The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 31, No. 183, Ed. 1 Saturday, October 6, 1934 Page: 3 of 4
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THE LAMPASAS LEADER
MISS ALADDIN
By Christine Whiting Parmenter
Copyright by Christine Whiting Parmenter
WNU Service
CHAPTER VIII—Continued
—9—
"Perhaps you young folks can’t real-
ize what that meant to a pioneer wom-
an alone in her cabin save for a little
child. Instinctively her glance rose to
the rifle lying ready for use on a
shelf behind the stove; then fell to
the fir tree: that emblem of ‘Peace
on earth, goodwill ta men’; and just
as the door latch rattled ominously,
she came to a decision.
“She was a courageous woman, my
mother, but I have sometimes won-
dered what was In her heart as she set
me on my feet and moved toward that
door, unarmed. Did she expect to
confront a band of roving savages?
What met her eyes was a single brave,
and a boy of, possibly, seven years
-old. No doubt the Indian looked sin-
ister enough. Only the week before a
woman not many miles away had been
scalped and mutilated. The horror
of that story was still upon her; yet
she did what may have been the only
thing that protected herself and me.
My mother smiled; it was. I imagine,
•a smile born out of terror; but to that
*rim-visaged Indian it was a gesture
of friendliness. Who knows hut had
there been more such gestures, one
page of our history would have been
•less tragic. And then, although her
“My New Baby! See!”
hands were so tightly clenched that
(she found later) the nails had pierced
her flesh, she look straight up at him
and said two words—words which
sounded strange to her own ears in
such a moment. Perhaps you have
guessed them, for what my wonderful
little mother said was: ‘Merry Christ-
mas !’ ”
Miss Columbine paused, and there
was silence until Aurora Tubbs ex-
claimed: “But you ain’t tellin’ us that
that ■wild Indjun knew what she said.
Miss Columbine! It’s not believable.’’
The old lady seemed to be looking
at something far away.
"Not the words,” she answered, “but
perhaps he understood the smile; and
she spoke gently. He came into the
room, followed by his boy, and stood,
arms folded, looking down at that
small gay tree and that happy little
girl who knew no fear. For a mo-
ment; then, glancing up suddenly, I
laughed with pleasure. Here was an-
other child! I held my doll aloft so
that the Indian boy could see it.
‘Look!’ I cried joyously. ‘My new
baby! See!’
“The boy reached out and took It
from me, his white teeth gleaming in
a quick smile. The man grunted some-
thing unintelligible and moved nearer
the tree. He seemed, my mother told
me, both puzzled and admiring, like
a big child wondering what it was all
about. He touched a yellow butter-
fly made from a scrap of paper; said
something more, letting his glance rove
slowly about the room. Her heart
quickened as his eyes rested on the
rifle; then subsided when he made no
more to touch It. The boy, still ad-
miring my homemade doll, said some-
thing rapidly and took from his neck
a string of beads, holding them out to
me. It was, my mother understood,
meant as an exchange for my clothes-
pin baby, and fearing trouble should
I rebel, she said; ‘See, darling, he has
brought you a Christmas gift! Let
him keep your dolly. I have another
exactly like it for you; and this poor
boy has no lovely tree, perhaps no
mother. Tell him to keep it.’
“My lip trembled; but she took the
beads and put them about my neck,
and suddenly I was enraptured with
this new treasure. Apparently I was
desirous of doing something for the
other Indian, for I lifted the paper but-
terfly from Its branch and held it out
to him, saying: ‘It’s your Kismus gif,
man ! Merry Kismus!’ ”
A breath of pleasure swept through
her audience as Cousin Columbine
ceased speaking; then she continued:
“I seem to remember the Indian stoop-
ing to take my offering. I know he
smiled, though that Is something my
mottver never corroborated. He grunt-
qd » word tw two, Intended, she was
sure, as thanks; gave one more curi-
ous look at the small tree; and then
they left us, those strange, strange
Christmas guests, mounting their
ponies and riding into the forest, dis-
armed, my father used to say, by a
smile of welcome.”
“And did you ever see them again?”
questioned Eve Adam; her low voice
was very gentle.
“Never again. What they came for
—where they were going, we never
knew. And only a half hour later
there sounded close to that well-barred
door, the clear, sweet note of a hermit
thrush ! Not until then did my valiant
mother give way to tears.”
Said Matthew Adam, gravely: “That
is the nicest Christmas story I ever
heard. Miss Columbine.”
“And now," suggested his mother,
going to the melodeon, “let's end our
evening by singing some of the good
old carols.”
Later that night when the guests
had departed and the Nelson mansion
stood quiet in the moonlight, Nance
went to her tower and gazed for a
moment at the snowy Beak. It had
been a long, exciting day. and sudden-
ly conscious of being tired, the girl
opened the window and slipped grate-
fully into her big black walnut bed.
The moon was very bright and she
saw quite clearly Aurora’s calendar
and the military figure of General
Grant, looking down upon her from
the wall. She saw, too, that her
chiffon gown lay where she had tossed
it carelessly, in close proximity with
the patchwork quilt, and Nance smiled
to herself, there in the moonlight.
“Chiffon and calico!” she murmured
drowsily. “I guess they aren’t so far
apart as I used to think.” Then her
eyes lifted to the steel engraving and
she laughed a little.
“Good-night, General Grant,” she
said politely. “I was pretty insulting
to you at first, but I believe I’m get-
ting to rather like you. Perhaps it’s
the uniform. They say that sooner or
later a woman always falls for a uni-
form. I’m sorry you weren’t down-
stairs this evening, General. It—it
was a wonderful debut!”
Crystal Star
By EARLE BOOK
©, by McClure Newspaper Syndicate
} WNU Service,
CHAPTER IX
It was at Christmas dinner that
Nancy divulged her plan for the Alad-
din library, a proposition which met
with instant enthusiasm. John Adam
readily agreed to supply the sign; and
one day in January Mark brought it
in from the ranch.
“Dad’s been so temperamental you’d
think he was painting a picture for
the art museum,” he declared. “Hon-
estly, Nance, since you wished this
job on him that man’s neglected his
cooking shamefully; hut the sign’s a
corker.”
“I’ll say it is!” Nance spoke almost
with awe. “I never expected anything
so—so professional; and those Aladdin
lamps at either end are stunning.
Your father must have spent a lot of
time on this sign, Mark. Can you put
It up if we go over to the schoolhouse
now?”
“I came prepared, lady; and there’s
a box of books at the station which
our sweet young Denver cousin col-
lected for you. Matt’ll be down to
finish the shelves this afternoon, and
— Hi there, Aurora Tubbs! Come
see this sign"
Aurora emerged from the kitchen,
and stood, arms akimbo, admiring eyes
on John Adam’s handiwork.
“If it don’t look exactly Uke a
boughten one!” she exclaimed. “But
if those fancy things is meant for
lamps, Mark Adam, they must be ter-
rible old-fashioned and hard to fill.
Your father’s a regular artist, ain’t he?
I wonder would he letter me some call-
in’ cards. I’ve hankered for some o’
the silly things ever since Victor’s
cousin Ella had some writ by a one-
armed soldier who was doin’ ’em in a
doorway in Denver.”
“Sure he’ll do ’em for you,” Mark
promised recklessly. “Hello, Miss Col-
umbine. Just look at Father Adam’s
masterpiece.”
Cousin Columbine came briskly down
the steps.
“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?" said Nancy,
her face glowing.
“It surely is. Are you going to put
It up today, Mark?”
“Soon as I swipe a ladder out of
your barn. You’ll have to come along,
Nancy, and boss the job.”
Those days were full of interest,
for Aunt Louise and the girls at school
had responded generously to Nancy’s
plea for books. Mother and Dad had
doubled the number; Phil had col-
lected twenty more; and Aunt Judy,
Immediately on hearing about the
scheme, had sent a check for the pur-
chase of new ones.
No check had ever looked so big to
Nancy Nelson, or been so welcome;
and one day Mark drove her to the
Springs to purchase this important ad-
dition to her library. He also im-
proved the occasion considerably by
taking her to lunch at the Antlers
coffee room, and to a movie. It was
dark when they reached Pine Ridge
again, to find Aurora declaring that
their mangled bodies were doubtless
at the bottom of some ravine. In fact,
as Mark said later, she looked a trifle
disappointed when they arrived safe
and sound in her shining kitchen!
“Didn’t I say you were demented,
Aurora Tubbs?" observed Miss Colum-
bine triumphantly.
Despite the tone, her face looked
noticeably relieved; and Nance ex-
claimed: “Oh, dear! we only went to
a movie. I didn't dream that you’d be
worried. Cousin Columbine.”
“No more I should have.” snapped
the old lady, “if Aurora hadn’t harped
on the idea. Mark Adam, you’d better
call up your mother. No doubt she’s
wondering where you are.”
“And me. worryin’ myself sick for
nothin’,” grumbled Aurora. “A movie!
Not even n flat tire; and us wonderin’
if .votir necks was broken.”
That day seemed long ago to Nancy
when on nn afternoon in February she
went down the unkempt street, turned
at the filling station and ascended a
low hill on which stood the abandoned
schoolhouse, “erected In 1902," Cousin
Columbine had told her, to replace the
one destroyed by fire. It was a small,
frame building with no pretense at
beauty; but the girl paused for a mo-
ment to admire John Adam’s handi-
work before she unlocked the door.
The air outside was warmer than
within, and Nance opened a window
before proceeding with what Jack
called her “janitorial duties.” The
airtight stove must be lighted, and the
whole place dusted before the first
arrival should appear. These tasks
completed, Nancy sat down behind the
kitchen table which served as libra-
rian’s desk, and looked about with sat-
isfaction.
Perhaps the girl didn’t wholly real-
ize that this satisfaction which
was like nothing she had ever experi-
enced before, was the result of having
achieved something—something really
worthwhile. She had had help, of
course; but the idea had been her own,
and Nance had put it through trium-
phantly.
“I couldn’t have done It without the
others,” she told herself, “but at least,
they wouldn’t have done It without
me. It had never occurred to them;
and Cousin Columbine was doubtful
that the plan would work.”
Y’et, being no wet-blanket, the old
lady had done her bit by arranging
for the use of the schoolhouse, and
writing to the Oklahoma family who
came to Pine Ridge summers. This
proved an inspiration, for they re-
sponded wdth a box of books and a
beautiful Navajo rug in gray and scar-
let which covered the center of the
floor, giving the place a homey look.
“And some day,” mused Nancy, as if
her stay in Pine Ridge was to be in-
definite, “we’ll put in a fireplace.
That’s all we need to make it won-
derful.”
To the natives of Pine Ridge the
Aladdin library seemed wonderful
enough as it was. “And how every
one of those blessed Adams had
worked!” thought Nance with grati-
tude. Father Adam’s neat lettering
adorned more than three hundred
books which Juanita and Mary Tay-
lor had helped her cover with brown
paper. They had had fun over it, too.
Some of the work was done on winter
evenings when Jack and the Adam
boys had Joined them, as well as a
good-looking forest ranger who appeared
at church one Sunday, and had con-
trived to appear at the Nelson man-
sion at frequent intervals ever since!
Mother Adam made and donated
cretonne hangings for tliei windows.
Matthew and Mark had built the
shelves: low shelves which girdled the
whole room, made from lumber they
“just found lying around the place,”
and stained dark brown. Even John,
busy at school, appeared one week-
end with a dozen books; and Luke
painted four chairs found in the
school house. Transformed a cheerful
Chinese red, these proved such a suc-
cess that he insisted on painting
Nancy’s “desk” as well, and a table
for magazines found in Aurora’s cel-
lar; while his mother sacrificed a
wicker porch chair, cushioned to
match the hangings at the window.
“This place would be almost cozy if
it weren’t for the bare wails,” said
Mary Taylor. “But don't you mention
the lack of pictures before Juanita.
No knowing what impossible contribu-
tion she might bring in!”
Nance smiled, and answered:: “I’ll
forage In Cousin Columbine’s attic. I
saw an old engraving of Lincoln up
there the other day.”
There was also one of George Wash-
ington; and Mary appeared that after-
noon with what she said her mother
called “a yard of authors"; photo-
graphs of the New England poets
framed in oak.
Eve Adams laughed when she saw
this offering.
“It brings things back. Nancy.
Stored in our attic is a yard of roses;
and we had a yard of kittens In the
nursery. That idea used to be all
the rage.”
“Gee, Mum! I remember those kit-
tens!” This was Mark pausing as he
adjusted a crooked window shade.
“They had blue ribbons ’round their
necks and extraordinarily long whis-
kers! But these are good photographs.
Nancy. They’ll add a literary touch
to pur decorations.”
No wonder Nancy felt a thrill of
pride at the result of her planning!
Out of what a few short weeks before
had been a hare and useless room, had
blossomed this cheery little place; and
already the people of the village were
asking if it couldn’t be opened every
night. Ten days ago they had had
their “housewarming,” with hot choco-
late and doughnuts for refreshments
—a party which even Victor Tubbs
had roused himself sufficiently to at-
tend !
This had been on a Saturday, and
the minister who conducted services
in the Pine Ridge church twice every
month, arrived in time to make a
speech. Nance hadn't counted on
that; but it was a good speech and she
liked the minister despite the fact that
he referred to her as ‘‘our dear young
benefactor.” Indeed, at this point in
his address. Jack had been stricken
with an attack of choking, and at
least four Adams had winked in her
direction; while the sophisticated
Nancy Nelson had felt her ears grow
scarlet with confusion.
Nancy smiled at the memory. She
was feeling particularly happy this
afternoon for good news had arrived
from home. Dad was making a new
start with a splendid firm, and had
been offered an unexpectedly good
price for the city house.
“In some ways it’s a wrench to give
It up,’’- wrote her mother, “but we can’t
lose this chance; and In any case we
shall stay in Edgemere for several
years. Phil loves his school; and I
ain loving the life of a country town
again. It’s such a joy to see your
father his cheerful self once more.
These anxious months have brought
him some gray hairs; but he’s happy
and interested now, and wondering if
you’re not almost ready to come
home. . . .”
Home! The girl drew a long, long
breath. It would be wonderful to see
Dad and Mother and Phil and the
aunts, and all the old crowd, of course;
but Cousin Columbine was going to
miss her frightfully. And she couldn’t
leave until the library was running
smoothly and she found somebody to
fill her place.
Nancy leaned forward, lifting a
child’s bank which was placed on her
desk for voluntary contributions, and
smiled as a reassuring rattle met her
ears. The first donation had come
from a small girl who said, as she
dropped in a shining penny: “It’s to
help your library, Miss Aladdin.”
Nothing had ever pleased Nance half
so much as this innocent mistake in
her identity. Matthew Adam, who
overheard it, had thrown her a smile
of appreciative understanding; while
his father was so delighted with the
appellation that he’d addressed her
as Miss Aladdin ever since.
The bank had flourished. Yesterday
Juanita had contributed the price of
three confession magazines, and was
really enjoying some decent novels.
Two boys from a nearby ranch whom
Nance had supposed little better than
jnorons, were devouring good travel
books; and the wife of a health-seeker
two miles back of the village, told
Nancy with tears in her eye3 that it
seemed “like heaven” to have some-
thing to read again.
“And to think,” said Cousin Colum-
bine when the girl recounted this pa-
thetic incident, “that I’ve been too
thoughtless to look up those people and
see their needs. But so many sick
folks come and go that we take them
too much for granted. I’m ashamed
of myself. No wonder they call you
Miss Aladdin !”
Steps sounded without, and Nance
glanced up. It was not yet two o’clock,
but someone was coming. Then the
door swuug back to admit her brother
OPENING CHAPTERS OF THE STORY
Ruined financially, James Nelson, Boston merchant, breaks the news to his household. A short time before, an elderly
cousin of Nelson’s, Columbine, had suggested that Nance his daughter, nineteen, coma to her at Pine Ridge, Colo., as a
paid companion. Jack, Nance’s brother, seventeen, urges her to accept, to relieve their father of a financial burden, and
offering to go with her so that she will not feel too lonely. They write to Cousin Columbine. She wires a welcome, and
It is arranged that the two shall go. Met by Cousin Columbine, they are somewhat dismayed by her unconventional at-
tire and mannerisms, but realize she has character. Mark Adam, son of a close friend of the old lady, is introduced.
The desolation (to Nance's city ideas) of Pine Ridge appalls the girl. The newcomers meet Aurora Tubbs,’Cousin Colum-
bine's cook, and Matthew Adam, Mark's older brother. Cousin Columbine explains her reasons for desiring Nance to come
to her. Nance gets better acquainted with Matthew Adam, and is impressed by his good sense—and his good looks. Jack
finds a temporary job. An absence of interesting reading, both in the house and in the community, gives Nancy an in-
spiration. Writing home, Nance outlines an idea for a public library at Pine Ridge, with a foundation of contributed
books. The family makes plans to comply with her wishes. Cousin Columbine Invites friends to celebrate Nancy I social
“debut,” the girl having eonfided to her something of her disappolntmeat at having had to forego that.
, ; . * \
and Matthew Adam. Luke was about
again now; and Jack was job hunting.
“Any luck?” asked Nancy, as the
boys drew up two gay red chairs.
Matthew nodded.
“Your kid brother seems to profit
by the misfortunes of others. Luke
breaks a leg. and Jack gets his job.
And now my Uncle Tom (Mother’s
brother, who has a ranch out on the
plains) is down with flu along with
two of his men, and has sent an S. O.
S. for one of us fellers to help them
out. Mark’s drawn the unlucky num-
ber, and Jack’s going back to the
ranch again to take his place.”
“Well!” said Nance. “I’m sorry to
have Mark go, of course, but It’s mar-
velous for Jack; and sometimes there
are complications after flu !”
“A lot of sympathy you have for
Uncle Tom !” grinned Matthew.
Nancy laughed.
“I was merely wondering how long
the job would last. Time goes so
rapidly; and some day we’ve got to
turn our faces to the East, you know.”
Jack said nothing; and suddenly
Matt’s color rose.
“Why—you’re not leaving us this
spring, are you? I—I mean Miss Col-
umbine said you’d stay a year!”
“I know; but such a thought never
entered our heads, Matt. And now
Dad’s made another start I’m pretty
sure they’ll want us to come home.
Not that I don’t dread leaving Cousin
Columbine. I’m awfully afraid she's
going to miss us."
Jack, still silent, arose and went
over to a window. Matthew sat look-
ing into space. “Some—some of the
rest of us will miss you, too, Nancy,”
he said surprisingly. “There’3 Mother
and—and—”
Nance laughed outright, and asked,
eyes lighted with merriment: “Why
spoil a pretty speech like that, Matt?”
“Spoil it?”
Jack came back, grinning, and
slumped into the cushioned chair.
“She means, old man, that this was
no time to mention Mother! Honest,
Nance, have we got to go home this
spring?”
“You don’t want to?" questioned his
sister.
“Do you?” he countered.
The girl was silent, looking down
at the toe of Matthew’s boot. “I don’t
know, exactly,” she said at last. “I’m
crazy to see every one at home, of
course; though I’d rather stay here
through the summer. But I wonder It
Cousin Columbine won’t miss us even
more if we leave her in the fall.
Spring's a cheerful time of year, you
know; and she’s getting old.”
It was Matthew’s turn to stand at
the window, from which safe retreat
he said over his shoulder: “You’re
going to leave a big hole in Pine Ridge,
folks.”
“Well,” observed Jack, “we haven't
gone yet, feller; and don’t they tell
us that It’s better to have loved and
lost than never to have loved at all?”
He laughed, but Matt, still gazing at
Pike’s Peak, responded soberly: “Who-
ever wrote that bunk was feeble-mind-
ed,” and added, moving toward the
door, eyes turned discreetly away from
Miss Aladdin: “Come on, Jack, we
must get going. Mark’ll drop in to-
morrow to say good-by, Nancy. Luke’s
driving him to the Springs where
somebody from Prairie ranch will pick
him up. He says he feels as if he
were sentenced to Siberia, though it’s
the first time he hasn’t jumped at the
chance of going to Uncle Tom’s! I—I
wonder why.”
Nance smiled at this subtle compli-
ment, and went to the door to watch
the boys depart. There was a glimpse
of the plains from her little porch,
and as they lingered a moment the girl
asked, her eyes on that undulating
vista: “Does your uncle live right on
the prairie, Matt?”
The young man nodded.
“Sixty miles out, in a big rambling
ranch house surrounded by cotton-
woods— bully place. Those plain#
are wonderful, Nancy, and sometime#
treacherous, too. We’ll take you out
after the weather’s settled. No know-
ing what thrilling adventures we may
have
Light words. . . . Matt little
thought that only a few Weeks later
they would come back to him during
long, tragic hours which none of them
was ever to forget.
March “came In like a lamb,” and
continued lamb-like for so long that
Nancy hung her fur coat at the very
back of her closet, and concluded that
spring had come. It was on one of
these rare days when Aurora, deep in
an orgy of housecleaning, ordered th«
girl emphatically to “clear out,” that
Nance decided to test the woodland-
trail to the hilltop where she had gonw
with Matthew three months before?;
and reaching the summit, dropped
breathless at the foot of the old plna.
TO BBS CONTINUED.
Detecting Air on Planets
Scientists determine whether or not
there is an atmosphere surrounding a
planet by studying spectroscope pho-
tographs. i A spectroscope breaks q#
light beams and reveals the element*
(if there are any) which modify the rw
fleeted rays of the sun. These e!*«
meats are shown on the photograph#
as lines ______
rj IS name was Crystal Star. A very
-*• strange name, but I assure you
the man was equally strange.
I'had-/Stopped for gasoline at Ven-
tura, on my way to Los Angeles from
Santa Barbara. As I was preparing
to leave the station, I was approached
by a queer looking individual. He was
about five feet two, topped with a
weird bushy shock of hair which
seemed to stand straight up. After
his hair you. noticed his steely gray,
penetrating eyes, set in a rugged face.
The face fooled you. You didn’t
know whether it was a happy one, or
a sad one. It still has me fooled. And
his age; he might have been twenty-
five or forty-five, but your guess is as
good as mine. His clothes were very
ordinary, but unlike most hitch-hik-
ers, he carried several books under
his arm. I knew what was coming,
and prepared myself for a refusal,
when he spoke.
“If It pleases yon, sir, may l have
the pleasure of enjoying with you the
journey to Los Angeles?"
He had me there. I opened the
door, and started on my way with my
strange companion. It was fully fif-
teen minutes before he spoke.
“May I introduce m^elf? My name
is Crystal Star.”
I acknowledged the introduction,
adding. “But surely Crystal Star Is
not your real name?”
“The only name T shall ever have.
I am in a new world with a new
name.”
“But why such a peculiar one?" I
queried.
“Peculiar? You may think so, my
friend, but to me it is a symbol—my
own symbol of the future—may It
shine as a crystal star!”
“You say you are in a new world? E
don’t quite understand.”
“I am a Russian; I have been in this
country only two years.”
“Only two years?" I asked, puzzled.
“But how do you speak English so
well?”
“I have studied; I have worked very
hard. . . . but there is much I must
learn.” His, eyes were heavenward as
he was speaking, his jaw was firm.
I was enjoying with him his reverie.
“They s«id in the great lumber camps
of your Northwest that I was too
small. But he is small only who is
small In mind. They put me in your
jails because they said I had no vis-
ible means of support; yet I have
never begged for one small crumb.
When I told them about my Russia,
they said I was spreading propaganda,
when I was only trying to return my
knowledge for the knowledge they had
given me. TVey put me on a rock pile
to break my spirit, but that only in-
tensified it. I am of the spirit of
Lenin, who lives in the hearts of thou-
sands of my countrymen!" His eyes
lowered and he turned to me. “Per-
haps you think the same about me.
. . . I’m sorry; I must be humble in
your hospitality.”
“On the contrary, I am deeply in-
terested,” I replied.
Another fifteen minutes elapsed, and
this time I spoke.
“May I ask what are all those books
you carry under your arm? You
seem to treasure them dearly.”
“These books are knowledge of
seven different languages. Already E
read and speak them quite well, but
not well enough.”
“But why all this knowledge of these
many languages?” I asked.
“To explain I must tell you a story,
but. . . .”
“Please do.” I cut in.
“It is many years ago when my
story begins, before the revolution.
We were very happy, my father, my
mother, and I. He worked very hard,
but he was strong, as all Russian
peasants are strong. Then came the
revolution—” and as he spoke the
word “revolution” his eyes sparkled.
‘‘Men going to meetings under cover
of the night; quiet whispering among
the good wives of the peasants; •t
shining light in the heart of every
Russian worker.
“Then one day the Cossacks came
to our humble dwelling and tacked a
card on the door. I remembsr my
father consoling my mother, telling her
not to worry, as nothing was going to
happen. But it did happen, much
sooner than we expected. The Cos-
sacks returned the following day, and
dragged my father off to the town
nearby. I followed with my mother,
and at the government building found
him before the commandant. ... It
was crowded and we could not Imar,
but we could see that my father was
protesting. But the commandant
waved him away. The Cossack guard
seized him and we followed. In the
courtyard they stood him up against
a wall; they wanted to blindfold him,
but he refused. They laughed. He
was looking at us, and smiling—Only
brave men smiled in those days. Eight
men fired. . . . Some woman faint-
ed, but not my mother. She had
smiled with my father.
“They told mother later that he was
shot for disobeying orders on the card
they had tacked on the door. And she
died shortly afterward. She was a
brave woman, but not brave enough
to go on without my father. —So,”
he said, finally turning to me, “that Is
why I must learn many languages,
and learn them well.”
I was perplexed, and asked, “But l
don’t understand . . . why didn’t
your father obey the orders on the
card they had placed on your door?”
I saw the trace of a tear as he
said, “You see, my father could not
read.”
i
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The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 31, No. 183, Ed. 1 Saturday, October 6, 1934, newspaper, October 6, 1934; Lampasas, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth897446/m1/3/: accessed May 7, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Lampasas Public Library.