Newspaper Page Text
Holbrook News, Holbrook Arizona, April 7. 1922
ELEANOR ILLUSTRATIONS BY R.H.LIVINGSTONE. (Copyright by ELEANOR H. PORTER) PREFACE Which Explains Things. Father calls me Mary. Mother calU toe Marie. Everybody else calls me Mary Marie, Tl:e rest of my name is Aiiderson. rm thirteen years old. and I'm a cross-current and a contradiction. That Is, Sarah says I'm that. (Sarah is my old nurse.) She says she read it once that the children of mil ikes were al ways a cross-current and a contradic tion. And my father and mother are nnlikes, and I'm the .iildrtn. That Is, I'm the child. I'm all there Is. And now I'm going to be a bipger cross current and contradiction than ever, for I'm going to live half the time with Mother and the other half with Father. Mother will go to ISoston to live, and Father will stay here a divorce, you know. I'm terribly excited over It. None of the other girls have got a divorce in their families, and I always did like to be different. Ilesides, It outfit to be awfully Interesting, more so than just living along, common, with your father and mother In the same house all the time especially if It's been anything like my house with my father and mother in it ! That's why I've decided to make a book of It that Is, it really will be a book, only I shall have to call it a diary, on account of Father, you know. Won't It be funny when I don't have to do things on account of Father? And I won't, of course, the six months I'm living with Mother in lloston. But. oh, my! the six months I'm living here with him whew! But, then, 1 can stand it. I may even like it some. Anyhow, It'll be different. And that's something. Well, about making this Into n book. As I started to say, he wouldn't let me. I know he wouldn't, lie says novels are a silly waste of time, if not absolutely wicked. lint, a diary oh. be loves diaries. He keeps one him self, and he told me it would be an ex cellent and instructive discipline for me to do It, too set down the weather and what I did every day. The weather and what I (lid every day, Indeed! Lovely reading that would make, wouldn't it? Like this: "The sun shines this morning. I got up, ate my breakfast, went to school, came home, ate isy dinner, played one hour over to Carrie I ley wood's, practiced on the piano one hour, studied another hour. Talked with Mother upstairs in her room shout the sunset and the snow on the trees. Ate my supper. Was talked to by Father down in the library about im proving myself and taking care not to b light-minded and frivolous. (lie meant like Mother, only he didn't say it right out loud. You don't have to say some things right out in plain words, you know.) Then I went to bed." Just as If I was going to write my novel like that ! Not much I am. But I shall call it a diary. Oh, yes, I shall call It n diary till I take it to be printed. Then I shall give it Its true name a novel. And I'm going to tell the printer that I've left it to him to make the spelling right, and put In all those tiresome little commas and periods and question marks that every body seems to make such a fuss about. If I write the story pat, I can't be ex pected to be bothered with looking up how words are spelt, every five min utes, nor fussing over putting in a whole lot of foolish little (lots and dashes. As If anybody who was reading the story car?d for that part I The story's the thing. I love stories. I've written lots of them for the girls, too Utile short ones, I menn ; not a long one like this Is going to be, of course. And it'll be so exciting to be living a story In stead of reading it only rien you're living a story you can't ptfk over to the back to see how It's all coming out. I shan't like that part. Still, it may be all the more exciting, after all, not to know what's coming. I like love stories the best. Father's got oh, lots of books In the library, and I've read stacks of them, even some of the stupid old histories and biographies. I had to read them when there wasn't anything else to read. But there weren't many love stories. Mother's got n few, though lovely ones and some books of poetry, on the little shelf In her room. But I read all those ages ago. That's why I'm so thrilled over this new one the one I'm living. I mean. For of course this will be a love story. There'll be my love story In two or three years, when 1 grow up, and while I'm waiting there's Father's and Mother's. Nurse Sarah says that when you're divorced you're free Just like you were before you were married, and that Sometimes they marry again. That piade me think right away : what if father or Mother, or both of them, If you on TH H. PORTER married again? And I should be there to see it. and the courting, and nil I Wouldn't that be some love story? Well, I Just guess! And only think how all the girls would envy me and they Just living along their humdrum, everyday exist ence with fathers and mothers already married and living together, and noth ing exciting to look forward to. For really, you know, when you come rigiit duwn to It. there aren't ninny girls that have got the chance I've got. And so that's why I've decided to write It into a book. Oh, yes, I know And So That's Why I've Decided to Write It Into a Bock. I'm younz only thirteen. But I feel really awfully old ; and you know a woman Is as old as she feeR Besides, Nurse Sarah says I am old for my age, an.l that It's no wonder, the kind of u life I've lived. And maybe that Is so. For of cour.su It has been different, living with a father and mother that are getting ready to be divorced, from wiiat it voiild haVe been living with the loving, happy-ever-after kind. Nurse Sarah says it's a shame and a pity, and that it's the chilttren that always suffer. But I'm not suffering not a mite. I'm Just enjoying it. It's so exciting. Of course if I was going to lose cither one, it would be different. But I'm not. for I am to live with Mother six months, then with Father. So I still have them both. And. really, when you come right down to it, I'd rather take them separate that way. Why, separate they're just pcr rectly all right, like that that what-do-you-c.ill-it powder? sedlitzer, or something like that. Anyhow, it's that white powder that you mix In two glasses, and that looks just like water till you put them together. -And then, oh, my ! such a fuss and fizz and splut ter! Well, it's that way with Father and Mother. It'll be lots easier to take them separate, I know. For now I can he Mary sis months, then Marie six months, and not try to be them both nil at once, with maybe only five minutes between them. And I think I shall love both Father and Mother better separate, too. Of course I love .Mother, and I know I'd just adore Father If he'd let me he's so tall and tine and splendid, when he's out among folks. AH the girls are rimply crazy over him. And I am, too. Only, at home well. It's hard to be Mary always. And you see, he named :e Mary But I mustn't tell that here. That's part of the story, and this is only the Preface. I'm going to begin it to-morrow the real story Chapter One. But, there I mustn't call It a "chapter" out loud. Diaries don't have chapters, and this Is n diary. I mustn't forget that It's a diary. But I can write it down as a chapter, for it's going to be a novel, after It's got done being a diary. CHAPTER I I Am Born The sun was slowly setting in the west, casting golden beams of light In to the somber old room. That's the way It ought to begin. I know, and I'd like to do it, but I can't. I'm In ginning with my being born, of course, and Nurse Sarah says the sun wasn't shining at all. It was n.'g!:t and the stars were out. She remembers particularly about the stars, for Father was In the observatory, and couldn't he disturbed. (We never disturb F.-illier when he's there, you know.) And so he didnt even know he had a t to invest PI daughter until the next morning when ho came out to breakfast. And he was late to that, for he stopped to write down something he had found out about one of the consternations In the night. He's always finding out something about those old stars Just when we want him to pay attention to some thing else. And, oh. I forgot to say that I know it Is 'constellation." and not "consternation." But I used to call them that when I was a little girl, and .Mother said It was a good name for them, anyway, for they were a con sternation to her all right. Oh. she said rigiit off afterward that she didn't mean that, and that I must forget she said It. Mother's always saying that about things she says. Well, as I was saying. Father didn't know until after breakfast that he had a little daughter. (We never tell him disturbing, exciting things just before meals.) And then Nurse told him. 1 asked what he said, and Nurse laughed and gave her funny little shrjg to her shoulders. "Yes. what did he say. Indeed?" she retorted. "He frowned, looked kind of Oa.ed. then muttered: 'Well, well, up on my soul! Yes, to be sure!"' Then he came In to see me. I don't know, of course, what he thought of me. but I guess he didn't think much of me, from what Nurso said. Of course I was very, very small and I never yet saw a little bit of i baby that was pretty, or looked as If It was mu.-h account. So maybe yu couldn't rer-ily blame lilin. Nurse said he looked at tne, mut tered. "Well, well, upon my soul '." cgnln. and seemed really quite interest ed till they started to put me In his aniH. Then he threw up both hands, hacked oiT. and cried, "Oh, no, no, no!" lie turned to Mother and hoped she was feeling pretty well, then he got out of the room Just as quick as he could. And Nurse said that was the end of It, so far as paying any more attention to me was concerned for quite n while. He was much more Interested In his new ' star than lie was in his new daughter. . We were both born the same night, yon see, and that star was lots more consequence than I was. But, then, that's Father all over. And that's one of the things, I think, that bothers .Mother. 1 heard her say once to Father that she didn't see why, when there were so many, many 8tar3, it paltry one or two more need to he made such a fuss about. And I don't, either. But Father Just groaned, and shook his head, and threw up his hands, and looked so tired. And that's all he said That's all he says lots of times. But It's enough. It's enough to make you feel so small and menn and Insignifi cant as If you were Just a little gren worm crawling ou the ground. Did you ever feel like a green worm crawl irg on the ground? It's not a pleasant feeling at all. Well, now, about the name. Of course they had to begin to talk about naming me pretty soon; nnd Nurse said they did talk a lot. But they couldn't settle it. Nurse said that that was about tiie first thing that showed how teetotally utterly they were going to disagree about things. Mother wanted to call me Viola, after her mother, and Father wanted to call me Abigail Jane after hla mother; nnd they wouldn't either one give In to the other. Mother was sick :ind nervous, and cried n lot those days, ant she used to sob out that If they thought they were going to name her darling little baby that awful Abi gail Jane, they were very much mis taken; that she would never give her consent to it never. Then Father ivonl.l say In his cold, stern way: "Very well, then, you needn't. But neither shall 1 give my consent to my daughter's being named that absurd Viola. The child Is a human being not a fiddle In an orchestra !" And that's the way It went. Nurse ald, until everybody was just about r.-tzy. Then somebody suggested "Mary." Aad Father said, very well, il.ey might call me Mary; and Mother aid certainly, she would consent to Mary, only she should pronounce it Marie. And so It was settled. Father called me .iry, and Mother called me Marie. And tight away every body else began to call me Mary Marie. And that's the way It's been ever since. Of course, when you stop to think of it. It's sort of queer anil funny, though naturally ! didn't think of it, growing up with It as I did. and always having it, until suddenly one day It ccirred to me that none of the other irirls had two names, one for their father and, one for their mother to call them by. I began to notice other things then. too. Their fathers and mothers didn't live In roo.ns at op posite ends of the house. Their fathers and mothers seemed to like each other, and to talk together, nnd to have little jokes and laughs together, and twinkle with their eyes. That Is, most of them did. And It one wanted to go to walk, or to a party, or to play some game, ihe other didn't always look tired and bored, and say. "Oh, very well. If you like." And then both not do it, what ever it was That Is, I never saw the other girls' fathers and mothers do that way; and I've seen quite a lot of them, loo, for I've been at the other girls' houses a lot for a long time. You see 1 don't stay at home much, only when 1 have lo. We don't have a round table wiih a red cloth and a lamp on it. and children 'round It playing games and doing things, and fathers and mothers reading and mending. And it's lots jollier where they do have them. Nurse says my father and mother ought never to have been married. That's what I heard her tell our Bridget one day. So the first chance I $,5,00 and set vour w K NEWS subscription list. got 1 asked her why, and what she meant. "Oh. la! Did yon hear that?" she demanded, with the quick look ovet her shoulder that she always gives when she's talking about Father and Mother. -"Well, little pitchers do have big ears, sure enough!" "Kittle pitchers," Indeed! As if I dldnt know what that meant! I'm no child to be kept in the dark concern ins" things I ought to know. And 1 told her so, sweet'y and pleasantly, but with firmness and dignity. I made her tell me what she meant, und I made her tell me a lot of other things about them. too. You see, I'd just de cided to write the book, so I wanted to know everything she could tell nie. I didn't tell her about the book, of course. I know too much to tell se crets to Nurse Sarah! But 1 showed my excitement and Interest plainly; and when she saw how glad I was to hear everything she could tell, she talked a lot. aud really seemed to en joy It, too. You see, she was here when Mother first came as a bride, so she knows everything. She was Father's nurse when hp was u little boy; then she stayed to take core of Father's mother, Craiidma Anderson, who wan an in valid for a great many years and who didn't die till Just after I was born. Then she took care of me. So she's always been in the family ever since she was a young girl. She's awfully idd now 'most sixty. First I found out how they happened to marry Father and Mother, I'm talking about now only Nurse says she can't see yet how they did happen lo marry. Just the same, they're so tee totally different. But this is the story, Father went to Boston to attend a big meeting of astronomers from all over the world, and they had banquet and reception where beautl1' ladies went In their pretty evening dresses, ami my mother was one of them. (Her father was one of the astronomers, Nurse said.) The meetings lasted four days, and Nurse said she guessed my father saw a lot of my mother during that time. Anyhow, he was invited to their home, and he stayed another four days after Ihe meetings were over. The next thing they knew here at the house, tirandmu Anderson luuPn tele gram that be was going to lie married to Miss Madge Desmond, and would they please send him some things he wanted, and he was going on a wed ding trip and would bring his bride home in about a month. It was Just as sudden as that. And surprising! Nurse says a thunderclap out of u clear blue sky couldn't have astonished them more. Father was al most thirty years old at that time, und he'd never cared a thing for girls nor paid them the least little bit of atten tion. So they supposed, of courso. (hut he was a hopeless old bachelor and wouldn't ever marry. lie was bound up in his stars, even then, and was already beginning to be famous, be cause of a comet he'd discovered. He was a professor' in our college here, where his father had been president. Ills father had jut died a few months before, and Nurse said maybe that was one reason why Father got caught in the matrimonial net like that. (Those are her words, not mine. The idea of calling my mother a net! But nurse never did appreciate Mother). But Father Just worshiped his father, and- they were always together Craiiileia being sick so much; and so when he died my father w.s nearly beside himself, and that's one reason I hey were so anxious he should go to that meeting in Boston. They thought it might take his mind off himself. Nurse said. But they never thought of lis putting his mind on a wife! So far as his doing It right up quick like that was concerned. Nurse said that wasn't so surprising. For all the way up. if Father wanted anything he Insisted on having It, and having it i i$i4 IMP Wmfflw tvi A Little Slim Eighteen-Year-Old Girl With Yellow, Curly Hair. right away then. He never want ed to wait a minute he found a girl he wanted, he wanted her right away tin n. w ithout waiting a minute. He'd never happo.iod to noiice a girl he wanted before, you see. But he'd found one now all right; and Nurse said there was nothing to do but to make Ihe best of it aud get ready for her. There wasn't anybody to go to the wedding. Orandma Anderson wss sick, so of course she couldn't go, and Grandpa was dead, so of course he couldn't go, and there weren't any brothers or sisters, only Aunt Jane in St. Paul, and she was so mail she wouldn't come on. So there was no chance of seeing the bride till Father brought her home. Nurse said they wondered and won dered what kind of a woman it could be that had captured him. (I told her I wished she wouldn't speak of my mother as if she was some kind of a hunter out after game; but she only chuckled and said that's about what it amounted to In some cases.) The very idea ! The whole town was excited over the affair, and Nurse Sarah heard a lot of their talk. Some thought she was an astronomer like him. Some thought she was very rich, and may he famous. Everybody declared she must know a lot, anyway, and be wonderfully wise nnd intellectual ; and they said she was probably tall and wore glasses, and would be thirty years old, at least. But nobody guessed anywhere near what she really was. Nurse Sarah said she should never forget the night she came, and how she looked, and hmv utterly flabber gasted everybody was to see her little slim eighteen-year-old girl with yellow, curly hair and "the merriest laughing eyes they had ever seen. (Don't I know? Don't I Just love Mother's eyes when they sparkle and twinkle when we're off together some times in the woods?) And Nurse said Mother was so excited the day she ame, and went laughing und danc ing all over the house, exclaiming over everything. (I can't imagine that so well. Mother moves so quietly now, everywhere, and is so tired, 'most all the time.) But she wasn't tired then, Nurse says pot a mite, "But how did Father act?" I de manded. "Wasn't he displeased and sciinimlized and shocked, and every thing?"' Nurse shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows the way she does when she feels particularly superior. Then she said : "Do? What does any - old fool hoggin" your pardon an' no offense meant. Miss Mary Marie but what does any man do what's got bejuggled with a pretty face, an' bis senses com pletely tool; away from him by a chit of a girl? Well, that's what he did. He acted as If he was bewitched. He followed her around the house like a dog when he wasn't lendtn' her to something new ; an' he never took his eyes off her face except to look at us. as much as to say: 'Now ain't she the adorable creature?" " "My father did that?" I gasped. And, really, you know, I just couldn't believe my ears. And you wouldn't, either, if you knew Father. "Why, I never saw him act like that !" "No, I guess you didn't," laughed Nurse Sarah with a shrug. "And. neither did anybody else for long." "But how long did it last?" I asked. "Oh, a month, or maybe six weeks," shrugged Nurse Sarah. "Then it came September and college began, and your father had to go back to his teach ing. Things began to change then." '"Itight then, so you could see them?" I wnnted to know. Nurse Sarali shrugged her shoulders again, "oh, la! child, what a little question-box you are. an' no mistake," she sighed. But she didn't look mud not like the way she does when I ask why she can take her teeth out and most of her hair off and I can't; and things like that. (As if I didn't know! What dies .she -take me for a child?) She didn't even look displeased Nurse Sarah loves to talk. (As if I didn't know that, too!) She just threw that quick look of hers over her shoulder and settled back contentedly In her chair. I knew then I should get the whole story. Vnd I did. And I'm go ing to tell It here in her own words, just as well as I can remember It bad grammar and all. So please re member that I am not making all those mistakes. It's Nurse Sarah. I guess, though, that I'd better put It into a new chapter. This oiip Is yards long already. How do they tell when to begin and end chapters? I'm thinking it's going to be some job, writing this book diary, I mean. But I shall love it, I know. And tills is a real story not like those made-up things I've always written for the girls at school. CHAPTER II Nurse Sarah's Story. And this is Nurse Sarah's story. As I said, I'm going to tell It straight through as near as I can in her own words. And I can remember most of it, I think, for I paid very close attention. ' ... "Well, yes. Miss Mary Marie, things did begin to change right there an' then, an' so you could notice.it. We saw it, though maybe your pa an' ma didn't at the first. "You see. the first month after she i came, it was vacation time, an he could give her all the time she wanted. An" she wanted it all. An" she took it. An' lie was just as glad to give It as she was to take it. An' so from niomin' till night they was together, traipsin' all over the house an' garden, an' trampin' off through the woods and up on the mountain every other day Willi their lunch. "You see she was city-bred, an' not used to woods an' flowers growin' wild: an' she went crazy over them. He showed her the stars, too, through his telescope; but she hadn't a mite of use for them, an' let him see it good an' plain. She told him I heard her with my own ears that his eyes, when they laughed, was all the stars she wanted; an' that she'd had stars all her life for breakfast an' luncheon an' dinner, anyway, an' all the time be tween; an ehe'd rather have some- money s worth, get your name r ' ' The News has the local news. thin' else, now soinelhin" alive, that she could love an' live with an' touch an' play with, like she could the .'flow ers an' rocks and' grass an' trees. "Angry? Your pa? Not much he was! He Just laughed an' caught her 'round the waist an' kissed her, an' said she herself was the brightest star of all. Then they ran off hand iu hand, like two kids, too. All through those first few weeks your pa was just a great big baby with a new plaything. Then when college began he turned all at once into a full-grown man. An' Just naturally your ma didn't know what to make of it. "He couldn't explore the attic an" rig up In the old clothes there any more, nor romp through the garden, ncr go lunchin in the woods, nor none of the things she wanted him to do. He didn't have time. An' what made things worse, one of them comet-tails was comin' up in the sky, an' your pa didn't take no rest for watehln' for it, an then Studyin' of it when it got here, "An your ma poor little thing! I couldn't think of anything but a doll that was thrown in the corner because soiuehody'd got tired of her. She was lonesome, an' no mistake. Anybody'd be sorry for her, to see her mopii' round the house, notliin' to do. Oh, she read, an' sewed with them bright colored silks an' worsteds; but 'course there wasn't no real work for her to do. There was good help in the kitchen, an' I took what care of your grand ma was needed; an' she always gave her orders through me, so I practical ly run the house, an' there wasn't anything there for her to Ca. "An' so your ma just had to mope it out alone. Oh, I don't mean your pa was unkind. He was always nice an' polite, when he was in the house, an' I'm sure he meant to treat her all right. He snld yes, yes, to be sure, of course she was lonesome, an' he was sorry, 'Twas too bad he was so busy. An' he kissed her an' patted her. But he always begun right away to talk of the comet,' an" ten to one lie didn't disappear into the observa tory within the nest five minutes. Then your mo would look so grieved an' sor ry nn' go off an' cry, an' maybe not come down to dinner, at all. "Well then, one day things got so bad your grandma took a hand. She was up an' nround the house, though she kept mostly to her own rooms. But of course she saw how things was goin'. Besides. I told her some. 'Twas no more than my duty, as I looked at It. She just worshiped your pn. an' naturally she'd want things right for him. So one day she told me to tell her son's wife to come to her in her room. "An' I did, an' she came. Poor lit tle thing! I couldn't help bein' sor ry for her. She didn't know a thing of what was wanted of her, an' she was so glad an' happy to come. You see, she was lonesome, I suppose. "'Me? Want me? Mother Ander son?' she cried. 'Oh, I'm so glad!' Then she made it worse by ninnin' up the stairs an' houncin' into the room like a rubber ball, an' cryin': 'Now, what shall' I do, read to you, or sing to you, or shall we play games? I'd love to do any of them !' Just like that, she said it. I heard her. Then I went out, of course, an' left them. But I heard 'most everything that was said, just the same, for I was right in the next room dustin,' and the door wasn't quite shut. "First your grandmother said real polite she was always polite but In a cold little voice that made even me shiver in the ottier room, that she did not desire to be read to or sung to, ami that she did not wish to play games. She had called her daughter-in-law in to have a serious talk with her. Then she told her, still very polite, that she was noisy an' child ish, an' undignified, an' that it was not only silly, but very wrong for her to expect to have her husband's entire attention ; that he had his own work, an' it was a very important one.' He was going to be president of the col lege some day, like his father before him ; an' it was her place to help him in every way she could help him to be popular nn' well-liked by all the college people an students; an' he couldn't be that If she insisted all the time on keepiu' him to herself, or look In' sour an' cross if she couldn't have him. "Of course that ain't all she said ; but I rememlier this part particular on account of what happened after ward. You see your ma she felt awful had. She cried a little, an' sighed a lot, an' said she'd try, she really would try to help her husband in every way she ecu!;! ; nn she wouldn't ask him another once, not once, to stay with her. An' she wouldn't look sour an' cross, either. She'd promise she wouldn't. An she'd try, she'd try, oh, so hard, to be proper an' dignified. "She got up then an' went out of the room so quiet an' still you wouldn't know- she was movin. But I heard her up in her room cryin' half an hour later, when I stopped a minute at her door to see If she was there. An' she was. "But she wasn't cryin' by night. Not much she was! She'd washed her face an' dressed herself up as pretty as could be, an' she never so much as looked as if she wanted her hus band to stay with her, when lie said right after supper that heaguessed he'd go out to the observatory. An' 'twas that way right along after that. I know, 'cause I watched. You see, I knew what she'd said she'd do. Well, she did ".:. Continued Next Week. REMEMBER THE CHAUTAUQUA Holbrook April 26-30 The Chautauqua season of 1922 is an important one in the Ellison-White Lyceum and Chautauqua Association as it is the tenth anniver sary of the establishing of their Chautauqua business in the West. The outstanding number in the entertaining field will be the production of "Happi ness" which will be given by the Elias Day Players of Chicago. Mr. Day is one of the best known actor pro ducers of the middle west,, and the announcement of his name as producer is in itself a sufficient guarantee of a standard attraction in every sense of the word. "Happiness" is one of the most discussed plays of the decade. It has to do with the ambitions and the dreams of an uneducated, yet bright, shop-girl. There is abund ant humor and pathos inter interwoven, and a delight ful love story running thro ughout the play. It is a safe prediction that the Garner Jubilee Company and Male Quartet will draw tremendous crowds at Chau tauqua, The Garner organi zation is conceded to be the finest of its kind in America. The Biltmore Orchestra, a group of middle western art ists bring to Chautauqua a distinct departure in cham ber music interpretation. The Biltmores play not only the classical numbers but popular numbers as well, and they never fail to please. The Loren Bates Company and the Patricia Trio are two other musical entertainment companies which will meet with popular favor. Loren Bates is a clever young char acterist who specializes in "wig and grease paint" work. MissLeathaShriber, soprano, and Miss Helen Smith, are capable assisting artists to Mr. Bates. The Fatricia Trio is built around Miss Patricia Hale, drama tic soprano and possessor of a glorious voice, whose work in the east has attracted wide attention. Among the lecturers not ed on the program are Dr. William E. Bohn, for fifteen years an outstanding educa Mcnal figuie of the east, and Captain "Dinny" Upton, "Big Brother to a Hundred Thousand Kids," recognized authority in recreation. "The House We Live In" will be the subject of the inspiring lecture to be given by Virgil I. Shepherd. Mr. Shepherd is a gifted California writer and lecturer. The Junicr Chautauqua, as usual, will be a big feat ure, and already there in considerable interest mani fested among the kids of the city. NOTICE 0? PUBLICATION U. S, Land Office at Phoenix, Arizona, March 25, 1922. Notice is hereby Riven 1iat Wal ter McLiws, of Voibroik, Ari zona, who, on September 17, 1911), marie IIom B'.esd Entry, No. 032579. for All. Section 8, TownshiD 17-N.. Range 20 E., G. & S. R. B. & Meridian, has died notice of intention to make Three Year Proof, to establish claim to the land above describ ed, bafure Thorwald Larson, U. 5. Commissioner, at HolLrook, Arizous, cn the 2nd day of May, 1922. Claimant names an witnesses: Arthur Jarvip. EJ ward C. Leo pold. Alfred Rips. Edward D. Solomon, ail of Holbrook. Ari zona. John R. Towles. Register. F. Mar. 31 L. Apr. 28. "A Home Paper for Home Folks"