" When a Girl Marries"
By A.\ A USUI
A New, Romantic Serial Dealing With the Absorbing
Problem of a Girl Wife
CHAPTER CCCLVII.
(Copyright, 1919. King Feature Syn
dicate, Inc.)
"Somebody had better carry Lacy
into my room and put her to bed."
•aid Val in a strangled voice.
She was breaking the strained si
lence that had fallen on all of us
after the accident which might have
terminated fatally for poor, little La
cy Williughby, but for Valerie's
prompt and neroic action.
"Why not you?" she demanded sud
denly of Shelly, who still sat cower
ing away in the paralysis of fear
which had overtaken him with Dana's
first terrified scream. "You carry
her to my room."
He looked at her with something
like dumb terror and then staggjered
to his feet and stooped to lift the
girl to whom we were all ministering
With the deepest pity.
"Don't touch me! You'd have let me
die!" screamed Lacy, with a passion
of hysterical strength that seemed
superhuman.
"Don't touch her! Don't go near
her!" echoed Dana, with the most des
perate hatred in her voice.
Shelly turned, faced the burning
scorn of Val's eyes, slunk away and
sank down on a chair across the
room. He sat there with his head
sunk in his shaking hands until the
end of the sad business. No one
spoke to him. No one went near him.
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FRIDAY EVENING,
"Don't move the child," Aunt Mollis
whispered. "She's better off just
where she is—until we take her home
with us." So we didn't carry Lacy
from the room, and there she sat till
the doctor came. He found that La
cy's masses of soft brown hair must
be cut away. Beyond this loss and
an ugly burn across one cheek and
temple she was not Injured.
But Val's useless-looking puffy
white hands were crimson and stain
ed now. While the doctor dressed the
burns she sat silent and her face was
inscrutable.
"Now you won't leave me. You
can't" Val flung out at Lane in sud
den triumph.
Again her eyes brushed their way
unseeing across Sheldon's dejected
ligure. Her look was full of scorn,
but I sensed something else—a sort
of reluctant shame.
"How long will my wife's hands
be bandaged?" asked Lane, who was
hovering over her like a mother over
a baby.
"A day or two at the outslde.thanks
to the wise person who got the bicar
bonate of soda working so promptly,"
said the doctor.
Lane rushed over and began pump
ing my hand.
"Val was a heroine!" ho declaimed,
excitedly. "And this little girl was
a brick! We'll get you a nurse for a
few days, Val-honey, and —by the
time I'm ready to travel, you'll be all
right."
The bitterness of Val's mouth was
unbelievable. She looked as if she
had tasted dead sea fruit.
But Dana Willoughby came out of
her faint to go into wild hysterics:
"I'll havo to cut my hair, too," she
walled, "to match poor Lacy's, and
paint me a scar. An' now the man
agers ain't gotn' to look at us ever, I
reckon."
Uncle Ned and Aunt Mollie got the
poor twins away finally in a padded
ambulance, and Father Andrew went
with them to bring back final reports
on how poor little Lacy felt after
Aunt Mollie had established her for
the night in the Pettingill apartment.
Neal took Phoebe home, the bachel
ors departed and. leaving Jim to take
care of Lane, I went to put Val to
bed.
Silently she suffered my ministra
tions while we waited for the nurse,
and when I had her tucked in finally,
with the injured hands on a tiny
cushion. I started toward the door.
"Where are you going?" demanded
Val, breaking her stubborn silenct.
"To call Lane," V replied.
"Lane?" she sneered. "Lane's prob
Bringing Up Father - Copyright, 1919, International News Service By McManus
ably looking- up timetables, for fear
of having his trip with Uncle Ned and
that all-conquering father of yours
delayed. Men are wonderful in emer
gencies. aren't they? Did you see
Sheldon Blake numbed to ice or
putty, or some such admirable thing?
Your Jim was all right—he woke up
in time to be of some use. But Shel
ly's a coward or a fool, and Lane
heartless, blind, intent on business."
"Val, dear, you're hysterical. And
It's only a natural reaction from
your wonderful courage and the
prompt way you acted. We all know
you saved Lacy Willoughby's beauty.
If not her life." I said soothingly. "X
never admired you so much as to
night. But now you musn't whimper
and interfere with Lane's trip. We'll
have you down to stay with us while
he's gone. How's that. Lady Hero
ine?"
Vat stared at me for a moment.
Then her heavy lids curtained her
eyes.
"We'll see," she murmured. "Do I
look—attractive, Anne? Alluring? All
right. Send Lane to me. Good-night,
dear. We'll see"
(To Be Continued)
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HARRISBURG TELEGRAPH
Little Talks by
Beatrice Fairfax
An answer to the cry: "I am only
twenty-one. I wonder why there is
so little happiness in this big
world."
"A year ago last July my boy, the
one boy of my life, was killed in the
last battle of the Marne, Heartbrok
en and afraid of what life held for
me, I came to New York and took
a position. In January a lifelong
friend who was in the navy passed
through the city and came to see
me.
After months away from home
with only unhappy thoughts for
companions, he came like a ray of
sunshine. He'd always been more
than half in love with me, and soon
found that ho was wholly so.
"I can't tell you why I promised
to marry him. My main thought
was to escape from the terrible lone
liness, and my great love for chil
dren led me to dream of a home
and babies.
"Still, when I married in June
I knew my heart lay in France.
"I have told my husband all about
it, and he is so good and wise that
he says I will learn to forget.
"I am not forgetting. Every day
the dearmemory becomes dearer. My
constant thought is of the boy whom
God took. I wake in the night with
his name on my lips. His image
is constantly in my heart.
"My husband is so good, p try
to live up to my duties. But I feel
that the whole thing is not! worth
the pain and trouble.
"Would it be very, very wicked
for me to slip quietly away from it
all and go where I will find peace
and happiness? Wouldn't every one
who loves me be happier, knowing
I was happy at last?
"I laugh and am merry Just as
of old. But all the time I am afraid
that some day the laugh will give
out. I have to try so hard.
"I am so tired, so very tired, and
I cry so much when I am alone. I
am only twenty-one. I wonder why
there is so little happiness in this
big world " •
This letter has come to me from
a girl who sadly yet wisely calls
herself "Just a Unit" in recognition
of the fact that her problem ia
only one of many besetting our
world.
At first reading, perhaps, it sounds
unusual and even unique. But It
isn't. In two of its phases it has
a certain universality. Any number
of us share two of her burdens. Sad
burdens, too.
"She Is afraid to be happy.
She is living in yesterday, rather
than in to-day.
Dear litle gtrl who wrote me. I
want so much to make you believe
in • to-morrow and to-morrow, and
in the happiness that comes at last
to brave hearts who dare wait.
"The night is long and pain weighs
heavily.
Yet God will hold his world above
despair—
Look to the East, where up the rosy
sky
The' morning climbs.
The day shall yet be fair."
Dawn comes. And the day shall
yet bo fair.
How many there are who never
would have the courage to go on if
they didn't believe that, didn't ac
tually know it, even in the midst of
the most terrible suffering and sor
row?
That is the general message there
always Is for despair. It won't last.
Daily Dot Puzzle
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44- 43 41 - 4o *
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Draw from one to two and ao on i
to the end.
Nothing does. Change nnd flux are
the law of life and the tide that
goes out comes in again—if only
you have the patience to wait and
see.
Mourning that goes on and on and
refuses to adjust itself to the miracle
of daw'ti nnd birth, facing instead
back to the more inscrutable mir
acle of death and darkness, is an
insult to our God and his miracles
of ever-glorious rebirth.
The year dies and is born again.
Trees and brushes are left nuked
and dead to face the winter, and
burst into beauty and life with the
spring. Resurrection! That is the
whole message of life.
How, then, shall one of us defy
life and all its meanings, stnd insist
on remembering only the sad and
gray ?
Dear child, keep the memories of
the hoy you loved. But keep them
green and beautifult not gray and
dead. And go on to your own duty.
To live to bring happiness t others.
Forget for tile time your own
happiness. Don't seek it. Give it.
Neither of the men who honored
you with his love was a slacker.
Are you? Your duty to live, to be
lieve in the dawn, to bring sun
shine into a world which has need
of it is as great as was theirs jto
tight—one on land, one on sea.
Let me quote n few lines from
your own letter. See if you do not
find yourself reading into them what
1 read out of them.
"My great love for childret# led
me to dream of a home and babies."
That, my dear, is the miracle of
birth and resurrection in your own
heart. The thing that is too beau
tiful to deny. The feeling that God
put there for a glorious purpose.
"He is so good and wise." And,
again, "My husband is so good."
Don't you see, that though you deny
it out of some fantastic feeling that
you ought to live with a• ghost, the
splendid character, the fine man
hood of the man who is here and
who needs you cry out to you? You
could love him as he deserves—if
you only would!
"Wouldn't every one who loves
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me be happier knowing I wad happy
at Inst?"
In asking that you show two
vital things. Your own morbiil self
ishness (forgive me for a truth that
must hurt) and your natural sweet
ness and consideration. You think J
that mere happiness counts too ■
mych. You fancy that your own hap
piness In a world of struggle is al- i
together too important. Jtut in the
same hreath you confess that you'd
like to see those who so unselfish
ly care dor you happy too.
Think it out., all you who find to
day too heavy to carry. Won't to
morrow—or another to-morrow—
be different? Isn't it worth while
waiting to see? Must you be un
happy, or do you morbidly nurse
and coddle your sorrow?
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NOVEMBER 21, 1919
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