Newspapers / The Danbury Reporter (Danbury, … / May 1, 1941, edition 1 / Page 2
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Never allow cold water to run Into an aluminum pan while it is hot. If done repeatedly, this rap id contraction of metal will cause pan to warp. • • • Cream cheese mixed with a little chili sauce or catsup makes a piquant filling for sandwiches. They are especially appealing with a hot beverage. • • • A large banana and two ounces of cream cheese mashed and mixed together makes a delicious spread for crackers. • • • A scrubbing brush with stiff bristles is invaluable when wash ing badly soiled collar bands, mud splashed hems or other stains on white clothes. Lay the cloth smoothly on the washboard, wet the brush, rub it across a bar of soap, then scrub the garment with strokes of the brush. ARTISTS WANTED WANTgD ARTISTS AND CARTOONISTS with p'actic.il or nrt school training who w.int work, write NATIONAL Alt? SERV ICE ISAOI'E, Itox Kill, Portland, Maine. Princes of India The territories and incomes of the princes of India vary tremen dously, says Collier's. There are 662 of them, and they range from the Nizam of Hyderabad, who rules over a rich area the size of Minnesota and has an annual in come of $25,000,000, down to the little fellow who rules over a poor village in the Simla hills and has an annual income of only SSOO. Without Thinking Many a man fails to become a thinker for the sole reason that his memory is too good.—Nietzche. V r ' I due to Constipation/ Dr. Hitchcock's All-Vegetable Laxative Powder an intestinal tonic-laxative —actually tones lazy bowel muscles. It helps relieve that slußglsh feeling. 15 doses for only 10 cents. Large family size 25 cents. At all druggists. Best Administered For forms of government let fools contest, whatever is best ad ministered, is best.—Pope. OWN TOUR HOME # Complete plan 9 and specifications nt nominal cost. Designed to comply with F. H. A. requirements. The leading con tractors use our services. For mmpltU information writs SOUTHERN PLAN SERVICE Room 217. Zanher Bids.. 1000 P'tree St., Atlanta, 6a. Evil From Habit How many unjust and wicked things are done from mere habit.— Terence. BEACONS of —SAFETY— •Like ft beacon light u the height—the advertise ments in newspapers direct you to newer, better and easier ways of providing the things needed or desired. It shines, thia beacon of newspaper advertising—and it will be to your advantage to fol low it whenever you make a purchase. Wie Lamp * By ARTHUR STRINGER JL W. N, U Service / T Carol Coburn, Alaska-born daughter of a ''bush rat" who died with an unproved min ing claim, return* North to teach school. Sidney Lander, mining engineer, rescues her aboard ahlp from annoyances of Eric (the Red) Erlcson. Lander la engaged to CHAPTER XI Life is like a husky-dog that re fuses to be entirely tamed. Quite un expectedly the old wolf strain breaks out. Several weeks ago I'd arranged to have young Olie Eckstrom bring me a quart of milk every morning. And I looked forward to Olie's daily visits. For I liked Olie and Olie liked me. I liked the flash of his boyish wide smile and the friendly warmth in those sky-blue Scandina vian eyes of his. He was always glad to fill my water pail and,do some trivial little chore for me. But one day, instead of the tow headed Olie, it was his little sister Frieda who proudly toddled to my door. She made a funny figure as she stood there in her patched old cor duroy trousers (plainly inherited from Olie) and an equally abraded old wolfskin coat that was much too big for her. She couldn't have been more than six years old but she showed an active interest in my school crayons and building blocks. After she'd pored over a picture book or two I tied her up. in her wolfskin coat, gave her an apple, and started her off for home. There was a feeling of Spring in the air. I noticed that my shack eaves were dripping and my door yard drifts were diminishing. But about midafternoon Olie ap peared at my door. He stood there with his wide smile. "I ban come for Frieda," he an nounced. "But Frieda went home hours ago," I explained with a faint chill ing of the blood. His face, as he stood frowning over that, became suddenly mature. She had not come home, he said, and his mother had thought that maybe I had kept her for dinner. We began the search by first look ing through the outbuildings and skirting the clearing edges where the shadows were growing longer. It was foolish, I suppose, but I kept calling out, "Frieda! Frieda!" as I went. And there was, of course, no childish answer to that call. Then we went back to the road and examined the muddy ruts and the sun-softened snow for any betraying ly small footprints. But there was nothing there we could be sure of. "Perhaps," I told the solemn-eyed Olie, "she's home by this time." I pinned my faith on that hope. But it proved to be a hollow one. And the stricken look in Mrs. Eck strom's eyes did not add to my hap piness. She called her husband, who came from the stable with a hay fork in his hand. The smile faded from his wide blond face as Olie explained the situation. The sun, I could see, was already iow over the mountain tops. And every hour counted, with night coming on. "We've got to have help," I told them. "We've simply got to find that child." That took my thoughts back to Katie's Indian baby, the abandoned little papoose who'd been found in the valley birch grove. And the god from the machine, on that oc casion, had been Sidney Lander's sheep dog. "Olie," I said, "could you get on a horse and hurry over to Sock- Eye Schlupp's? There's a man there named Lander, who has a dog called Sandy. And something tells me Sandy might find Frieda." It wasn't Sandy I wanted, I'm afraid, as much as Sandy's master. He was off like the wind. Lander arrived more promptly than I had expected, with Sandy at his heels. I noticed, as he swung down from his horse, that he had a flashlight in his hand. His face, as he hurried over to us, was stern but not excited. And he didn't stop to ask many questions. "I'm having Sock-Eye notify the settlers," he said. "When they get here, tell them to strike north and south of the trail at fifty paces apart. Let 'em work a half mile each way. And when they've finished their trip in and out have 'em report at the Jansen shack." He turned for a moment to the lost child's mother, who was quietly weeping in the doorway. "That's all right, Mrs. Eckstrom. We'll find your girl for you." There was such assurance in that deep-timbred voice of his that I half-believed him. Then, for the first time, he looked Squarely into my eyes. "It's only trouble," he said in a lowered voice, "that seems to bring us together." "We haven't seen much of each other," I answered, resenting the quaver in my voice. "Isn't that what you asked for?" he demanded, almost sharply. "Was it?" I temporized, arrested by the deeper lines in his face. But Mrs. Eckstrom's wailing call for someone to find her Frieda cut short the answer he seemed about to make. "You'd better come with me," he said after a second brief study of my face. And my heart, at that command, gave an absurd little leap of relief. THE DANBURY REPORTER, THURSDAY, MAY 1, 1941 THE STORY SO FAR Barbara Trumbull, whose father 1* fighting Coburn's claim. Lander breaks with Trum bull and moves to Sock-Eye Schlupp's shack. Carol gets a school Job at Mata nuska. Barbara visits her and Carol says she is INSTALLMENT IX "And you, Eckstrom," Lander called back over his shoulder, "line up the men when they get here. And you, Olie, ride straight over to the station and tell the agent there to get the marshal. Tell him to wire up and down the line for any men he can get here. This calls for fast work. So come on!" I didn't resent the brusqueness of that order. "How old is that child?" he asked as we reached the open road. "About six," I answered. And that struck me as such a pitiably small figure that I was prompted to add: "She seemed quite a sturdy little tyke." "How was the child dressed?" he asked. I told him about the old wolfskin coat. "That's in her favor," he said as he hurried on. "And a child of six wouldn't go far in country like this. She couldn't." He glanced about the darkening bowl between the laven der-tinted hills. "She's somewhere within a mile of us." "Won't Sandy help us?" I asked. "He hasn't enough to work on," Lander explained. "Or, ather, he has too much, here on the road. He "She's somewhere within a mile of us." wouldn't know what's expected of him. A hundretf different feet have passed along this trail." Lander left me and pushed his way in through a tangle of berry canes, with Sandy whimpering at his heels. That, for some reason gave me a flicker of hope. But it resulted in nothing. Man and dog worked their way back to the road again and once more Lander sidled along the ruts, step by step, studying the broken surface. I saw him rather abruptly leave the road, push through a mat of last year's fireweed, and drift away across a flattened meadow of wild hay. I thought, for a while, that I was both deserted and forgot ten. But he circled back to me, in the end, a little breathless from run ning. "Come on," he said. "I've struck a trail." It was easy to follow him, since the meadow, for all its roughness, sloped downward. But I remem bered, with a gulp, where that slope ended. "Aren't we going toward the riv er?" I asked. "Yes," he answered. Lander turned when a scattering of white birches barred our path, and veered off to the left, penciling the ground with the ray of his flash light as he went. He stood in doubt, when we came to a spruce wood, but pushed on again, skirting the gloom of the close-serried trees. Then he suddenly stopped and showed me a mark on a mounded snowdrift. It didn't mean much to me. But the excitement in his voice was unmis takable. "That," he said, "is a child's foot print." He called Sandy to his side and talked to him. He pushed the dog's nose down in the snow and patted him and started him off with the cry of, "Find her, Sandy!" But Sandy disappointed us. He struck off in the darkness, quivering with excitement, only to circle back to us and whimper at his mas ter's heels. Then a cry came from Lander. The beam of his flashlight had fallen on an empty tin pail, lying beside a fallen spruce bole. One glance at it told me it was the pail in which the Eckstrom milk was daily carried to my door. That sent Lander run ning about in an ever-widening cir cle, sweeping his flashlight from side to side as he went. I could hear, for the first time, the sullen roar ing of the river under its tangle of ice. And I didn't like the sound of it. He rejoined me, as I stood there with a new chill in my blood, and thrust the flashlight in my hands. "We've got to have help here," he said. "You keep Sandy and the not Interested in Lander. One of Carol'! pupils Is Salaria Bryson, • big, out-doori young woman, also in love with Lander. Salaria can hardly read but she is adept •t hunting game. flashlight when I go back for the men. And blink the light from time to time, so we can place you." "All right," I agreed, as quietly as I could. "Can't you find her, Sandy'" I said as I stood with my fingers hooked through his collar. For it would be natural, I knew, for the dog to follow his owner. I let him sniff at the pail as I held him trem bling against my knee. Then he suddenly whimpered and broke loose. And I realized, as I stag gered after him in the darkness, that I had failed to keep a part of my promise. He was off. I could hear his bell-like barks in « . n 'Bht air as he quartered oft from the woodland and crossed a treeless slope that led to a hayfield as level as a floor. It was a stretch of open land, I could see, where some homesteader the summer be fore had cut wild hay for his stock. But Sandy, instead of racing after his master, seemed to be crisscross ing about this open floor windrowed with its sun-shrunken snowdrifts. He came back to me, barked twice in my face, and was off again. I followed him, as best I could, wondering if his excitement was due to a fox or even some larger ani mal prowling about in the gloom. But I found him, at the meadow edge, with his nose buried in the tumble of loose hay at the base of a poled stack covered with a faded tarpaulin. His bobbed tail, I no ticed, was going from side to side like a metronome. I dropped down on my knees be side him, pawing away the loose hay. Then I suddenly stopped. I shrank back, with a quick little cur dle of nerve ends. For my bare hand, pushing deeper, had come in contact with warm fur. I was sure of that. And I was equally sure that Sandy had smeUed out a sleeping bear. My one and only aim in life was to get away from that stack and hear the comfortable voices of armed men about me again. I ran stumbling across the drifted hay field, wondering as I went why I could see no moving lights in the distance. Then my flight came to an end. For I realized that Sandy, who was following me, did not approve of that retreat. His sharp barks were plainly meant for sounds of protest. He even came and tugged at my parka end, as though to drag me back. I stood there, in my weakness, and hesitated. I must have stood in the darkness for a full minute, with out moving. Then a second wind of courage took me slowly back to ward the stack. It wasn't easy to go back. But I shut my jaw and crept gin gerly forward, wondering how I should defend myself if an aroused wild animal lumbered out at me. My hand, I'm afraid, wasn't a very steady one as I thrust an exploring arm into the little cave under the stack shoulder, the cave where some stray deer or perhaps a moose had been feeding during the deep cold. It was quite a deep hollow. My arm, in fact, went in up to the el bow. Then it went still deeper. It went until I could feel the warm fur again. But, a moment later, I could feel something else. About it, strangely enough, was wrapped a coil or two of rope. And then I realized the truth. It wasn't a sleeping bear: it was the body of a child in a worn wolf skin jacket. It was our lost Frieda. She roused a little and emitted a sleepy whimper or two as I caught her up and held her to my breast. A great surge of relief swept through me as I heard the sleepy small voice complain: "Ah ban so hungry!" "Of course you're hungry," I said, a little drunk with excitement. And both Sandy and the half-awakened child must have thought that I'd suddenly gone mad, for I managed, in some way, to clamber to the top of the stack and there, standing up in the darkness, I sfeouted with all my strength. I called and called again, until an answering shout came back to me. "They're coming, Frieda," I said as Sandy's voice belled out on the cold night air. Lander came first, a little out 01 breath, pushing Sandy away from him as he stooped over me. "I've found her," I said as I strug gled to my feet in the loose hay. "She's all right." But, with Frieda in my arms, I wasn't sure of my footing. And a sudden sense of se curity went' through me as I felt Lander's long arm encircle my waist and hold me up. He held me close in under his wide shoulder, for just a moment, in what I accepted as a silent gesture of gratitude. "She's all right," he shouted back over his shoulder. And he took the child from my arms as the twin kling lanterns drew nearer. I could hear a cheer go up from the crowd and a moment later I could hear the tremulous voice of Mrs. Eckstrom saying over and over again: "My leedle Frieda! My leedle Frieda J'' (TO BE CONTINUED) PATTERNS SEWfING COD2CLE p)0 YOU take a large size—any *-* where between 36 and 52? Then this dress will simply delight you. It's so becoming and suc cessful that two neckline styles are suggested in the pattern (No. 1333-B). One is the plain v-neck line cut to smart new depth, and the other is turned back in narrow revers. Make the dress in house hold cottons, trimming with braid BIG 11-OUNCE fir BOTTLE OF & HINDS isßtSl honey & almond cream f ijfrgfifc—i MBiPO Regular '1 size limited time only— I Misused Necessity It is the argument of tyrants; it is Necessity is the plea for every the creed of slaves.—Pitt, the infringement of human freedom. Elder. . FRED SONNE jjpj n {0- / | HB PUBLIC nature of advertising bene. X fits everyone it touches. It benefits the public by describing exactly the products that are offered. It benefits employees, because the advertiser must be mote fair and just than the employer who has no obligation to the p-m*- These benefits of advertising are quite apart from the obvious benefits which advertising confers—the lower prices, the higher quality; the better service that go with advertised goods and firms. and adding a couple of pockets, and it will be one of your most comfortable work-a-day styles. Make it of light, inconspicuous prints, flat crepe or spun rayon for street wear, with plain neck line, softened by a narrow touch of contrast. The detailing is perfectly planned to create the high-busted, slim-hipped line most becoming to large figures. The skirt has a gradual flare. It's one of those ut terly simple dresses that has loads of distinction. • • • Pattern No. 1333-B la designed lor ttzea 30. 38, 40, 42. 44, 46, 48, SO and S2. Six* 38 requires, with short sleeves, S!'« yard* of 39-Inch material without nap: long sleeves, s>,'« yards. I'/« yards braid or % yard contrast for neck fold. Detailed sew chart included. Send order to: I SEWING CIRCLE PATTERN DEPT. Room 1324 211 W. Wacker Dr. ChlcafO Enclose IS cents In coins for Pattern No Size Name Address Early Glass The manufacture of crude glass by the using of sand and soda if supposed to have been accidentally discovered by the Egyptians some 4,000 years ago. Beads and amu lets of colored glass have been re covered from Egyptian tombs that were dug 6,000 years ago. Stained glass was first made in the Ninth century, and the earliest references to stained glass win dows were found in a document stating that Rheims cathedral was fitted with them some time be tween the years 969 and 988. It is thought that the Romans, who were experts in glass making, were the first to use glass in win dows. At Pompeii several exam ples dating back before A. D. 79 have been found. According to Dr. Alexander Sil verman of the University of Pitts burgh, the United States manufac tures enough window and plata glass each day to make a ten-lane boulevard (roughly 80 feet) round the world.
The Danbury Reporter (Danbury, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
May 1, 1941, edition 1
2
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