Hope Star from Hope, Arkansas on October 14, 1974 · Page 16
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Hope Star from Hope, Arkansas · Page 16

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Hope, Arkansas
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Monday, October 14, 1974
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Page 16
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STAR OP HOPE. !fcV Sf Aft PRINtlNO CO. HOPE, ARKANSAS. A GOOD BOY. "Has little Fred been good to-day?" I asked, as on my knee Me sat, his head upon my breast, And thus he answered me: "O, pretty good; but once er twice I pulled the kitten's tall, An* I hurled mo on our ol' sink A flshln' In er pall. "I left my steamboat on the stalri, An' Bridget smashed It bad A-fallln' on it, an' I cried, Fer I was awful mad. "I wet my feet, an* lost my hat. An' had a light with Ted; But I've been pretty good to-day, For that's what mamma said. "O, I forgot—I run away To see a lot er men A-layln 1 pipe; an' they was cross An' I come home again. "An 1 It scared momma most tor death Ter hev me gone, you know; But I've been pretty good to-day, Fer mamma told me so. • "I hain't been good tor Baby Bess— Not all the time," quoth Fred; "But, papa, I've been pretty good, Fer that's what mamma said." My honest Fred! T kissed his brow, Dear, errlns; little sprite! His standard seems a little queer, But maybe he is right. When mamma says that he Is good I must believe 'tis so, No matter what his pranks may be, For doesn't mamma know? -Mary M. Currier, in Good Housekeeping. IN A MOUNTAIN FIRE/ BY ADA E. FERRIS. 4 MOUNTAIN fire nt night—that was the sight which Louise Elti, a visitor from the prairie states to her uncle's home in California, was regarding with awe nnd admiration. •"Let's ride up and take a nearer view," said her Cousin Phil. "You will never see anything like this in Illinois —nor very often here, for that matter. There isn't a bit of danger. Princo goes easy and isn't skittish, and we'll just go up on one of the foothills where we can see it all. Get your thickest cloak, though, for it's chilly, and you don't want to freeze on one side while you roast on the other." •Nothing loath, Louise ran for her wraps, and very soon they were galloping toward tl\e blazing mountains. How light it was! "It is like my picture of 'The Last days of Pompeii,' " Louise panted, "only this isn't doing any harm." A wagon came clattering toward them, and Phil drew up suddenly as he recognized the lady who drove, "Good evening, Mrs. Hastings! Why, you are not burned out, surely?" Mrs. Hastings laughed hysterically. "The house was all right when I left, but I don't sxippose I shall ever see it again. The sparks were falling in showers then. Mr. Hastings and his brother insisted on my coming out with the colts before the road was blocked by the fire. They said they could go over the eastern ridge by the cattle-trail and out by Wilson's road, if they were delayed too long. Our pretty home—" She choked, but almost instantly recovered herself, and asked hurriedly: "Is your mother at home? I think I'll drop in on her until the matter is settled," she drove on. "Poor Mrs. Hastings!" Louise sighed. A fire starting in one of these gulches or canyons rushes up it as flames rush up a chimney, but the steep rock walls on either side often confine it. Though the cleft just westward of thi Hastings place roared like a fiery furnace, their ravine was still dark and unharmed. Phil looked up it longingly, but dared not take his cousin in, for the house was some half mile up the canyon, the road thither was a bare cut through tangled thickets, and if the fire once started there it would be impossible to get back. Yet he was aching to go to Mr. Hasting's assistance. "Here's just the place, Louise. Come on," he cried, turning up a cattle-path to the top of a partially detached knoll to the eastward. "You can see it all from here, and yet be perfectly safe. If Prince gets restive, throw your handkerchief over his eyes. Don't go any nearer. I'll be back presently, but I want to run up to the Hastings'. You don't mind, do you?" Louise did mind, but would not say so, knowing how much the Hastings' needed help, so a moment later she was alone on the stony knob. Almost in the next moment,;it seemed, she found herself listening to the distant barking of a dog. Louise loved dogs and recognized this at once as the voice of a large one, frightened, angry and appealing. It was up the canyon eastward of the Hastings ravine. She had been up that trail once with Phil and Mina. There she had seen a small, rough shanty, and two small toddlers playing with a great dog, half-hound, half-bulldog, which Phil informed her was the terror of the neighbors and the devoted slave and guardian of the children. Was he now afraid of the fire? bad reason. If it swept up ings' cnnyoft it could hardly fail to take Wilson's also. . Louise felt her blood run chilly. Only that morning she had seen Wilson and his invalid wife drive by on their way to town, twelve miles away. Mr. and Mrs. Wilcon, but not the children! Mink had told her that when the Wilsons went to town they left the children looker! up in the house. No wonder poor Hose was barking frantically! He scented danger in the air, and his beloved little ones were unable to escape! "Phil! Phil!" Louise screamed, Involuntarily, but Phil was far beyond hearing, and already there was a dull smolder of fire in the dead leaves beside the rood, where a spark had fallen. She sprang from her horse and crushed it out, but that could postpone the inevitable for but a moment or two; flames were showing over the western ridpe. nnd other smoldering fires were visible. She could not reach Phil— there was not time to ride for help—yet clearer than ever she heard the frantic barking. Oh. the poor children, locked up in that little shanty with its roof of redwood shakes, dry as tinder! "Prince, we've got, to try it!" Louise sobbed, springing back into the paddle and turning him to the eastward. "Phil said: 'Don't go nearer,' but we can't stay here and let those babies burn alive. T know they are shrieking for heliJTwnd nobody to hear but poor, faithful, helpless Hose. Now keep cool, Prince! We simply must smash that door in and get the children back here before this canyon is a furnace, and that may be in less than ten minutes. Quick, Prince, quick! It's a race for life now. Fly, boy, fly!" Prince snorted as if he understood, and plunged down a steep cattle-path to the narrow trail that wound up the canyon. Half a mile of this cave-like gloom, the crooked trail so narrow that her outstretched arms might touch the branches on either side, and now, indeed, T.ouise felt that she had rushed into the jaws of death. A few moments' delay would make return impossible, and she knew no other way out. Now the canyon widened. She was under the firelit sky again, with Bose bounding toward her, barking imploringly. "Yes, Hose** yes, good doggie, we'll save the bam'es, never fear," she called, breathlessly, extending her hand toward him, for she understood the' dog's tone. One sniff assured him that Louise was a friend, and he ran before her barking loudly and flung himself against the shunt}' door. Louise sprang from her panting horse. Sparks were flying in clouds overhead, and the air was filled with the muffled roar of fire. Hasting's canyon was all ablaze.. There wasn't a moment to lose. She rattled the rough door fiercely. A frightened little face showed itself at the window. "Please'm, we can't open the door. We're locked in, and papa and mamma haven't come home yet. Ain't it time?" Louise looked desperately around for an ax to force the door. She could see clearly — it was too light, indeed, with all that ruddy glow from the smoke- clouds above. The great dog was watching her suspiciously. "Now don't be angry, boy," she coaxed, a little nervously. "We've got to open the door, you know, to get the babies out, or we shall all burn up together." Bose barked and again flung his whole weight against the flimsy door just as Louise foxind a light hatchet. She attacked the door furiouslj'. A strong man would have made short work of it, but the girl was neither strong nor skillful, and though it shivered and splintered it held fast for what seemed a terribly long time. At last as she and Br|e together threw themselves againsv it, it crashed in, and the dog bounded across the room to where a little girl about six years old was trying to hush the screams of a brother of three. The shanty consisted of but one room, with neither door nor ceiling, and the furniture was of the rudest description. A few relics of better days "back east" contrasted oddly with the homemade stools and bedstead. Louise gave one glance at a fine inlaid stand and a handsome family Bible, but with that terrible half-mile of overarched wood- road to traverse it was impossible to think of saving anything but the children. She caught up the chubby youngste*. "Come," she said, cheerily, "let's go ami meet mother." But the child screamed and fought her vigorously. While she strove to soothe him, the little girl ran to the door, but one look brought her back to clutch Louise's dress. "The mountain's all afire! We shall be burned up!" screamed the little girl, clinging' tig-liter, while the boy kicked and pulled Louise's hair with all his small might. Fairly desperate now, Louise shook him into momentary quiet, and said, sharply: •'Oracle', be still! I'll save you both if you'll be quiet and mind me. If you don't I can't and we shall all burn up tog-ether!" The little maid gulped down her cries, and even unclasped one small hand. "I'll— be— good," she gasped, obediently. "Don't let me be burned up." But the spoiled baby only shrieked and kicked. His little sister, trembling like a leaf, made a piteous appeal. "Please doft't ftilfiicj Jhftt He don't know any bettef, heVsd little. '0 Johnny! please be be still, jjileflse! I'll give yon my dollie, anything—but if you don't keep still—O Johnny, do listen to sister—we shall be burned up!" But Johnny Vi-ns deaf to argument, and Louise had to carry him out and exert all her strength *to lift him on the horse, "Hold on tight," She said; but before she could litt Gracie also the little fellow rolled shrieking to the ground, Lotlfse had to spring and catch the bridle or Prince would have been off. Master iTbhtiny scurried back into the house nnd under the bed in spite of his sister's frantic appeals, for he had never been required to obey her or anybody else. Grade ran after him, sobbing, and tugging frantically to get him out. Louise had to tie Prince before she dared follow, sick at heart with fear. This spoiled baby's willfulness might cost all their lives. By main force she dragged him from his retreat, enveloped him in blankets and bore him out, but on the doorstep she paused. The breeze up the canyon, till now so cool and fresh, had suddenly become warm and smoky. The falling sparks had done their work, fires were already smoldering lower down the canyon. A minute more might see it ablaze. It would be madness to attempt that road now. She set Johnny clown and looked around with desperate coolness. Once started, the fii-e would rush up the canyon at race-horse speed. Over the westward cliffs the Hastings canyon roared and flamed. To eastward the sky was dark, but the mountainside was a tangle of thorny vegetation, and she knew no paths. Gracie clung to her, sobbing, Bose whined and looked to her with appealing eyes, but Johnny fled back into the shanty and Prince was fast becoming immanageable in his fright. Louise could have fainted in fear, but she fought her weakness. I|$she failed them, what was to become of these little ones? "Don't be frightened, Gracie. Keep cool, Prince, boy." She caught up an old coat and enveloped his head. "Poor Prince! It's a shame. I know I should go crazy if I couldn't see the clanger! Now, Gracie," Louise cried, nervously, "help me wet all the mats and blankets and quilts in the house—quick!" A barrel of water stood under the nearest tree. Into this Louise hastily plunged bedding and pieces of carpet, then, scrambling on an old box, with the help of the broom she spread them as well as possible over the flimsy roof. Suddenly she sprang down. "The pool below the falls under the big bay- tree! We may be safe there; and there isn't a moment to lose. Come, Johnny, we're going to the falls." Once more she jerked the child from under the bed and carried him out. Now the air was close, and the canyon walla echoed to the crackling of the flames. Fortunately it was not far to the little pool, for it took all the girl's strength to lead the terrified horse and the struggling boy. "Black man under falls—bogy man!" Johnny screamed, pulling back with all his might, and Gracie added, trembling: "Mamma says there is a black man there that eats little children; but you won't let him eat us, will you?" "If there ever was a black man there," said Louise, with composure, "of course he's not there now—he's run away from the fire." The "falls" were a mere dribble of water down an almost perpendicular rock; the pool was not over three feet deep, and green slime lay along its edges, but it was water, and it lay in a hollow, with rock walls on three sides, while over it spread the green luxuriance of a great bay-tree. Louise drew a long breath of thankfulness when she reached the stream. "Here, Gracie, hold this youngster a moment. Now, Prince, come and be tied to this tree. Poor old horsie, ycm are nearly scared to death with all this heat and rushing and roaring and crackling round you. But you are safe here. Rocks and water can't burn, nor this green stuff, either. Oh, you little scamp!" She was just in time to catch Johnny as he broke away from Gracie. This time she tore a strip from his apron, tied the restless ankles together and set him down beside the pool, screaming, but unable to make more trouble. "There, now! Don't cry, Gracie, I didn't hurt him, and we are safe here. Step close under the tree. Look at Bose lying in the pool. He knows how to make himself comfortable." The canyon was now a sea of fire. Great flames seemed to reach and eclipse the pale stars overhead. The heat was intense, and the showers of sparks hissed in the water and scorched the ferns. Louise could see the thick foliage of the green-bay shriveling in the hot wind. "But rocks and water can't burn," she repeated, desperately. "And this heat can't last long." She dipped Gracie's wrap and her own into the pool, but Johnny held his so tightly and screamed so loud that she had to let that go. A frightened rabbit flashed past them up the canyon, and a snake glided away among the rocks. Louise wondered if they would escape. She dashed water over Prince's saddle and back, over herself and the children. The beat was terrible. It seemed impossible to live except by lyihpr flat. She tfled to force Prlno.e down, but he was too terrifftd to tuiderstam! or obey, and she had td drop down herself. The flames seemed to snoot'up both sides of the canyon now, netting a fiery bower npninst the sky. The rain of sparks made little Gracie. looking into tile mirror of the pool, scream in terror. "The water's afire, too!" sha cried. iotilse tried to reassure her, but she fettml herself glancing up apprehensively at the shriveling laaves of th»3 uay-tree. They would soon cease to be nny protection". "Lie flat, Gracie," she said, and once more dashed water over the children and horse. Then she dropped, pnntinp and exhausted, on the verge of the pool, closing her eyes to the foe she could no longer fight. Btit scarcely a minute passed before Gracie exclaimed: "The fire's going out and our house isn't burned! It's just going to, though!" Louise sat up. The dry grass and leaves had burned out, the. canyon was comparatively clnrk and the shanty was 'but jnst smoldering into a blaze. The wet 'blankets and rugs had protected its roof, the great clump of callas and vines its sides; but these had been dried out completely, and the last shower of sparks had accumulated. In nn instant Louise was speeding toward it. There was a little water in the barrel. A few minutes' work with her saturated cloak sufficed to beat out the fire. "It's better than no shelter," Louise remarked, ns she dropped on the doorstep, utterly exhausted. "And their bedding isn't all burned up, though I wouldn't give much for the thing's on the roof; and I don't think I shall wear this cloak to church again. I wish I was safe at home in bed; but thank God the children are safe!" There came a patter of small feet and a shrill, wrathful voiced Johnny had succeeded in freeing himself, and returned in great indignation. "I'll tell my mamma on you," he declared, loudly. "You b'oke door in, and you dwag me off and you tie me xip in de fire. I'll tell my mamma!" "You're welcome," Louise said, dryly. "You b'oke windows and burn house. I'll tell my mamma," Johnny reiterated, angrily: Very cautiously Louise removed the blinding coat from her horse's head. She patted and soothed him, and was} about to climb wearily into the saddle when there came a flare of torches and lanterns over the western ridge. She heard a woman sobbing wildly and declaring she must and would go on to her poor children, while men seemed to be dissuading her. Then Louise heard Phil's voice, full of distress.; "She would have.been perfectly safe where I left her, and Prince wouldn't run away. Whatever possessed her to go wandering oft'? Ben, won't you go and see if she has gone home? I can't face them if she isn't there." "O Phil!" the girl called, "I'm here all right. Is that Mrs. Wilson crying? Tell her the children are all right and the house is standing. Bose! Down, sir! Don't you know your friends?" for. the dog had bristled and growled angrily at Phil's headlong rush down the hill. "Why in the world didn't you stay where I left you? Hastings thought sure you had tried to follow me, and been caught in the fire. Next time I won't bring you out." "You needn't. I never went to see a mountain fire again. All the same, I'm glad I came this time. You are, too, aren't you, Bose? You didn't hear him calling for help, did you, Phil? Ilis* barking brought me, and if Johnny had been half as sensible as his dog I could have had the children out before the fire caught us. Don't be angry, Phil I couldn't stay there and let them burn up without trying to save them." "Who's said anything angry? Only I didn't know you set up for a heroine." "It wasn't heroic," Louise answered, simply. "It was the only thing to do." But somehow she never could make the Wilsons agree with her, or Phil, either.—Youth's Companion. Old Farmer's Advice. "Say, pap," said a little country lad to his father, "Zeke Haymow sez th' fish er bitin' down at th' creek now." "Well," replied the old farmer, as he raised up from the tobacco plant he was worming, "you stick to yer work an' they won't bite you."—Ohio State Journal." Flowing- llenrils. "My father," said the Colorado girl, "has such long whiskers that he don't have to wear any necktie." "Pooh!" retorted the Kansas girl, "why, my father had such long whiskers that he didn't have to wear any vest."—Chicago Evening News. Oysters en Surtont. Season large oysters well with pepper, salt and lemon juice; wrap them around with thin slices of bacon, which secure with toothpicks. Cook in a hot spider quickly until the bacou crisps. Serve on battered toast.—Woman's Home Companion. Reward of BittugbUness. Governess—Conie, Ethel, it's time for good little girls to be in bed. Ethel—Yeth, Mith Morgan; but you know I have been naughty to-day.^ Cincinnati Enquirer. the OTTrtef Tried fit !M»»Miilii** ttftft Her Effort* diet Itlth jfcAf* ful ttcsnltt. This is a plain, unvarnished story df ft lady who trimmed her own hat. Shi vrns endeavoring t6 economize and COB* ceived the brilliant idea that by nurchaij- ing the trimmings and the fraine ilie could Construct a hat that would be quite as hide* bus a.6 the ordinary of extraordinary toil* linery creation and at much kss.eost. Sd •he made a dozen or more trips downtown and finally had gathered together a trunk full of bits of ribbon, steel buckles, gauze, flowers,'birds, fiber chamois, bolts, rivets, barbed wire, varnish^ bicycle cement, galvanized iron, lincrusta walton and all th* singular ingredients of a woman's hat, together with a fearful and wonderful train* that looked much like a wire waste basket after a tug of war with a steam engine. Then, she haunted the display windows and changed her mind something like a thousand times regarding the manner in which. ' she would trim that nat. She sewed on and ripped off the birds so often that they looked much bedraggled and were, indeed, very sad-looking birds, but she finally succeeded in assembling the hat and then, as she was going on a visit to her mother and sisters, who lived in *v- small city, she wore the magnificent creation, calculating that they would go into convulsions over her hat. And they.did. After they had kissed her several times and assured her of their undying love her mother, who is a wise woman, with a keen sense • of the proprieties, bade the elcter of the unmarried sisters ring for the carriage. I am so glad to see my dear daughter,' she said, "that I must buy her something. Now. you drive down to the millinery store and buy her the prettiest hat there before any of her friends see her.", • • . And after the economical daughter had departed for the millinery store the remaining members of the family fell upon the floor and screamed with laughter, for they knew a good tiling when they saw it, even if they did live in a jay town.—Ohicago Chronicle. Catching Up. "Is your town growing?" asked the Pittsburgh man of a fellow-traveler on the "Well, no; I can't say it's growing," was the reply; "not growing to speak of, but it is improving in tastes right along. , "You mean that the people are assuming a higher standard?" "I do. sir; yes, sir. We now get bananas every day from Cincinnati, and five out of six groceries keep shredded, codfish and limburger cheese. We don't look for any building boom or influx of strangers, but we'll hold our own and gradually work up to electric doorbells and oysters on the half shell."—Utica Observer. A Lade of Capacity. "Isn't it wonderful that one small head can carry all he knows?" "No. The wonder is where he stores 8,11 he thinks he knows." — Cleveland Plain Dealer. ;.';.t'ji;i'i*i "!*»;?! that's we will send ^| / you Demorestf• g\\\ /Family Magazine CA11. / for three montlu and give you two handsome pictures In ten colors, exact reproductions of famous oil paintings. They ate 8 fay Jli inches. This offer of this great family magazine is only good for 60 days* Write to DEMOREST'S MAGAZINE Art Department ' 110 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY . L. DOUGLAS S3 & $3.50 SHOES Worth $4 to $6 compared with other makes. . Indorsed by over l.OOO.OOO wearer*. ALL LEATHERS. 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Refuse substitutes, A VlS SUREX Dr. JBvlff Pills cure Dyspepsia. Trial, READERS OF THIS PAPER PESIRINQ TO BUT AKYTHIN3 ADVKimSED IJJ ITS COLUMUW SHOULD INSIST UPOH H4.VWO WHAT THET ASK FOB. BSyDSUW ALL SUBSTITUTE? Oft IMITATION* B» I «!• C Permanently Cnr»4.. No fttj or DOR- OlfvKs^^^^^s^;

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