r
Can Poverty Kill the Power to Give? By Zona Gale
V... ..
LIZ FRED and Lli Hsnry were
finally to go to tbs poorhouse.
For IS years, sines Fred and
Henry Fort had died leaving their
wires pennlleas, Katytown had
watched tha struggles of ths two
women to hold the tiny mortgaged
whits house In which all four had
lived. Katytown had helped all that It
could—had given work and sent In
food and paid taxes and even mads a
Naneflt—hut now ths two aging wo
*ien iWAtd bear the burden no longer,
and the first of the new year the
house was to he sold for debt.
"And darling," said Foxhall Phelps,
"It'a exactly what we'll want—that
little house. Knock out a partition or
two, throw up a chimney outside,
build in come bookcases and swing In
a few casement windows—can t you
see It? With period paper on the
hall?’*
"Yes,',* said Marcia, "I pan "e* It-"
They went together to see the house
the week before It was to be sold and
two months before they were to be
married. Four small rooms and a
passage, a good doorway and two
sloping chambers filled them with de
light. But this was all th# delight
that they had.
1,1s Henry received them. In a vil
lage sufficiently sophisticated to have
Indignations, and yet rarely to ennui.
Id* Henry was a bore. For 30 years
ahe had bored Katytown to tears.
She always told It. shout her relatives
and her maladies—the* were■ all that
the had.-so this was natural, but It
was tiring.
0P "Evenin'. Marcia; evenin’, Foxhall,",
T.l* Henry, aald. "Pretty good, I
guess, only m’ feet been troublin’
me some. M' feet—” She was off.
Ids Fred cams In. She was younger
—hardly more than fiO. She was
really younger because she was more
detaejied—could hear herself speak
ing. could laugh at herself.
"Do shut up about your feet," she
said kindly to her slster-ln-law.
"They'd rather hear about my back—
I know they would.” She had ft
gentle, twisted smile.
They told her that they had come
to look at tha house.
Instantly over both women there
settled something like a fine white
ash, dimming expression, even fea
tures. ,
"I'll show you over,” said Id* Fred.
Id* Henry began to talk. "W# both
com* here brides." *he said. “We
each had and lost two little children
here. Don't It. seem funny—If thgse
four little thing# had been spared,
we might hot be going—where ws're
going.”
■'Shucks. They might all have been
In Jail,” aald Id* Fred.
"Two pf them were girls.** Id*
Henry reminded her with dignity, as
If Jails were for gentlemen.
"Well, they might hav# Inherited
your feet,** said Td* Fred, "and my
bark,” she added.
"I wouldn’t be sacrilegious,” aald
Td* Henry sharply.
"I would,” said Id* Fred, "that
miieh.”
"This room Is blue and that on# Is
yellow.” Marcia said softly.
*•* ’ "Wl*h Aunt Julia's old mahogany,”
Foxhall added In deep content.
"And this adorable stairway hung
with the Japanese prints—"
Ashamed, she turned to the women
to admire a fuchsia.
"We'll give you' that when w# go,"
Id* Fred said graciously.
There was a knocking as they
reached the lower floor, and In the
doorway bulked Luther Falk, the
Katytown drayman.
'Tome for the stuff,” said he.
Td* Henry cried, "<Oh—oil—” long
and quavering, like an owl's cry. LI*
Fred said sharply: "Tonight?”
"I thought—you wasn't to com# for
that till after New Year’s," Id*
Henry, faltered.
"I’m goln' up-state for Noo Year's."
said Luther Falk stolidly, "so they
■aid to take 'em now. I’m to cart 'em
to a rummage sale in town. The
itnvea and beds I can get when T come
back, after you’re—” he paused deli
cately.
Id* Henry continued to cry Ilk# an
owl and clung to Marcia. "The fare
well night was going to b# bad
enough." LI* Henry eald. "Now It'll
last the week."
From thst room Luther Falk took
the teble, the three cane seated chairs,
the plush couch, the braided ruffs and
the rocker with the strata of shawl*.
"Anythin* more?” said he. “I'll take
the dinin' room duffel out th# back
door."
"Sure you ran,” said Td* Fred, and
closed th# door upon him. "Shut up,
LI*,’’ she observed. "I'm glad to see
the old truck go.”
"But what will you do,” Marcia
demanded, "all the reat of the week?”
"Eat on the lamp shelf,” said LI*
Fred. "Bad on the feet Snd on the
beck—but grand for the digestion.”
"We like It very much—the house,”
Marcia *akl hurriedly. "We've talked
with Ben Tllson—we'll let him know
what we decide.
"And If we do take It," Marcia went
on, "I hop# you’ll both com# end spend
Sunday with us sometimes—”
Her words dwindled before the
trjgedy In Id* Fred's eyea.
"I couldn’t bear remembering," she
■aid. And abruptly she, too, began
to cry—cruel, choking gobs. Without
a word sfie opened the door for them,
one work-worn hand covering her
eyes. But when Id* Henry heighten
ed her owl llke walling Id* Fred's *ol>s
wer# cut off as If they had been
turned off.
"For mercy sakea, shut up, Id*
Henry!” they heard her say as she
dosed ths door.
Out In th# whits street, silent save
for a brush of Icy brsnehea In a algh
Ing wind, Marcia had Foxhall's arm
In both her own.
"I can’t do It," she esld; "I can't
live In that houae. Thoae two poor
old ghoats would face us every day,
Foxhall."
"Mighty tough,” Foxhall mutteVed.
"Mighty blamed tough!! But I don’t
know whether we ought to give up
"the houas—somebody's going to live
In It,1" he argued.
"Dearest, I can’t bear It," she Said.
p* ®**Ths waste- and the cruelty. Those
two hav# worked hard all their lives.
They've done the best ihey could with
their equipment—snd the handicap of
the mortgage. They’ve had children
gnd lost them. What kind of a conn
try do w# live tn that can 1st Its old
people end their dev# Ilk* that?"
"I,kJJITCi'.' aald Foxhall. *U alwajg
i
think lt'» a rotten deal. But we can’t
do anything, can we?"
"Can't we?" laid Marcia tensely.
"Can't we? I've got two thousand
from Aunt Julia I was going to put
Into furniture. Suppose I put it Into
the house and you pay the rest, and
we let them live In It as long as they
live."
"But what’ll they live on!” cried
Foxhall aghast.
"I could give a few muslo lessons a
month and never notice It, and turn
the money over to them. Think, dear,
It's their lives—all the rest of all the
life they've got."
"And what'll we do?" he demanded.
"Rent—for a, little while. Or even
—wait, for a little while?"
"Oh, let's rent.” said Foxhall.
• He khsed her. "Ill do It," he said,
"but it's your deal. I’ll own up I'm
doing It mostly for you."
Foxhall cam* fiack and the bottle
was set to cool, with him to watch it.
When th* baby nestled and grunted
Marcia stooped to it. rocked it,
crooned. Watching her, Koxhali
thought how restfully she was un
like the girls he had seen who, In the
presence of a baby, became self-con
scious and absurd, extravagant in
adulation. Marcia was, he decided,
unlike other girls.
"Seems like if it clicked every time
it kicked.” Ben said, "there'd he quite
a rattlin’.” And when the baby cried
a little: "Do you reckon it'd care to
hear 'Angel’s Serenade’?” he asked
earnestly.
"Yes, Ben, I think she would,”
Marcia told him.
Ben Was playing with terrible In
tentness. flame-colored in the face, his
sir wholly unrecognizable, when Bart
Robey came back up the stairs.
other area of sensation In tha two
who footed there. The house of Idr.
Pred and Idz Henry was forgotten,
and so were their Ineffectual tears.
When they reached Marcia's home.
Poxhall Insisted on coming in and
watching.
"Marcia, you know," he said, "I’ve
seen you drive a car and lead a
woman's bill meeting and make an
omelet—but I never did see you care
for a baby. I hope,” he added simply,
"that this isn't the only one I'll see
you care for.”
"So do I,” said Marcia quite as
simply.
Marcia's mother was little and fus
sy, after the manner of—1 890, per
haps it was; later than hoop skirts
but before short skirts. She had no
gift for the casual. Kvery occurrence
of life she regarded with italics and
else. By noon of the day following
I,ill her Falk's onslaught, the silting
room and dining room of the old
house were again habitable.
■'It’* only for the week," everybody
said. "I.et's make 'em as comfortable
as we ran for their last week. And
let's carry them in all the food we
can."
So not only the plain, nourishing
food with which Katytown had been
wont to sustain these two now' found
Its way to their doors, but cakes and
pastry and odorous casseroles. The
little pantry overflowed and the deal
table In the kitchen was laden. Those
who dropped In to call were carried
off to the kitchen to admire. Kvery
dish was known to LI* Fred and
Liif^He nry by the name of the giver
and was told off In the display.
"It's almost like having wedding
“It’s not nearly so reckless *s buy
ing a car would be—and anybody
would do that," said Marcia thought
fully. "Bet's go and tell Tilson now
before we change our minds."
Ben Tilson had two little rooms
over the calaboose—which was the
Katytown term for police station. He
lived there alone, with a cornet. They
could hear his cornet all up and down
Main street on summer evenings, and
stragglers In the calaboose woke and
clirsed or were charmed by Its wav
ering strains.
‘"Nvo thousand down, - balance In
payments at stated times," said he.
‘•‘Have the papers for you tomorrow.
Drop In my offlre. Ooln’ to live In It
yourselves, are you?"
"Not—not right away," Foxball
owned.
Heavy boots were on the etalrs
leading to his rooms. A voice waa
calling: "Ben Tilson! Ben Tilson!"
He flung open the door end Bart
Robey, the Katytown chief of police,
stood there. Bart was vast snd gen
tle—all hut his boots and his voice.
"Say," he said, “have you got any
skim’ milk?"
In his arms was a baby.
"Sa^, no," Ben said Imperturbably,
’’hut I got some coffee hot on the
back of the stove. I'll get a cup.”
"Peach of a father you’d he,” said
the chief. “You might pass ’im the
root beer. Evenin’ Miss Marcia. Eve
nln’, Mr. Phelps. Book at this ex
hibit, will you?"
It was a baby, hardly six months
old. She was quite silent yive for
groping breaths, but they were con
tented breaths. She stared fixedly at
the light of Ben’s tlpev central burner
and with an air of Intense abstraction
chewed a blanket corner. She wee
quite clean and dainty and owned a
fuzz of black hair.
‘‘Have you arrested—It, Bart?" Fog
hall asked. t
"Run In its ma," said the chief.
“She come to town on the ’through’—
got off the train drunk and mussed
up. I happened to be up there and I
eecorted her down to headquarters.
She’s pretty sick—got the dortor with
her now. Say, ain't It a cute little
bundle?"
"Give her to me," said Mnrola per
emptorily.
Hen'f room had one rocker, end
there Marcia sat with the baby In her
arms,
"Open the draft, Ben,” she said.
"It's cold here. Bart, pull down thl.i
shade, please, and give rne that box
for a footstool. Eoxhall, you run over
to the hotel and ask Madge to boll a
little water and fill a deaf bottle—a
boiled bottle, Foxhall; y#u help her.
.Vhat are you going to do with her?"
she asked Bari.
"Reave It. with Its ma, I a'pose."
"But If she’s sick?”
".Tacks, I dunno."
"Would you mind seeing what the
doctor says about her?"
The rhlef took hie orde'-s and re
treated. Ban waa building up a roar
lnj| fire
"Hare you arrested—It. Bart?” FnThaTl asked. ;
"(•It* it to me,” Raid Marrla peremptorily.
Bart's round eyes had grown triang
ular and his eyebrows were half
moons of'concern. “They’re goLn' to
take her up to the hospital," he said.
“Says bring the kid and the nurses'll
have to take care of It. So If you'll
give It to me—"
"I'll do nothing of the sort,' 'said
Marcia decidedly. “I'll take her home.
A hospital s no place for a well baby,"
she added firmly.
"That's princely. Miss Marcia.”
said Bart In relief. "I feel responsible
because I run In Its ma. And I own
up I kihd o' dread askin’ my wife
to do it—she's a rigj^positiva woman.
And, of course, the calaboose la no
place to entertain a kid."
received with an embrace et de
clined with a thud.
The arrival of the baby elicited
the thud. •
"I can't he bothered with It," ahe
affirmed with declalon. "In the morn
ing, Marcia, we'll take It back."
"There lan’t any back," Marcia ex
plained, "and I'll take care ef It,
mama."
Foxhall hardly heard the plaint?
of Mra. Banka which went on for
?ome time. And Marcia didn't forget
him—ahe vaaa too deeply in love ever
to be unconacloua of him for a mo
ment—but ahe waa excludlngly ab
aorbed In the baby. She had found
“To Hi** poor-farm—ar* you yuln'?*’ mlml 1.1* Itrnry.
“Didn't 1 »«■<• you km brnt on Ilf” rrlrd I .lx Fred luiruhly.
‘‘I could keep her,” aald Ben
modestly.
Bart laughed hut Foxhnll aald:
"Ton and I don't seem to he of much
use, do we, Ben?”
"Oh, yes, you do,” aald Marcia to
Fox hall; "you're t# carry her. And
Brii'a been the most useful of any
body.”
"If It wants anything In the night,”
anld Ben, “and the calaboose Ig
asleep—which It mill be- gimme a
ting
“And you'll make It some hot cof
fee.” said Bart from the stairs.
They parted In the Qtiler street, the
chief almost violent In his thanks.
The same Icy crackle was In the
branches, the same protesting squeak
was In the anow—but there was an
some small night garment* of the
younger children and aha overrode
her mother with a lovely conscious
nee* of being In the simple right
Mr*, flank* might have some good
sense but *he had not always a deeper
wisdom.
Th* new* that 1.1* Fred and Id*
Henry had been loft In a bar* house
for their final week, In Katytown
mads Katytown Indignant.
Bart, the drayman, claimed to act
on Instructions from fieri Ttlnon, who
was local poor c ommissioner.
Tbs situation seized on lbs Imaglna
lion of ths Katvtnwn woman, and
Ihsv hurriedly arranged mailer*. A
chair rvas spaced front heie. a rn*
from tlisre, a Uhl* from somewhere
i
presents," Els Fred Mid with her
twisted smile.
E'nder this unaccustomed sun I.lx
Fred and Elx Henry themselves took
an a wintry bloom. Every morning,
having now no work to do and not
knowing who might drop In to bring
an offering, the two put on their de
cent beat—merlnoa with white lace
fronte.
"BecatiM we wo«'{ have no place to
wear them when we get—where we're
goln'," aald El* Fred sagely, “so we
might as well flam out In them now."
Bitting thus one evening, In their
black merlnoa. upon all the borrowed
furniture. It was Els Henry who
brought forth first a groan and then
an Idea.
"Four days left." she Mid. "I keep
thlnkln' of the things I meant to do
for folks."
I.lx Fred said nothing. Bh# was
moving her shoulders In a IIM1# rook
ing motion as If she was hurt all
over.
"I i'poae.” Elx Henry continued.
"It's some like (lying—you're never
quit# ready. I waa thinking about
the poppyseed I promised Mis' Spate.
Now I can't take It to her."
"There's Mia' Walker I promised
to go In and set with end read to a
while," IJ* Fred said. "I ain't done
It "
“An' I never showed Mle' Plant
that new lace stitch. Nor helped
Eyddv with her sewing for the little
girl ah# took In.”
"What’s the us# now?" eeld Elx
Fred harshly. "No us# rsktng up all
that now." •
I.lx Henry began to cry. "I feel
like I d died and been burled." she
said, “with all my sensations In me."
Suddenly Elx Fred said, "Say!"
El* Henry looked up, el art led and
sniffling. •
"We got our four days left. Why
not get such tiling* don* anyway?"
aald her slater.
Elx Henry continued to cry forlorn
ly. "We couldn't," ah# eatd, "Not
with the snow so deep and all.”
"They ain't got our galoshes," said
Elx Fred. "Not yet they ain't. Come
along let'* do some of 'em anyway.
I,*r* make a list and atart out now."
Elx Henry was apathetic, but aa the
list began to grow under IJ* Fred s
finger, ah# Joined In:
"We promised Marcia Banks our
fuchsia, hut aim could get that after
we re gone.”
"Why not have the fun of taklng«it
to her ourselves?" said Elx Fred.
The snow was falling gently and
beautifully when the two eel out the
next day. They were passably well
ilresaeil a stranger seeing them
would have taken them to be two
motherly villager*, carrying a well
wrapped plant in a friend. When they
opened 1 he gale to Marcia * comfort*
hie home, lliev looked like any of her
niother's visitors. Indeed, until n
month ago, when the poor farm had
been decided on, that \\n* what they
were, It was s* If ihsf decision, at
on# blow, had robbed them of ala
tlon and consideration. Now they
seemed to have no Identity aside
from that dayg four dave hence.
When LI* Henry and Lt* Fred ar
rived Marcia was sitting by the fire
with the bahy.
"Say, that's (he baby, ain’t lt?" said
Id* Henry.- "We heard all about it.”
Id* Fred said nothing, but with her
thumb and fingers she tourhed the
baby's arm. She looked at Marcia sly
ly: "Kitt,en,” she aald, "ain't it?"
“We brought you our fuchsia,” said
Id* Henry, and unwrapped it. "We
had It five years—we raised It. Ain’t
it a handsome thing?" Ami when Mar
cia demurred St taking it now, Ll*
Fred criedj "Shucks! We wanted the
fun of giving it away."
“We ain't never had much of that
sort of fun,” said Li* Henry, apd. if
she had any stray tendency to tears,
they dried under the mandatory look
of Ll* Fred, who cried:
"Oh, Miss Marcia, we been having
the best afternoon! Te*. sir—and
we're going to have three day* more
just like lt.”
They poured it all out, the story of
the done and the undone.
"And tonight," said Liz Henry. "I’m
going to leach Mis’ Plant to make
'Ihree-and five.’ And tomorrow all
day we re going to help Lyddy sew."
"And tlext day I'm goin’ to read to
old blind Mis' Walker. There's some
more. too—if the commissioners
would let us stay over," Li* Fred
laughed.
"We've gf>t time to go to old Mia'
Weber's yet tonight," said Liz Henry.
“We been putting it off ever since
she took sick In the fall."
Marcia had never aeen them ao
human, so alive. She realized that
she waa on their list, to he glvsn the
fuchsia—It gsve her a curious and
salutary feeling to he visited, on s
list, instead of visiting. Marcia w-as
conscious of a dignity and a presence
In both these women which she had
never seen—perhaps she thought, be
cause eh# had always unconsciously
held these two to be negligible, or at
best merely to he ministered to.
She thought: "Oh, I'm going to tell
them now. If Foxhall has the papers,
he must come up and we ll tell them
now."
She left the baby with them and
ran to telephone to him. Then she
Insisted on their staying for tea. '
Foxhall came in and Marcia turned
to him with a restful sense of shar
ing, which was one of the happi
nesses of her love.
"Foxhall's voice Is so deep and
furry," she had once aald, “you Just
hava to love him."
The deep and furry voice had never
been gentler than when he told Liz
Fred and Li* Henry what he and
Marcia proposed doing—and spread
the deed before their eyes.
Never afterward could Marcia and
Foxhall think of that hour without a
kind of shame that any human being
ahould be so abjectly grateful for food
and shelter—"For the rudiment* of
food and shelter," as Foxhall put lt.
It was only now that there became
evident the depth of desolation which
th* poor old beings had auffered.
"Raised from the dead—that's what
It ia." said Ll* Henry. "I ain't much
—and I.i* Fred, she ain't much either
—but w* thank you and God.'’
"We can't thank anybody to'i lt
sound* like anything." said Ll* Fred.
"Tou gottg know!" sh* cried fiercely,
as they were leaving.
Sh* stopped again, laid her brown
thumb and finger on the little sleeve
and muttered thickly: "Kitten!"
Half an hour later Bart Robey
called Marcia over th# telephone.
“It's an awful shame. Mis* Banks.”
he said. "I'm sure they done th# heat
they could—but th# baby's nia—she
died."
To Marcia's startled question he had
no satisfactory reply. No. not a word.
Never really right In her head alnce
they took her In. Hied without sens
ing anything save that her hands kept
groping around for Ihe hahy. No,
no idea what her name was; no
papers, no card*, hardly any money
in her purse-—nothing.
Sh# went hack to the library and
told Foihall. She had left the baby
In th* depths of a great chair, but
when sh* retnmed h# had her in his
arms.
"Weil, then, darling." he aald when
Marcia told him, "what are we going
to do about th# hahy?"
"Hnw exactly like you not to say
’What. *r# you going to do?’" she
told him.
"I'm In on thla," he said. "Shall
w# keep her?"
"Oh. Foxhall! We can't keep Id*
Fred and Li* Henry going. In that
houae, and take the hahy, too."
"Oh, thunder!" aald Foxhall. "So
w» couldn't."
The hahy awoke and Joined in the
talk with almleas gesture* and em
phatic kicking. Mis. Rank* came In
and, because it seemed to be her due,
they told her everything. And Mrs.
Banks was like the greal adamant
vole# of certain "nan#” public opinion:
Nonsense The child must b# turned
over to the society. 1.1* Fred and Ll*
Henry should have gone to th# poor
farm-but that couldn’t he helped
now. elnc# "you two have been so
headlong. And a mercy, too, ‘if It
keep* you from saddling yourselves
for life with * waif "
’’Mother, dear." Marcia aald help
lessly.
"Oh. your mother knows best." said
Mr* Banks ’’And tills remind me: I
have a ft anh coffee caka for I.I*
Henry and Id* Fred. I'll run over
with It now."
"Oh, Foxhall," said Marcia when
sh* had gone. "Isn't there a better
Idealism than common sense'"
"You het there is.’’ said Foxhall.
"nearest." said Marcia aolemnly,
"oon’t you aee why It Is that I adore
the ground you walk on?"
They spent an hour over the
figure*. They stretched and squeez
ed their little hudget. But thev dare
not let It Include the adoption ef two
old ladles end a hahy at on# stroke.
"It's no use." said Marcia at Inst.
I'll telephone Bart tomorrow.'*
"But were doing the less useful
thing the leaa social thin*!." said
Foxhall. “Id* Henry and Ll* Fred
aren't so Important as this bahy '•
"We're keeping our word." said
Marcia. "That’s social."
Ids Henry and Ida Fred were in
the kitchen, before a savory slice of
potroast, freshly heeled, and a dlah
of baked maearonl and rheese
"Though I dun no I'm aura how
w« can expect to rat at all," said
LI* Henry. "Oh, ain't It heaven—
ain't It heaven!"
"It a like having a hill rolled off
yotir cheat,’’ said I,l> Fred. "Here
we had an afternoon like other folks
—and now this."
“We haven't much furniture, but
It'd Vie paradise to live in the kitch
en," sal.d Li* Henry. "And I Just
thought of this: That farewell night
we dreaded, there won't be none!"
Mrs. Banks knocked at the side
door. ,
“Come In and have a taete of
something.'' Liz Henry besought her.
"Come In and help us celebrate."
"We're women folks to home again,
said Liz Fred, "all o&in’ to your
young folks. Oh, Mis’ Banks-"
"Marcia told me," said Mrs. Banks
warming her hands at the conking
stove. "And I must say, foolish as
I think it was, I’m thankful, after
all."
“Oh, now that's good of you," Liz
Fred cried.
"Tea.” said Mrs. Banks, her thin
lips tightening about her Words, "If
It hadn't been for you two and the
house, we'd have had a baby saddled
on to us."
Mrs. Banks told It, with the Katy
town manner of savoring the news in
her enjoyment of it. In her pleased
preoccupation she did not observe
that Liz Henry and Liz Fred said
nothing: that when, being talked out,
she went away, thev still said nothing
save to thank her for the coffee cake.
"Don't mention it," said Mrs. Banks.
"I love doing things for folks."
When the door closed behind her
the two old women sat staring at
each other. In that hour they seemed
to have grown very old.
“What we goln' to do?" said Liz
Henry at last.
Liz Fred threw up her head. "Do?
Why should we do anything?”
But the baby—"
"The baby'll find a home somewhere
else."
"But JDss Marcia—ehe'd like to
keep It—"
"She'll have one of her own.”
"But, Liz Fred—”
"Don't 'Liz Fred' me! I got a home
I don't have to be on the county. I
got a place to stay the rest of my
days. Do you think I’m going to be
fool enough to give it up?"
At this Liz Henry began to cry
her terrible owl-like quavers.
“N’or me. Oh, I dunno what to do
either!" she wailed.
"Well. I do," said LI* Fred. "I'm
going to stay right straight here.”
She hurried upstairs to her room.
Liz Henry rose and locked the door
and blew out the limip. Then she sat
down by the cooking stove. In the
room above she could hear her sister's
chair rock on a board by the kitchen
stovepipe which heated her room.
The stovepipe holes showed ho light—
Li* Fred, too, was sitting in the dark.
Some time after midnight LI*
Henry rose and lighted a lamp. She
went upstairs to her own room, acrose
the passageway from her sister's
closed door* For half an hour she
worked, gathering up her few belong
ings and lavirg them In order. She
rftuld hear Liz Fred moving about
and thought she was preparing for
bed. But when at last she came out
of her room Liz Fred's door was wide
open and ahe hemelf stood In a litter
of the contents of bureau drawers.
"Are you—ere you goin'?” asked
Liz H»nry breathlessly.
"Yes." said Liz Fred listlessly, “I
am.”
“To the poor farm—are you goln'
to the poor farm’"
‘‘Didn't I see you was bent on ft?"
cried Liz Fred harshly.
Li* Henry crossed her threshold
, — i i i
They were both Winking, blinking and
hentr—atlll more aged since they had
last met.
"It ain't no such thing," IJ* Henry
cried shrilly. "If you're goin', you’re
goin’ for your own reasons."
"You don't know what I 'm gotn*
for!" I.lz Fred blazed furiously.
I.lz Henry stood for a moment, rub
bing her forehead.
"Well," she said at last, "it’a so
late now let's lay down with our
clothes on. That way there wont be
no farewell night."
Early the next morning, before the
sun rose clear in a white east, the
two went three times from the little
house carrying light bundles. Casser
oles and tins were left hero and there,
and a store of food —roasts, macaroni,
coffee cake—at old lame Mis' Bard
well's and blind Mis’ Walker's and
sick Mis' Weber's door. Toward 8
o'clock the two climbed the stairway
to Ben Tilson's rooms.
"We wanted to know if we could
go—whore we’re (goin'—now,” said
Liz Fred. "On the eight forty-five."
"Now?" said Ben. "This morning?"
Quick to sense that this was a mo
ment which had better he taken ad
vantage of, Ben said that he thought
It could he arranged—and arranged it.
He did not question them. •
"Couldn't—couldn’t our things be
sent after us?" Liz Fred said low.
"If they're ready, might as well
stop for 'em now," said Ben oblivi
ously.
So the two sat In the ear before
the white house while Ben and the
driver brought out the shabby old
valises. As he turned from the lock
ing of the door something in the
aspect of the two still figures in the
car smote him with unwonted urg- jo
ency.
"Kind o' tough," he said to them
awkwardly.
To his amazement they both looked
around at him and smiled.
"We are going.” said Liz Fred with
dignity and distinctness, "entirely
from choice."
“Our own free choice," echoed Lig
Henry” * j:
"Of course,” mumbled Ban, not .
comprehending.
"And. Mr. Tilson." said Liz Henry,
"on the way back from the depot wt
want the man should leave this note
for Miss Marcia Banks. He won't
forget, will he?"
"Let's leave It now," said Ben.
"Plenty time."
When the doorbell rang Marcia was
bathing the baby and crying quietly.
Her mother Vo ught her the note. It
waited for her while she dried the
baby and rolled her in her blanket.
Then she read the ill spelled lines:
"Dear Miss Marcia:
“We decided on the farm after all.
We think it will be an enaey life and
we re both getting lazey. Much obliged
all the same end love. Love agen.
"LIZ HENRY AND LIZ FRED."
(Copyright. 1925.)
ITALY PLANNING
AIRPLANE ROUTES
Rome. March 7.—Italian plan* re
garding civil aviation »re upon the
point of taking definite shape.
It noij seems possible that the first
civil air line will run from Brindisi,
by way of Athens, to Constantinople,
touching at Dmno*. This will be
Italy's first serial line in the eastern
Mediterranean and its total length
will be about 1,500 kilometers.
The opening date of the ltna prob
ably will be next July, and flights at
first will be made thre* times weekly
and later daily.
. I -
; • tc
"you just
KNOW
it’s well
Your baby, too, can laugh,
and coo and crow in tha
best of health,
i ' . -
* %,*
I
ry,ou Just know
it's NOTweW
There is no reason for your baby
to look or feel this way.
CONSTIPATION means
SUFFERING
II
Poor little thing! It can’t tell
when the milk is wrong, or it
has a little cold, or any of the
hundred things that might
happen to one so young! But
Nature can—and docs. The
baby becomes constipated, it
cries, it frets.That is the warn
ing to look out. Danger and
disease are lurk mg in the body.
All the poisons are bottled up
m that little frame. Relieve
this condition at once or you
may have a very sick child.
Dr. Caldwell’s
SYRUP PEPSIN
The Family Laxative
—relieves constipation and
brines the little one back to
health. It restores the bowels
tonormal activity and so gent
ly that baby joyously laughs.
It's Nature s relief for consti
pation — F.gyptiansenna, pep
sm and pleasing aromatics in
a pleasant tasting liquid com
hination prescribed by Dr.
Caldwell for years m his ex
tensive practice and used
throughout the country for
over jo wars.
Gentle .As Saturt—
Pkuinffy Swfrt
Not ■> babv the oolx ooe w bo needs
it At effective tor old tt for young.
Your bowYts sb vild act at lecst twice
dailv IV thev' It not, assist Nature
tt millions ate doing annually. Buy a
hot tit ut IV Cald weh t Sy m pIV pun
now and use at directed. M,« than
io,aew,ooo bott.es ae d ttmuaiiY.
Illi loUl f»*f» n hri * mtvlh »n» (•
•«'M <nd |uat«n!« i 1 It* II *ur
ri*li \«Hir «ii u«itl*i >• lttiurn'BWf
if |« fail* to do •« pnwiHd
rrrsi\ sviu r o>Mfany
Mt'ntU lHl«td*
