I THE SEARCH I
By Grace Livingston Hill- -Lutz
Copyright, 1918, by J. B. Lipplncott Company
-
jj CHAPTER XVIII.
When Ruth Macdonald got
back from camp she found her
self utterly dissatisfied with her
old life. The girls in her social
■et were full of war plans. They
had one and all enlisted in every
activity that was going. Each
.fine appeared in some pretty and
appropriate uniform, and took
the new regime with as much
eagerness and enthusiasm as ever
she had put into dancing and
dressing.
t Not that they had given up
either of those employments. Oh,
dear no! When they were not
busy getting up little dances for
the poor dear soldier boys from
the nearby camps, they were
Earning new solo steps where
with to entertain those soldier
boys when their turn came to go
to camp and keep up the con
tinuous performance that seemed
to be necessary to the cheering
of a good soldier. And as for
dressing, no one need ever sug
gest again a uniform for women x
as the solution of the higli cost
of dressing. The number of..
dainty devices of gold braid and
red stars and silver tassels that
thosi same staid uniforms de
veloped made plain forever that
the woman who chooses can
make even a uniform distinctive
and striking and altogether eost
ly. In short they went into the
war with the same superficial
flightiness formerly employed in
the social realms. They went
dashing here and there in their
high power cars on solemn er
rands, with all the nonchalance
of their ignorace and youth,
till one, knowing some of them
Well, trembled for the errand if
it were important. And many
of them were really useful, which
only goes to prove that a tremen
dous amount of unsuspected pow
er is wasted every year and that
unskilled labor often accom
pushes almost as much as skilled.
Some of them secured positions
in the navy yard, or in other
public offices, Where they were
thrown delightfully into inti
macies with officers, and were
able to step over the convention
alities of their own social posi
tions into wildly exciting Bohem
ian adventures under the popular
guise of patriotism, without a
rebuke from their elders. There
■was not a dull hour in the little
town. The young men of their
social set might all be gone to
war, but there were others, and
the whirl of life went on gaily for
the thoughtless butterflies, who
danced and knitted and drove
motor cars, and made bandages
and just rejoiced to walk the
streets knitting on the Sabbath
day, a gay cretonne knitting bag
on arm, and knitting needles ply
ing industriously as if the world
would go naked if they did not
work every minute. .fust a
horde of rebellious young creat
ures, who at heart enjoyed the
unwonted privilege of breaking
the Sabbath and shocking a few
fanatics, far more than they
really cared to knit. But nobody
had time to pry into the quality
of such patriotism. There were
too many other people doing the
same thing, and the world
whirled on and tried to be gay
to cover its deep heartache and
stricken horror over the sacrifice
of its sons.
' But Ruth, although she brave
ly tried for several weeks, could
not throw herself into such
things. She felt that they were
only superficial. There might be
a moiety of good in all these
things, but they were not the real
big things of life; not the ways
in which the vital help could be
given, and she longed with her
whole soul to get in on it some
where.
The first Sabbath after her re
turn from camp she happened
into a bit of work which while it
was in no way connected with
war work, still helped to interest
her deeply and keep her think
ing along the lines that had been
started while she was with John
Cameron.—
A' quiet, shy, plain fjtue wom
an, an old member of the church
and noted for good work, came
hurrying down the aisle after
the morning service and im
plored a young girl in the pew
just in front of Ruth to help her
that afternoon in an Italian Sun
day school she was conducting
in a„ small settlement about a
mile * and a half from Bryne
Haven:
“It’s only to play the hymns,
Mias Emily,” she said. “Carrie
Wayne has to go to a funeral.
She always plays for me. I
20
wouldn’t ask you if I could play
the least mite myself, but I can’t.
And the singing won’t go at all
without someone to play the
piano.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Beck,
but I really can’t I” pleaded Miss
Emily quickly. ‘ I promised to
help out in the canteen work this
afternoon. You know the troop
trains are coming through, 'and
Mrs. Martin wanted me to take
her place all ‘the afternoon.”
Mrs. Beck’s face expressed dis
may. She gave a hasty glance
around the rapidly emptying
church.
“Oh, dear, I don’t know what
I’ll do I” she said.
“Oh, let them do without sing
ing for once,” suggested the
carefree Emily. “ Everybody ■'
ought to learn to do without
something in war time. We con
serve sugar and flour, let the
Italians conserve singing!” and
with a laugh at her own bright
ness she hurried away.
Ruth reached forward and
touched the troubled little mis
sionary on the arm:
“Would I do?” she asked. “I
never played hymns much, but I
could try.”
“Oh! Would you?” A-flood
of relief went over the woman’s
face, and Ruth was instantly
glad she had offered. She took
Mrs. Beck down to the settle
ment in her little runabout, and
t.he*afternoon’s experience op
ened a new world to Jier. It was
the first time she had ever come
in contact with the really poor
and lowly of the earth, and she
proved herself a true child of
God in that she did not shrink
from them because many of them
were dirty and poorly clad. Be
fore the first afternoon was over
she had one baby in her arms
and three others hanging about
her chair with adoring glances.
They could not talk in her lan
guage, but they stared into her
beautiful face with their great
dark eyes, and spoke queer un
intelligible words to one another
about her. The whole little com
pany were delighted with the
new “pretty lady” who had
comedfmong them. They openly
examined her simple lovely frock
anti hat and touched with shy
furtive fingers the blue ribbon
that floated over the bench from
her girdle. Mrs. Beck was in
the seventh heaven and begged
her to come again, and Ruth,
equally charmed, promised to go
every Sunday. For it appeared
that the wayward pianist was
very irregular and had to be
constantly coaxed.
Ruth entered into the work
with zest. She took the chil
'dren’s class which formerly had
been with the older ones, and
gathering them about her told I
them Bible stories till their young j
eyes bulged with wonder and
their little hearts almost burst
with love of her. Love God? Of
course they would. Try to please
Jesus? Certainly, if “Mrs.
Ruth,” as they called her, said
they should. They adored her.
She fydl into the'habit of go
ing down during the week and
slipping into their homes with a
big basket of V right flowers from
her home garden which she dis
tributed to young and old. Even
the men, when they happened to
be home from work, wanted the
flowers, and touched them with
eager reverence. .Somehow the
little community of people so dif
ferent from herself filled her
thoughts more and more. She be
gan to be troubled that some of
the men drank and beat their
wives and -little children in con
sequence. She set herself to de
vise ways to keep them from it.
She scraped acquaintance with
one or two of the older boys in
her own church and enlisted
them to help her, and bought a
moving picture machine which
she took to the settlement. She
spent hours attending moving
picture shows that she might find
the right films for their use.
Fortunately she had money
enough for all her schemes, and
no one to hinder her good work,
although Aunt Rhoda did object
strenuously at first on the
ground that she might “catch
something.” Rut Ruth only
smiled and said: ‘ That’s just'
what I’m out for, Auntie, dear!
I want to catch them all, and
try'to make them live better
lives. Other people are going
to France. I haven’t got a
chauce to go yet, but while I
stay here I must do something.
I can’t be an idler.”
Aunt Rhoda looked at her
quizzically. She wondered if
Ruth was worried about one of
her men frieuds—and which one?
“If you’d only take,up som^
nico work for the government,
dear, such as the other girls are
doing!” she sighed, “work that
would bring you into contact
with nice people! You always
have to do something queer. I’m
sure I don’t know wh®re you
get your low tendencies!”
Rut Ruth would be off before
more could be said. This was an
old topic of Aunt Rhoda’s and
had been most fully discussed
during the young years of Ruth’s
life, so that she did not care to
enter into it further.
But Ruth was not fully satis
fied with just helping her Ital
ians. The very week she came
back from camp she had gone to
their old family physician who
held a high and responsible posi
tion in the medical world, and
made her plea:
“Daddy-Doctor,” she said,
using her old childish name for
him, “you’ve got to find a way
for me to go over there and help
the war. I know I don’t know
much about nursing, but I’m
sure I could learn. I’ve taken
care of Grandpa and Aunties a
great many times and watched
the trained nurses, and I’m sure
if Lalla Farrington and Bernice
Brooks could get into the Red
Cross and go over in such a short
time, I’m as bright as they.”
“Brighter!” said the old doc
tor eyeing her approvingly. “But
what will your people say?”
“They’ll have to let me, Dad
dy-Doctor. Besides, everybody
else is doing it, and you know
that has great weight with Aunt
Rhoda.”
‘ It’s a hard life, child! You
never saw much of pain and suf
fering and horror.”
“Well, it’s time, then.”
“But these men over there you
would have to care for will not
be like your grandfather and
aunt. They will be dirty and
bloody, and covered with filth
and vermin.”
“Well, what of that!”
“Could you stand it?”
“So you think I’m a butter
fly, too, do you, Daddy-Doctor?
Well, I want to prove to you that
I’in not. I’ve been doing my best
to get used to dirt and distress.
I washed a little sick Italian
baby yesterday and helped its
mother scrub her floor and make
the house clean.”
“The dickens you did!”
beamed.the doctor proudly. “I
always knew you had a lot of
grit. I guess you’ve got the
right stuff in you. But say, if
I help you you’ve got to tell me
the real reason why you want to
go, or else—nothing doing! Un
derstand? I know you aren’t
like the rest, just wanting to get
into the excitement and meet a'
lot of officers and have a good
time so you can say afterward
you were there. You aren’t that
kind of a girl. What’s the real
reason you want to go? Have
you got somebody over there
you’re interested in?”
He looked at her keenly, with
loving, axious eyes as her fath
er’s friend who had knowu her
from birth might look.
Ruth’s face grew rosy, and
her eyes dropped, but lifted
again undaunted:
“And if I have, Daddy-Doctor,
is there anything wrong about
that ? ’ ’
The doctor frowned:
“It isn’t that fat chump of a
Waimvright, is it? Because if it
is I shan’t lift my finger to help
you go,”
But Ruth’s laugh rang out
clear and free.
“Never! dear friend, never!
Set your mind at rest about
him,” she finished, sobering
down. “And if I care for some
one, Daddy-Doctor, can’t you
trust me I’d pick out someone
who was all right?”
“I suppose so!” grumbled the
doctor only half satisfied, “but
girls are so dreadfully blind.”
“I think you’d like him,” she
hazarded, her cheecks growing
pinker, “that is, you would if
there is anybody,” she corrected
herself laughing. “But you see,
it’s a secret yet and maybe al
ways will be. I’m not sure that
he knows, and I’m not quite sure
I know' myself-”
“Oh, I see!” said the doctor
watching her sweet face with a
tender jealousy in his eyes.
“Well, I suppose I'll help you
to go, but I’ll shoot him, remem
ber, if he doesn’t turn out to be
all right. It would take a
mighty superior person to be
good enough for you, little girl.”
“That’s just what he is,” said
Ruth sweetly, and then rising
and stooping over him she
dropped a kiss on the wavy silver
lock of hair that hung over the
doctor’s forehead.
‘ ‘ Thank you, Daddy-Doctor!
r
■ I knew you would,” she said
happily. “And please don’t be
too long about it. I’m in a great
hurry. ’ ’
The doctor promised, of course.
No one could resist Ruth when
she was like that, and in due time
certain forces were set in oper
ation to the end that she might
have her desire.
Meanwhile, as she waited,
Ruth filled her days with
thoughts of others, not forget
ing Cameron’s mother for whom
she was always preparing some
little surprise, a dainty gift,
some fruit or flowers, a book
that she thought might comfort
and while away her loneliness, a
restful ride at the early evening,
all the little things that a
thoughtful daughter might do
for a mother. And Cameron’s
mother wrote him long letters
about it all which would have
delighted his heart during those
dreary days if they could only
have reached him then.
Ruth’s letters to Cameron were
full of the things she was doing,
full of her sweet wise thoughts
that seemed to be growing wiser
every day. She had taken pic
tures of her Italian friends and
introduced him to them one by
one. She had filled every page
w'ith little word pictures of her
daily life. It Seemed a pity that
he could not have had them just
when he needed them most. It
would have filled her with dis
may if she could have known
the long wandering journey that
was before those' letters before
they would finally reach him;
she might have been discouraged
from writing them.
Little Mrs. Beck was suddenly
sent for one Sunday morning to
attend her sister who was very
ill, and she hastily called Ruth
over the telephone and begged
her to take her place at the Sun
day school. Ruth promised to
secure someone to teach the les
son, but found to her dismay
that no one was willing to go at
such short notice. And so, with
trembling heart she knelt for a
hasty petition that God would
guide her and show her how to
lead these simple people in the
worship of the day.
As she stood before them try
ing to make plain in the broken,
mixed Italian and English, the
story of the blind man, which
was the lesson for the day, there
came over her a sense of her
great responsibility. She knew
that these people trusted her and
that what she told them they
would believe, and her heart lift
ed itself in a sharp cry for help,
for light, to give to them. She
felt an appalling lack of knowl
edge and experience herself.
Where had she been all these
young years of her life, and what
had she been doing that she had
not learned the way of life so
that she might put before
them!
Before her sat a woman bowed
with years, her face seamed with
sorrow and hard work, and
grimed with lack of care, a wom
an whose husband frequently
beat her for attending Sunday
school. There were four men on
the back seat, hard -workers,
listening with eager eyes, assent
ing vigorously when she spoke of
the sorrow on the earth. They,
too, had seen trouble. They sat
there patient, sad eyed, wistful;
what could she show them out of
the Book of God to bring a light
of joy to their faces! There
were little children whose future
looked so full of hard knocks and
toil that it seemed a wonder they
were willing to grow up know
ing what was before them. The
money that had smoothed her
way thus far through life wai
not for them. The comfortable
home and food and raiment and
light and luxury that had made
her life so full of ease were al
most unknown to them. Had
she anything better to offer
them than mere earthly comforts
which probably could never be
theirs, no matter how hard they
might strive! But, after all,
money and ease could in no way
Wt'he the pain of the heart, and
ifce had come close enough al
ready to these people to know
they had each one his own
heart’s pain and sorrow to bear
There was one man who had lost
five little children by death.
That death had come in conse
quence of dirt and ignorance
made it no easier to boar. The
dirt and ignorance had not a!!
been his fault. People who were
wiser and had not cared to help
were to blame. Wlmt was the
remedy for the world’s sorrow,
the world’s need!
(To Be Continued Next Week)
Santiago, Chill, was one of the first
cities to employ women as street ear
conductors.
Winston Spencer Churchill, secretary
for the colonies, and former Permier
Herbert H. Asquith are the latest re
cruits to memoir writing.
An expert suggested to arrest decay ot
some of England's anolcnt buildings,
they should be whitewashed. Tests ar*
under way on Westminster Abbey.
+ + H44 + +*<+ + 44444 + +
4 a*
♦ THE RICHEST SOIL. 4
4 4
4 From the Rural Weekly. 4
4 When Mischa Klman was # 4
4 years old. he was so poor that he 4
4 had to sell some of his clothes to 4
4 buy a railroad ticket to Petro- 4
4 grad, where Leopold Auer had 4
4 given him a musical scholar- 4
4 ship. 4
4 In Chinatown, New York, the 4
4 rubberneck guide points out a 4
4 place where a lad named Irving 4
4 Berlin used to sing for nickels 4
4 and dimes. -4
4 Most fascinating thing about 4
4 the history of great personalities 4
4 Is how most of them rose from 4
4 poverty. Poverty Is the richest 4
4 soil—Possibly, however, because 4
4 there is so much of it. 4
4 +
44444444444+4++4++4
The nation welcomes the news of
Mrs. Harding’s greatly improved
condition. She is the president’s
partner in a triple sense, social and
polltloal as well as the partner of
all of his plans, ambitions and in
terests. He has leaned upon her, as
so many able men have leaned upon
good women, trusting to her In
tuition, consulting her In all matters
as he consulted no other man or
woman. It Is a pleasure for every
American to repeat the announce
ment that Mrs. Harding has come
through a dangerous crisis and that
her doctors are filled with hope.
All Europe, and English statesmen
especially, are thinking hard this
morning. Constantinople controls the
Dardanelles. That passage from the
black sea to the Mediterranean Is the
key to the safety of western Europe
against Asia. Dispatches tell of
Turks killing Europeans in Constan
tinople, planning to drive the allies
from the Dardanelles.
The allies have had all the fighting
they can digest. The Turks, with a
good deal of Asia back of them,
seem full of their old energy.
Back and forth the fight has swung
between Europe and Asia.
The genius of the Greeks kept
Asiatic Persia out of Europe. A
Perslan king said to his servant:
“You remind me that I must go ovei
and conquer that little place some
time,” but he never did It.
One thousand years later, a camel
driver named Mohammed arose In
Asia, married a rich widow, invented
a new religion made out of odds
and ends, and supplied the energy
that sent his people conquering Into
Europe, settling themselves in Spain
for centuriea
Gradually the Europeans drove
them back, took Spain from them,
sent them about their business. A
little later Europe on Its crusades,
went invading Asia, without any
permanent success.
In the 15th century, the Turks who,
with their friends, had wiped out all
traces of the crusades, came march
ing west through Europe. The great
Hungarian fighter Huniades checked
that invasion.
The other day, in the late war, the
Turks and their allies were beaten,
reduced to humble suppliance. And
how here they are again, driving back
the poorly led Greeks, massacring
Christians, threatening to take the
Dardanelles, and open up the Med
iterranean to all Asia, plus bolshevist
gentlemen, of Russia, who could
build great fleets in the inland Black
tea, and worry all the rest of the
Jrorld.
Lloyd George and a few others, able
to think, In Europe, are thinking
hard today, you may be sure.
The thing is complicated by the
fact that nobody knows how much
Gibraltar Is worth to England’s safe
ty, now that submarines can go un
derneath the water and flying ma
chines go over the rock and drop dy
namite on it.
Fortunately, In the long run, IN
TELLIGENCE, which Is never out of
date, wins battles. Asia wsn’t rule.
The coal strikes are an ended for
the present. Coal is moving. Last
Friday more than 28,000 cars were
loaded. The best of it Is that neither
the soft coal nor the hard coal miners
had their wages cut. That’s gocd
news for everybody. For a country
does not thrive because a few at the
top make big profits. It thrives when
millions at the bottom get fair pay.
Those that scheme to cut wages
scheme to cut national prosperity—
and their own.
Coal costa $1 a ton extra "at the
mouth of the mine’* to make up for
the strike. They had to pump water
out of the mines while the strike
lasted.
Workmen had to pump food Into
their families, and pay rent while
the strike lasted. But they haven’t
any way of tacking that onto the
public by charging them *1 a day
more.
The English king has applauded a
poem entitled "Merchandise,” read
by a musical hall reciter. Julius
Rosenwald sent the poem to Lasker
of the shipping board. Lasker sends
it here. It Is full of good advice about
making business boom, building your
ships, and "deep bosomed mothers
with wlde-fashloned hips will bear
ye good sons for the building of
ships," etc.
Commerce Is a great thing, pro
ducing things at home is also great.
For instance: Germany before ths
war used 200,000 tons of nitrates. Im
porting 120,000 tons from Chile. To
ilay Germany can make 600,000 tons
of nitrates a year at home, taking
the nitrogen from the air which
carries endless billions of tons of it;
and 600,000 tons of nitrogen from the
air mean a colossal sum in money.
It means agricultural Independence,
also unlimited supplies for making
explosives.
In America we are wondering
whether Henry Ford should be al
lowed to use Muscle Shoals water
power to produce nitrogen here or
whether Muscle Shoals should go
to the grafters as usual. We are
slow.
Authors mut»* git chesty ’cause
magazines accept ther stories, fei
that’s no sign they’re good.
Joe Kite is lettin’ his grocery bil*
grow till Bryan's elected/—*Abe Mar’
♦in.
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me In misery all the time. Since tak
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Badly digested food fills the whole
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the right treatment. Get a bottle to
day at any good druggist.—Advertise
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Ask your Dealer for W.Ij.Douglas shoes.
Playing-Card Production.
The United States produces between
25,000,000 and 30,000,000 packs of
playing cards a year and imports few
er than 500,000. f
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I . . .. ■■■ ' ..".'±.L.m.3
Mixed in Her History.
Slie did not appeur to be over twen
ty years old and you would have
guessed she was fairly familiar with
things of a historical nature, but as
she stood by one of the monuments
that grace our beautiful city, she said;
“I wonder whttf John Paul Jones, fa
mous for his wonderful ride during
the revolutionary period, would think
If he could come back and see the
thousands of autos that daily pass
this statue.” Oh, shade of Paul He
verel—Washington Star.
Watch Cuticura Improve Your Skin.
On rising and retiring gently smear
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Wash oil Ointment in five minutes
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We’re all vain somewhere. Smart
people find out where and say agree
able things.
There’s beggary In the love that Can
be reckoned.
wwr~
II ^ Morning ”>4__
KeepYour Eyfes
Clean - Clear Healthy
Eh. Mart*. U.CMM*. Mil