Newspapers / The Enterprise (Williamston, N.C.) / July 3, 1914, edition 1 / Page 3
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n ®eVMIANTS/VIIXiINL\ R mi SF HALLE EDMINIE RIVES •?• SIHB ILLUSTRATIONS 6r LAUREN STOUT SpS ■jinn w co/°KAvovr by aoaflpvyr/T/?* t V iTrTT SYNOPSIS. John Van»nt. a rich locWr favorite, tUddenly discovers that the Valiant cor poration. which lila father founded and which Waa the principal source of hi* wealth, had failed He voluntarily turns over his private fortune to the receiver for the corporation. Hla entire remaining possessions consist of an old motor car. a white bull do* and Damory court, a neg t lected estate In Virginia. On the way to Damory court he meets Shirley Dand rldge, an auburn-haired beauty, and de cides that he Is gutng to like Virginia Im mensely. Shirley's mother. Mrs. Dand rldge, and Major Briatow exchange rem iniscence* during which it la revealed that the major. Valiant's father, and a man named Bassoon were rivals for thy hand of Mrs. T>sodridge in lser youth, flwwoon and Valiant fought a duel on her «ccount In which the foftner was killed. Valiant finds Damory court overgrown with weeda and orwpvrs and decides to rehabilitate the place. Valiant saves Bhlriey from the bite of a snake, which bites him. Knowing 'ho deadlines* of the bite, Shirley sucks the poison from the •wound and saves his life. Valiant learns for the first time that his father left Vir ginia on account of a dual in which Doc tor 80111 halt and Ma lor Brlstow acted sl» his father's seconds. Valiant and Shirley become good friends. Mrs. I tand ridge faints when she meets Valiant for tne first time. Valiant discover* that he has a 'fortune In old walnut trees. The yearly tournament, a survival of the Jousting of feudal times. Is held at Datnory court. At the laat moment Valiant takes the place of one of the knights, who Is sick, and enters the Hats H* wlna and chooses Shirley Dandridge as queen of beauty to the dlamay of Katherine Fargo, a former sweetheart, who la visiting In Virginia The tournament hall at Damory court draws the elite of the countryalde. Shir ley I s crowned by Valiant aa queen of beauty. Valiant lella Shlrla# of his love and thev become engaged. Katherine Fargo, determining not to give up Vali ant without a struggle points out to Shir ley how terrible It would be for the wom an who cauaed the duel to meet Val'anl, who looka so much lll**- his father. Shir ley, uncertain, but feeling that her moth er was In love with the victim of Vali ant's pistol, breaks the engagement.Ore«.f King, a liberated .convict whom Major Brletow hud sent to ptiaon. makes threats against his prosecutor. Valium plead* with Phtrlev. hut falls to ner«'tsd» 'her to chunge her decision. Malor Rrlstow Is fatally wounded liy Or*ef King, but be fore dying he confesses to Mrs. Dand ridge that he had kept a letter Valiant bad written to her after the duel. CHAPTER XXXl.—Continued. In the little haircloth trunk back In her room lay an old scrap-book. It held a few leaves torn from letters and many newspaper clippings. From theae she had known of hla work, hla marriage, (he great commercial auc ceaa for which hla name had stoody the name that from the day of hla go ing, ab« had so heldom taken upon her 11 pa Some of them had dealt with hla habits and Idiosyncrasies, hints of an altered personality, and s'oofness or loneliness .tfMt, had set him apart and made him, In a way, a atrangeWo those who should have known him best. Thys her mind had come to hold a donble image: The grave man theae shadowed forth, and ths man she had loved, whose youthful face waa In the locket She wore always on her breast. It waa this face that waa printed on' her heart, and when John Valiant had stood before her on the porch at Rosewood, it had seemed to have risen. Instinct, from that old grave. He had not kept silence! He had written! It pealed through her brain like a muffled bell. But Beauty Vali ant was gone with her youth; In the room near by lay that old companion who would never speak to her again, the lifelong friend—who had really failed her thirty years ago! . . and In a tin box a mile away lay a let ter. ... "He won't rouse again," the doctor ■He Went Upstairs, Into the Bedrooms Ons by On*. had said, but a little later, as he and Valiant aat beside the couch, the major opened his eyjs suddenly. "Shirley," he whispered. "Where's Shirley?" ' , She was sitting on the porch Just outside the open window, and when she entered, tears were on her face. The doctor drew back silently; but when Valiant would have done so, tSe major called him nearer. "No," he panted; "I like to see you two together." His voice was very weak and tired. As she leaned and touched his hand, be smiled whimsically. "It's mighty curious," 1M said, "but I can't got It out of my head that its Beauty Vali ant and Judith that I'm really talking to. Foolish —Isn't it?" But the idea seemed to master him, and presently he began to call Shirley by her moth' er'a name. An odd yosthfulneas crept into his eyee; a subtle paradoxical boyishness. His cheek tinged with color. The deep lines about hla mouth smoothed miraculously out. "Judith." he whispered. v—you— sure you told me the truth • while ago. when you said—you said—" "Yes, yes," Shirley answered, put ting her young arm under him, think ing only to aoothe the anxiety that seemed vaguely to thread some vague hallucination. He smiled again. "It makes It easier," he said. He looked at Valiant, his mind seeming to slip farther and farther away. "Beauty," he gasped, 'you didn't go away after all. did you! I dreamed It—l reckon. It'll be—all right with you both." He sighed peacefully, and his eyes turned to Shirley's and closed. "I'm— so glad," he muttered, "so glad I— didn't really do it. Judith. ItVould have—been the—only—low-down thing I —ever did." The doctor went awlftly to the door and beckoned to Jereboam. "Come In now, Jerry," he said In a low voice, "quickly." The old negro fell on hla knees by the couch. "Mars' Monty!" he cried. "Is you' gwine away en leabe ol' Jer ry? Is yo"? Mars'?" The cracked but loving voice struck across the void of the falling sense. For a laat time the major opened hia misting eyes. "Jerry, you—black scoundrel!" he whispered, and Shirley felt his hend grow heavier on her arm, "I reckon It's —about time —to me going—home!" CHAPTER XXXII. Rsnunciatlon. The grim posse that gathered In haste that afternoon did not ride far. Its work had been singularly well done. It brought back to Damory court, however, a white bulldog whose broken leg made hie would be Joyful bark trail lntq a sad whimper as his owner took him into welcoming arms. Next day the major was carried to his final rest in the myrtled shadow of St. Andrew's. At the service the old church was crowded to Ita doors. Valiant occupied a humble place at one side —the others, lie knew, were older friends tban he. The light of the late afternoon came dimly in through the stained-glass windows and seemed to clothe with subtle colors the voice of the rector as he read the solemn service. The responses came broken ly, and tliWir were tears on many faces. Valiant could see the side-face of the doctor, it* saturnine grimness strangely moved, and beyond htm, Shirley and her mother. Many glanced at them, for the major's will bad been opened that morning and few there had been surprised to learn that, save for a life-annuity for old Jereboam. he had left everything he possessed to Shirley. Miss Mattle Sue was be side them, and between, wan wittf weeping, sat Rickey Snyder. Shirley's arm lay shelterlngly about the small Hhoulders If It would stay the pas rflon of grief that from time to time shook them. The evening before had been further darkened by the child's disappearance and Miss Mattle Sue had sat through half the night In tearful anxiety. It was Valiant who had solved the riddle. In her first wild compunction, Rickey had gasped out the story of her meet ing with Oreef King, his threat and her own terrorized silence, and when he heard of this be had guessed her whereabouts. He had found her at the Dome, In the deserted cabin from which on a snowy "night six years ai|o, Shirley had rescued her. She had fled • here in her shabbiest dress, her toys and trinkets left behind, taking with her only a string of blue glass beads that bad been Shirley's last Christmas present. "'Let me stay!" she had walled. "I'm not fit to live down there! It's all my fault that it happened. I was a coward. I ought to stay here In Hell's-Half-Acre forever and ever!" Valiant had car ried her back In his arms down the mountain—she bad been too spent to walk. He thought of this now aa he saw that arm about the cblld In that pro tective, almost motherly gesture. It made his own heartache more unbear able. Such a Vttle time ago he had felt that arm about him! He leaned h's hot head against the cool plastered wall, trying to krtep his mind on the solemn reading. B-»l Shir ley's voice and laugh seemed to be running eerily through the denting lines, and her face shut out puipu and lectern. It swept over him suddenly that each abominable hour cotild but make the sltuatlcn more impossible for them both. He had seen her as she entered the churcb, had thought her even paler than in the wood, the bluish shadows deeper under her eyes. Those delicate charms were In eclipse. And It was he who was to blame! It came to him with a stab of en lightenment. He had been thinking only of himself all the while. *But for her, It was his presence that had now become the unbearable thing. A cold sweat broke on his forehead. "... for I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner; as all my fathers were. 0 •pare me a little, that I may recover my strength before Igo hence. . . The intoning voice fell dully on hla «ars. To go away! To pass out of hsr /- V ! THE ENTERPRISE, WILLIAMSTON, NORTH CAROLINA. life, to a future empty of her? could he do that? When he had part ed from her in tfre rain he had felt a frenzy of obstinscy. It had seemed eo clear that the barrier must In the end yield before their lova. He had never thought of surrender. Now he told himself that flight was all that was left him. She —her happiness—noth ing else mattered. Damory unurt and Its future—the plans he had mate —the Valiant name— ln that clarifying in stant be knew that all these, from that May day on the Red n*d. had about her. She had been the inspira tion of all. "Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom—" The voices of the unvested choir rose clearly and some one at hie side was whispering that this had been the major's favorite hymn. But he scarcely heard. When the service was ended the people filled the big yard while the last reverent worda were spoken at the •he Trlsd to Imagine Thst Letter's Coming to Thirty Years Ago! grave. Valiant, standing with the rest, saw Shirley, with her mother and the doctor, pass out of the gate. She waa not looking toward him. A mist waa before his eyea as they drove away, and the vision of her remained waver ing and indistinct- a pale blurred face undtr shining hair. He realized after a time that the yard was empty and the sexton was locking the church door. He went slowly to the gate, and just outside some one spoke to him. It was Chls holm Lusk. They had not met since the night of the ball. Even In his own preoccupation, Valiant noted that Luek's face seemed to hnve lost its exuberant youthfulness. It was worn as if with sleeplessness, and had a look of suffering that touched him. And all at once, while they stood look ing at each other, Valiant knew what the other had waited to say. "1 won't beat about the bush," sajd Lusk stammerlug. "I've got to alk you something. I reckon you'te gueseed that I—that Shirley—" Valiant touched the young fellow's arm. "Yes," he said, "I think I know." "It's no new thing, with me," said the other hoarsely. "It's been three years. The night of the ball, I thought perhaps that—l don't mean to ask what you might have a right to resent —but I must find out. Is there any reason why 1 shouldn't try my luck?" Valiant shook bis head. "No," he said heavily, "there is no reason." The boyish look sprang back to Lusk's face. He drew a long breath. "Why, then I will," he said. "I—l'm sorry If I hurt you. Heaven knows I didn't want to!" He grasped the other's hand with a man's heartiness and went up the road with a swinging stride; and Valiant stood watching him go, with his hands tight-clenched at his side. • ••••»« A little later Valiant climbed th» sloping driveway of D&mory court. It seemed to stare at him from a thou sand reproachful eyes. The bachelor red squirrel from his tree-crotch looked down at him askance. The redblrds, flashing through the hedges, fluttered disconsolately. Fire-Cracker, the peacock, was shrieking from the upper lawn and the strident discord seemed to mock his mood. The great house had become home to him; he told himself that he would make no other. The few things he had brought—his books and trophies—had grown to be a part of It, and they should remain. The ax should not be laid to the walnut grove. As his fa ther had done, he would leave behind him the life be had lived there, and the aid court should ber once more closed and deserted. Uncle Jefferson and Aunt Daphne toigh! live on In the cabin back of the kitchens. There was pasturage for the horse and the cows and for old Sukey, and some acres had already been cleared for planting. And there would be the swans, the ducks and chickens, the peafowl and the fish. A letter had come to him that morn ing. The corporation had resumed business with credit unimpaired. Pub lic opinion was t more tban friendly now. A place waited for him there, and one of addedhhoa r , In a concern that had rigorously cleansed Itaelf and already looked forward to a new ca reer of prosperity. But he thought of this now with no thrill. The old life no longer called. There were still wide unpeopled spaces somewhere where a man's hand and brain were no less needed, and there was work there that would help him to bear, if not for get. He paced up and down the porch un der the great gray columns, hla steps Spiritless and lagging. The Virginia creeper, trailing over its end, waved to and fro with a sound like a sigh. How long would It be before the lawn was once more unkempt and draggled? Before burdock aud thistle, mullein and Spanish-needle would return to smother the clover? Befone Damory court, on which he had spent such loving labor, would lie ngain as It lay that afternoon when he had rattled thither on Uncle Jefferson's crazy hack? llefore there would be for him, In some far-away corner of the world, only Wishing-House and the Never .Never Land? In the hall he stood a moment be fore the fireplace, his eyes on its carven motto, "I clinge:" the phruße was like a spear-thrust. He began to wander restleesly through the house, up and down, like a prowling animal. The dining room looked austere and chill— only the little lady In hoops and love-curls who had been Ills great grandmother smiled wistfully down from her gilt frame above the console -Mind In the library a melancholy deeper than that of yesterday's trag edy seemed to haug, through which Devil-John, drawing the leash of his leaping hotind, glared Harden ioally at him from lilh one cold eye The shutters of the parlor were closed, hut he threw them open and •let the rich light pierce the yellow gloom, glinting from the figures In the cabinet and weaving a thousand tiny rainbows in the prisms of the great chandelier. «, He went upstairs, Into the bedrooms one by one, now and then passing his hftni over a polished chair-back or touching an ornament or a frame on the wail: Into The Hllarium with Its records of childish study and play. The dolls stood now on dress-parade it) glass cases, aftd prints In bright colors, dear to little people, were on tfie walls. He opened the shutters here, too, and stood some time on the threshold before he turned and went heavily downstairs. Through the rear door he could see the kitchens, and Aunt Daphne ffltting under the trumpet-vine piecing a nine patch calico quilt with little squares of orange aud red and green cloth. Two diminutive darkles sprawled on the ground looking up with round serious eyes, while a wary ban tain pecked industriously about their bare legs. "Kn den whut de roostah say, Aunt Daph?" "01' roostah he hollah to all wifes, Oo—ooo! Oo —ooo! Youihi Mars' come! —Voung Mars' cOm*! Young Mars' come!' Kn dey all mighly skeered, 'case Mars' John he cert'n'y fond ob fried chlck'n Hut de big tuh kt y gobbler he don' bieeve et 'tall. Doubtful —doubtful—doubtful!' he say, lak dat. Den de drake he peep eroun' de cornah, en he say, 'Haleh! Halsh! Ilalsh!' Fo' he done seed Mars' John coinln', sho' nuff. But et too late by den, fo r Aunt Daph she done grab Mis' Pullet, en Mars' John he gwine ter eat huh dis bery evenln' fo' he suppah. Now you chlllun runs erlong home ter yo' mammies, en don' yo' pick none ob dem green apples on de way, neldah." It was not till after dark had come that Valiant said goodby to the gar den. He loved It best under the star lights l He sat a long hour under the pergola overlooking the lake, where hNQHq REALLY USED COTTON BALES Popular Idea Concerning Battle of New Orleans Has Beep Found to Be Correct. Interest in the slumberirg cotton bale theory of the battle of New Or leans was aroused by the finding of a water-color picture map of the original battle plan In an abandoned trunk in the ceUer of the ift. Charles hotel. Little Is known about the drawing or the other contents of the trunk which has remained unnoticed for years In u dark corner. Five veterans of the battle have added their signatures to the remark able map. to attest the fact that It Is a true representation of the battle plan aa made under the direction of Andrew Jackson by his military engi neer, H. Laclotte.*; it shows a line of cotton bales which a marginal note says was 1,000 feet'long with a pro longment extending 600 feet Into the woods. Some historians deny the story about the use o 1 oitton bales. he could dimly see th« green rocks, and the white froth of the water bub bling and chuckling down over their rounded outlines to the shrouded level below. The moon lifted finally and soared through the iky, blowing out the little lamps of stars. Under Its light a gossamer mist robed the land scape In a Bhlmmerlqg opalescence. In which tree and shrub altered their values and became transmitted to sil ver sentinels, watching over a de mesne of violet-velvet ahadpws filled wit* sleepy twitterings and stealthy rustlings and the odor of wild honey suckle. At the last he stood before the old sun dial, rearing Its column from Its pearly clusters of blossoms. "I count no hours but the happy ones:" he read the Inscription with .an indrawn breath. Then, groping at Its base, he lifted the ivy that had once rambled there and drew up the tangle again over the stone disk. His Dride's-Gar den! In the library, an hour later, sitting at the big black pigeonholed desk, he wrote to Shirley: "I am leaving tonight on the mid night train. Uncle Jefferßon will give you this note in the morning. I will not stay at Damory court to bring more pain Into your life. I am going very far away. 1 understand all you are feeling—aud so, goodby, goodby. (lod keep you! I love you and I shall love you always, always!" CHAPTER XXXIII. The Vole# From the Past. Though the doctor left the church with Shirley and her mother, he did not drive to Hosewood, but to his of fice. There, alone with Mrs. Dan drldge while Shirley waited In the carriage, he unlocked the little tin box that had been the major's, with the key Mrs. Dandrldge gave him, and put Into her hands a little packet of yellow oiled-silk which bore her name. He noted that It agitated her pro foundly aud as she thrust it Into the bosom of her dress, her face seemed stirred as he had never seen It. When he put her again In the' carriage, he patted her shoulder with a touch far gentler than his gruff goodby; At Hosewood, at length, alone In her room, she sat down with the packet In her hands. During the long hours since first the little key had lain In her palm like a live coal, she bad been all afire with eagerness. Now the 'aiotnent had come, she was almost afraid. She tried to that letter's coming to her—then. Thirty years ago! A May day, a day of golden sunshine and flowers. The arbors had been covered with rosea then, too, like those whose perfume drifted to her now. Evil news files fast, and shs had heard of the duel very early that morning. The letter would have reached her later. She would have fed away with It to this very room '*> read It alone as she did now! (TO BIC CONTINUED.) r Value of Talk. j Talk has the reputation of being the cheapest thing there Is. As supply und demand have something If not all *o do with values, doubtless the sup ply of talk is what gives it a bargain :ounter value. Things that are cheap lack enduring •juallty. If talk were confined to the thlfv lone more than to the thing said, l*. would have a greater value. Some one asked Edison If he expeft ► need much Inconvenience on account nt his deafness. He replied that ho ihanked Ood for it every day, since l* protected him from the distracting ef - fect of other .people's talk. He cou'4 thus live his own life, think his o»r, thoughts, do his own work In hia wor'P f silence. The live veterans -"trho say th*y fi ught behind cotton t>ales were Jo seph St. Cyr, Jean P. fi. 1/ipice, Charles Raymond and Jean Pen pictures oi these men a jpear la the footnotes. The finding of the picture Is tlms -1«, says tha New Orleans Item, as It v 111 be of service for the staging of the battle, which is to be one of tbtt leading features of the Exposition oi Big Ideas. * Translator of "Arabian Nights." The "Arabian Nightß" did not be came familiar to Europeans until 1704, when Galland translated them Into French. Scholars cast doubt on the a ithentlcity of some of Oalland's work, accusing him— like Fltz-Oerald ahd" Omar. Khayyam —of inventlivt rlther than translating, but with tlu\ public the success of the tales waa immediate and immense. G&lla&d used to complain that the students, re turning home In the early hours the morning, would knock at his do* Mid demand the recitation of a tale. MmnoNAL SINMSffIOOL LESSON (By E. O. BELL.ERB. Director of Rvcnlnf Depart mailt, The Moody Bible Institute ChlcACO.) LESSON FOR JULY 5 THE LABORERS IN THI VINK YARD. '. I.KBBON TEXT—Matt. J0:l-1«. OOLDKN TKXT—"He maketh his aun to rise on the evil and on the good, and aendeth rain on the juat and on the un- Juat." Matt. 5:45. This Is another lesson connected with our Lord's Perean ministry. I. The Calle to Bervice ? vv. 1-7. To get a correct setting we roust re turn to Peter's question, 19:17, which in turn grew out of our Lord's deal ings with the rich young rulor (see lesson of June 21st), and which called from Jesus the exclamation, "It la hard for a rich man to enter the King dom of heaven" (19:23). At this the disciples wore exceedingly surprised and exclaimed. "Who then can he saved?" (v. 25). Jesus replied, "With Ood all things are possible." There upon Peter said, "Lo, we have left all and followed thee; what then shall we have?" The young man refused to leave his all and follow, whereas the disciples had and tester seems to desire to know what advantage had accrued to them, what reward they were to have. Jesus Answer* Peter. Jesus closed his answer to Peter by saying, "Many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first" (v. 30) and Illustrates his reply by the parable which Is our lesson. Many who do not stipulate a reward shall be first, while many who work and work long, but work only for a re ward, will be last. Preceding this Jesus definitely told Peter that the twelve should be associated with him judging the twelve tribes of Israel and that all who had left all to fol low him Bhmild receive an hundred fold and would Inherit eternal life (seo chapter 19:28, 29), that Is, they would gain what the young ruler sought by doing what he failed to do. Historically this is illustrated by the Jew and Gentile, Matt. B.IL 12; Luke 13:28-30;-Rom, 9:30-33. Parable of the Kingdom. Jesuß Bays this Is a parable of the Kingdom, hence the householder repre sents God (cf. 13:27; 21:33, 43)j the vineyard Is the kingdom, see Isa. 2:7; Matt. 21:33. The king Is seeking laborers to labor In his vineyard. He began In the early morning (v. 1) and with those whom he employed he made a definite agreement. The penny had a value of about seventeen cents and represents an average day's wago at that time. No one works for God without a fair wage, Eph. 6:8; Heb. 6:10. Notice, before they were set to their task God called them. The call was to service, Mark 1:17. He goeß out again at the third and the sixth and the ninth hour, finds other laborers, making no definite agreement with them but sends them Into his vineyard to work. He led them into the work and they trusted him for wages. At the eleventh hour he found Idlers and asked them the reason (v. 6), they replied that no one had employed them and them too he sends Into the vineyard without any bargain as to wages. None except those at the third hour had any in timation as to their wage and they were to receive "whatsoever Is right." Those called at the first may put in longer hours but produce a poorer quality of service than others called at a later time. The character of the Bervlce Is of greater value than the amount rendered and the higher the Bervice the greater the proportionate reward. We get In this life about what we work for. 11. The Reward of Service, vv. 8-16. At the end of the day the lord's [ steward rewards each man, beginning with the last and ending with the flrßt (v. 8). The first one is paid ac cording to the strict letter of the agreement, and the last Is likewise paid in strict justice but in a most liberal manner. He, too, was worthy for he worked throughout all the time that was for him available. Giving an equal reward to all was a test of the character of those men who entered the vineyard In the early morning. The Lord's answer (vv. 13-15) Is a four-fold one (1) "I did thee no wrong;" the contract had been lived up to to the very letter. (2) "It is my will to give, even as unto thee;" the Lord has a right to be generous If he so desires. (3) "It is lawful for me to do what I will with mine own;" God has a right to exer cise such a prerogative and man has no right to complain, Rom. 9:15-21. (4) "Is thine eye evil because 1 am good?" The ground of this complaint was that of envy. * lll.—The Teaching. We must bo ware of trying to make this parable teach more than is written. To right fully understand our Lord's dealings with those who Berve him we must v consider others of his parables. This - one has two chief lessons; first, that priority of time or even length of service Is not the all-essential requi site; and second, that our fidelity to and use of our opportunity Is the chief desideratum. Along with thla there are of course other lessons. In answer to Peter's question our Lord showed him and his fellow disciples that the last might be first
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