The Marion County Courier (Jefferson, Tex.), Vol. 3, No. 21, Ed. 1 Friday, September 8, 1939 Page: 3 of 8
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THE MARION COUNTY COURIER
Shelf Edging Dresses
Up Kitchen Windows
By RUTH WYETH SPEARS
COME of us can remember see-
ing our mothers cut scalloped
shell papers. Dextrously they
folded and snipped the edge in
points or curves; sometimes add-
ing a cut out diamond in the cen-
ter of each scallop. For many
there is more satisfaction in this
creation of their own hands, than
in using fancy lace edge paper
by the roll. Today, we find that
same satisfaction when we choose
oilcloth shelf edgings—thinking in
terms ef color has a fascination
even beyond scallops with dia-
monds in the center.
The suggestion sketched here
for using shelf edging to dress up
kitchen windows was sent in by a
reader. The busy homemaker
will appreciate the fact that the
curtains are perfectly straight and
plain and easy to remove for laun-
dering. When windows and
shelves match the effect is es-
pecially good. Banded towels
may be of the same color, and
tin containers for bread, sugar,
and spices may be painted with
bright enamel, to match.
The new Sewing Book No. 3 by
Mrs. Spears is packed full of use-
ful, money saving ideas, that al-
most any homemaker may put to
practical use. Every idea is
clearly illustrated with large
sketches. You will be fascinated
with the variety of interesting
things to make for the home and
for gifts. The price is only 10
cents postpaid. Send coin with
name and address to Mrs. Spears,
210 S. Desplaines St., Chicago, 111.
A Good Temper
Good temper, like a sunny day,
Sheds brightness over everything;
it is the sweetener of toil and the
soother of disquietude.—Irving. *
Pull the Trigger on
Lazy Bowels, and Also
When constipation brings on acid indi-
gestion, bloating, dizzy spells, gas, coated
tongue, sour taste, and bad breath, your
stomach is probably loaded up with cer-
tain undigested food and your bowels don't
move. So you need both Pepsin to help
break up fast that rich undigested food in
your stomach, and Laxative Senna to pull
the trigger on those lazy bowels. So be
sure your laxative also contains Pepsin.
Take Dr. Caldwell's Laxative, because its
Syrup Pepsin helps you gain that won-
derful stomach-relief, while the Laxative
Senna moves your bowels. Tests prove the
power of Pepsin to dissolve those lumps of
undigested protein food which may linger
in your stomach, to cause belching, gastric
acidity and nausea. This is how pepsin-
izing your stomach helps relieve it Of such
distress. At the some time this medicine
wakes up lazy nerves and muscles in your
bowels to relieve ytwir constipation. So see
how much better jou feel by taking the
laxative that also puts Pepsin to work on
that stomach discomfort, too. Even fin-
icky children love tit taste this pleasant
family laxative. Buy Dr. Caldwell's Lax-
ative—Senna with P prup Pepsin at your
Doubt whom you will, but never
__ . a To quickly check exces-
HAY I slve nasal secretion—
I put Just "2 drops in
FEVER J each nostril. Ask for
At Peak of Jest
When the jest is at its best 'twill
be well to let it rest.
Do You Know Why Folks Who've
Been to Florida Sing—
HEAVEN CAN WAIT,
THIS IS PARADISE
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"SO THIS IS
By Frank Paifcar Stockbridge
and John Holllday Party
| Stnd milyttK>Box 600, JadaonfUU, Florid* |
I Nam* .
I !) I* ti I
I!«I! a I
1t> f! 11 r
1 II t
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} it t
• MARTHA OSTINSO—WHO KftVKX
THE STORY THC8 FAB
Lovely. Independent Autumn Dean, returning home to British Columbia from
abroad without her father's knowledge, stops at the home of Hector Cardigan,
an old family friend. He tells her that she should not have coma home, that
things have changed. Arriving home at the "Castle of the Norns," she is greeted
lovingly by her father, Jarvis Dean, who gives her to understand that she is wel-
come—for a short visit. Her mother, former belli named Mllllcent Odell. has
been dead for years. Autumn cannot understand her father's attttude. though
gives him to understand that she Is home for good. She has grown tired of life In
England, where she lived with an aunt. Her father gives a welcoming dance at the
castle. Autumn meets Florian Parr, dashing, well-educated young man of the
countryside. Late In the evening Autumn leaves the dance, rides horseback to the
neighboring ranch where she meets Bruce Landor, friend and champion of her
childhood days. He takes her to see his mother, an Invalid. His father Is dead,
thought to have killed himself. As soon as his mother sees Autumn she com-
mands Bruce to take her away, that death follows In the wake of the Odells. Autumn
Is both saddened and perplexed by the invalid's tirade. Bruce, apologetic, can
offer no reason for his mother's attitude. Autumn calls again on Hector Cardigan—
this time to find out the reason for Mrs. Landor's outburst. From his conversation
she inferred that Geoffrey Landor killed himself because he loved Mllllcent Dean,
There was no mistaking Hector's
meaning. He would say no more
about it at present. On the other
hand, his very manner was in itself
a confession. Autumn's question had
been answered. She had no desire
to leave her old friend in "an un-
pleasant frame of mind. She looked
up 'at him and laughed.
"Hector, you old goose," she said,
"I believe you are almost angry.
After all, there isn't much that ei-
ther of us can do about it now.
Come along, darling, and show me
In Hector's orderly garden at the
rear of the cottage, blue flags stood
tall and brave, cupping the sunlight.
Autumn stared at them and tried
desperately to check the shaking
uncertainty of her own heart; it was
in Bruce Landor's eyes that she had
seen that same clean and gallant
The moods which had attended
Bruce Landor all day had been of
two disconcerting extremes. In one
moment he would be swept up to
heights of emotion as he thought of
how Autumn Dean looked at him on
their meeting last night, the quick,
shy veiling of those luminous gray-
green eyes of hers, a concealment
that had brought a strange throb to
his blood. In the next moment he
would be in the depths, remember-
ing how she had been sent away.
Wen Autumn had gone, he had
done his best to soothe his mother
and dissipate the fears that had be-
set her wandering mind. When he
had finally succeeded in getting her
to sleep, he had sat beside her for
a long time, reluctant to call the
nurse from her room.
All his life, it seemed, Bruce Lan-
dor had been compelled to adjust
himself in one way or another to
his mother's humors. He had
scarcely known a day at home that
had not been marred by her varia-
ble temper that often flared up over
the merest trifle. It had begun when
he was eight—twenty years ago now
—and very soon he had grown, in
his pathetic boyish way, to under-
stand that his mother's sudden out-
bursts were her only means of pre-
serving her sanity after what had
happened to his father, that dash-
ing figure romantically and tragical-
ly limned in memory. She must
have loved Geoffrey Landor with a
singular and rather awful intensity,
and Bruce could imagine the dread-
ful scene in the birch-hung gully
recurring to her with cruel sudden-
ness in the midst of some familiar
task. He could imagine her lifting
her eyes from her sewing or from
her work among her flower-beds,
and beholding again the stark verity
of Geoffrey Landor lying face down-
ward in the shallow, amber-clear
creek, his head lying downstream
and the white stones under the water
there becoming red as sullen gar-
nets. Out of his own young heart-
break had grown a great pity and
patience for her.
In all those twenty years Bruce
had never heard his mother speak
the name of Millicent Odell until she
had spoken it last night. His mem-
ory of his father was on the whole
very vague. But he could recall
one afternoon in summer—it had re-
mained with him like a vivid dream
—when they had ridden together
down the birch-filled gully where
they had gathered pocketfuls of
rounded pebbles from the creek and
Bruce had used them in the sling-
shot his father had made for him.
He did not know how he had come
to think of his father and Millicent
Dean as friends, but somewhere in
that dimly recollected past he had
seen them riding together down
some forgotten trail and his boyish
fancy had clung to the picture so
that he had rarely been able to
think of them apart. He remem-
bered, too, the day when Jarvis
Dean's wife had died. He had for-
gotten the words his mother had
spoken that day, but the bitter spirit
in which she had spoken them had
lingered with his curiosity concern-
ing the relationship of the two
And now, after nearly twenty
years, Jane Landor had once more
spoken the name of Millicent Odell,
with a bitterness and hatred that
time itself had failed to vanquish. Of
late, he knew, there had been some-
thing almost fanatical in the proud
manner in which his mother had
spurned Jarvis Dean, but Bruce had
found some excuse for that in the
haughty arrogance of the old Laird
himself, who for years had lived
almost as a recluse in his formida-
ble turreted house. Jarvis Dean's
manner to the world in general had
been hostile, people said, ever since
the death of his beautiful wife. If
Bruce was perplexed at the Laird's
stony refusal to ai-knowledge him
even as a neighbor, there was at
least some consolation in the fact
that the dour sheepman treated ev-
eryone alike, granting each a sort
of individual eclipse with the extra-
ordinary power of his unseeing eye.
It was mid-afternoon, the light
falling moist and sweet from the
green of the hills into the curved
valley where the Landor ranch
seemed to hide in humility from its
more magnificent neighbor, the do-
main of Jarvis Dean. The ancient
weeping-willow trees drooped like a
ceaseless lovely rain into their own
dark and earthy shadow, and like
a phalanx of green-tipped paint
brushes the long avenue of Lombar-
dy poplars stroked the sky, sway-
ing in a whispered rhythm from the
corrals to the Landor ranch house.
In the tiny patch of sunlight that
lay like a gilded shield between the
house and the somber poplars, Jane
Landor's irises bloomed, purple, yel-
low, and then again purple, on each
satin lip a brilliant sunny stain. Jane
Landor's hands would probably nev-
er trim those beds again, Bruce
thought as he strode down the walk
leading from the house to the cor-
rals. The voices of the ranch hands,
the bleat of sheep, the occasional
barking of a dog, were rarefied to
unreality through the blue filament
of the air.
From the woolshed came the
whir-r-r of the shearing machine.
Two or three hundred sheep stood
in the corral outside, a ranch hand
running them into the shed as quick-
ly as the signal came from within.
These were the pick of Bruce's flock
of more than three thousand; they
were great three-year-old Merinos,
their bodies richly wattled.
He went into the shearing pen,
where the great tall hemp sacks
were rapidly filling with wool. As
the nervous sheep passed from the
hands of the shearer, they were be-
ing caught by the brander, who gave
each a smear from the branding
brush. Bruce stood by and laughed
at the ungainly look of a great-
horned ram as, shorn of his mag-
nificent coat and duly branded, he
dashed to freedom.
When he had inspected the work
and instructed his men, Bruce went
out and made his way to the small
pasture back of the poplars, where
he whistled to his horse, whien he
had saddled him he mounted and
rode off to the southward to visit
one of his camps. He found the camp
deserted. The flock, he knew, was
grazing to the eastward, close to
the edge of the Dean property. He
caught sight of the sheep edging
their way across the face of a hill.
The herder was bringing them back
to camp for the night.
Bruce rode out and circled to the
rear of the flock, where he found his
herder at work with his dog, bring-
ing up the stragglers and keeping
the sheep on the move toward camp.
"We'll be ready for your bunch
tomorrow, Ned," he told the man.
"Right, sir! I'll start 'em in first
Bruce ran his eye over the flock.
"You've seen nothing more of that
big coyote hanging around?"
"I'm thinkin' ye'll see little o'
that one from now on," said the
herder. "Them two shots I got at
him day before yesterday come
close to puttin' him away for keeps.
But, since ye're askin', I did hear
something this afternoon over on
the Dean place. Seemed like it was
down there somewhere near the
"You heard something?" Bruce
"It sounded like one o' them cats
we get up in the hills sometimes-
like a young-one cryin', it was."
"Did you go down to see what it
"I went as far as the Dean place,
but I could hear nothin'. I heard it
once or twice after then an' I could
'a' swore it was a kid cryin'."
"When did you hear it last?"
"Mebbe an hour back—after I
started headin' for home. I thought
I'd come out in the evenin', just to
Bruce turned his horse about and
looked eastward beyond the line that
separated his own land from that of
"Perhaps I'd better ride down that
way," he said, then bethought him-
self. When he had been very much
younger, he had heard the men talk
among themselves of the haunted
gully known as Landor's Gulch. His
herder had doubtless been loath to.
venture too far that way alone.
"You're sure you heard a cry of
•some sort, Ned?" Bruce asked him.
"Oh, indeed I did, sir. As I say—
like a young-one cryin', it was."
"I'll go down and take a look,"
said Bruce and rode away.
At the entrance to the ravine,
Bruce swung his long body out of
the saddle and walked slowly into
the birches, letting his horse wan-
der off to nibble the sweet young
grass. On a little rise of ground he
stood and listened. The shimmering
air held a sad stillness; even the
coquettish young leaves of .the
birches drooped in a melancholy
He had been standing there only
a moment when from somewhere
deep within the birches came the
tiny bleat of a lamb. Bruce knew
it could not be one of is own flock.
Ned was too experienced a herder
to permit any of his wards to stray.
Besides, the sound had come from
well within the land of Jarvis Dean.
The responsibility was not his and
yet—he stepped down from the rise
of ground and strode through the
birches till he came to the creek.
He follofwed the shallow stream
downward until he came at last to
the fatal spot which he had marked
years ago and which he had visited
occasionally during the summers
that had come and gone since his
boyhood—the spot where the sheep-
herder had found the still form of
Geoffrey Landor lying in the shal-
He paused a moment and looked
about him. The light of the waning
"I hope you will try to forget
what happened last night."
afternoon was a pure amber sprayed
with lacy leaf-shadows. Here it was,
and on such a day as this, that Geof-
frey Landor had last looked upon
the world he had loved.
He lifted his eyes suddenly at the
sound of a child's whimper. Only a
few yards away, half-hidden behind
the shining birches, a small boy was
leading a lamb at the end of a rope.
At first he could not believe his eyes.
But when he called and the boy
turned his face toward him and be-
gan to cry, Bruce knew him at once.
It was the young son of Tom Will-
mar, Jarvis Dean's foreman. In a
moment he had the boy in his arms.
"Why, Simmy! Where did you
come from?" he asked.
Simmy buried his face on Bruce's
shoulder and sobbed. The lamb
promptly lay down in the fern that
grew beside the water.
Bruce laughed as he hugged the
boy close. "Where in the world do
you think you're going, Simmy?" he
"I want to go home," Simmy
sobbed. "I want to go home."
"Sure you do. Come along, son,
and I'll take you home," Bruce com-
He caught up the lamb under one
arm, and carrying the boy on the
other, made his way quickly out of
the birches and whistled to his
horse. Almost at the same instant
he heard a woman's voice call from
the hilltop to the northward and
looking up he saw Autumn Dean
riding toward him. He hailed her
and waited until she had come down
to him and had dismounted beside
"Where did you find him?" she
"Down there in the gully. He
looked as if he was getting ready
to put up for the night."
"Simmy, you little imp!" Autumn
said, stretching her arms out for
him. "Come to me, darling."
Bruce surrendered his charge and
stood by, the lamb still in his arms,
while Autumn wiped the boy's eyes
and cheeks with her handkerchief
and kissed him to still his crying.
"Don't cry, darling. Autumn will
take you back home." She looked at
Bruce. "Could anything be sillier?"
she said and laughed. "That's Mo-
mo you have in your arms. The
men told Simmy that they were go-
ing to dock Mo-mo's tail this after-
noon and Simmy just wouldn't stand
for it. He ran off to hide Mo-mo
in the hills. He must have been
gone for hours before anyone missed
"How did you know where to look
for him?" Bruce asked.
"We have young Dickie to thank
for that. After all hands had made
• frantic search about the place,
Dickie confessed he had seen Sim-
my go away in this direction end I
rode out at once. The men are
scouring the hills. I had no idea
he would have come so far."
"It was sheer luck on my part,"
Bruce told her. "One of my men
was over this way and told me he
thought he had heard a child cry-
ing. I took a run over and—"
"Simmy, you little idiot!" Autumn
scolded the boy. "We might never
have found you. If it hadn't been
She cuddled the youngster and
smiled over her shoulder at Bruce
who stood watching her.
"Send the reward to Ned, my
herder," he said.
She set the boy on his feet and
drew a sigh of relief as she looked
down where the birches stood along
the creek. Abruptly and disquiet-
ingly out of the obscure weave of
the past, a pattern, a color, stood
out vividly before her. This was
the gully she had visited years ago
against her father's desires.
"I used to come down here often,"
"I still do—sometimes," Bruce re-
She was sorry then that she had
spoken. A wistfulness had come into
Bruce's eyes that caused her to turn
"Come along, Simmy," she said
quickly. "We've got to get you back
"I'll go along with you," Bruce
suggested. "You won't be able to
"Thanks, Bruce," she said, and
got into her saddle at once.
When he had seated the boy be-
fore her, he lifted the lamb and
mounted his horse, and in a mo-
ment they were riding slowly up the
hillside on the way to the trail that
led back to the Dean ranch-house.
"I hope you will try to forget
what happened last night, Autumn,"
Bruce said when they had gone a
little way in silence.
Autumn turned to him and smiled
reassuringly. "One doesn't try to
forget such things, Bruce," she re-
plied. "One tries to understand
"That's better, of course," he
said. "I am sorry it happened."
"It couldn't be helped. It was I
who insisted on going down. Be-
sides—I think I'm glad rather than
"I can't quite see that," Bruce
Autumn was silent for a moment
before she replied. Finally she
turned and looked squarely into his
eyes. "You and I, Bruce, have
grown up together—without knowing
much about ourselves. I lay awake
last night wondering why your moth-
er should have hated mine for twen-
ty years or more. I think 1 have
learned the reason. I spent an hour
today with Hector Cardigan."
"Yes. Has it ever occurred to you
that your mother's bitterness comes
She hesitated and Bruce spoke up.
"Do you think it possible that the
two—your father and my mother—
may have been in love with each
Bruce's eyes were straight before
him as he replied, "I have never
thought of either of them—without
There seemed to be nothing to be
said after that. They rode forward
together, aware of a deep and silent
understanding that was more than
words. Once Autumn permitted her
eyes to move quickly over his strong
brown hands and along his arms to
the powerful curves of his shoul-
ders. And once he turned and saw
that her rippling hair had come
loose from Us knot at the nape of
her neck and had fallen deliciously
about her rose-blown cheeks. Her
hair must be a sort of auburn, he
thought, but in the low sun it had
tints of plum color. He found him-
self thinking that she had deep-sea
eyes — mermaid's eyes, luminous
gray-green. He wanted to tell her
so, but forebore.
And just then a rider came rac-
ing toward them across the range.
It was one of Jarvis Dean's men
who had been searching for the lost
In his somber-toned study Jarvis
Dean sat smoking his cigar. On a
small/ low table beside his chair a
large book lay open, face down-
ward, at the page where he had left
off his reading nearly two hours ago.
It was now five o'clock and the Sun-
day afternoon sunshine lay in long
slanting beams across the dark
green rug that covered the floor. He
must have dozed off, he thought, as
the clock on the mantel chimed the
hour. He had no idea it was so late.
Dinner would be on before he knew
it. It was odd that Autumn had not
yet come back. Florian Parr had
come up from Kelowna for the day
and the girl had gone motoring with
him. They would be in any moment
now, surely, drinking their abomi-
nable cocktails and shattering the
Sunday quiet with their inconse-
Well, the younger generation had
come to claim its own. It was only
natural, after all, he supposed. But
the coming had irritated him. He
had never given much thought to
the younger generation until Au-
tumn had returned unannounced and
taken possession of the gloomy old
house with no other thought, appar-
ently, than that the place was hers.
It was surprising, too, how immedi-
ate and complete the possession had
'TO BE CONTINUED)
These Smart Patterns
Look Ahead to Fall
T~\0 YOU take a woman's size?
Then here is a lovely dress
for you, (1799) youthful yet sophis-
ticated, with clever bodice de-
tailing, to create a round-bosomed
effect, and a paneled skirt that
makes your hips look narrow. It's
a perfect style for luncheons and
club affairs, yet not too dressy for
street and shopping wear, too.
Flat crepe, thin wool and rayon
jersey are smart materials for
Princess Lines and Shirring.
Business and college girls will
like the slim lines and simplicity
of this very attractive dress
(1780), with princess skirt cut
high in the front, shirred shoul-
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frame your face becomingly. For
this, choose flat crepe, taffeta or
thin wool, with revers in white or
a pastel tint.
No. 1799 is designed for sizes 32,
34, 36, 38, 40, 42, 44, and 46. Size
34 requires 3% yards of 39 inch
material. Vt yard of lace for
No. 1780 is designed for sizes 12,
14, 16, 18, 20, and 40. Size 14 re-
quires 5 yards of 39 inch material;
% yard contrasting.
Send your order to The Sewing
Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1324,
211 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, 111.
Price of patterns, IS cents (in
(Bell Syndicate—WNU Service.)
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A man's reputation draws eyes
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may result when yon neglect
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HANDY Hem* Um
SMOW-WMtH PETBOlflJM J SUV
HE 111 IDEAS
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Bradshaw, R. G. The Marion County Courier (Jefferson, Tex.), Vol. 3, No. 21, Ed. 1 Friday, September 8, 1939, newspaper, September 8, 1939; Jefferson, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth293136/m1/3/: accessed May 22, 2019), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting The Dolph Briscoe Center for American History.