The DIJM LANTERN By TEMPLE BAILEY —=— O PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY — WNU SERVICE I _ CHAPTER XIII—Continued —20— Jane sat huddled in her chair, panting a little, her eyes wide. “Silly,” she said with a sob. The sound of her voice echoed and re-echoed, “Silly, silly, silly.” The noise without was deafening —the wind shook the walls. She stood up, her hands clenched, then ran swiftly into the hall. A thundering crash and the lights went out. She heard Frederick calling, “Jane, Jane!” She called back, “I’m here,” and saw the quick spurt of a match as he lighted it, holding it up and peer ing into the dark. “There you are, my dearest." He lighted another match and came to wards her, as Waldron, with a brace of candles, appeared in one door and Baldy and Edith in another. Frederick lifted Jane in his strong arms. “Why, you’re crying,” he said; “don’t, my darling, don’t.” Then Baldy came up and demand ed, “What’s the matter, Kitten? You’ve never been afraid of storms.” She tried to smile at him. “Well, I’ve gone through such a lot lately.” But Baldy wasn’t satisfied. A Jane who dissolved into tears was a dis turbing and desolating object. He glowered at Frederick, holding him responsible. At this moment Waldron re appeared to say that Briggs had pronounced the streets impassa ble. Branches had been blown down —and there was other wreckage. “That settles it,” Frederick said. “You two young things may as well stay here for the night. Jane’s not fit to go out anyhow.” “Oh, I’m all right,” she protested. Edith suggested bridge, so they played for a while. The big room was still lighted by the candles, so that the shadows pressed close. Jane was very pale, and now and then Frederick looked at her anxiously. “You and Edith had better go up,” he said at last. "And you must have Alice get you some hot milk—I’ll send Waldron with a bit of cordial to set you up.” She shook her head. “I don’t want it.” \tsui i want you 10 nave u. There was a note of authority which almost brought her again to tears. She hated to have anyone tell her what she should do. She liked to do as she pleased. But later, when the glass of cordial came up to her, she drank it. She did not go to sleep for a long time. Edith sat by the bed and talked to her. “I shouldn’t,” she apologized; “Uncle Fred told you to rest.” Jane curled up among her pil lows, and said rebelliously, “Well, I don’t have to obey yet, do I?” “Don’t ever obey.” Edith, in her winged chair with her Viking braids and the classic draperies of her white dressing-gown, looked like a Norse goddess. “Don’t ever obey, or you’ll make a tyrant out of him.” “But I hate—fighting.” “You won’t have to fight. I do it because it’s my temperament. But you can manage him—by letting things go a bit—and coaxing will do the rest—’’ “I don’t want to manage—my hus band,” said Jane. “All women do—” “Would you want to manage— Baldy?” Edith flushed. “That’s different, ' she evaded. “Not different. You know you wouldn’t go through life with him. pulling wires, making a puppet of him—of yourself—you want com radeship — understanding. You’ll flare up now and then. Baldy and 1 do. But—oh, we love each other.” Jane’s voice shook. Edith looked at her thoughtfully. “Jane, are you happy?” “I ought to be—” “But are you?” “I’m tired I think. I don’t know. Ever since I came home I’ve been nervous. Perhaps it is the reac tion.” “Jane, I’m going to say some thing. Don’t marry Uncle Fred un less you’re—sure. I went through all that with Del. And you see how little I knew of what I had in my heart to give—" She stopped, her lovely face suffused with blushes. “I’ve learned—since then. And you mustn’t make my—mistake. And, Jane dear,” she leaned over the younger girl like some splendid an gel, “don’t worry about material things. Baldy and I will want you always with us—” Jane sat up. “Are you going to marry Baldy?” “I am," sighing a little, "some day, when his ship comes in. He isn’t willing to share my cargo— yet.” “He loves you,” said Jane, “dear ly." Edith bent down and kissed her. “I know,” she said, “and my heart sings it.” When Edith went away, they had not touched again on the question of Jane’s marriage. Jane, lying awake in the dark, reflected that of course Edith could not know of her debt to Frederick. No one knew except Baldy. In the morning Towne had gone when Jane came down. She and Edith had had breakfast in their rooms—and there had been a great rose on Jane’s tray, with a note twisted about the stem—“To my golden girl.” Her lover had called her up by the house telephone, and had told her he was leaving for New York at noon. “A telegram has just come. I’ll see you the moment I get back." Jane had a sense of relief. She would have three days to herself. Three days at Sherwood—with the blossoming trees, and the mating birds, and Merrymaid and the kit ten, and old Sophy with her wise philosophy—and Baldy on the oth er side of the little table—and Philo mel singing . . , Briggs took her out at noon, and Sophy came in to say, “Mr. Ev ans called you-all up. He’s back “The day was so perfect.” fum New York. He say he’ll come over tonight.” That was news indeed! Old Ev ans! Jane got into the frock of faded lilac gingham and went about the house singing. Three days! Of free dom! It was after lunch that she told the old woman, “I’m going down in the Glen—there should be wild hon eysuckle—Sophy.” There were bees in the Glen and butterflies, and a cool silence. On the other side of the creek were pasture, and cattle grazing. But no human creature was in sight. Jane, walking along the narrow path, had a sense of utter peace. Here was familiar ground. She felt the wel come of inanimate things—the old willows, the singing stream, the great gray rocks that stuck their heads above the edges of the bank. On the slope of the bank she saw the rosiness of the flowers she sought. She climbed up, picked the fragrant sprays and sat down under a hickory tree to make a bouquet. From where she sat she could view the broad stream and a rustic bridge just at a turn of the path. And now, around the turn of the path, came suddenly a man and two boys. They carried fishing-rods and stopped at a jutting rock to bait their hooks. One of the boys went out on the bridge and cast his line. His voice came to Jane clear iy. “Mr. Follette. there’s a thing 1 hate to do, and that’s to bait my hook with a worm. I’d much rather put on something that wasn’t alive Why is it that everything eats up something else?” Jane peered down at the man poised on the rock. It was Evans! He was winding his reel against a taut line. “I’ve caught a snag,” he said; “look out, Sandy, there’s something on your hook.” As they landed the small catch with much excitement, Jane was aware of the strong swing of Evans' figure, the brown of his cheeks, the brightness of his glance as he spoke to the boys. He gave the death stroke to the silver flapping fish with a jab of his knife-blade, and the boy on the bridge complained, “There you are, killing things. I don’t like it, do you? Everything we eat? The woods are full of killing. It is dreadful when we think of it.” “It is dreadful.” Evans sat down on the rock and looked across at the boy on the bridge. "But there are more dreadful things than death —injustice, and cruelty, and hate. And more than all—fear. And you must think of this, Arthur, that what we call a violent death is some times the easiest. An old animal with teeth gone, trying to exist. That's dreadfulness. Or an old per son racked by pains. Much better if both could have been dead in the glory of youth.” He had always had that quick and I vivid voice, but this certainty of phrase was a resurrection. He spoke without hesitation. Sure of himself. Sure of the things he was about to say. "You boys needn’t think that I don’t know what I am talking about. I do. When I came back from France there was something wrong. I was afraid of everything. I lived for months in dread of my shadow. It was awful. Nothing can be worse. Then, one night I came to see that God’s greatest gift to man is— strength to endure.” He flung it at them—and their wide eyes answered him. After a moment Arthur said, huskily, “Gee, that’s great.” Sandy sighed heavily. "I saw a picture the other day of a boy who wanted to play baseball, and he had to hold the baby. I reckon that’s what you mean. Most of us have to hold the baby when we want to play baseball.” The others laughed, then young Arthur said, “It looks to me as if life is just one darned thing after another.” “Not quite that.” Evans stood up. “I’m afraid I’m an awful preacher,” he apologized, “but you will ask questions.” “Most grown-ups don’t answer them,” said Arthur, earnestly; “they just say, ’Be good and let who will be clever.’ ” “They’d better say ‘Be strong.’ ” Evans was reeling in his line. “We must be getting towards home. Do you see those shadows? We'll be late—” He stopped suddenly, mere nad been the crack of a twig and he had turned his eyes towards the sound. And there, poised above him, her hat off, the warm wind blow ing her bobbed black hair, blowing, too, the folds of the lilac frock back from her slender figure, stood Jane . . . Jane . . , He went charging up the bank to wards her. “My dear,” he said, “my dear.” That was all. But he was there, holding her hands, devouring her with his eyes. Then he dropped her hands. “I thought you were a ghost,” he said, a little awkwardly. “I called you up this morning and Sophy said you were in town.” “I came out at noon. The day was so perfect. I had to see the Glen.” “It is perfect. When I found you were out, I got the boys. I am tak ing a half-holiday after my trip.” He was talking naturally now, smiling at her as she stood beside him. She found herself trembling, almost afraid to speak again lest her voice betray her. She had been more shaken than he by the en counter. She wondered at his ease. And so it happened that, woman like, as they walked alone at last after the boys had left them in the little pine grove back of the house, that Jane said, “Evans, you haven’t wished me happiness." “No,” he said, and his eyes met hers squarely. “I think you might spare me that, Jane.” She flushed. “Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry.” He laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. "Don’t be sorry, lit tle Jane. But we won’t talk about it. That’s the best way for both of us—not to talk.” He stayed to dinner, stayed for an hour or two afterwards—fitting him self in pleasantly to former niches. Jane could hardly credit the change in him. It was, she decided, not so much a resurrection of the body as of the spirit. His hair was gray, and now and then his eyes showed tired, his shoulders sagged. But there was no trace of the old timidi ty, the old withdrawals. He was in I terested, responsive, at times buoy ant. The things she had loved in him years ago were again there. This man did not think dark thoughts! When he went away, she and Baldy stood together on the terrace in the warm darkness and watched him. “He still limps a little,” Jane said. “Yes. Shall we go in now, Jane?” “No. Let’s sit on the steps and see the moon rise.” They sat side by side. "When is Towne coming back?” Baldy asked. “In three days.” Tree-toads were shrilling in mo notonous cadence—from far away came the plaintive note of a whip poorwill. But there was another plaintive note close at hand. “Jane, you’re crying,” Baldy said, sharply. “What’s the matter, dear?” He put his arm about her. “What’s the matter?” “Baldy, I don’t want to get—mar ried. I want to stay with you— forever—” "You shall stay with me.” She sobbed and sobbed, and he soothed her. "Little sister, little sis ter,” he said, “you are crying too much in these days." At last Jane spoke. “Dearest, I must marry him. There’s no way out. He’s done so much for me— and some day, perhaps, I’ll love him.” CHAPTER XIV It was after the day when she had met Evans in the Glen that Jane began to be haunted by ghosts. There was a ghost who wandered through Sherwood on moonlights, a limping, hesitating ghost who said, “You’re wine, Jane. I must have my daily sip of you." And there was a ghost who came in a fog and said, "You are a lan tern, Jane—held high." And that ghost in the glow of the hearth-fire—“You are food and drink to me, Jane. Do you know it?" Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts; holding out appealing hands to her. And always she had turned away. But now she did not turn. Over and over again she lent her ears to those whisper ing words, "Jane, you are wine . . . Jane, you are a lantern. . . . You are food and drink, Jane . . .” Well, she was having her punish ment. She had not loved him when he needed her. And now that she needed him, she must not love him. She hardly knew herself. All the years of her life she had seen things straight, and she had tried to live up to that vision. She saw them straight now. She did not love Fred erick Towne. She had no right to marry him. Yet she must. There was no way out. Towne was aware of a difference in her when he returned from New York. She was more remote. A little less responsive. Yet these things caused him no disquiet. Her crisp coolness had always constitut ed one of her great charms. “You are tired, dearest,” he told her. “I wish you would marry me right away, and let me make you happy.” They were lunching at the Capitol in the Senate restaurant. Freder ick was an imposing figure and Jane was aware of his importance. Peo- j pie glanced at him and glanced again, and then told others who he ' was. Some day she would be his wife, and everybody would be tell ing everybody else that she was the i wife of the great Frederick Towne. The attentive waiter at her el bow laid toast on her plate, and served Maryland crab from a silver chafing-dish. Frederick knew what she liked and had ordered without asking her. But the delicious food ! was tasteless. (TO UK CONTINUED) % Pure Bicarbonate of Soda Found in Lake Bed Thick reefs of sodium, perhaps the first ever found in nature, have been identified by Dr. William F. Foshag, Smithsonian Institution curator of mineralogy, from cores brought to the surface from depths of about 300 feet under an ancient California lake bed. Used by housewives and dyspep tics for generations, sodium bicar bonate has always been a manufac tured product, made from a base of ordinary table salt by a complex chemical process. A few years ago came the first reported discovery of any of the natural mineral. It was detected by a British geolo gist by chemical analysis of mate rial obtained in encrustations scraped from the wall of an ancient Roman aqueduct near Naples. It was declared a new mineral and given a name. Further tests have placed the discovery in some doubt, however, and the material iden tified by Doctor Foshag may be rated as an original discovery. It was found under the dried bed of Searles Lake, Calif., a treasure place for rare mineral combinations. There are about 150 feet of brine bearing salt beds, deposited from the waters of an ancient salt lake. From these beds, by means of shal low wells, potash and borax are oe- j ing recovered on a commercial | scale. In the drilling of these walls a complex of minerals is obtained. Some time ago Doctor Foshag sug gested that drillings be made below j the brine layers. When holes were driven to the 300-foot level it was found that layers of almost pure sodium bicarbonate and clay alter nated. This time, Doctor Foshag says, there is no question at all about the identification. From samples obtained from the lower levels of the brine deposit Doctor Foshag has also obtained an other new mineral, hitherto known as an artificial chemical compound, which has been named “burkeite.” It is a double sulfate and carbonate of sodium, occurring in small quan tities. Jay Gould Offered Proof In the 1880s Jay Gould, the Amer ican financier, scotched a malicious rumor that he was bankrupt, says Collier's Weekly, by inviting report ers from every New York newspa per to inspect his safe, containing $75,000,000 worth of stocks and j bonds, all of which actually be- ; longed to him., as later proved by the execution of his will. Chic Fur Ingeniously Trims Gorgeous Woolens for Fall By CHERIE NICHOLAS A N INGENIOUS and out-of-the-or ** dinary use of fur trimmings is in prospect for fall. As a matter of fact, the vogue has not really been held back until the arrival of cool days, for during the summer, suits and ensembles of daintiest, sheerest wools in rapturous pastels.highlight ed with touches of delicately toned fox have held high favor with wom en who pride themselves on keeping pace with the mode. Then, too, “coming events cast their shadows before” in advance midseason collections which include many fascinating ensembles done in alluring wools that are enhanced with lovely, lightsome fur after the manner of the stunning costume il lustrated. Gaston of Paris designed this handsome beige wool crepe en semble trimming it with exquisite color-matched fox. From beginnings such as evi denced in this fascinating ensemble the vogue for fur trimmings is rap idly developing into a passion for unique and highly decorative treat ments that will manifest itself in full force as the autumn and winter style program unfolds. Preparatory to the coming call for fur trims that are distinctively new and out of the ordinary, designers have put on their thinking caps in order to play up the idea in in genious ways for it is said that em phasis will be placed on unique touches of fur that have dramatic appeal. For instance, such in triguing effects will be worked as bow-knot appliques of fur, bands of fur that outline the fronts of jackets forming pockets in cunningly ec centric ways. The cuff-muff idea is a cute trick that cuffs bishop sleeves in fur flared from a tight wrist. The cuffs form a muff when the hands are clasped together. Then again the fur yoke, front or back, is worked in varied ways. Cloth sleeves that are patterned all over with applied huge polka dots of fur present an attractive new note. Then there are bindings and borderings galore together with swatches here and there in unex pected places that make for decora tive and amusing fur fantasies. However, not by any means does all the glory go to the furs that trim. They tell but half the story of the enchanting fashions under way for the new season. It's the perfect teamwork that carries on 50 50 between luxurious wool weaves plus dramatic fur trimmings. That the forthcoming is going to be a season of luxuriant fabric there is no doubt and the new vintage of woolen materials gives emphasis to this forecast. It is said that plaids will be more conspicuously tn the mode than ever, and when we say plaids as now are it means as resplendent an array as ere eye has seen. For the girl going away to school the cape costume pictured in the inset panel is enough to excite the envy of every sorority sister on the campus. The cape is fashioned of a strikingly handsome wool plaid. It tops a two-piece navy wool suit. The suit can be worn alone and the cape with other costumes. The fur that collars it adds chic and charm to a high degree. In regard to the grand and glori ous woolens that will feature for fall and winter it is said that vertical stripes in r lised effects or contrasts of yarn are scheduled among weaves that will prove foremost in fashion. There are many mossy worsted crepes too that are highly attractive in the new wool fabric showings. (Released by Western Newspaper Union.) Warm Honey Beige Smart Tan Shade The "look pretty" edict this sea son extends to headgear, footgear and makeup. Though some well tanned skins are seen (treated this year with a new shiny finish and no other makeup except vivid rouge), the most talked-of tan tint is a warm honey beige, made up with a little rouge, mat powder and colorful lip stick. Heads are topped with peaked hoods attached to suits, wide hats and lishnct turbans caught with two big colored hairpins. Cork clogs and raffia sandals are seen on smart feet. Beach bags are bigger than ever, and can be liberally equipped with makeup to insure that pretty look. Fetching Costume In White and Blue White and deep blue linen are combined for a natty costume from Bruyere, the blue making the deep sailor on the jacket and the bodice of the dress. On the shoulder of the dress is a white anchor, em broidered, and the anchor on the jacket sleeve is blue outlined in red. The buttons are flat, of mother of-pearl. Gray Woolens High Style Gray wool weaves that blend to gray furs will be featured this fall. The incoming coats and suits stress the gray vogue. Hatful of Stars Small fabric stars captured be tween layers of maline are the imaginative creation of a French hat designer. Lace Top Dress One of the most attractive fash ions on the current style program is that of the lace-top dress. The mod el pictured shown at a revue held by the Style Creators of Chicago is proving to be one of the big suc cesses of the season. It is liked par ticularly, for worn with a jacket, it will carry on through midseason into fall. It is navy for the corselet skirt with white for the lace top. The idea of the lace top admits ver satile interpretations. Showing the Latest Button-Front Styles VTO WONDER button - front * ’ dresses are so popular for midsummer! They go on without mussing your hair or getting mussed themselves. They look so smart, crisp and tailored, and they are easiest of all to press! No. 1787 is an unusually pretty version, so easy to make that even beginners can do it. Inside pleats make your waistline small. Gathers give a nice round bustline. Make this of gingham, linen, pique or shark skin, and trim it with lace 01 braid. Buttons to the Waistline. A new and delightfully different version of the button-front is No. 1790. It has buttons to the waist line only. The skirt is cut with a wide lap-over, and a pretty, circu lar swing. For this, choose ging ham, percale, linen or pique, with snowy frills to make it the more cool-looking and becoming. The Patterns. No. 1787 is designed for sizes 14, 16, 18, 20, 40 and 42. Size 16 re quires 4% yards of 35-inch mate rial with short sleeves; 1% yards of lace or braid. No. 1790 is designed for sizes 34, 36, 38, 40, 42, 44, 46 and 48. Size 36 requires 4% yards of 39-inch material without nap; yards of trimming. Send your order to The Sewing Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1324, 211 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, 111. Price of patterns, 15 cents (in coins) each.