Ota
WM.U. 7 I I
r-?r
THE STORY
CHAPTER I—Lovely, independent Autumn
Dean, returning home to British Columbia
from abroad without her father's knowledge,
■tops at the home of Hector Cardigan, an
•Id family friend. He tells her that she
should not have come home, that things
have changed. Arriving home at the "Castle
•f the Noras," she is greeted lovingly by
her father, Jarvis Dean, who gives her to
understand that she is welcome—for a short
visit Her mother, former belle named Milli
eent Odell, has been dead for years. Autumn
cannot understand her father’s attitude,
though gives him to understand that she is
home for good. She has grown tired of life
fo England, where she lived with an aunt
CHAPTER H—Riding around the estate
with her father, Autumn realizes that he has
changed. Between them they decide, how
ever, to give a welcoming dance at the
castle. When the night of the dance arrives.
Autumn meets Florian Parr, dashing, well
educated young man of the countryside.
Late in the evening Autumn leaves the
dance, rides horseback to the neighboring
ranch where she meets Bruce Landor, friend
and champion of her childhood days. He
takes her to see his mother, an invalid. His
father is dead, thought to have killed him
self. As soon as his mother sees Autumn
•he commands Bruce to take her away, that
death follows in the wake of the Odells.
Autumn is both saddened and perplexed
by the Invalid’s tirade. Bruce, apologetic,
can offer no reason for his mother’s attitude.
CHAPTER HI—Auftmn calls again on
Hector Cardigan—this time to find out the
reason for Mrs. Landor’s outburst. From
his conversation she inferred that Geoffrey
Landor killed himself because he loved
Millicent Dean, her mother. Meanwhile,
Bruce Landor rides to the spot where his
father's body was found years before. There
he meets Autumn, who, leaving Hector, was
■earching for a lost child. Bruce had found
the child, and there Autumn and he talk of
‘heir families. They agree that her mother
»nd his father loved each other deeply—and
that their love is the cause of present
antagonism.
CHAPTER IV—Florian Parr, at the Castle
for dinner, proposes to Autumn. She re
fuses him. The next day Autumn rides to
ward the Landor ranch. She meets Bruce
ta a herder’s cabin. There they declare
their love for each other, and determine to
stand together against everyone who might
come between them.
CHAPTER V—Autumn tells her father
that she is going to marry Bruce. She is
aghast to see his reaction, and is agonized
to hear him whisper that Geoffrey Landor
did not take his own life. He tells her
the story. Millicent, his wife, and Geoffrey
Landor had fallen in love with each other.
But Millicent would not break her mar
riage vows. Meeting Landor one day in a
secluded spot. Jarvis Dean was forced to
fight with him. Landor is accidentally killed
by his own gun.
CHAPTER VI—Autumn knows then that
everything is ended between Bruce and
herself. She goes to call on the Parr family,
where she meets Elinor and Linda. Florian’s
sisters. Florian again tells her how much
he loves her. but she pays little attention
to him. She likes the Parr family, includ
ing Florian, but cannot help comparing the
polo-playing, light-hearted youth to Bruce
Landor. Florian is "good company,” but
she feels little real affection for him. He
realizes that, and tells her she will change.
Linda. Florian’s
Bruce, but to no
tention to her.
CHAPTER Vin—Months pass, and neither
Bruce nor Autumn can forget each other.
Watching a card game one day, Bruce
overhears a scurrilous remark made about
Autumn. He administers a beating to the
speaker, one Curly Belfort. He is warned
that Belfort will try to even the score.
CHAPTER IX—Jarvis Dean upbraids his
daughter for giving anyone an excuse to
talk about her. Later she meets Hector,
who tells her that he will have something
to say when the right time comes. The
next day Bruce's foreman drives to the
Dean ranch and tells Autumn that 30 of
the Landor prize sheep have been poisoned.
Bruce is away from home temporarily. Sus
picion points definitely at Belfort. Autumn
knows that Bruce whipped him when he
overheard the foul remark made at the
card game, and knows she is Indirectly the
cause of Bruce’s sheep being poisoned.
Heartbroken. Autumn knows she cannot hope
to repay him.
CHAPTER X—Jarvis Dean asks Bruce to
call on him, and offers to pay him for the
loss of his sheep. Bruce, leaving, refuses
to take the money. Autumn hears of his
call, and goes to visit him. He tells her
that they cannot be friends, and his ac
tions prove to her that he has lost both his
love and respect for her.
CHAPTER XI
Autumn had gone to the drawing
room immediately after dinner and
had seated herself at the piano. Dur
ing the hour she had sat at the
table with her father, she had done
her best to bring him out of his
solitary brooding. But her own
frame of mind had been too deso
late to make the task easy. She was
sorry for him, inexpressibly so.
For weeks Autumn had watched
him fighting alone, retreating be
fore the heartless bludgeonings of
his own conscience, recovering him
self again and beating his way back
to a position of self-re'
newed faith in himself.
Autumn knew that his
was the one precious
life. It was because
daughter of Millicent,
fused to give up the fight, and be-1
cause of the memory of Millicent
that lived in her.
PROLOGUE
TO
SkLOVE
,/MARTHA OSTENSO
little at-
sister,
avail.
is in love
He pays
CHAPTER VII—Bruceattends
a party
Autumn
_______ ____ ______V
that night given by the Parrs.
purposely ignores Bruce. Bewildered, he
cannot understand. Following an accident,
he carries her to the garden, where she
tells hhn the episode in the herder’s cabin
was merely a game, that she was not her
self. In this way, she believes, she can
forget—and make Bruce forget—their love.
Bruce !s stunned by Autumn s actions. He
knows she cannot nave changed overnight,
but is forced to believe that she is not the
same girl who called on him at his cabin.
-•ct and re
And always
love for
thing in
of her.
that he
Presently her hands fell from
keyboard and lay listlessly in
lap. At a sound from the hall.
her
I
I
It was only natural, perhaps, that I
he should be blind to the fact that I
by his stubborn struggle he was I
drawing his daughter into the con-1
flict. He had thought to avoid that I
by keeping her where she would I
never have known of it. Had she
been content to remain in England,
-vis would have fought through
to
ck
-?nd and died in the comfort­
ing knowledge that she could at
least begin her own life and live it
as she pleased, without the unhappy
heritage of the past.
And now another evening was
coming serenely to a close, as
though the stars of the night before,
when she had gone alone to see
Bruce, had not shrunk out of the
sky. as though all beauty had not
become ashes in her heart. Jarvis
had gone to his library after dinner
and Autumn sat at the piano, her
bands lisping idly over the keys, her
eyes inattentively noting the blue
dusk that stole from the open win
dow and made a strange, impalpa
ble color of a great bowl of yellow
roses. ... ___ ___
her
she
turned and saw her father standing
in the doorway, his cigar in his
fingers, his eyes fixed upon her with
an unwonted tenderness.
“What was that you were playing,
Autumn?” he asked after a mo
ment.
“That was Grondahl’s ‘Serenade,’
Da,” she told him.
“I’ve heard you play it before—
and I’ve asked the name of it,” he
said, “but I can never seem to re
member. Play it again. I like it.”
He came into the room and went
to a large chair that stood to one
side of the French windows where
he sat gazing out into the fitful light
of the garden as Autumn played.
When she came to the end at last,
he did not speak, and Autumn got up
and moved to the console where the
roses stood. She caressed an opu
lent, full-blown, yellow bloom with
thoughtful fingers.
“No more music?” Jarvis en
quired at last, a wistful note in his
voice that hurt the bruised part of
her being.
“Perhaps—later,” she said quiet-
“Aye,” he said, “I suppose one
must be in the mood for it. But
that bit, now—the one you just
played—means something. It brings
a light to one when he hears it.”
Old Saint Pat ambled into the
room and settled himself on a rug
at his master’s feet. Autumn left
the roses and walked to a chair
near her father’s.
“Da,” she said gently, “what
would you say to my going back to
Aunt Flo?”
The Laird turned slowly in his
chair and looked at her across his
shoulder'. She glanced at him in
souciantly, almost without interest
in how he should respond to her
question. She had really not meant
it for a question so much as an an
nouncement.
But the helpless, almost childlike
look of dejection that appeared
promptly in his eyes gave her a
moment’s disquietude.
He bent forward and clasped his
hands. “You wish to go, Autumn?”
he asked, his voice grown wistful.
“Da,” she replied, “one can’t al
ways do just what one would like to
do. I came here because I wanted
to—and I’ve managed to make a
mess of everything since I’ve come.
Jarvis sighed heavily. “I’m sor
ry, my dear. It Hasn’t been your
fault, either.”
“It’s the fult of no one in particu
lar,” Autumn said. “It was just in
the cards.”
“Aye. I know. You’re still think
ing of Geoffrey’s son. Isn’t that
“I’m thinking—of everything,” she
responded. “I can’t go on living
here—with things as they are. I’ve
done my best, Da—or my worst
perhaps, you would sav. It will ba
easier for everyone concerned if I
get back to the other side of the
world.”
She got up again and went to
stand before the window. There fol
lowed a long silence burdened with
the impasse to which their emotions
had come. She heard her father
clear his throat with a deep rumble,
and then she knew that he had risen
and was coming slowly toward her.
His hand lay for a moment gen
tly upon her shoulder, but she did
not turn to look at him.
“I’m sorry, my girl,” he mut
tered. “I cannot tell you how sor
ry I am. I had hoped—somehow—
that you might be happy here—after
a time—in spite of everything. I
had hoped for too much, it seems.”
“I had, too,” Autumn replied.
“But it wasn’t to be.”
“I shall miss you more now than
ever,” Jarvis said, and then, after
a long silence: “But you must not
stay because of that, Autumn.”
“You are making it easy for me to
go,” Autumn said, somewhat
abruptly in spite of herself.
The old man went back to his
chair. “Autumn.” he said at last,
“don’t be impatient with me tonight.
I’m tired—and your music—”
“1 didn’t mean that, Da,” she said
quickly and went to him at once.
The Laird’s head sank forward,
his eyes staring out upon the gar
den.
make
said.
'T’d be just as glad if I could
it easy for you to stay,” he
“Sometimes I think you—”
voice stopped and he swept
His
Autumn
his eyes with his hand
threw her arms around him and I
pressed him close to her in silence. I
Presently he freed himself gently I
from her embrace. I
“You think of your father as a
coward, Autumn,” he said stoutly. I
“I may have more courage than I
you know. Yesterday—when the boy I
came to see me—I thought I might
tell him—tell him all that I told
you one night upstairs there. I have
my senses still, and I can see things
still—with my own eyes. All your
silly carrying-on this summer with
that mad crowd of Elliot Parr’s—it
didn’t blind me to the truth. I’ve
known from the first what was be
hind it. I’ve spent days and nights
thinking about it. And when the
boy came—before he came to me, I
thought—I thought—the rigitt thing
to do would be to tell him—so that
he’d know—so that he’d understand.
Then, I thought—he could do what
he likedc—and you. could do what you
liked—and I wouldn’t raise a hand
to stop it, one way or the other. But
—there’s no way of accounting for
these things, it seems. He came to
me—and he stood there as if he had
been Geoffrey Landor himself—
proud, insolent, careless—and I of
fered him money for the loss of his
sheep. I don’t think I expected him
to take it—but his manner stirred
something in me. It stirred the bit
terness and the hatred and the pride
that have filled me for twenty years
—and I turned him out!” He paused
for a moment. “And now—I am
turning you out, it seems.”
“No, Da,” Autumn protested, “it
isn’t so. You mustn't say that. I
am going back—as I told you—be
cause I think it will be best for us
Jarvis Dean drew himself up.
“Have him over—tonight—in the
morning,” he said. “Bring him here
—and Til tell him. I’ll tell him all
I told you. When he has heard—”
“Father, please!” Autumn plead- I
ed. “That would only hurt him— I
and it would only hurt me. You I
would be doing that for me, and it I
would be quite useless. If I love I
Bruce Landor, it’s only another of I
my silly blunders. I’ll get over it— I
with the ocean between us it ought I
to be easy. I’m not so hopeless I
that I shall go on forever breaking I
my heart over someone who doesn’t I
care for me.” I
The Laird raised his head and I
looked at her. “You mean—he—” I
“I mean—he doesn’t love me, I
Da,” she said, smiling down at him, I
“though there’s nothing so strange I
about that.” I
Jarvis was thoughtful for a mo- I
ment. Then he got up quickly and I
stood looking at his half-smoked ci- I
gar. “I didn’t think he’d be such a I
damned young fool!” he said. I
Autumn laughed suddenly, but the I
Laird looked at her sternly. “It’ll I
be as you say, then,” he said. “It’s I
better so. I’ll sell up in the fall and I
join you.” I
He patted her shoulder in awk
ward and inarticulate compassion, I
and turned away. She could hear
his retreating steps on the polished
floor, heavy and measured and pon
dering. To her defeated spirit, it
seemed that those footsteps sounded
the inexorable, iron stride of the
past crushing down the present and
the future.
She looked out upon the blurred
garden with eyes dull in resignation.
During the days that followed,
Jarvis Dean’s spirits were lighter
than they had been for months. To
be sure, it was not pleasant to think
that Autumn was leaving the place
to which she had come such a short
time ago, her heart swelling with
anticipation of what the future held
for her, her mind full of plans for
the new life she was entering. He
was sorry for her. And yet, the
irking uncertainty of those weeks
had been almost more than he
could bear at times. Autumn’s de
cision to return to the Old Coun
try had relieved him of that, at
least. His own resolve to sell every
thing and follow her as soon as it
could be managed without too great
a sacrifice had brought its regrets,
its pang of loneliness, but that had
passed. He had a clear road be
fore him now. He would leave be
hind him the past and all its burden
of unhappiness and spend the rest
of his days in a manner befitting a
man of ample means whose declin
ing years might easily be his bright-
It was some such feeling that pos
sessed him as he looked at Autumn
now, sitting opposite him at the
breakfast table. He had ordered
an early breakfast so that he might
leave in good time on his journey
into the hills to inspect his flocks
and to take up some supplies to
old Absolom Peek. Tom Willmar
had been making the trips back and
forth during the summer, but Jar
vis was in the habit of going him
self at least once during the season.
Besides, he had given instructions
to have the young Irish lad, Clancy
Shane, drive out the few hundred
sheep that had been culled from
the range and were being brought
down to be sold. He wanted to spend
a half hour with the boy and assure
himself that everything was coming
along as it should.
“You might make the trip in with
me today, Autumn,” he suggested,
“if you have nothing else to do. It
would be company for me and the
drive would do you no harm.”
“I thought of it last night,”
tumn said. “It will be my
chance to see the flocks before I
leave.”
“Aye—that’s so. Well, get your
self ready and I’ll wait for you.”
“I’ll change in a jiffy, Da,” she
said, and left the table.
“Put enough lunch in the box for
the two of us, then,” Jarvis told
Hannah. “We’ll be back for din
ner late.”
They were on the road before the
day was more than a bright flame
on the eastern hilltops and Autumn
was guiding the car over the smooth
trail at a speed that made her father
grip the edges of the seat with both
hands.
“The trail will be rougher higher
up, Da,” she explained once when
she glanced sideways at him and
saw the grim set of his face. “We’ll
make good time now and loaf later
Noon brought them within sight of
the small flock that Clancy Shane
was bringing down from the upper
ranges and Autumn waited in the
car while her father walked down
into the valley. Half an hour later
he came back.
“I think I’ll stay along with
Moony,” he said. “If you want to
go along by yourself and have a
word with Absolom. you ran nick
me up on the way back.”
“I'll do that, Da,” she said. "Have
you any message for Absolom?”
“Just give him the box of stuff
there in the back of the car and
tell him I’ll be up myself maybe in
a week or two.”
Autumn started the motor and put
her hand on the gear shift.
“Here, now—wait a bit!” Jarvis
shouted. “We’ll eat first.”
For a full hour, Autumn and her
father talked and laughed together
as they had. not done since she was
child. When she got up to go at
last, Jarvis went with her to the
car and leaned over to kiss her be
fore she started away.
“So long, darling,” Autumn called
as she put the car into the trail
again. “I’ll be back before you
know it.”
Jarvis stood shading his eyes
against the mid-day sun, until the
car vanished around a bend in the
trail, and an inexplicable sadness
came over him. He had been too
happy for the past hour. He turned
and cked his way slowly down into
the valley.
It was not until Autumn's visit
with Absolom Peek had come to an
end and she was preparing to hurry
away that she found the courage to
tell him that she was bidding him
good-by for the last time. She had
stayed with the old herder much
longer than she had planned. The
sun was already approaching the
hilltops in the west and her father
would be anxiously awaiting her re
turn. But she had found it impossi
ble to tear herself away from the
quiet valley and its flocks and the
hungry chatter of the old man.
“You’ll be cornin’ up again, like as
not,” Absolom said as they strolled
together toward Autumn’s car.
“I’m afraid not, Absolom,” she
told him. “I’m never coming again.”
“Eh?” The old man looked at her
in surprise.
“I’m going back again—to Eng
land, Absolom.”
“Now, now! What’s wrong, eh?”
“There’s nothing wrong, Absolom.
I’m just—out of place here.”
Absolom thrust his fingers under
his weathered hat and scratched
his head.
“Well, well,” he said at last. “It
isn’t much of a place for a young
girl, I know. It’ll go hard with the
Laird, I’m thinkin', Iosin’ you again
just when he’s got used to havin’
you round.”
Autumn hesitated before she made
her reply. After all, it would do no
good to tell him that her father had
decided to spend the rest of his
days abroad.
“I haven’t been much of a help to
him, I’m afraid,” she replied.
“He’s past help, that man,” Ab
solom said suddenly. “Not but what
he’s been a great man in his day.
But he’s not livin’, Miss Autumn.”
“Poor Da,” Autumn murmured.
“He hasn’t had an easy life.”
“That’s right enough. He hasn’t.
But he won’t make it easier by
I packin’ you off to that—”
I
“He’s not sending me away, Ab
I
adorn.” she hastened to assure him.
I
“I’m going because I want to.”
I
Absolom regarded her quizzical
I
ly. “There’s more behind it than
I
that, I’m thinkin’. Though I’m ask
I
in’ no questions, mind.”
I
She was staunchly cheerful in her
I
farewell to Absolom, but a hot mist
I
came between her eyes and that un
I
forgettable picture there on the hill
I
side below them. And then, in a
I
moment, she was gene and old Ab
I
solom had turned again to his soli
I
tary task.
I
Very late that night, when Au
I
tumn lay awake and allowed her
I
mind to drift sleepily back over the
I
journey into the hills, it seemed to
I
her that what she had beheld in the
I
cycle of that day had been sunrise
I
and sunset on the moon, or on
I
some bizarrely landscaped planet
I
hitherto only a fantastic dream in
I
the mind of man. Early morning
I
had clawed great, long scars of
I
black valley down the pale, colossal
I
faces of the hills, frightening and
I
thrilling in their report of what this
I
land had been in ages gone. Noon
I
had made insubstantial islands of
I
the mountain tops, swimming in
I
their mists as on the white lambency
I
of some primordial sea. And in
I
the twilight, the dark patches of
I
pine that marked the valleys in that
I
broad expanse might have been the
I
spoor of creatures unthinkable, in
I
an unthinkable chaos of the earth.
I
No more of that now! Back again
I
to the artificial, the purposeless life
I
she had known with Aunt Flo. For
I
get that there had ever been any
I
thing else. Forget the reverent som
I
ber brow of a mountain bared to
I
the moon. Forget a star unfolding
I
like a blpom of sweet loneliness in
I
the luminous, unnameable color of a
I
summer sky. Forget the drift of
I
mountain rain in the spring, and the
I
flamy torches of Indian paint brush
I
on the gaunt hills. Forget Bruce
I
Landor, and the curious, heartless,
I
dear ways of love, forever.
last
CHAPTER XII
On an evening within a week of
the time set for Autumn’s depar
ture, Florian Parr telephoned from
Hector Cardigan’s place and invit
ed her to go with him to the Hos
pital Benefit Ball that night in Kam
loops.
“Linda is here with me,” Florian
said. “I had to come up on business,
but I see no reason why we shouldn’t
mix in a little pleasure with it. We
brought our duds and we’re all
dolled up. We haven’t seen any
thing of you for two weeks. I’ll
run out in the car for you if you say
so. How about it?”
“I don’t know, Florian,” she tem
porized. “I’m not much in the mood
for it.”
“Oh, come on!” he urged her.
“Where’s your community spirit?
The natives will never forgive you
if you don’t support the cause. Hec
tor has promised to chaperon us.”
Florian laughed in a meaningful
naivete which nettled her dispropor
tionately.
“Even you think I ought to have
someone to look after me,” she re
plied.
“Lord, Autumn, what’s come over
you?” Florian reproached her. “You
need a shaking up. I’ll be out for
you around eight.”
"Will Lin be along?”
“Not on your life—not with me,”
Florian replied. “She has made oth
er arrangements.”
“Of course.”
“Bruce is coming in to look after
her. We’ll make it a nice little four
some when we get together. Any
objections?”
“None whatever,” she replied
lightly. “I’ll be ready when you
come.”
When she mentioned thp affair 1Q
her father and asked him if he would
not like to come along, he drew
down one shaggy eyebrow and ele
vated the other humorously.
“Me? Scarcely,” he said. “But
buy me a ticket—buy me half a doz
en. It’s a worthy cause. You run
along and enjoy yourself. It’ll proba
bly be the last spree for you in this
part of the world. Put on your glad
rags and show ’em what it means to
be a Dean!”
Autumn laughed a little tremu
lously and kissed the sere and bris
tling eyebrow. “I’ll do that very
thing. Da,” she told him. "Though
you’d cast more glamor on the name
than I can, if that’s what you want,
you old Roman!”
He tweaked her ear, and Autumn
ran upstairs to dress.
Florian, turned out flawlessly in
evening clothes, was waiting impa
tiently in the drawing room below.
His quick flush as she came down
to meet him, the silver web of her
evening wrap on her arm, would
have been sweet to the light vanity
that had been hers in a day gone
by. Now she heeded it only with a
“Permit me, most beautiful!”
feeling of faint vexation. Florian
came forward and lifted a cool and
waxy corsage of white orchids from
the small table near the door.
“Permit me, most beautiful!” he
said, bowing elaborately from the
waist. “And if you tell me you hate
orchids, I’ll make you eat ’em!”
Autumn laughed and brushed the
delicate aristocrats with her finger
tips. “Extravagant wretch!” she
said, and fixed them to her gown.
“They’re beautiful, Florian. There!
Thank you so much!”
She did, as a matter of fact, de
test orchids, and in her imperious
days at Aunt Flo’s she had never
thought twice about spurning them.
But that was before this curious pos
session of pity had come over her.
“You haven’t seen father, of
course?” she said as they turned to
leave.
“I crashed the gates with Han
nah’s assistance,” Florian said. “Is
the Laird still peeved about the hay
stack episode?”
“No,” she replied. "He has for
gotten that, I think. But he has his
bad days.”
“Probably feels low about your
leaving him so soon again.”
(To be continued)
Purchase of 4,555,236 bushels of
apples in 24 states by the Federal
Surplus Commodities Corporation
had been reported up to December 9.
Beaverdam
Dr. Clifford Bassett of Oklahoma
was a Thursday visitor of Mr. and
Mrs. Elzie Gierhard.
Mr. and Mrs. E. C. Stettler of
Findlay visited Friday with the
latter’s mother, Mrs. Mayme Yant.
Mrs. Mary Zeiders returned home
Friday after spending the Holidays
with Mr. and Mrs. Print Kilgore at
Columbus.
Mr. and Mrs. E. A. Youngberg
and daughter Beverly, John and
Betty Kemph of Lima were Friday
dinner guests of John Patterson.
Bud Lombard spent the past w’eek
with Mr. and Mrs. Delbert Neuen
schwander at Lima.
Mr. and Mrs. James Wiggins of
California are spending the week
with Mr. and Mrs. Irvin Van Meter.
Betty Jane Rowland of McClure,
Ohio, visited the past week with Mr.
and Mrs. Everett Rowland and
daughter Irene.
Mr. and Mrs. Harry Wingate and
daughter of Detroit, Michigan spent
the week end with Mr. and Mrs.
Jake Wingate.
Miss Betty Nelson of Ft. Wayne,
Ind., is spending the holidays with
her brother, Leo Nelson and family.
Junior Hoover of Lima visited the
past week at the home of Mr. and
Mrs. Jacob Amstutz.
Mrs. Calvin Bailey and daughter
Louella were guests the past week
of Mr. and Mrs. Elmer Walters and
family at Findlay.
Mr. and Mrs. Donald Michael and
family, Mr. and M(rs. Russell Augs
burger were Thursday evening din
ner guests of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur
Pugh.
Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Manahan of
Illinois spent several days the past
week with the former’s mother, Mrs.
Lillie Manahan.
Doris Ann Binkley of Lafayette
visited over the week end with her
grandmother, Mrs. Emma Bassett.
Mrs. Cynthia Elliott entertained
Mr. and Mrs. Don Rader and family
DAY
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Household...........................
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Inside Detective..................
of Dele ware, Tuesday.
Warren Amstutz of Mississippi
State college Gerald Emerick of
Ohio State university and Doyle
Larue of Pickerington are spending
the holidays at their homes here.
Mr. and Mrs. John Augsburger
and Mr. and Mrs. Russell Augsburg
er spent the week end in Cleveland
with Mr. and Mrs. Paul Shaffer and
daughter Joline.
Harold Lewis is convalescing at
his home after an appendicitis opera
tion at Memorial hospital in Lima.
Mr. and Mrs. Kent Jaggers of
Cleveland visited Monday with Henry
and Rosa Searfoss.
Mr. and Mrs. Dale Augsburger of
Detroit, Mich., and Mr. and Mrs.
Clyde Augsburger of Canton, were
guests of Mrs. Henry Augsburger
and son Herbert.
The Mystery Sister party of the
M. E. church was held Wednesday
evening with Mrs. E. J. Arthur.
Those present were: Mrs. Ella Huber,
Mrs. Bessie Gooderding, Mrs. Edith
Wolf, Mrs. Villa Clark, Miss Adda
Yoakum, Mrs. Nora Clark, Mrs.
Genevieve Pugh, Mrs. Bessie Brack
ney, Mrs. Fairy Arnold, Mrs. Ada
Rowland, Mrs. Emma Trout and Mrs.
Carrie Cook.
NOthe
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S. P. HERR
Phone 363-W
NOTICE TO
TAXPAYERS
In accordance with Section 5704 of the General
I Code, effective October 26, 1936, it is the manda
tory duty of the County Auditor to cause a copy
of all delinquent real estate tax, assessments and
penalties remaining unpaid during the last two
consecutive semi-annual tax settlement periods,
as shown by the Treasurer’s duplicate, to be pub
lished twice after the September settlement each
year. Anyone desiring to pay said tax on or be
fore the 10th day of January may do so, thereby
having their names stricken from such list prior
to publication.
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