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V fHEEl The Richmond Planet • | Stories I ' Features { (I _f . «©»»•©*©©««•»•••• IIMMMIMMM***** ________ -. «.* rhti«a«a tt t Trnmn a mnn t'p i rnrynT? ntirimtats i oo *1 aoa Pictures in the Illustrated Feature S2ctlon were posed, BEN DAWS. Jr. IV. B. ZIIT Co.. nos S. Dearborn Nt.. ( hicai*, TI ,T JTSTR A TED FEATURE SECTION February 22, 1930 B»d do not depict principals unless so captioned. Feature Editor Advertising Representatives ___________ 'pSMKiM*-1 Read "CLOISTERED WAYS” Everyday Life, Shorn of Superficial and v poree,i High-lights of Experience— f By JOSEPH BAKER— BEGIHHIHG OH THIS PAGE TODAY PART I A ZEPHYR, light as an angel’s breath, rustled the am bering leaves of oak and maple in Picken’s valley and wafted, curvingly, lazily, thousands of distinct streams of hickory smoke, up, up to the highlands above. looked longingly at the shafts of yellow light, streaming through the windows of the surrounding cot tages, which he knew to be supper lights, and he yearned, with all the depth oi his being to know a simi taken theology instead of medi cine as they had wished, but even this, though it might have been a mistake, did not seem to him a crime. He had been in a measure too, successful; he was living at went to his study and his thoughts, and she to her sewing; while out side, the new moon hung her cres cent sign in the hazy east, inviting the stars to her house, and the wind whispered goodnight to the trees. _:uj= -1 'll 11 lie r voice faltered and i fell. “You know h o w tf In:rd it is to ~ Ret a xv a y , from the ganR.” art ~ - ■■■ ■ — It was first evening, one of October’s hazy, languid blue ones, and the slowly dying sun, like a huge red disc, hung low in the west, alchemizing, tinting, with a touch superb, each object in its light. It was supper time in Cedar Springs, a bustling little town in the neck of the valley, and from the four directions, hungry, tired makers of bread, i could be seen trudging homeward. Each soon turned into his own little cottage, leaving the streets blurred and bare. Dr. Johnson, the young pastor of the little town’s leading ^ church, like the rest, turned into his yard, the paisonage yard, with a stride measured and slow. He too, was tired, for like the others, he too had known a rather hard day. He did not notice the super-sized white and salmon colored chrysanthemums which lined the sides of the long gia\el walk, partially indistinct now, in the twilight; nor was lie cognizant of the faint, yet sweet perfume of the fall violets. Once inside the little reception room, he flung himself listlessly upon the divan. A few smouldering coals, faint now, lay in a bed of white hickory ashes in the rather large fireplace. A vase of flowers stood on the long oak table. The parsonage was silent. No inviting odour came irom the kitchen; no dishes rattled in the dining room. He walked to a front window, and looked out on Cedar Springs. Twilight had fallen, the sun had et. and that calm peacefulness of night, which passes all understand ing, void of street cars, void of trains, was settling, like an old lav ender garment, over hill and dale, tee-top and roof. Like a child watching the rain, he pressed his lace against the chilly wtndow pane, and gazed unseeingly into space. He saw. and yet he did not see the long lines of towering oaks and stately maples, which stood defiant ly out against the falling night. He lar glory. The sultry waves of only twenty-four summers had he known, yet tonight he felt strange U old and forsaken, as he com pared the temporary barrenness of the parsonage with the ruddy glow of happiness radiating from other homes nearby. What had he done that he should know the pangs of loneliness while yet young? Truly enough, he had elected to be one of God’s linesmen, one of that host, whose feet do carry a gospel of peace, but surely this was no crime to be punished even by temporary loneliness. Indeed too, he had de fied his parents, in that he had / / Beginning Soon “The Dark Knight” A Story of Brown Love ami Thrilling Intrigue ___[ least comfortably, was absorbed in the accomj^phinent of his work — and was'l^SnJied — his breast heav ed as hc'jftqught of this —it was true —m$$ifed to the girl of his choice. He waTjust about to leave the window when two blaring head lights broke the shadows on the parsonage lawn. The car stopped; only a second, then it was gone. Soon he heard foot-steps, and Edna, his wife, stepped into the front door. She did not see him as he stood in the shadows. Soon sire made light. “Oh my, David, what are you do ing here without light?’’ "Just dreaming Ed, I guess — I was going to make one tnougn." There was a moment of silence, during which she avoided his eyes; a moment of that silence always manifest when two minds try to fathom each other. ‘‘I guess you’re hungry, too,” she finally ventured, removing her things, "and I’ll cook as soon as I can — er by the way, Ralph Bauk night was over today, and he ran me over to Henderson, and Dave —,” her voice faltered and fell "you know how hard is is to get away from the gang — I didn’t real ly mean to stay this long —but — you’re not angry are you—?” "Oh, it’s quite all right, Ed,” he cut in, "quite all right, glad you enjoyed yourself.” They ate supper sometime later, in a kind of silence, after which he If Cedar Springs was like any other small Southern town, and it was, it was most true to type in that it had its headquarters for those who criticised and judged the world. In this case as in many others, it was the town’s only shoe shop; and it happened that on this particular, crisp October morning, the super sanhedrin was in council. "There goes the preacher’s wife. Jack,” broke in one who was stand ing near the window, “you say that you have never seen her.” All must have been named Jack, for soon, all were milling, like disgruntled cattle, near the one window', one even peeped through the door. "Mother of Moses,” exclaimed one known as Jack, w'hen they had An ally become normal, "Man, she’s prettier than the law allows — and you sav she’s a preacher’s wife? lawd help me, she’s too pretty for that.” “That’s just what I’ve always said Jack,” broke in the shoemaker, whose reputation from a feminine angle was known by every child in the village better than the battle of Bunker Hill, “that’s what I've always said.” he repeated. “She ain't made for no preacher's wife why man you kin see by the way (Continued on Pare Four)