The Bluffton news. [volume], July 06, 1939, Image 7

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(THURSDAY, JULY S, 1938
THE DIM
LANTERN
a
By Temple
BAILEY
PENN PUBLISHING COl
WNU SERVICE
THE STORY
CHAPTER I—Young, pretty Jane Barnes,
who lived with her brother, Baldwin, in
Sherwood Park, near Washington, was not
particularly impressed when she read that
rich, attractive Edith Towne had been left
at the altar by Delafield Simms, wealthy
New Yorker. However, she still mused
over it when she met Evans Follette, a
young neighbor, whom the war had left
completely discouraged and despondent.
Evans had always loved Jane.
CHAPTER II—That morning Baldwin
Barnes, on his way to work in Washing
ton, offered assistance to a tall, lovely
girl in distress. Later he found a bag she
had left in the car, containing a diamond
ring on which was inscribed ”001 to
Edith—Forever.” He knew then that his
passenger had been Edith Towne. Al
ready he was half way in love with her.
That night he discussed the matter with
Jane, and they called her uncle, worldly,
sophisticated Frederick Towne. He visited
them at their home, delighted with Jane’s
simplicity. He told them Edith's story,
and they filled in the missing lines.
CHAPTER III—Because her uncle de
sired it, Edith Towne had accepted Dela
field Simms, whom she liked but did not
love. That did not prevent her from be
coming furious when he failed to show
up for the wedding. She disappeared im
mediately after the wedding was to have
taken place. Hearing the story. Baldy and
Jane sympathized with Edith, not with her
uncle. The next day Jane received a basket
of fruit from Towne, asking if he might
call again.
CHAPTER IV—Mrs. Follette, widowed
mother of Evans, was a woman of in
domitable courage. Impoverished, she nev
ertheless managed to keep Evans and
herself in comparative comfort by running
a dairy farm. Evans, mentally depressed
and disillusioned, had little self reliance
and looked to his mother and Jane for
guidance. After returning from the Fol
fette’s next day. Baldy is called to the
phone by Edith Towne, in answer to an ad.
She asked him to bring her pocketbook.
She is staying with an old employee at a
hotel some miles away.
CHAPTER V—Jane calls on Frederick
Towne in his elaborate office. After she
leaves to go shopping, he gives Lucy, his
stenographer, a letter to Delafield Simms,
in which he severely criticizes him. Un
known to him, Lucy and Simms are in
love with each other. Jane returns, and he
takes her home in his limousine. She in
troduces him to Evans, who, knowing that
he is far from his former companionable
self. Is jealous of Towne.
CHAPTER VI—Baldy goes to meet Edith
Towne at her hiding place. He convinces
her that she should return home and face
her friends. She is interested in Baldy,
especially when he tells her of his attempts
to paint. Later they eat in a restaurant,
where Edith sees several friends. She
knows they will see to it that the news is
spread.
(Now go on with the story.)
She was holding the lantern up
to the length of her arm. In her
orange cloak she shone through the
veil of mist, luminous.
“My dear,’’ she said, gently,
“why are you sitting here?”
“Because there isn’t any use in
going on.”
She lowered the lantern so that it
shone on his face. What she saw
there frightened her. “Are you feel
ing this way because of me?” she
asked in a shaking voice.
“Because of everything.”
“Evans, I won’t go to the Townes
if you want me to stay.”
He looked up at her as she bent
above him with the lantern. She
seemed to shine within and with
out, like some celestial visitor.
“Would you stay, Jane, if I want
ed it?”
“Yes.”
He stood up. “I don’t want it.
Not really. I’m not quite such a
selfish pig,” his smile was ghastly.
She was silent for a moment, then
she said, “I’m going home with you,
Evans. Wait until I tell Sophy to
send Briggs after me.”
He tried to protest, but she was
firm. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She returned presently, the lan
tern in one hand and her slipper
bag in the other. “I put on heavier
shoes. I should ruin my slippers.”
As they trod the path together,
the light of the lantern shone in
round spots of gold, now in front
of them, now behind them. The fog
pressed close, but the path was
clear.
“Evans,” said Jane, “I want you
to promise me something.”
“Anything, except—not to love
you.”
“It has nothing to do with love of
me, but it has something to do with
love of God.”
He knew how hard it was for her
to say that. Jane did not speak
easily of such things.
She went on with some hesitation.
Her voice, muffled by the fog, had a
muted note of music.
“Evans, you mustn’t let what I
do make you or break you. Whether
I love you or not, you must go on.
You—you couldn’t hold me if you
weren’t strong enough, even if I
was your wife. And there is strength
in you, if you’ll only believe it. Oh,
you must believe it, Evans. And you
mustn’t make me feel responsible.
I can’t stand it. To feel all the time
that I am hurting—you.”
She was sobbing. A little inco
herent.
“And you are captain of your soul,
Evans. You. Not anyone else. I
can’t be. I can be a help, and oh,
I will help all I can. You know that.
But—I love you like a big brother—
not in any other way. If anything
should happen to you, it would be
dreadful for me, just as it would be
dreadful if anything happened to
Baldy.”
“Janey, my dear, don’t,” for she
was clinging to his arm, crying as
if her heart would break.
“But I do care for you so much,
Evans. I was frantic when your
mother telephoned. I wasn’t quite
dressed and I made Sophy get the
lantern, and then I ran down the
path, and looked for you.”
He stopped and laid his hand on
her shoulder. Her weakness, her
broken words had roused in him a
sudden protective tenderness.
“My little girl,” he said, “don’t.
God helping me, I’m going to get
back. And you are going to light
my way. Jane, do you know when
I saw you coming towards me with
that dim lantern it seemed sym
bolic. Hope held out to me—seen
through a fog, faintly. But a fight,
nevertheless.”
“Oh, Evans, if I could love you,
I would, you know that.”
“I know. You’d tie up the broken
wings of every bird. You’d give
crutches to the lame, and food to
the hungry. And that’s the way you
feel about me.”
He had let her go now, and they
stood apart, shrouded in ghostly
white.
“God helping me,” he said again,
‘TH get back. That’s a promise,
Janey, and here’s my hand upon
it.”
She gave him her hand. “God
helping us both,” she said.
He lifted her hand and kissed it.
Then, in silence, they walked on,
until they reached the house
The Towne car was waiting, and
Mrs. Follette in a flurry welcomed
them. “I don’t see why you didn’t
ride over with him.”
“He hadn’t come, and we pre
ferred to walk.”
“What was the matter with you,
Evans?”
“Nothing much, Mother. I’m sor
ry you were fussed.” He gave her
no further explanation.
Jane put on her slippers and went
off in the great car. And then Ev
ans said, “I'm going over to Hal
lam’s.”
“Aren’t you well, my dear?”
“I want to talk to him.” He saw
her anxious look, and bent and
kissed her. “Don’t worry, Mumsie,
I’m all right.”
Dr. Hallam’s old estate adjoined
the Follette farm. The doctor was
a nerve specialist, and went every
morning to Washington, coming
back at night to the quiet of his
charming home. He was unmar
ried and was looked after by men
servants. He had been much inter
ested in Evans’ case, and had in
fact had charge of it.
The doctor was by the library fire,
smoking a cigar and reading a
brown book. He welcomed Evans
heartily. “I was wondering when
you would turn up again.” He
showed the title of his book, “Bos
well. There was a man. As great
as the man he wrote about, and
we are just beginning to find it out.”
“Rare edition?” Evans sat down.
“Yes. Got it at Lowdermilk’s
yesterday.”
“We’ve oodles of old books on
our shelves. Ought to sell them, I
suppose.”
“I wouldn’t sell one of mine.”
Hallam was emphatic. “I’d rather
murder a baby.”
Evans flamed suddenly. “I’d sell
mine, if I could get the things I
want.”
“I don’t want anything as much
as I want my books.”
“I do. 1 want life as I used to
live it.’*
The doctor sat up and looked at
him. “You mean before the war?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“I’m tired of being half a man.
If there’s any way out of it, I want
you to tell me.”
The doctor’s eyes were bright with
interest. He knew the first symp
toms of recovery in such caseS. The
neurasthenic quality of Evans’ trou
ble had robbed him of initiative. His
waking-up was a promising sign.
“The thing to do, of course, is to
get to work. Why don’t you open
an office?”
“A fat chance I’d have of getting
clients.”
“I think they’d come.”
The doctor smoked for a time in
silence, then he said, “Decide on
something hard to do, and do it.
Do it if you feel you are going to
die in the attempt.”
There was something inspiring to
Evans in the idea. Hard things.
That was it. He poured out the
story of the past few days. The
awful scene with Rusty. Tonight in
the fog under the pines. “Wanted
more than anything to drop myself
in the river.”
He was walking the floor, back
and forth, limping to one edge of
the rug, then limping to the other.
Then Jane came. Little Jane
Barnes. You know her, and she told
me—where to get off—said I was—
captain of my soul—” He stopped in
front of the doctor, and smiled
whimsically. “Are any of us cap
tains of our souls, doctor?”
“I’ll be darned if I know.” The
doctor was intensely serious. “Will
power has a lot to do with things.
The trouble is when your will won’t
work—”
“Mine seems to be working on
one cylinder.” Again Evans was
pacing the rug. “But that idea of
an office appeals to me. It will
take a bit of money, though. And it
is rather a problem to know where
to get it.”
“Sell some of the old books. I’ll
buy them.”
Light leaped into Evans’ eyes. “It
would be one way, wouldn’t it?
Mother would rather hate it. But
what’s a library against a life?” He
seemed to fling the question to a
listening universe.
The doctor laughed. “She’ll be
sensible if you put it up to her. And
you must frivol a bit. Play around
with the girls.”
“I don’t want any girls except
Jane.”
“Little Jare Barnes. Well, she’ll
do.”
“I’ll say she will.”
The doctor, watching him as he
walked back and forth, said, “The
thing to do is to map out a normal
day. Make it pretty close to the
program you followed before the
war. You haven’t happened to keep
a diary, have you?”
“Yes. It’s a clumsy record.
Mother started me when I was a
kid.”
“That’s what we want. Read it
every night, and do some of the
things the next day that you did
then. You will find you can stick
closer than you think. And it will
give you a working plan.”
Evans sat down and discussed the
idea. It was late when he rose to
leave.
“It will be slow,” was Hallam’s
final admonition, “but I believe you
can do it. And when things go
wrong, just honk and I’ll lend you
some gas,” his big laugh boomed
out, as they stood in the door to
gether. “Nasty night.”
“I have a lantern.” Evans picked
it up from the porch.
When Evans reached home his
mother called from upstairs, “I
thought you were never coming.”
“Hallam and I had a lot to talk
about.”
He came running up, and enter
ing her room found her propped up
on her pillows.
“Mother,” said Evans, and stood
looking down at her, “Hallam wants
me to sell some of the old books
and use the money to open an of
fice.”
“What kind of office?”
“Law. In town.”
“But are you well enough, Ev
ans?”
“He says that I am. He says
that I must think that I am well,
Mother.”
“But—”
“Dearest, don’t spoil it with
doubts. It’s my life, Mother.”
There was a look on his face
which she had not seen since his
return. Uplifted, eager. A light in
his eyes, like the light which had
shone in the eyes of a boy.
She found it difficult to speak.
“My dear, the books are yours. Do
as you think best.”
He leaned' over and kissed her,
lifting her a bit. There was energy
as well as affection in the quick ca
ress. She drew herself away laugh
ing, breathless. “How strong you
are.”
“Am I? Well, I think I am. And
I am going to conquer the world,
Mumsie.”
His exaltation lasted during the
reading of the diary. It was a fat
little book, and the pages were writ
ten close in his fine firm script. He
found things between the leaves—a
four-leaved clover Jane had sent
him when he made the football
team. A rose, colorless and dry.
Florence Preston had given it to
him.
He dropped the rose in the waste
basket. How could he ever have
thought of Florence? Love wasn’t a
thing of blue eyes and pale gold
hair. It was a thing of fire and
flame and fighting.
Fighting! That was it. With your
back to the wall—and winning!
For some day he meant to win
Jane. Did she think she could be
in the world and not be his? And if
she loved strength she should have
it. He bent his head in his hands—
his hands clasped tensely. There
was a prayer in his heart. His
whole being ached with the agony
of his effort.
“Oh, God, let me fight and win.
Bring me back to the full measure
of a man.”
Again he opened the book. Bits of
printed verse dropped out of it. Jane
had sent him this, “One who never
turned his back, but marched
breast-forward.”
He opened the book and read of
Jane, and of himself as he had once
been. He skipped the record of his
college days, except where he found
such reference as this: “Little Jane
is growing up. She met me at the
station and held out her hand to me.
I used always to kiss her, but this
time I didn’t dare. She was differ
ent somehow, but some day I’ll
kiss her.”
And this: “Jane is rather a dar
ling. But I am beginning to believe
that I like ’em fair.” That was when
he had a terrible crush on Florence
Preston, whose coloring was blue
and gold. But it hadn’t lasted, and
he had come back to Jane with a
sense of refreshment.
He found at last the pages given
over to those first days after he had
been admitted to the Washington
bar, and had hung out his shingle.
“Sat at my desk all the morning.
Great bluff. One client received
with great effect of busy-ness. Had
lunch with a lot of fellows—pan
cakes and sausages—ate an armful.
Tea with three debutantes at the
Shoreham—peaches. Dance at the
Oakleys’ in Georgetown. Corking
time. One deadly moment when the
butler took my overcoat. Poor peo
ple ought not to dance where there
are butlers.”
Autumn came: “Jane and I went
today to gather fox grapes. Mother
is making jelly and so is Jane. The
vines were a great tangle. Shut in
among them we seemed a thousand
miles away from the world. Jane
made herself a wreath of grape
leaves, and looked like a nymph of
the woods. I told her so and she
gazed at me with those great gray
eyes of hers and said, ‘Evans, when
the gods were young they must have
lived like this—with grapes for their
food, and the birds to sing for them,
and the little wild things of the wood
for company. It would be heaven
ly, wouldn’t it?’ She’s a queer kid.
Life with her wouldn’t be humdrum.
She’s so intensely herself.”
“We talked a bit about the war.
I told her I should go if France
needed me. I am not going to wait
until this country gets into it. We
owe a debt to France ...”
He stopped there, and closed the
book. He did not care to read far
ther. Oh, his debt to France had
been paid. And after that day with
Jane among the tangled vines things
had moved faster—and faster.
He didn’t want to think of it
CHAPTER VIH
The evening wrap which Jane
wore with her old white chiffon was
of a bright Madonna blue with a
black fur collar. Jane, as has been
said, loved clear color, and when
she dyed dingy things she brought
them forth lovely to the eye and
tremendously picturesque.
Frederick’s house was a place
where polished floors seemed to dis
solve in pools of golden light, where
a grand staircase led up to balco
nies. where the ceilings were almost
THE BLUFFTON NEWS, BLUFFTON, OHIO
incredibly high, the vistas almost
incredibly remote. Frederick, com
ing towards her through those pools
of golden light—blonde, big and
smiling, brought a swift memory of
another blonde and heroic figure,
not in evening clothes—but in silver
armor—“Nun sei bedankt, mein lie
ber Schwan,” Lohengrin! That was
it.
“A fat Lohengrin,” she amended,
maliciously.
Unaware of this devastating esti
mate, Frederick welcomed her with
the air of a Cophetua. He was un-
And he was interested.
conscious of his attitude of conde
scension. He was much attracted,
but he knew, of course, that his in
terest in her would be a great thing
for the little^ girl.
And he was interested. A queer
thing had happened to him—a thing
which clashed with all his theories,
broke down the logic of his pre
vious arguments. He had fallen in
love with little Jane Barnes, at first
sight if you please—like a crude boy.
And he wanted her for his wife. It
was an almost unbelievable situa
tion. There had been so many wom
en he might have married. Loveli
er women than Jane, wittier, more
distinguished, richer—of more as
sured social standing. He could
have had the pick of them, yet not
one of them had he wanted. Here
was little Jane Barnes, bobbed hair,
boyish, slender, quaint in her cheap
clothes, and he could see no one
else at the head of his table, no one
else by his side in the big car, no
one else to share the glamorous
days of honeymoon, and the life
which was to follow.
And so when young Baldwin had
telephoned of Edith's plans, there
had leaped into Towne’s mind the
realization of his opportunity. He
would see Jane among his house
hold gods. And he would see her
alone. He had sent Briggs in time
to have her there before the others
arrived.
And now Fate had played further
into his hands. “I’ve had another
message from Edith,” he told her
“we’ll have to eat dinner without
them. The fog caught them south
of Alexandria, and they went into a
ditch. They will eat at the nearest
hotel while the car is being fixed
up.”
“Baldy’s car always breaks at
psychological moments,” said Jane.
“If it hadn’t broken down on the
bridge, he wouldn’t have found your
niece.”
“And I wouldn’t have knowm you”
—he was smiling at her. “Who
would ever have believed that so
much hung on so little.”
And now Waldron, the b’ffler, an
nounced dinner—and Jane entering
the dining-room felt dwarfed by the
Gargantuan tables, the high-backed
ecclesiastical chairs, the tall silver
candlesticks with their orange can
dles.
“Your color,” Towne told her.
“You see I remembered your knit
ting—”
“I’m crazy about brilliant wools,”
said Jane “some day I am going
to open a shop and sell them.”
But he knew that she would not
open a shop. “You were like some
lovely bird—an oriole, perhaps, with
your orange and black.”
She smiled at him with her chin
tilted in her bird-like way. She was
really having the time of her life.
She was thrilled and fascinated by
the beauty of her surroundings, and
gradually Frederick began to take
on something of the fascination.
After dinner they sat in the great
drawing-room—a portentous place—
with low-hung crystal chandeliers—
pale rugs—pale walls—with one cor
ner redeemed from the general
chilliness by a fireplace of yellow
Italian marble, and a huge screen
of peacock feathers in a mahogany
frame.
“I call this room the Ice Pal
ace,” Frederick told her. “Mother
furnished it in the early eighties—
and she would never change it. And
now I rather hate to have it dif
ferent. I warmed this corner with
the fireplace and the screen. Edith
always sits in the library on the
other side of the hall, but Mother
and I had our coffee here, and I
prefer to continue the old custom.”
Jane’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t
you and your niece drink your cof
fee together?”
“Usually, but there have been
times,” he laughed as he said it,
“when each of us has sat on oppo
site sides of the hall in lonely state.”
Jane laughed too. “Baldy and I
do things like that.”
They finished their coffee and he
smoked a cigar. Edith and Baldy
telephoned that the thing was more
serious than they had anticipated.
That perhaps he had better send
Briggs.
“So that means I’m going to have
you to myself for an hour longer,”
Frederick told Jane. “I hope you
are as happy in the prospect as I
am.”
“I am having a joyous time. I
feel like Cinderella at the ball.”
He laughed at that. “Vou’re a re
freshing child, Jane.” He had never
before called her by her first name.
“Am I? But I’m not a child. I’m
as old as the hills.”
“Not in years.”
“In wisdom. I know how to make
ends meet, and how to order meals,
and how to plan my own dresses,
and a lot of things that your Edith
doesn’t have to think about.”
“And yet you are happy.”
“I’ll say I am.”
He laughed but did not continue
the subject. “I’ve a rather wonder
ful collection of earrings. Would you
like to look at them? Queer fad,
isn’t it? But I’ve picked them up
everywhere.”
“Why earrings?”
“Other things are commonplace
—brooches, necklaces, tiaras. But
there’s romance in the jewels that
women have worn in their ears.
You’ll see.”
He went into another room and
brought back a tray. It was lined
with velvet and the earrings were
set up on tiny cushions. It was a
unique display. Cameos from an
cient Rome, acorns of human hair
in the horrible taste of the sixties—
gypsy hoops of gold—coral roses in
delicate fretted wreaths—old French
jewels—rubies, emeralds, sapphires,
and seed pearls, larger pearls set
alone to show their beauty, and a
sparkling array of modern things,
diamonds in platinum—long pen
dants of jade and jet—opals dripping
like liquid fire along slender chains.
She hung over them.
“Which do you like best?” he
asked.
“The pearls?”
He was doubtful. “Not the white
ones. These—” he picked up a pair
of sapphires set in seed pearls—
rather barbaric things that hung
down for an inch or more. “They’ll
suit your style. Have you ever worn
earrings?”
“No.”
“Try them/
He helped her to adjust them—and
his hand touched her smooth warm
cheek. He was conscious of her
closeness, but gave no sign.
There was a little mirror above
the mantel. “Look at yourself,” he
said.
She tilted her head so that the
jewels shook. The blue lights of the
stones made her skin incandescent.
Frederick surveyed her critically.
“You ought to have a more so
phisticated gown. Silver brocade
with a wisp of a train.”
“It changes me, doesn’t it? I am
not sure that I like them.”
What a joy she was after Adelaide.
As if the name had brought her, a
voice spoke from the door. “I
wouldn’t let Waldron announce me,
Ricky may I come in?”
She stopped as she saw Jane. “Oh,
you’re not alone?”
(To be Continued)
NOTICE OF APPOINTMENT
Estate of Harley L. Good, Deceased.
Notice is hereby Riven thnt Lucille Lucci
whose Post Office address is 740 S. Pine St..
Lima, Ohio, has been duly appointed and
qualified as administratrix of the Estate of
Harley L. Good, late of Allen County, Ohio,
deceased.
Dated this 19th day of June, 1929.
RAYMOND P. SMITH,
Judge of the Probate Court.
11 Allen County, Ohio
Conscience and Memory
“Sometimes,” said Hi Ho, the
sage of Chinatown, “a man thinks
he has a clear conscience, when he
has only a poor memory.”
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Rockport
Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Marshall
and sons Herbert Jr., Kenneth and
Don spent Sunday with Mr. and Mrs.
Dick Wallace in Columbus and called
on their son Ralph who is attending
the summer quarter at O. S. U.
Miss Ruth Henderson of Columbus
Grove and Mrs. William Risser and
granddaughters Jane and Sue Risser
of Bluffton were Saturday night and
Sunday guests in the home of Mr.
and Mrs. Walter^Cupp and family.
Supt. Delmar Smith of the Ton
togany schools, wife and son Kent
have gone to New York for the sum
mer where Mr. Smith will complete
the work for his Master’s degree at
Columbia University.
Miss Elizabeth Campbell spent the
week end with Miss Louise Hender
son of Columbus Grove.
Mrs. William Porter and son
Billy and Mrs. Wilder Rogers,
daughter Mary Jane and son Bill
of Marysville were Thursday after
noon callers in the Guy Mayberry
home.
Miss Mary Ma
day night and Su
friend. Miss Rut
Lima.
rshall
spent Satur-
nday with a college
Ann Friedl y in
Miss Edythe
day from a week
Lake, Mich., with w ...
A. girls from Bluffton high school.
hipp returned Fri
’s outing at Devil’s
i irroun of
Miss Virginia Roberts of Colum
bus Grove was a week end guest of
Miss Nancy Anne Mayberry.
Mr. Harry Mills and daughter
Mary Lou of Delphos and the Misses
Roberta Biery, Mildred Unruh, Lu
cille and Marcile Steiner were guests
in the Orlo Marshall home one even
ing last week.
Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Marshall
spent several days the past week in
Ontario, Canada on a business trip.
Mrs. William Nusbaum, Mrs. D.
M. Kemp, Mrs. Don Huffman, Mrs.
Adrian Lugibihl and Mrs. Clair
Stauffer of Columbus Grove were
guests when Mrs. Guy Mayberry en
tertained the Profit and Pleasure
club last Wednesday afternoon.
Mr. and Mrs. Dean Myers, son
Roger Dean and daughter Sandra of
Mansfield were week end guests of
Mr. and Mrs. Joe Parker.
Mesdames Walter and Orlo Mar
shall in company with Mesdames
Arthur' Worthington, Emma Studler
and Frank Todd of Bluffton attended
a party and luncheon given by the
Past Matron’s club of Van Wert in
the .Masonic Temple in Van Wert
last Thursday.
The many friends of Mr. W. R.
Mayberry will be pleased to learn
that he is recovering nicely from a
recent paralytic stroke at his home
in Columbus Grove and is able to be
up a short time each day.
Morris, youngest son of Mr. and
Mrs. Ben Kidd is now employed at
the Ed Basinger farm near Colum
bus Grove.
Mr. William Munch and a group
of friends from Lemington, Ont.,
spent Sunday evening in the home
of Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Marshall.
Mrs. Charlie Cook was pleasantly
surprised, Sunday when a group of
TOWN AND
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PAGE SEVEN
friends brought their dinner and
helped her celebrate her birthday
anniversary. Those present were:
Mr. and Mrs. R. E. Cook and sons
Warren and Harold of Lafayette,
Mr. and Mrs. Clyde Van Meter, Mr.
and Mrs. Earl Ream, Mr. and Mrs.
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“This world.” said Hi Ho, the
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Uncle Sam’s Annual check of big
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1924. The last census disclosed
1,842,000 big game animals. Deer
are much the most numerous. Moun
tain sheep appear to decline in num
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them.
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American Fruit Grower 1 Yr.
American Poultry Journal... 1 Yr.
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Cloverleaf American Review 1 Yr.
Country Home 1 Yr.
Farm Journal-Farmer's Wife. 1 Yr.
Home Arts-Needlecraft 1 Yr.
Home Friend 1 Yr.
Household Magazine 1 Yr.
Leghorn World 1 Yr.
Mother's Home Life 1 Yr.
National Livestock Producer. 1 Yr.
Pathfinder (Weekly) ... .26 Issues
Plymouth Rock Monthly.... 1 Yr.
Poultry Tribune 1 Yr.
Successful Farming 1 Yr.
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