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BeyOnd Shadow of Doubt It WAS the END! A certain actor was fond of tell ing his friends what he would ac complish when he had a speaking part. He would show them some real acting. Eventually he was booked for a coming production. He was to ap pear in a scene and say: "It is." For three weeks he rehearsed nightly before his mirror, trying all sorts of gestures, expressions, tones, until he felt perfect. The eventful night arrived. The actor impatiently waited his cue. It came. "And so this is the end?" With his best tragedian air he stalked to the center of the stage, and in a voice of thunder cried: "Is it?" Beware Coughs fron common colds That Hang On Creomulslon relieves promptly be cause it goes right to the seat of the trouble to help loosen and expel germ laden phlegm, and aid nature to soothe and heal raw, tender, In flamed bronchial mucous mem branes. Tell your druggist to sell you a bottle of Creomulslon with the un derstanding you must like the way It quickly allays the cough or you are to have your money back. CREOMULSION For Coughs, Chest Colds, Bronchitis Soul Bath Take a music bath once or twice a week for a few seasons. You will find it is to the soul what a water bath is to the body.— Holmes. Pull the Trigger on Lazy Bowels Mtfa bob lM«ti»t,combto«d »HUi (yrap papthi to maJta it asmabl* Mil usy to tiko When constipation brings on acid In digestion, bloating, dizzy spells, gas, coated tongue, sour taste and bad breath, your stomach is probably "cry ing the blues" because your bowels don't move. It calls for I.axative Senna to pujl the trigger on those lazy bowels, com bined with good old Syrup Pepsin to make your laxative more agreeable and easier to take. For years many Doctors have used pepsin compounds, as agree able carriers to make other medicines more palatable when your "taster" feels easily upset. So be sure your laxative contains Syrup Pepsin. Insist on Dr. Caldwell's Laxative Senna, combined with Syrup Pepsin. See how wonderfully its herb Laxative Senna wakes up lazy nerves and muscles in your intestines, to bring welcome relief from constipation. And see how its Syrup Pepsin makes Dr. Caldwell's medicine so smooth and agree able to a touchy gullet. Even finicky children love the taste of this pleasant family laxative. Buy Dr. Caldwell's Lax ative Senna at your druggist's today. Try one laxative that won't bring on violent distaste, even when you ta&e it after a full meal. Suffer for Others Alas! we see that the small havfc always suffered for the follies of the great.—La Fontaine. ON ALL 2"AGAIN 2 DROP TREATMENT OF SELF-SPREADING NOSE DROPS Inquisitive One Shun the inquisitive person, for he is also a talker.—Horace. WHY SUFFER Functional FEMALE COMPLAINTS tydla E. Plnkham't Vegetable Compound Hat Helped Thouaandtl Pew women today di not have some sign of functional trouble. Maybe you've noticed YOURSELF getting restless, moody, nervous, depressed laU ly —your work too mucn for you— Then try Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound to help quiet unstrung nerves, relieve monthly pain (cramps, backache, headache) and weak dizzy fainting *pell* due to functional disorders. For over 60 years Pinkham's Compound has helped hun dreds of thousands of weak, rundown ner vous women. Try ill Profitable Walk He who walks over his estate finds a coin each time. BARGAINS WHEN you see the specials of our merchants announced in the columns of this paper you can depend on them. They mean bargains for you. • They are offered by merchants who are not afraid to announce t'Wr orices or the qual'ty of the merchandise they offer. m CHAPTER I I —l— Morgan shut the front door of her house, locked it, chained it, leaned against it, her knees fluid, her heart pounding. "The old fool!" She choked with fury. "The addle-headed, pathetic, impudent old fool!" Hot red surged into her strong, shrewd face. Then it ebbed a lit tle. She pushed back a gray wave of hair with a gesture naive and disturbed. She was flfty-two. A tall, strong woman with power in every inch of her tallness, in the wide de- 1 cisive gentleness of her mouth, in her steady gray eyes, her proud nose which dominated her features without dwarfing them. Her feet sat solidly on the pol ished floor; her clothes, well-made and not cheap, fitted her muscular body, forsaking style for utility. Her chest was deep and her thighs stur- 1 dy, but with all this anchored sta- , bility she was now one quivering tumult of outraged nerves. A man had asked her to marry him and in sudden wrath, half shame and half consternation, she had put him out of her house. Now 1 she could hear his car roaring around her drive, swerving past the rhododendrons and the tall stone posts, gathering speed as it swooped into the descending road. Wallace Withers, whom she had known all her life—going home in a rage because she had slammed her door upon him. Pulling herself together with some difficulty Virgie went to the mirror, straightened her collar, looked her self coldly up and down. Her feet wavering slightly, her head spinning, she stumbled into her library, which she still stubbornly called the "sitting-room." A log fire burned there; there were books in autumnal colors along two walls and, over the stone mantel, an en larged photograph of a middle-aged man with an alert, nervous face, black hair, and cool, calculating blue eyes. Virgie looked up at this portrait, swallowed grimly and achingly, tightened her cold hands into fists. "You missed a lot, David," she said aloud. "I reckon it's just as well." A door at the far end of the room moved slightly. Virgie scowled at it. "Come along in, Lossie," she snapped. "If you want to listen, come in where you won't miss any- , thing!" j A girl with a dull face and brassy 1 hair waved stiffly slid into the room. ' "I heard you talkin'—l thought ! maybe you was callin' me?" "You heard me all right." Virgie was grim. "I suppose you heard Mr. Withers, too? Listen to me, Los sie Wilson—if you drop a word around Marian, you're fired—you hear me?" "Yes'm. I wouldn't say anything for nothing, Mis' Morgan. I didn't 1 hear real good, anyhow. You want anything, Mis' Morgan?" "Yes. Heat up the coffee-pot. You haven't washed it, I know. Bring me a cup of coffee—strong—and no sugar. Is Marian in yet?" "No'm, she ain't yet. She went to the second show, maybe." Virgie wandered to the window uneasily. "It's starting to sleet again. She's got no business driv ing that car up this mountain in a storm." "Yes'm—but she will though. It ain't any use saying anything to her." The coffee was hot and black and, warmed by it, Virgie Morgan re laxed a little. Her anger had turned chill, stiffened to self-scorn. She had let herself get out of control. She had made Wallace Withers mad. That he had made her fighting mad, also, did not excuse her. She had known, she realized now, what was working in Wallace With ers' mind for more than a year. She had known when she had gone to his brick house up the river, at the time of his wife's death. She had carried hot home-made bread and baked ham; she had gone into the Withers' kitchen and supervised the excited, whispering women there, had made coffee for Wallace With ers and prepared his supper. With his wife lying stony dead and cancer yellowed, laid out in her best gray silk, Wallace had looked at Vir gie then with approval and thought ful speculation in his slow, drab eyes. A rich man, a careful man, a man who lusted for power; she knew now that she had seen then the birth of an idea in Wallace Withers' mind, over that hot meal, that cup of cof fee. And tonight, here by her pleasant fire the idea had emerged, full grown, ruthlessly practical, dressed up in tight arguments, launched in clipped, perfected phrases. Wallace had kept to his suave tone, however, wheedling, smooth, switching cleverly to the point that actually lurked in the back of his mind. The mill. Virgie's mill. No womanly woman—no gentle, tender-hearted creature, his march ing words averred, to be wor ried with running a pulp mill. And there was his timber land, up river, toward the gap. "I'll buy it if you want to sell," Virgie interrupted, tersely. But Wallace did not want to sell. His eyes weie on the mill. On the TWW nANRITRV RFPORTRR. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 14. 1940 Hawk-Wind I BY HELEN TOPPING MILLER mill that David Morgan had built and Virgie had run successfully ever since David's death. It was then that Virgie had lost her temper. "Trying to tell me I didn't know enough to run my mill!" She snort ed now, setting the coffee-cup down on the hearth. As though she had not steered the mill successfully through the hard est years business had ever known in these Carolina hills I A whole year after David had had his stroke, and for three years since. No profits to speak of—but no red ink either. Credit maintained, and the quality of the Morgan product kept to its high standard. Manufacturers who bought pulp from the Morgan mills knew that they were getting the best. Virgie had fought for that—as David had before her. "I'd like the see the mill Wallace Withers would run—the old chisel er!" she snorted, fanning her dis gust anew. She unbuttoned her shoes, eased the straps over her plump ankles, wandered to the window. Marian ought to be coming in— the crazy young one. It was after ten and the wind was rising. A "Lossie, make some hot eoffee right away." slow, cold drizzle blackened the win dows and, freezing, made the hem locks bend and twist into .tortured patterns. It was the worst early storm Virgie could remember. The boys would grumble about going out into the woods tomorrow, but two truckloads of seedlings had to be put out before the ground froze hard and their roots dried. Lossie came in with the wood, punched at the fire, regarded her mistress staring out into the ugly night. "Want I should wind the clock?" she inquired helpfully. "You always wind it too tight," Virgie objected. "I'd hate for that clock to get out of fix. David brought it to me all the way from St. Louis once, held it on his lap so the little bronze boy wouldn't get his arm broken off. It's company for me, ticking and striking in the night. Marian thinks it looks terrible—but Marian thinks about everything in this house is old-fashioned and terri ble—including me!" Lossie, hunkered down, poking at the embers, said hesitantly, "It's none of my business, Mis' Mor gan—" "That"—Virgie was dry—"never deterred you yet when you had any thing on your mind!" "It's none of my business," the girl went on in a little, desperate rush, "but I can't help seeing things. She—don't care a thing in this world for Bry Hutton, Mis' Morgan. Not a thing in this world. It's just—you make such a fuss about it—she's stubborn, she's always had her own way a lot." "She's had her own way too much." Marian's mother set her mouth stiffly. "Bry Hutton can't drink and tear around like he does and then hang around my house!" "She just wants her own way," persisted Lossie, with the brash fa miliarity of the old servant. "If you'd just stop fussing about him— let on like it didn't matter one way or another, she'd get tired of him mighty quick. But—she likes a fuss going—she likes to get the best of you—" "Lossie, it it wasn't that you can make good butter and iron napkins better than anybody I ever had in my kitchen, I'd fire you for your impudence!" "No, you wouldn't, Mis' Morgan. You know what I say is so. You want me to sit up till she comes in?" "No, you go to bed. I want my breakfast before seven. I'm gopg up in the woods with the boys.M "I'd better oil up your boots and set 'em in a warm place, then. You got 'em terrible stiff the other day, wading that branch." "I want sausage—and corn muf fins. And black coffee. Black—not dirty gray. Shut that door. It makes a draught." "Yes'm. If you'd put in a fur nace, Mis' Morgan—it would save a lot—all that ashes and dirt." "A lot of people have lived in this house, Lossie Wilson, and no body ever froze yet." ©D. APPLLTON-CENTUtY CO. I L W-NU-Service I "I heard somebody." Lossie tensed. "Sounded like the front door." Three dogs, yapping, flung them selves suddenly out of the dark and around the house. Virgie Morgan pressed switches. The terrace out side, ivy-covered and glittering now with ice, was suddenly illumined. And as swiftly, the dogs were still. She could see them out there now, in the drizzle, taut as so many ca nine statues, facing a tall figure in a tan rain-coat and limp, rain soaked hat. There was another rap on the door, and she could hear a calm, slow voice, masculine, with youth in it, speaking quietly to the dogs out side. Behind her Lossie begged, "Don't open it, Mis' Morgan. Let me call Andrew." "Shush!" Virgie was curt. "Cer tainly I'll open it. It's one of the boys likely. Don't be a fool. Oh—" she said, as the briny gust of the night rushed in the open door. "How do you do?" "Good evening." Out of a strange, white, young face, strange dark eyes regarded her. A man—a young man, whom she had never seen before. "I—" he began, hoarsely, smiling in a wan, dazed way, "seem to be lost. I—saw your light—" "Come in out of the wet," Virgie ordered. Lossie was making little frightened, expostulatory noises but Virgie paid no attention. "My feet are pretty muddy," the stranger objected. His voice had the sound of cities in it. His clothes had never, obviously, been made for mountain travel. They were sod den, soil-stained, briar-torn. "Come along in," repeated Virgie, firmly. "Where were you headed for? You're a long way off the high way. This road doesn't go any far ther." This young man, she was certain, was no thug. His face was star tlingly pale, with hollow shadows under the eyes. "I didn't—come by the highway." He removed the dripping hat and she knew then that she had been right about him. He had a good head, his eyes looked at her honest ly, though haggardly, and he could not be much past twenty-five. "I was trying to find the highway. I came over the mountain." "My heavens!" Virgie exclaimed, warming to him, as she, denied sons, warmed to everything young and male except Bry Hutton. "You mean —you've been walking—weather like this? Come up here by the fire. Never mind the mud—this house is used to mud. Lossie, make some hot coffee right away. You'd bet ter take that soggy coat off quick, young fellow, and let it dry out. How on earth did you get lost on the mountain?" The stranger sank into a chair, slipping wearily out of the dripping coat. He seemed at the point of ut ter exhaustion. His breath came in tired gusts. His hands shook. "I came in—with Johnston's out fit," he said. "We were making es timates on some road-building for the Government. We started to leave—Tuesday—that was—" "You mean—you've been roaming around these mountains since Tues day?" she demanded. "I—must have been. It seemed like a couple of years to me. You see—l was starting on ahead to send a couple of telegrams from the filling station down there at the cross-roads and the rest of the out fit were supposed to pick me up, when the baggage was loaded. So I walked down the mountain road and I saw what I thought was cer tainly a short cut down to the store —a perfectly plain trail—" "Made by a bear, probably. Or by hogs or hunters," supplied Vir gie, putting more wood on the blaze. "Then in a little bit you found that you were lost. Men born and raised in these mountains have been lost over there in those laurel hells, son. Folks who know these hills respect them. We don't go up there in the big timber without a guide. Even I don't—and I've lived here in the shadow of those big peaks, and cut timber on them for a lot of years. You were mighty lucky to get out alive, if you ask me." Introducing Helen Topping Miller's Great New Story HAWK IN THE WIND Here's a story that is brimming with human interest! It tells of courageous Virgie Morgan, a widow, who fought for existence in the Carolina mountains, and of her efforts to guide her daughter in love. You won't want to miss • single installment. START IT TODAYI m The young man laughed, wearily. "I know that very well. I went around in a circle for a while—kept coming back to the same big pop lar. Rhododendron over my head no light, no path—" "My boys," said Virgie, "found a man over toward Huggin's, once, east of Chimneys. He'd been dead for three months. Just a photogra pher chap from up north. He had a map. Put the coffee down here, Lossie, and fetch some hot milk and some bread and some of that cold veal. He can have the milk first— better not go too fast if he's been hungry for a while. You didn't tell me your name, son." "I'm Branford Wills—of Washing ton." "And from Georgia or some place before that, by your talk. Kick those shoes off—l think I can find you a dry pair. My husband had small feet—he was a slight man—but may be you can squeeze them on. Hera comes Lossie with the milk. Now don't gulp—take it easy. Hold the cup, Lossie—his hand is unsteady." Young Mr. Branford Wills sipped the steaming milk, sighed, smiled. He was, so Virgie discerned, a very engaging person when he smiled. "I grew up in Alabama," he said, "I—think I can manage it now, thank you. May I drink all thisT" "Slowly," Virgie said. "Where did you stay last night, for goodness' sake? It was cold as charity and that sleety rain falling." "I walked. I didn't dare to stop. I sighted a star and kept moving, The absurd part of it is that I'm supposed to know better. I'm a government cartographer." "That's a map-maker," supplied Virgie, as Lossie looked perplexed. "So you knew enough to stick to a star, did you? The trouble was that the star didn't seem to stick to you. Where did you start from?" "South of the gap—six miles or so." "In a straight line from here that's twenty miles. But the way you came—" "Half around the world, I'd say. May I have the coffee now? I'm all right, really. I'm pretty rugged. I've lived out for a number of years." "Nobody would believe that, by your clothes." "Oh, we were heading into town, you see. We were through. We were up there checking the contrac tor's bids. My woods clothes have gone on back to Washington without me—unless the other fellows waited. When I didn't show up at that filling station they may have been worried and uneasy—they may be up there yet." "We can telephone. But you'd bet ter eat first." "You're a generous person." He took the hot cup of coffee, eagerly, "Not many people would take in a tramp like me—and believe his sto ry. You didn't tell me your name." "I'm Mrs. David Morgan. If you've been with the government men you've heard about me." Vir gie's lips drew a little straight. Her motherly gray eyes emptied and withdrew a trifle. "Oh, yes." He was slightly em barrassed. "You belong to the pulp people." "I'm the Morgan pulp business." A thin edge was on her tone. "When ever government men want to lay any sin in these mountains on any one, they pick on me. "Oh—but I'm sure—" "Oh, I'm used to it. I don't mind," she went on. "In the meantime I'm going to give you a warm bed for the night, and then we'll send a message to your folks—" "Please don't bother about me." Little spots of color had come into his face, his eyes looked anxious. "I can go on now. I'll get down to town—there is a town, isn't there? Of course there must be—your mill-" "Six miles," Virgie said, "and you're not going any farther tonight —not in this storm and cold. I'm a mountain woman first and a robber baroness afterwards. Mountain peo ple never turn away strangers." (TO BE CONTINVED) SERVICES OFFERED Vital war minerals In •■>•. Mineral# and ore* Identified. *2.00 each. Send smaU ■ample.' Assays and analyses also fur nished. Writ* for prices and Information. Louis Straage, Box *ll, Guthrie. Kr. BABY CHICKS FREE @lßl AGENTS Atteatlen active i|i>U, installment men. peddlers, candy premium men. short Booda salesmen I Lowest wholesale prices oo spreads, blankets, sheets, dress goods, pre mium goods, enamelware, dry goods, etc. Writs for price list. Beg MM, Celambss, Oa. HOUSEHOLD QUESTIONS^Jgfj^/ While boiling: milk, if a small pinch of baking soda is added it will keep the milk from curdling. * * * Cottage or cream cheese mois tened with orange juice makes m delicious filling for peach or pear salads. • • • Use the rinsing water from milk bottles to water house plants. TCiia water will make them healthy. • • • To keep muslin curtains even when laundering them, put two curtains together and iron as one curtain. • • • Powdered borax added to the water when washing fine white flannels helps to keep them soft. • • • To cook dried prunes, wash them well, cover with four inches of cold water and let soak over night. Simmer very slowly for one hour. • • • To shorten the baking time for apple pie 20 minutes, first cook the apples five minutes in a small quantity of water, then cool them and proceed as usual. * • * Hang small household articles, used frequently, on screw-eyes placed on inside of hall or bath room cabinet or closet. They are then out of sight but within easy reach. due to Constipation/ Dr. Hitchcock's All-Vegetable Laxative Powder an intestinal tonic-laxative —actually tones lazy bowel muscles. It helps relieve that sluggish feeling. 15 doses for only 10 cents. Large family siso 3ft cents. At all druggists. Wrong Roads One goes to the right, the other to the left; both are wrong, but in different directions.—Horace. si] SH JOSEPH |l|c j ASPIRIN 111 J j| WORLD* LAROIIT No Results He beat the bushes without tak ing the birds.—Rabelais. COLDS quickfy LIQUID 11 m. mm. M noii moM COUGH ODOPJ WNU-7 46-40 Independable Luek Luck ia always against the man who depends upon It. W/HEN kidney* function badly and yy you tulfer a rugging backache, with dlulneu, burning, tcanly o» too frequent urination and getting up at night; when you feel tired, nervout, all uptel... ute Doan'i Pills. Doaa't are especially lo» |oody working kldneyt. Million! of boxe» eie used every yeai. They aie iecom """hlofl tou " l,y y«*
The Danbury Reporter (Danbury, N.C.)
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Nov. 15, 1940, edition 1
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