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Show THE LEHI SUN. LEIII. UTAII H-M Mark Darrell, young American lumber-man, lumber-man, It boss ol a lumber camp near St. Victor, Canada. He bai fallen In love with Madame Madeleine Kinross, young widow wid-ow who owns the tlmberland. She returns re-turns his affection, but tells him that marriage Is Impossible, as she believes oer husband Is still alive. Her lawyer, Horace Broussac, Is also suitor. When be was rejected, he became Mark's bitter bit-ter enemy. As Mark returns to camp be Is set upon by three man. They bind him, throw him into his cabin and set fire to the surrounding brush. Nat Page, bis assistant, sees the smoke and hurries to the rescue. Meanwhile, Mark's enemies ene-mies are gathered in the town tavern, drinking to keep up their courage. CHAPTER VIII The smoke cloud had blotted out the mist. A little, anxious group had gathered about Nat Page at the mill, looking northward toward it. Now and again flashes of lurid fire could be seen in the midst of the curling imoke, that was beginning begin-ning to obscure the stars In the night sky. "The whole neck is afire," said one of the lumberjacks. "It will take In Monsieur barrel's cabin." "But he could not have been asleep. He must have escaped In time," said another. They peered anxiously across the dark terrain, but by now the smoke was rolling toward them, blotting blot-ting out all sight of anything. Nat Page spoke sharply: "Get all the men you can, with exes. Mr. Parrell may have been trapped In bis cabin. It's up to us to get him out." Within five minutes, twenty-five men were streaming across the terrain. ter-rain. At first they poured along the . trail under a sky of blinding smoke. Then the heat of the fire began to reach them. Little rillets of fire ran through the underbrush on either ei-ther side of them. And the cabin Was still far away, in the heart of the dense, yellow smoke-cloud that was pouring toward them. "Monsieur, if he is in his cabin, we are too late." "We'll try." Nat led the way. The smoke was almost intolerable now, the lumbermen lum-bermen gasped and choked as they faced the turbid, yellow clouds. And now they were approaching ap-proaching the district of the fire. On either side of the runway, wisps of flame were racing through the scrub, andi In front of them was a solid roaring wall of fire, eating eat-ing up the trees, and roaring toward to-ward the neck and the natural bridge. A 'Dead Man Returns To Take Vengeance iTie lumbermen halted, overcome by the heat of the conflagration. "We can't go any further," big Louis said to Nat "See, boss, there is a line of flame right along the ridge. -The cabin is behind that. If he has not escaped, he is roasted to a cinder by now." "No time," Nat panted. "We've got to get on." And he hurled himself against the wall of living fire that was sweeping sweep-ing down with a roar, as the rising wind fanned it hurled himself sgainst it only to recoil. He knew that, if Mark was in the hut in the heart of that conflagration, there was. not one chance in a thousand thou-sand that he could escape alive. The fog was thickening. Andre, well fortified with brandy, had vanished silently from the hotel; but Hector Mackintosh and Monsieur Mon-sieur Alphonse Vitard still sat there, drinking and muttering together. to-gether. Outside, a strange silence seemed to brood over St. Victor. No voices were heard now. The settlement settle-ment might have been depopulated. Then suddenly the outer door of the hotel banged. Mackintosh and Vitard straightened themselves convulsively in their chairs. Someone Some-one was coming along the hall toward to-ward their room, shouting an old ballad throatily. "Mon Dieu, it's he!" whispered Mackintosh in terror. They leaped to their feet, they looked about them for weapons. They were too late. The door was flung open, as if by a blast of wind, and a man stood before them. He must have been six feet two or three In height, and he was build like a Hercules. His long. blond hair hung down over his fore head. His clothes were nonde script, and did not fit him at all. They consisted of a sweater, jacket jack-et and trousers, but they were not the sort of clothes that are to be found along the St Lawrence. He stood before them, ending his snatch of song, and then he laughed gustily. Eyes of pale brown that passed from face to face, while the two shrank back against the wall, watching him in turn. "So I have found youl But where is Andre GalipeaultT" "At the lighthouse. Eric. He keeps the lighthouse now, mon selg .neur. Your wife's father is dead." There was something like mad Bess that sounded in the bay of mirth that hurst from Eric Kinross' lips. "And my little wife?" "She is there, living there stffl. "Ah! And what have you to say. my conrades, who sailed away and left me to face the murder charge on St. Pierre?" It was Monsieur Vitard who an swered in trembling accents "Eric, -EGBERT we were not so much to blame. We tried to restrain you from drinking drink-ing that French brandy. Then the brawl arose with the French revenue reve-nue men, and you killed one of them with a blow of your fist. "We were afraid. We fled back to the schooner. We told everybody that you had been lost on an icefloe, ice-floe, for fear that the truth would be known, and we should be arrested, ar-rested, and taken away to prison pris-on in France Hector and I and Andre." An-dre." "Aye! You told nobody the truth. My wife thinks I am dead and has remarried? Come, 111 have the truth! I'll have the truth, I say." "She has never remarried, mon seigneui," faltered Hector Mackintosh, Mackin-tosh, "and she does not believe you are dead. Somehow somehow the truth has been guessed by every body in the village." "And you let me sweat and rot in the French prison at Marseilles, thinking I should never return, un til the French government par doned me. Did anybody know that I had been pardoned, and was coming com-ing home?" They looked at each other and licked their lips. "Oui, oul, mon seigneur," faltered Vitard. "Horace Andre leaped at Broussac again. Broussac knew. He warned us to expect you." A roar of anger broke from Kin ross' lips. "So he is here? He has dared come back here?" There was no reply. "That money that would have saved me, had I been able to em ploy a lawyer what did he do with it? It never reached me. It has cost me five years of my life." "Mon seigneur, we are poor men. There was nothing that we could do," faltered Monsieur Vitard. "We knew that Horace Broussac had raised that money for you, but we were not sure whether he sent it to you, after he became guardian of Madame Kinross." "Guardian?" Eric Kinross set his back against the door. "Go on. You amuse me," he said. "My lands Horace Broussac, my dear kinsman Horace, has perhaps sold them?" "No, mon seigneur, but he has leased a strip to an American, a Monsieur Darrell, who is operat ing the mill that Horace Broussac set up." "Name of a dog, where is he?" "He is dead," snickered Hector Mackintosh. "He died in that fire that is raging along the lighthouse neck. You see, Horace Broussac persuaded Andre Galipeault that this Monsieur Darrell was a spy. come to take us all away to prison in France. We knew better, but Andre is a very ignorant man, "Go on." Eric Hears What Has Been Going On "And Horace Broussac loves your wife and was jealous because she is in love with this Monsieur Darrell." The seigneur remained perfectly silent, glaring at the two, stam mering out their story like school boys. "So it was arranged tonight that this Monsieur Darrell should die. an" "Where is Horace Broussac? "I think he is at the lighthouse, mon seigneur. Another hoarse peal of laughter burst from Eric Kinross' throat Then, without a word, he opened the door and strode out into the chill fog and whipping wind, leav ing the two men looking at one an other in terror. "He is the same devil as ever," whispered Hector Mackintosh, "but I think his years in the French pris on had made him mad. What shall we do, Alphonse?" "Do? Nothing. Keep still!" "But what will he do?" "Kill Horace Broussac, of course." "Then everything will be known. and we' "Bah, you are a coward. Hector Mackintosh. That affray oa St y - 1 jg will PS Pierre is already old history. Besides, Be-sides, it was not we who killed the French revenue man. Let matters mat-ters take their course; we are safe. Leave that devil to make his plans. If he kills Horace Broussac, nobody in St. Victor will miss him. He is not one of us habitants by birth; , he is a foreigner, from Quebec." . There was a sea-road at low tide by which one could pass from St Victor to the lighthouse. It . was . along this that Broussac had driven, driv-en, tortured by the terrors of Kinross' Kin-ross' anticipated return, and his desire de-sire for Madeleine. During his five years of guardian-ship guardian-ship he had managed to secure the bulk of the seignioral rights in the form of cash in a Montreal bank. He had disposed of Mark's strip, and an additional one, to certain lumber companies. He had played his crooked game desperately, .tracing .trac-ing the hours, almost the minutes that must elapse before Kinross came back. He pulled his horse to a standstill stand-still before Madeleine's door, with a grating of wheels upon the graveL The girl was upon him, white-faced, terror-stricken, almost before he was out of the rig.. "The fire! The fire!" she cried. "Is Monsieur Darrell safe?" "Darrell? Oh, I reckon he's safe," answered Broussac. "I didn't come here to talk about Darrell. Dar-rell. Madeleine, my yacht is in the harbor. I want you to come away with me tonight I am a rich man. I can give you everything in the world, instead of your living here, shut up in this cottage. , What's the use of waiting any longer?" "You're mad," cried Madeleine. "My husband is alive, and, if he were dead, I don't love you." "You're a fool a little fool! I tell you he's dead. Come with me you're coming with me, I say," he panted, clutching her by the wrists. "Let me go! I will not go with you! I hate you!" cried Madeleine. "I tell you you're coming with me," cried Broussac, almost de mented. He knew that Kinross' ship had reached Quebec the day before, from France. He had to stake everything on a few minutes, to beat down her resistance. "I will not go! I will not go!" He was dragging her toward the rig. But suddenly the bearded face of Andre Galipeault loomed up out of the fog. Andre, half-crazed, and holding a knife in his hand. Without a word, he slashed at Broussac viciously. , The point of the knife went through the lawyer's coat, ripping a long rent in it "Kill him. Andre!" cried Made leine hysterically. "He is tortur ing me!" And she darted into the darkness. Andre leaped at Broussac again. Broussac was a strong man, and a burly one, but he saw death in the old man's eyes. He knew his dream, his mad dream, was over. Madeleine would never be his. But he still had the proceeds of the Kinross estate neatly piled away in the bank in Montreal, in the investments that would make him a rich man when he took up the new life he had been planning. Broussac Dashes To His Yacht He lashed out furiously with his foot at Andre, catching the old man in the stomach and doubling him up with pain. Then, leaping into his rig, with a last shouted invective in-vective at Madeleine, he turned and raced back along the sea-road. He thanked his God for the fog, which would enable him to steal away unperceived upon the yacht He had kept his two men aboard; thick as the fog was, the lighthouse beam would enable him to pass the dangerous ridge of rocks and gain the open channel. Broussac nearly ran down a man who was striding, shouting, along the edge of the rocks. Perhaps, had they encountered, Kinross would have settled his account with Broussac then and there. But Kinross Kin-ross did not recognize Broussac in the fog, and it did not occur to him that the man in the rig was Broussac, returning from the lighthouse. light-house. As a matter of fact it was not Broussac of whom the seigneur was thinking at the moment He was thinking of his wife, the little girl of fifteen, whom he had married half-an-hour before the boat sailed for the sealing-grounds. He had loved her all his life. The demon of violence that had made Eric Kinross Kin-ross a sort of berserk Viking, especially when he was in liquor, had never changed that feeling of tenderness for Madeleine. There was something quite unusual un-usual in his feeling for her, and ha had never even kissed another woman in his life. That had been his hell in the prison at Marseilles, thinking of her. Of course he had not guessed that his three companions compan-ions had concealed the incident on St Pierre. He strode along the road, shouting shout-ing gaily. And now they heard bim. Old Andre, terrified as he was for he knew that voice terrified ter-rified by the return of the man whom he had left to take his punishment pun-ishment alone, nevertheless stood gamely beside Madeleine. (TO BE CONTINUED) Kathleen Norris Says: Worry Versus Planning Bell Syndicate. hi nWk ill "l was thinking, dear, that if things go on this way at the office, ifd be rather fun to move to Dad's old place. We could fix it up." By KATHLEEN NORRIS STOP worrying about that 12-year-old girl of yours who doesn't seem to be like the other pretty girls, who doesn't make friends, who has grown too tall, who has such abrupt manners. She'll wake up some day and turn out to be a real person, not like you, perhaps, but attractive at-tractive and likable and useful use-ful nonetheless. Stop worrying about little Jerry's eyes. They may indeed be troublesome; trou-blesome; it may be that he won't ever have quite normal sight But In that he'll only be like some seven per cent of the world's men and women who have gone straight ahead, not bothering themselves or anyone else about it Stop worrying about darling Mar-jorie, Mar-jorie, who is going to have a third baby, when she and Rod really can't afford one. Help her all you can of course. Go into her house and seize upon the nearest job, dampening dampen-ing clothes and ironing them, straightening the playroom, taking the baby for bis diphtheria shots and so on. Be the unpaid, almost unnoticed un-noticed servant, in her house. But don't criticize her and don't criticize Rod. Ten years go swiftly, and when you see her in 1957, with her trio or quartette of sons and daughters daugh-ters about her, you'll know why she isn't worrying now. Stop worrying iibout Henry's business busi-ness and stop asking him worrying questions about it That anxious attitude at-titude Is infinitely distressful to a tired man. Instead of fluttering about bim with "But if Joe Coates gets your job, Henry, what will you do? Can't you go to Mr! Potter? Why don't you just frankly talk to Phil . Miller, darling? We simply can't take a cut now. Don't tell Nancy, poor darling, counting on coming out this winter" Be Cheerful, Helpful. Instead of that sort of thing, give Henry a cup of hot consomme, lead him to his big chair, tell him a piece of good news, and while you are leisurely lei-surely sipping your own consomme say dreamily, "I was thinking dear, that if things go on this way at the office it'd be rather fun to move to Dad's old place. We could fix it up. Do you realize how that would cut down our expenses? Nancy? Why, there are a thousand fascinating fascinat-ing jobs that child could take in a book store, or with the radio people, peo-ple, or in Miss Johnson's kindergarten, kindergar-ten, and it'd be a lot better for her than all this keeping up with the Babcock girls." This would show that you're not worrying, and you would have the supreme pleasure of seeing the worry wor-ry drop from Henry's tired eyes, too. Stop worrying about germs. You are running chances with germs every time you step out of your door, and often when you don't and so are the children. Sometimes they skip unhealthy anemic bodies and light on the strong and well Millions Mil-lions of times we get them and cast them off. Tiredness invites them, so does fear. To gargle the surface off your throat membranes, hold soaked cotton over your nose, slam windows shut remove your shoes before be-fore entering the house, is to put yourself into great shape for infections. infec-tions. I saw quite a young mother in a Pullman dining car the other day, carefully wiping the knives, forks and spoons the darlings were going to use at lunch, and I saw the darlings' uneasy eyes as she did Worry er solved anything. WNU Features. INTELLIGENT ACTION Everyone has problems and difficulties. There is always a vague fear of the future, even in the best of circumstancs. The threat of sickness, accident, financial fi-nancial ruin hangs over every one, all the time, for most people peo-ple there are more imminent problems. Some can't be solved. There is nothing to do then but to make the best adjustments adjust-ments possible and to bear the ills of this life with grace and dignity. Other difficulties will yield to intelligent action, such as a burden of debt, or some ailment that ' can be corrected by surgery. In any case, worry does no good, solves nothing. It can do much harm, as Miss Norris points out in today's article. The children's social awkwardness awkward-ness and physical defects tend to clear up with time. Business and professional uncertainties settle into a smooth pattern. There is nearly always some way out, and the new course may be better than the old, in the long run. So, Miss Norris admonishes, always be hopeful, cheerful and sensible. If you don't lose your bead and succumb to despair, there is some solution. It just requires intelligent thought and resourceful action. Courage, Cour-age, work and determination will win through the blackest clouds. so. But she couldn't wipe all the doorknobs, windows, blankets, seats, she couldn't wipe the cook's hands and the waiter's coat and those might have been hostelrles for seven septilllons of germs on every inch. Possibly her own protected trio were merrily spreading measles or scarlet scar-let fever among the other, passengers. passen-gers. What she needed to' do was stop worrying. Find a Way Out For worrying, substitute planning. If things are really at such a pitch that you can't do anything but rock your head in your frantic hands and say "This can't go on! I won't stand it It's too much!" then substitute planning. Think the thine out coollv. Saw to yourself, "I am a human being and life is short Why am I wasting it worrying?" You will immediately immediate-ly see that you are fretting over something that is not your business, or something that concerns the opinion opin-ion or criticism of your neighbors and is merely a matter of your own silly pride, or that you can change "The solution to my own despair and anxiety was right over my head, but it took me months to find it" writes a pnce-wealthy Los Angeles woman. "It consisted of putting a few bathrooms and partitions in our 18-room house, on a government loan. Dad and I moved up to four glorious attic rooms, long the possession posses-sion of servants. Rents from five downstairs apartments total $340 a month. Doctors and nurses bills are paid. Dad is a young man again, and I feel like a young woman, children chil-dren married, no more big house troubles, and no worries!" Whatever it is, worry doesn't help. Planning does. RAILROAD WALKED TALKIE The "Carryphone," a sort of walkie-talkie device by which trainmen train-men report unusual circumstances and carry on conversations with control towers, is now in use on the Pennsylvania railroad on 1,056 miles of track. It has proved valuable to crews in making train and track inspections inspec-tions and in enabling trainmen to keep in touch with enginemen and control towers. Carried by means of a shoulder sling, the unit weighs 29 pounds. Ring Out the Old, Ring In the New Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light; The year is dying in the night; Ring out wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, King, auvvi . t across the snow; The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind. For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out ring out my mournful rhymes. But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring In the love of truth and right Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land. Ring In the Christ that Is to be. " Lord Tennyson. Pagans Also Sent New Year's Cards Here in America the popular and evergrowing custom of exchanging New Year's greeting cards Is of fairly recent origin, but actually the New Year's card antedates the more familiar Christmas card by several hundred years. With Christmas our greatest na tional holiday, most of us are in. clined to think of New Year's as a sort of happy afterthought. The fact is, it is one of the oldest of festivals, dating back to pagan times. In cer tain countries of Europe where Christmas is observed as a purely religious festival, New Year's takes the form of a real feast day and its celebration is marked by rejoicing and the exchange of gifts and greet ings. The earliest known New Year's "greetings" were medals marked with good wishes which date back to the reign of the Roman Emperor '4 & &3 i think not, L, u t Commodus (180-192). And whi New Year's cards lon hava Kaon tradition in China, where the tech nique oi printing was invented a . -. ' the lusi European new Year's card we "ovc recura oi is oi German gin, datine back in th. in ori It depicts the Christ Child and a chest uvciuuwmg wun gooa wishes. other card of the Sam Pflri rA - fvi.mu Ud3 treasure ship as its central design uur present-day New Year's cards have an impressive history behind them. With their festive confetti- vuMjis ana uaoy New Year" ther Time." bells anrt huL "Fa MUUVUUD, serve as messages of the good We feel toward nnr j. they win uicuus neighbors, and of our hope for and 'A Prosperous and Happy New Year J" New Year Antedates of Chris The celebration of New T -1 Tl I 1 . , I Years on ""uo'j a Degan in 452 therefore, contrary to loe B C, and ing, had nothing whatsoever reason- to do uic uirm ox unrist After rwpmha. ne - established as the dav had been of nativity. the church made January i a re- ugious festival honoring the cirenm. .iua oi jesus; the day being thus EaSSftwWff, mniww.i . ,jrorow)wiuwi uo in n civea ui ine church. $6,000,000 Film The most expensive motw ture ever made was "Wilson leased in 1944, whose product ana advertising amounted to m? than $8,000,000, says Collier', The cost was due largely l many spectacular scenes, one h! ing the 1912 Democratic corC tion in which the lighting Z sumed enough power to service , city the size of Lansing, Mich. 1 (L (point io Jliat iieni, as ue rose irom tne steps his farm homestead and rushed tient, his f; down I'm in a deuce of a Dickb rw! know whpre tr turn . 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