel anything but love and pity
for this blind, starving soul? Her
arms went out in a movement of
tenderness,
“Oh, my dear, how unhappy you
must be! Don't you see how small
they are, worthless, these things that
you are living for, that you want
for your children?”
Lucy drew back, ignoring the
reaching hands. Perhaps beneath
the tenderness she felt a touch of
that unconscious spiritual arrogance
that can see no way but its own.
She faced Electa with an unflinch-
ing eye.
“They may be small, they may be
worthless—the things I want. But
such as they are, I mean to get
them!”
Six months later the case of
Birchfield versus Cragin was under
way.
“Single women aren’t fit to handle
property,” declared Mr. Sheldon, of
the law firm of Sheldon and Hollis-
ter, as he and his younger partner
went up the court house steps to-
gether. “They're the natural prey
of the fakir, and the better they are
the quicker they get fooled. Women
seem to lose all their common-sense
unless they are tied down by a
husband and babies of their own.
Now this Miss Rachel Thornbury,
she was the salt of the earth—'
“Oh, it's a perfectly clear case,”
Ton Hollister assented; the sort
0 ng happens all the time.
But T confess I'm puzzled by the
How could
beneficiary and dependent of Mrs. |
' Thornbury, had taken advantage of
| her situation By eserelsifig undue in-
fluence upon the testatrix at a time
when she was not of sound and
| disposing mind by reason of ad-
;vanced age and failing health,
thereby inducing her to destroy an
earlier will in favor of her niece
! and heir-at-law, Lucy Birchfield, and
: to devise and bequeath her entire es-
, tate to the said Electa Cragin.
{ Mrs. Birchfield’s witnesses had
| produced a marked effect by their
{distinction and straightforward tes-
| timony. Electa had listened with a
| failing heart, cut by every word—
{for it was all true, yet true in a
{way that made the words them-
| selves seem false. True that she had
| never left Miss Thornbury alone,
{ even with the physician. How should
she leave one who was so touching-
{ly dependent upon her, who clung
ito her even more wistfully when
others were present? And true that
she had assumed control at Thorn-
dale as the work dropped from her
friend's weakened hands. She had
thrown herself wholly into the
cause of her benefactress, sure of
her own motive, oblivious to possible
! imputations, And now! It was an
| outrage that these worldly, good-
burdened people should think her
bent on personal gain—she who,
with all the Thornbury estate in her
name, felt no sense of possession.
Could she make them see?
“No,” she told herself. “My own
words will be used against me.
They cannot understand.”
So on this second day she walked
into court as to an ordeal of which
| she alone guessed. Lucy Birchfield
j—very trig in a black cloth suit,
| calculated to delight the eye of the
i most exacting tailor, and touched
| with youth and prettiness by the un-
| failing cosmetic, excitement—drop-
jped her eyes as Electa took her
| place at the other end of the coun-
i sel itable. The two women had not
met since their interview six months
; before.
| Visitors were gathering expectant-
|ly, and Electa, with a chill of ap-
i prehension, suddenly realized that it
{was she whom their curious eyes
{were seeking. But she gave no
i sign of disquiet, and when her name
{was called moved forward to the
| witness stand with the usual modest
| composure that made part of her
| quaint charm. The nun-like brown
j dress which she wore failed to ob-
| scure the youth of her figure, and
| the little round hat which rested
ion the coils of her copper-gleaming
hair seemed innocently to disavow
its own primness.
“It is very effective to be differ-
ent,” Mrs. Birchfield cynically whis-
I pered to Hollister then flushed with |
' annoyance at the warmth of his as-
sent.
{ But calm as Electa appeared, she
found it hard to breath in this at-
| mosphere of antagonism and resent-
ment, Yet she had never once
| doubted her right to fight for her
“inheritance. All her life she had
flamed with a longing to help and
"save, and she accepted the fortune
jas a myste:ious fulfillment. She
"had the martyr’s ardent moments
when she feit herself chosen to un-
hold ithe life of faith before a mock-
ling world, to fling the divine chal-
lenge to the forces of evil, and her
eager imagination transformed even
her attorney to an appointed in-
strument in this high warfare,
though to the uninitiated he would
seem but imperfectly adapted to
spiritual ends. This ramble-jointed
personage now walked back and
‘forth .in front of his client as he
' questioned her, his hands in his
pockets, his manner a mingling of
Jjocularity and ‘assurance.
But he soon proved his adroitness.
Quickly and easily he drew forth
Electa’s story. The girl told how,
| some six years earlier, she had given
up teaching in a public school that
she might devote herself to evange-
) istic work. She had always meant
to be a missionary. Her very name
i bestowed upon her bya Scotch fath-
er who had brought the deep relig-
ion of his rugged hills to a Penn.
Sylvania farm, had set her apart
for a life of service. She spoke very
simply; one could see that she was
too inexperienced to realize what
her own courage had been inthrow-
ing aside a bread winning occupa-
tion for the sake of a conviction and
facing the world with faith as her
‘only asset. She told of her meet-
ing with Miss Thornbury, who had
immediately urged her to help in
| the establishment of a mission at
Thorndale. At first she had hesitat-
ed. “IT had to wait for a leading,”
: she said, and on her lips the worn
| phrase had no flavor of cant. Pol-
{ lock, the lawyer, dexterously show-
i ed her throughout as the trusted
| adviser. of her old friend, careful
never to abuse this confidence, never
to take the initiative. Intent only
upon the truth of her answers, she
| was scarcely aware of the court-
| room and of the favorable impres-
| sion made by her eamony Once
she began an eager explanation in
reply to a question concerning the
nature of her teaching when a sud-
den “I object” from the counsel for
He was very unlike the men she
had known—the missionaries, itiner-
ant preachers, and ieformed drunk-
ards of her little sphere. His strong
figure and well-made clothes implied
attention to corporeal things, but
there was a clear hint of idealism
in the face, marked as it was with
early lines of decision and purpose.
There was nothing terrifying in
his deliberate manner, but the per-
tinence of his queries and his inti-
mate knowledge of her life astonish-
ed Electa. Gradually she began to
see that she was again revealing
herself, but how differently! It was
not herself! Or was it? The tone
and wording of each question de-
termined the significance of the
answer. The same story—but so
different! She sat tingling, pilloried,
blindly awaiting the questions. Again
and again her lawyer thrust an ob-
jection to the rescue. Arguing,
wrangling, the opposing attorneys
| seemed to be playing a game in
{ which she was only a passive pawn.
| She had thought it so easy to speak
| the truth. Now she saw truth as
double-faced, elusive, fleeing before
her.
i But this grave, clear-eyed young
man pursued his tactics unruffled.
i “You knew that there had been an
earlier will in favor of Miss Thorn-
bury’s relative, Mrs, Birchfield?”
“Yes.”
“You knew also that she had
. made a later will?”
“N-no, I didn’t know,”
; swered very low.
“You did not know it. You had
no suspicion ‘that you were the
‘beneficiary under a new will?”
| “I did not know it. No one ever
told me.” Electa’s face whitened.
| “But”—she stopped a moment, then
broke out suddenly—‘“yes, I did
suspect, I did know, I was sure!”
The court room rippled with sur-
prise.
| “You knew and you did not know.
| Please be more definite.”
“No one told me,” she rpeated.
i
she an-
“You mean then that you were
morally certain?”
“Yes.”
“And why had you this moral
certainty ?”
“I knew her feeling about the
work—about money—that her money
was not her own to spend or be-
queath—it was dedicated.”
“Giving this money ito you she
was, so to speak, carrying out her
urposes ?”
“She believed so—yes!” Electa
lifted her head,
“You shared ler feeling about the
use of money?”
“I shared it.”
“Was her conviction on this point
fully settled before you went to live
: with her?” :
“I don’t know—how can I tell?”
she faltered. ‘Her convictions grew
—we talked things over—"
“Her religious convictions were
partly the result of her association
and conversations ‘with you?”
“She would always ask me what
I thought and believed—yes ?”
“And your . thought and belief
always had weight with her?”
She hardly heard her own answer,
given blindly, stammeringly, for she
was very tired. The air of the
sunny court-room had grown sti-
fling, steamy with needless heat, and
she seemed to be trying to push her
way through a substance invisible
and baffling. A window had been
opened, letting in clinging, jerky
sounds from the street which hurt
her like blows. The white-haired,
quizzy-eyed judge rocked in his
chair with singular indifference. On
her left sat the jury, their faces
like twelve plates in a row; the
court stenographer wrote scratchily,
and she felt every stroke of his
imperturbable pen; out of the as-
sembly, which swam before her, she
could detach Lucy Birchfield’s face
alone, looking back at her with nar-
rowed eyes and remote smile.
People began to move. It was
the noon recess and the room
emptied quickly, Electa stumbled
a little as she stepped down from
the witness stand and Pollock put
out a steadying hand.
“Good, Miss Cragin, good!” he
said in a loud whisper. “You held
your own; you're a first-rate wit.
ness.” And Lucy Birchfield’s smile
became less sure as she overheard.
Her son, a lad of seventeen, was
standing beside her. “Don’t worry,
mother; it'll come out all right
sure,” he said as he threw his arm
about her shoulders and led her
from the room.
Electa suddenly felt alone. No
sympathy was to be expected just
then from her disciples, that was
plain. Having brought lunch bas-
kets to court, they were actively
concerned with hard-boiled eggs and
piles of thick sandwiches. Electa
turned from their homely banquet
with a shiver of distastc.
Struggling in the swirl of new
impresions, she crossed to the open
window and stood gazing out over
the roofs at the ragged crest of
hills beyond the river. Then earth
and sky grew black and she drop-
ped to a chair, her eyes closed.
Instantly Some one was at her
water ito
her lips.
“Drink this,” said the voice that
had pilloried her, and she obeyed.
she looked up
at John Hollister, and flung a quick
little cry.
“Oh, don’t you know that I'm in
the right? Please say you believe
in me!”
He set the glass carefully down
‘on the window-sill before he replied.
“I can’t discuss the case with
you—you musi see that it isn’t
possible. And I can’t say that you
,are in the right. But I do believe
in you.”
Electa lay awake that night.
Something was happening, someth ng
that she didn’t understand. Never
before had she experienced this
creeping, chilly self-distrust. She
had always been sure. And what
, did this other thing mean? This
laching sense of the common life of
the world with its warmth of human
compelling, the
things she had always denied rose
|
I
"before her, and the traditions—yes, '
‘even the sacrifices and services—
shrank back and dwindled like the
Goode Deedes in tne morality play
she had once seen. She tossed un-
til the November dawn began to
glimmer through the bare apple
boughs outside her window. Then,
as she lay quiet, at last an answer
seemed to shape itself out of the
stillness in old familiar words:
Treo desire, and thou shalt find
rest.”
On the third day the pensioners
of Thorndale were called to the
stand, and one after another they
offered the same testimony: the
mental competence and independence
of Miss Thornbury up to the day of
her death. The accumulation of
evidence brought no comfort to
Electa. For the first time she
found herself trying to realize the
event from Lucy Birchfield’s point
of view. What did it prove, this
examination of witnesses? Grad-
ually she lost consciousness of the
progress of the case in her tense
inward effort to find the soul of
truth in the confusing array of facts.
An old negress, for years in the
, Service of Miss Thornbury and now
doggedly attached to Electa, was
called to the stand. At sight of her
Electa tried to arouse herself to"
‘outer things. “What can Aunty
have to tell?” she wondered. “Why
'should Mr. Pollock summon her?”
Aunty smoothed out the folds of
her best black dress and played
consequentally with her bonnet
strings. Her high cheek bones shone
from the scrubbing they had re-
ceived; cunning lurked in her lean,
brown face, and her beady eyes sug-
gested some primeval creature in-
tent on self-preservation
She was eager to speak, and Mr.
Pollock’s question, “Did you have
any talk with Miss Thornbury after
she was confined to her bed?”
brought a ready answer.
“Oh, yes, sir!”
The lawyer seemed amused, “Well,
tell us what conversation you had.
“It was this way. She was
speakin’ ‘bout the home, yo’ know,
sir, an’ she says to me lak this,
‘Aunty, in case I die I want,’ she
says, “to say this to yo',—yo’ stay
here right along, don’ yo’ never on no
‘count go away fur to leave Miss
'Lecta.’ After she talk that-a-away,
I says ‘I never heerd nothin’ ‘bout
the way the home work when yo’
pass over Jordan, Miss Rachel, an’
she says, “Why I thought yo’
‘all knowed ’bout that, Ever’thing
mus’ go on jes the same lak it is
now.”
Electa listened in amazement.
Was it possible that old Aunty, the
gossip of Thorndale, should have
heard such significant words from
her benefactress and yet have kept
silence ? There had been much
uneasy speculation in the little com-
munity during Miss Thornbury’s ill-
ness, though Electa had honestly
done her best to supress it. Fright-
ened, suspicious, she dared not raise
her eyes during Aunty's cross-ex-
amination. The old woman showed
a guarded shrewdness in her grasp
of the main issue. Bland and un-
confused, never wavering, never con-
tradicting herself, she stuck persist-
ently to her statements. Even
Hollister couldn’t help joining in
the general laugh when she found
him two or three times by her blank
reiterations. She had been thorough-
ly drilled. She left the stanq, feel-
ing her triumph, and halted for
Electa’s approval, but the girl sat
drooping.
Humiliation wrapped her as in a
flame. How could the lawyer think
that she would descend to dodging
and quibbling? And did Aunty know
her so little after all these years of
her teachings? A crumbling trem-
or shook the foundations of her life.
Somewhere there had been a fatal
flaw. The’ court adjourned, bustling.
John Hollister was at her elbow ,
' gathering up some books from the
counsel table, but she did not look
at him, He made a movement as
if to speak, then, respecting the
silence of misery, he left the room
with only a backward glance.
A hand fell familiarly on her
shoulder, insensible to her recoil. *
“Come, Miss Cragin,” said Pollock,
“don’t be downhearted.” He bent
over her. She felt his breath on
her cheek and sickened. ‘It's all
going our way. The jury is with
you to a man, I'm keeping back the
best witnesses for the last.
At that she found words. “No
more witnesses for the last.”
At that she found words. “No
more witnesses!” she cried. “This
case must not go on. I don’t know
how to stop it, I don’t know the
legal method, but it must not go
on!”
“You didn’t like calling ‘the old
darky? Oh, I see! Well, perhaps
that was a mistake. We didn’t
really meed her. Our case is strong
enough.”
Her hands wrung-a protest.
“You don’t understand. It’s more
than that. I'm wrong—I won't take
the money! Now do you see?”
“Good God, girl, you are clean
crazy—that's what I see! You
won't take the monev! T like that!
What about me? Do you s'nose
I've gone ifito this thing for chari-
ty?” “He pounded his meaning into
the table. “Why, we can’t stop!
Juggle with the law like that?
Make a fool of the court? Besides,
the other side’s got no case. It’s
you who are in the wright!” He
ignored the dumb shake of her
head!” “Of course you are right.
Undue influence! They've proved
nothing! It was kindness, care, at-
tention—nothing that can invalidate
a will. She meant you to have her’
p:operty. You know it!”
“Because down in my heart
meant to have it!”
He shifted roughly.
did? That's legitimate. We all get
what we can. She wanted you to
have it; that’s the point that con-
cerns us, It was her free will.”
“My will was hers. She thought
what I thought, believed. And the
secret wish of my heart—0, God
help, me!” Her hands went up to
hide her face. |
He scowled down upon her, then
tried persuasion, 3 |
“Come, come, you musn't give |
way. We'll talk it over after you've |
had a bit of lunch. You're ali tired
out now. That's what's the matter—
you're nervous!” And he believed he
had the clew toall feminine caprice.
When the case was resumed ]t
one o'clock there was a general im-
pression that the defendant had vin-
dicated her position. It was appar-
ent, however, that Miss Cragin was
not in triumphant mood. The con-
test had wearied her. But her at-
torney’s swagger betrayed his exult-
ance, The Birchfields were losing
hope. Tom whispered disgustedly to
his wife: “Take a pretty red-head-
ed girls with a go-to-the-spot : voice
and put her on the stand before
twelve men, and you can bet on the
verdict every time,”
“Oh, you men! That's the worst
of it.” Lucy dejectedly admitted the
perversities that sometimes control
human affairs, but she was plucky
and meant that no one should sus- |
pect what the loss of the suit would
cost her in disappointment and ac-'
tual financial worry. |
“You're game, Lucy,” murmured
Tom with an appreciative vivacity. |
Electa satina trance-like stillness
-
“
“S’pose you
Thorndale offered some conclusive
evidence, and the case became So
one-sided that it ceased to be :
teresting. People began to wonder
why it had ever occurred to the
Birchfields ‘to try to set aside so
unequivocal a document. The apostle |
acquitted himself neatly and was
leaving the stand when Electa rose.
“Your. honor, please, I must be
heard.” Her voice rang out through
the court room.
Every eye was turned toward
her. Pollock was on his feet, in-
terposing quickly.
“Your honor, I ask indulgence for
my client. She is not well. May I
have your permission to take her to
the consultation room ?”
“Your honor,” said Electa, “can
see that I am perfectly well, My
attorney has refused to speak for
me. I ask your leave to speak for
myself.”
1
The judge looked at her search-
ingly, then bowed assent.
“We will allow the defendant to
be heard.”
In the quivering, expectant hush of
the court room she spoke. It seem-
ed quite simple. She had only to
tell of what had passed in her mind.
Now that she knew her way and
could speak in utter sincerity, not
a presence embar:assed her—not
the judge, proccupied with the dif-
ficulties in legal perocedure she had
thrust upon him; not Pollock, balk-
ed and nonplussed; not the plaintiff,
dumb in bewilderment, nor the jury
straining forward; nor the Specta-
tors, assured at last of their full
meed of sensation. In swift, sure
words she laid bare her conflict of
motive.
At the end she spoke more slow-
ly. “Everything would have been
different if I had been different,”
she said. “I can see that now. I'm
not so sure that I've always been
right. 1 don’t know! I only know
that Ican never touch that money!"
Pollock cut in with apologies to
the court for her conduct. “This
is what comes, your honor, from
dealing with religious cranks!”
Then old Mr. Sheldon arose and
addressed the court.
“While compelled to admire this
young woman for her candor and
generosity, I suggest that we make
sure she realizes the import of
what she is saying and doing be-
fore we go further. I speak for
my client, and in all equity, when I
say that the defendant must not be
permitted to yield her claim to a
fortune on an impulse. She should
let the law take its natural course,
and should the verdict be in her
favor she must be made to see
that she has a legal right to every
penny. She has, it appears to me,
a misconception of the legal signif-
icance of the word “undue.”
Electa faced the old lawyer un-
moved from her purpose, though
her clasped hands strained at each
other. Her eyes had the large full
look of one absorbed by the inner
vision.
“That's only the
law,” she said softly.
John Hollister, sitting at the oth-
er side of the counsel table, lifted
his head for the first time. His
eyes met hers in a long clear look
that was like the scattering of
mists. The inner light seemed to
come to her face in color, and with
new courage she spoke in the voice
that admits of no question:
letter of the
“I am in the full possession of
every faculty. I know what I am
doing. TI have thought and prayed,
And I beg your honor, in the inter-
est of justice, to instruct the jury
to bring a verdict in favor of the
plaintiff.”
After the case had been dismis-
sed Lucy Birchfield came swi‘tly
across the room, her face broken
and softened, and the two women
clasped their hands without a word.
Mr. Sheldon held open the court-
'in waiting until 1932.
room door to let them pass out to-
cathar, Then he turned to John
Hollister.
+
- “Well,” he said, clearing his throat
of an unusual obstacle, “I was
wrong. But who would expect a
woman to give up a fortune for an
abstract principle of justice?”
You'd have expected it of a
man?” asked John.
“Oh, you know it's quixotic,”
bluffed Sheldon.
“I suppose it is—living up to
one's principles—it’s so seldom
done.”
“That girl's as clear as crystal,”
pursued Mr. Sheldon. “It's not
enough for her to see what's right,
she does it, Well, she shan’t suf-
fer. We must keep an eye on her
till she gets started at something;
we must make it our business to
look after her, eh, John?”
“Yes,” said Hollister; “I really
think we must.”
He tried to speak carelessly, but
even Sheldon knew that he was
making a vow.—Scriber's Magazine.
URGES PLANTING
OF TREES IN U. S.
To mark the bicentennial of
George Washington's birth in 1932
the association is directing part of
the national program for the George
Washington Bicentennial Commis-
sion of which President Hoover is
the chairman and Vice President
Curtis and Speaker Longworth the
vice chairmen.
The association mailed 60,000 let-
ters to organiaztions urging their
participation in the tree planting.
In answer to the call organiza-
tions in this and every other State _
are making plans to enroll on the
American Tree Association’s nation-
al honor roll.
Charles Lathrop Pack, president
of the association, does not believe
He wants
to see 10,000,000 trees planted be-
fore that date and then have dedi-
cation programs center around these
trees in 1932.
Schools will be asked to have a
Washington tree in every yard just
as they have an American flag,
The Y. W. C. A. hassent the as-
sociation's message ito every local
secretary, The Rotary Magazine
has printed the message and sent
the Knights of Columbus,
the American Revolution and other
patriotic societies hake taven up the
suggestion.
The Royal Arcanum Bulletin has
sent out the call to plant and the
thousands of Masonic lodges, the
American Legion, Camp Fire and
Scout organizations in the country
will receive the word with tree
planting time at hand.
The American Tree Association
is the organization in which there
are no dues. The only way to join
is to plant trees and register them
on the association’s honor roll at
Washington. For the Washington
Bicentennial Tree Planting president
Pack has provided a special certif-
icate of membership carrying the
portrait of Washington.
ANOTHER FORWARD STEP
IN TELEPHONE SERVICE.
What is known as audible ringing,
means of which the person making
a telephone call is enabled to hear
the bell ringing at the called tele-
phone, was established in Bellefonte
September 27, it was announced to-
day by J. H. Caum, manager for
the Bell Telephone Company of
Pennsylvania.
Simultaneously with the introduc-
tion of audible ringing, 180 more
telephone lines recently connected
with the Bellefonte switchboard were
placed in service, Mr. Caum said
These new lines will enable the com-
pany to meet Bellefonte's ever-
growing telephone requirements over
a period of years, insuring the exis-
tence of adequate central office facil-
ities at all times.
Audible ringing, which has been
in use in Philadelphia, New York,
Chicago and other metropolitan cen-
ters for some time, makes it pos-
sible for the Bellefonte subscribers
to determine as quickly as the op-
erator connects his call that the
number he has asked for is being"
rung.
“A low, burring sound is heard
each time ‘the operator rings the
telephone that is being called,” Mr.
Caum explained. The sound con-
tinues until the called telephone is
answered, or the operator advises,
“They do not answer.”
Just as a person standing at the
front door of a residence can hear
the bell ring within when the push-
button heside the door is pressed,
so the telephone user in Bellefonte
will be able to hear the bell being"
rung at the telephone he is calling.
He will thus be enabled ito decide
for himself after the lapse of a rea-
sonable period whether anyone is
available to respond to the number
called.”
GUESS WORK FAILED
TO PICK THE GOOD COW..
Guessing by her looks what a
dairy cow can do at the milk pail
is a difficult task, 37 dairymen
learned at the recent Centre county
farmers’ field day at State College.
In an attempt to place mature:
cows in the order or their yearly
production ten farmers failed to
place a single cow where she be-
longed. The best anyone did was
to put two cows in the correct
place,
Although eight dairymen picked
the highest producer and three
guessed the lowest cow, five put
the best cow last and five picked
the lowest cow for first place.
Guesswork proved 'to be a poor sub-
stitute for the scales and Babcock
test, according to A. L. Beam, of
the college dairy department.
—Waldorf salad.—This salad is
composed of equal parts of celery
and chopped sour apples, dressed
with mayonnaise: