CHAPTER X-—Continued ee] Bee Adelaide sat motionless, eyes on her plate. When she spoke again it was of other things. ‘Did you hear that Delafield is coming back?” “Who told you?’ asked Frederick. “Eloise Harper. Benny's sister saw Del at Miami. She is sure he is expecting to marry the other girl.” “Bad taste, I call it.” “Everybody is crazy to know who she is.” “Have they any idea?” “No. Benny's sister said he talked quite frankly about getting married. But he wouldn't say a word about the woman.” “I hardly think he will find Edith heart-broken.” Towne glanced across the table. Edith was not wearing the willow. No shadow marred her lovely countenance. Her eyes were clear and shining pools of sweet content. Her uncle was proud of that high- held head. He and Edith might not always hit it off. But, by Jove, he was proud of her. ‘No, she's not heart-broken,” Ad- elaide’s cool tone disturbed his re- flections, ‘‘she is getting her heart mended.” “What do you mean?” “They are an attractive pair, lit- tle Jane and her brother. And the boy has lost his head.” “Over Edith? Oh, well, she plays around with him; there's nothing se- cious in it.” “Don't be ested.” “What makes you insist on that?" irritably. “1 know the signs, dear man,’ the cat seemed to purr, but she had claws. And it was Adelaide who was right. Edith had come to the knowl- edge that night of what Baldy meant to her. As she had entered the ballroom men had crowded around her. “Why,” they demanded, ‘do you wear mistletoe, if you don't want to pay the forfeit?” Backed up against one of the mar- ble pillars, she held them off. “I do want to pay it, but not to any of you.” Her frankness diverted “Who is the lucky man?” “He is here. But he doesn’t know he is lucky.” They thought she was joking. But she was not. And on the other side of the marble pillar a page in scar- let listened, with joy and fear in his heart. ‘How fast we are going. How fast." There was dancing until midnight, then the curtains at the end of the room were drawn back, and the tree was revealed. It towered to the ceiling, a glittering, gorgeous thing. It was weighted with gifts for everybody, fantastic toys most of them, expensive, meaningless. Evans, standing back of crowd, was aware of the emptiness of it all. Oh, what had there been throughout the evening to make men think of the Babe who had been born at Bethlehem? The gifts of the Wise Men? Per- haps. Gold and frankincense and myrrh? One must not judge too narrowly. It was hard to keep sim- plicities in these opulent days. Yet he was heavy-hearted, and when Eloise Harper charged up to him, dressed somewhat scantily as a dryad, and handed him a foolish monkey on a stick, she seemed to suggest a heathen saturnalia rather than anything Christian and civi- lized. “A monkey for a monk,” said Eloise. “Mr. Follette, your cassock is frightfully becoming. But you know you are a whited sepulchre.” “Am 17" “Of course. your prayers.” She danced away, unconscious that her words had pierced him. What reason had she to think that any of this meant more to him than it did to her? Had he borne witness to the faith that was within him? And was it within him? And if not, why? He stood there with his foolish monkey on his stick, while around him whirled a laughing, shrieking crowd. Why, the thing was a carni- val, not a sacred celebration. Was there no way in which he might bear witness? Edith had asked him to sing the old ballads, ‘Dame, get up and bake your pies,’ and ‘I saw three ships a-sailing.” Evans was in no mood for the dame who baked her pies on Christmas day in the morn- ing, or the pretty girls who whistled and sang-—on Christmas day in the morning. When all the gifts had been dis- tributed the lights in the room were turned out. The only illumination $i the golden effulgence which en- too sure. She's inter- them. I'll bet you never say ircled the tree. In his menk's robe, within that circle of light, Evans seemed a mys- tical figure. He seemed, too, appro- priately ascetic, with his gray hair, the weary lines of his old-young face. But his veiee was fresh and clear. And the song he sang hushed the great room into silence. “0 little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie, Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, silent stars go by; in thy dark streets shineth, everlasting light, hopes and fears of all the years met in thee tonight.” The Yet The The Are He sang as if he were alone in some vast arched space, beneath spires that reached towards Heaven, behind some grille that separated him from the world, And now it seemed to him that he sang not to that crowd of upturned faces, not to those men and women in shining silks and satins, not to Jane who was far away, but to those others who pressed close—his com- rades across the Great Divide! So he had sung to them in the hospital, sitting up in his narrow “And-—1 told him he must not, Miss Towne.” bed—and most of the men who had listened were—gone. As the last words rang out his audience seemed to wake with a sigh. Then the lights went up. But the monk had vanished! Evans left word with Baldy that he would go home on the trolley. “I am not quite up to the supper and all that. Will you look after Moth- er?” “Of course. Say, Evans, that song was top notch. Edith wants you to “Will you tell her I can't? I'm But the last time 1 sang that was for the fellows—in France. And it—got me-—"" “It got me, too,” Baldy confided; “made all this seem—silly."” It was just before New Year's that Lucy Logan brought a letter for Frederick Towne to sign, and when he had finished she said, "Mr. Towne, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to work any more. So will you please accept my resignation?” He showed his surprise. “What's the matter? Aren't we good enough for you?" “It isn’t that.” She stopped and went on, “I'm going to be mar- ried, Mr. Towne.” “Married?’ He was at once con- gratulatory. “That's a pleasant thing for you, and I mustn't spoil it by telling you how hard it is going to be to find someone to take your place.” “I think if you will have Miss Dale? She's really very good.” Frederick was curious. What kind of lover had won this quiet Lucy? Probably some clerk or salesman. “What about the man? Nice fellow, I hope—"" “Very nice, Mr. Towne,” she flushed, and her manner seemed to forbid further questioning. She went away, and he gave orders to the cashier to see that she had an in- crease in the amount of her final check. ‘‘She will need some pretty things. And when we learn the date we can give her a present.” So on Saturday night Lucy left, and on the following Monday a card was brought up to Edith Towne, She read it. ‘Lucy Logan? 1 don't believe 1 know her,’”” she said to the maid. “She says she is from Mr. Towne's office, and that it is im- portant.” “Miss Towne," Lucy said as Edith approached her, “I have resigned from your uncle's office. Did he tell you?" “No. Uncle Fred rarely speaks about business.” With characteristic straightfor. wardness Lucy came at once to the point. “I have something I must talk over with you, I don't know whether I am doing the wise thing. Rut it is the only honest thing." “I can't imagine what you can have to say.” ““No you can’t. It's this—'"" she hesitated, then spoke with an ef- fort. “I am the girl Mr. Simms is in love with. He wants to come back and marry me." Edith’s fingers caught at the arm of the chair. *‘Do you mean that it was because of you—that he didn’t marry me?" “Yes. He used to come to the of- fice when he was in Washington and dictate letters. And we got in the way of talking to each other. He seemed to enjoy it, and he wasn’t like some men—who are just—silly. And 1 began to think about him a lot. But I didn’t let him see it. And— he told me afterward, he was al- ways thinking of me. And the morn- ing of your wedding day he came down to the office—to say ‘Good-by.’ He said he—just had to. And—well, he let it out that he loved me, and didn't want to marry you. But he said he would have to go on with it. And—and I told him he must not, Miss Towne." Edith stared at her. “Do you mean that what he did was your fault?" “Yes,” Lucy's face was white, “if you want to put it that way. 1 told him he hadn't any right to marry you if he loved me.’’ She hesitated, then lifted her eves to Edith’'s with a glance of appeal. ‘Miss Towne, I wonder if you are big enough to believe that it was just because I cared so much—and not because of his money?" “You think you love him?" she demanded. “Il know I do. And you don't. You never have. And he didn't love you. Why—if he should lose every cent tomorrow, and I had to tramp the road with him, I'd do it gladly. And you wouldn't. You wouldn't want him unless he could give you everything you have now, would you? Would you, Miss Towne?" Edith's sense of justice dictated her answer. ‘No,’ she found her- self unexpectedly admitting. "If 1 had to tramp the roads with him, | I'd be bored to death." “l think he knew that, Miss Towne. He told me that if he didn't marry you, your heart wouldn't be broken. That it would just hurt your pride.” Edith had a moment of hysterical How they had talked her Her lover—and her uncle's What a tragedy it She leaned forward a little, lock- ing her fingers about her knees. *I wish you'd tell me all about it." So Lucy told the simple story. aware of an increasing respect for the woman who had taken her place in the heart of her lover. She per- her duty. “I thought it would be easier for you if you knew it be- fore other people did." Edith’'s forehead was knitted in a slight frown. ‘The whole thing has been most unpleasant,” she said. | “When are you going to marry | him?" “1 told him on St. Valentine's | day. It seemed-—-romantic.” Romance and Del! Edith had a sudden illumination. Why, this was what he had wanted, and she had given him none of it! She had | laughed at him-—been his good com- | rade. Little Lucy adored him—and | had set St. Valentine's day for the wedding! There was nothing small about Edith Towne. She knew fineness when she saw it, and she had a feel: ing of humility in the presence of little Lucy. “I think it was my fault as much as Del's,” she stated. “I should never have said ‘Yes.’ People haven't any right to marry who feel as we did.” “Oh,” Lucy said rapturously, Towne, I always knew you were— big. so beautiful.’”’ Tears wet her cheeks, “You're just — marvellous,” said, wiping them away. “No, I'm not.” Edith's eyes were on the fire. “Normally, I am rath- er proud and—hateful. If you had come a week ago" Her voice fell away into silence as she still stared at the fire. Lucy looked at her curiously. week ago?” Edith nodded. “Do you like fairy tales? Well, once there was a prin- cess. And a page came and sang— under her window.’’ The fire purred and crackled. “And the princess— liked the song—"' “Oh,” said Lucy, breath. She stood up. "I can’t tell you how thankful I am that I came.” “You're not going to run away yet,’ Edith told her. ‘I want you tairs. under her *1 haven't many. And GT 't to stay.” ois not? want don’t say no. So up they went, with the per- turbed parlor maid u tube 1 really you. Please the » says, and plen- le Lucy had never seen such a room as the one to which Edith led her. The whole house deed, a dream palace. the atmosphere with h her lov- er would her. She had a feeling almost of panic. What would she do with a maid like Alice, who was helping Josephin the folding-table, spread th cloth, bring in the hot silver dis As if Edith divined her thou said when the maids was, in- Yet it was whic soon surround © had le “Of course, Miss Towne “Don’t try to be-—like the rest of us. Like Del's own crowd, 1 mean. He fell in love with you because He will want “But learn.” Edith was impatient. “What must you learn? Externals? Let them alone. Be yourself. You have dig- nity—and strength. It was the strength in you that won Del. You and he can have a life together that will mean a great deal, if you will make him go your way. But you must not go his" Lucy considered that that the crowd he is with weakens him?" “1 mean just that. They're so- phisticated beyond words. You're what they would call—provincial be provincial, Lucy. Don’t be afraid. But don't adopt their ways. 1 shall have so much to your prayers? Believe that God's in His world?" Lucy's fair cheeks were flushed. “Why, of course I do.” “Well, we don't—not many of us,” “The thing you have thing. a success of it.” “But he lives in New York.” “Of course he does. But he can live anywhere. He's so rich that he doesn’t have to earn anything, and his office is just a fiction. You must make him work. Go in for a fad; blooded horses, cows, black Berk- shires. (TO BE CONTINUED) Alaskan bears have the benefit of protection on three types of sanctu- aries—refuges established by execu- tive orders, closed areas under game law regulations and national parks and monuments. Mount McKinley National park and Katmai and Glacier Bay Nation- al monuments, where all wild life is protected, provide the bears with more than 5,800,000 acres of safe range-1,039,493 acres on Mount Mc- Kinley, 2,607,500 on Katmai and 1,164,800 on Glacier bay. The Aleutian islands bird refuge includes the 998,0600-acre Unimak is- land where bears occur and share the protection given all wild life. Through an executive order, bears share with elk the protection af- forded by the 448,000 acres of Afog- nak island, Regulations under the Alaska game law prevent bear hunting on eight additional areas, totaling more than 1,340,000 acres. An area of over 1,222,000 acres contiguous to Glacier Bay National monument and two areas on Admiralty with a com- bined acreage of nearly 52,000 acres have been closed to bear hunting. The Admiralty island areas, Thay- er mountain and Pack creek, in- spectively. Five other areas, with and their acreage are as follows: 10,240. Regulations under parts of the territory where hunt ing is of any consequence. No hunt ing is permitted anywhere through- out the summer season, and during about five months of the open hunt- ing season the bears are hibernat- ing. The bag limit for large brown and grizzly bears is two a year, ex- cept on Admiralty island where a limit of one has been made to in- duce nonresident hunters to visit other areas. Sale of bear hides is prohibited, a regulation that is con- sidered as one outstanding factor which has permitted an increase in the large brown and grizzly bears. Since this restriction was placed in effect, when the original Alaska game law was passed in 1925, there has been a perceptible change for the better in the brown and grizzly bear population. CONFIDENCE Child Would Love These Dutch Dolls “I am going to take off end fly around the courtyard a lit- tle bit,” he remarked. Leaping from the window sill, he buried his nose in the cement three floors below. The next day his friend went to the hospital to see him. “1 certainly made a fool of my- self yesterday,” said the patient. “Why didn’t you stop me?” “Well, shucks,” said his friend, ‘maybe I should have, but I really hought you could do it.” JUST WASTING TIME Sah Ida—You'd never get me to waste hours sitting on a sofa with any man! Irene—1 suppose it is just waist- ing-time. That Umbrella They were discussing he excur- sions erature of famous statesmen. “Has Mr. Chamberlain ever writ- ten a book?" asked the teacher. “Yes, sir,” piped the bright boy of the class. * ‘Mein Gamp'l"™ No Help at All “Could you let me have—er—a banker's reference, sir?" said the house-agent, negotiating a sale “Just a formality, you know.” “1 could,” replied the client, “but it would only distress you." . is into at Polite Suggestion Diner—1 say, waiter, I have only one quarter. What would you sug- gest? Waiter—Another restaurant, sir! Miss Singleton—Doesn’t your hus band help you get the children ready for school? Mrs. Multikids—I can’t trust him. What does a man know about how much rouge and lipstick to use on the little girls? Almost Worn Out The doctor was visiting Rastus’ wife, who had just had her twelfth child. In the road outside the house opened the door he inquired: “That ain't no duck, boss,” said “That's the stork with its legs worn down.” Free Wheeling Cycle Sandy entered the shop where he had recently purchased a bicycle. said. “Hasn't it arrived yet?” said the “It has,” said Sandy, “but where's that free wheel you spoke about?" Soaring Prices Ardent Reader--I wender what became of the dime novel? for $3 now. General Utility Mose—I'm sho’ glad my wife's built long and thin like a shoe- string. Rastus—Why fo'? Mose-—Well, she doesn’t shade the corn when she's hoein’ it like a fat woman would! Very Rough Tom--Was her father rough with you when you told him you had se- cretly married his daughter? Dick—I'll say. He nearly shook my arm off, Pattern 6475 Dolls are wh } ow x br 110% BE _- 1 When they work up as qui always fun these (they're two band to round want to keep or Pattern 6475 and directions for making dolls and their clothes; materials needed. To obtain cents in coins cle, Household A rie or ATS i dh 4 N or 14th wih. AYEW the cont: a patt r this pattern to The S York, Jag Was Positively Golfer's Last Chance INDIGESTION Sensational Relief from Indigestion and One Dose Proves It Tf the Brit dose of this pleasant tasting Mite Black tablet dosen't bring you the fastest snd most pumplets relief you have experienced send bottle back to ue and get DOUBLE MONEY BACK. This Beli-ans tadiel belds the stomach digest food, takes the ezvess stomach fulds bermiess snd Jets su esl the nourishing foods you need For heart rn, sick hesdacrhe and upsels so often csused by excess stomach Solids making you fesl sow snd sek all over—JUET ONE DOSE of Bell-ans proves poely relief. Z5¢ ev Spontaneous Humor Humor is a one ought not to be conscic -it ought to be just there, ready to n over—it oughtn’t to be cultivated NERVOUS, SLEEPLESS? Frederick, Md. — Mrs. Bertha Stash, 422 N. Bentz St, says: "A few thing Wing int sieep and bousewor gen ¢ me Pierce's Favorit toe serves seemed better.” vorite Prescription in 1 your druggist today. Reward for Efforts It never will rain roses; when must plant more trees.—George MERCHANTS Advertising Dollar buys something more than space and circulation in the columns of this news- paper. It buys space and circulation plus the favor- able consideration of our readers for this newspaper and its advertising patrons,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers