edtime $tori
r Thornton W Burgess Jj
I. : - ^
AN ALL-DAY SONGSTER
OVER U> a maple tree on the
edge of Farmer Brown’s door
yard lived Redeye the Vlreo and
his Httle mate. Peter Rabbit knew
that they had a nest there, because
Jenny Wren had told him so. He
would have guessed It anyway, be
cause Redeye spent so much time
In that tree. No matter what hour
of the day Peter visited the Old
Orchard, he heard Redeye singing
over tn the maple tree. He thought
to himself that If song Is an expres
Redeye Wee a Little Fellow of
About the 8ize of One of the
Warblers.
alon of happiness, Redeye must be
the happiest of all birds.
Redeye was a little fellow of
about the size of one of the War
blers and quite as modestly
dressed as any of Peter’s acquaint
ances. The crown of his head was
gray with a little blackish border.
Underneath he was white. For the
rest, he was dressed in light olive
green. The first time he came
down near enough for Peter to see
him well, Peter understood why
he Is called Redeye. His eyes were
red. Yes, sir, his eyes were red,
and this fact alone was enough to
distinguish him from any other
members of his family.
But It wasn’t often that Redeye
came down so near the ground that
Peter could see his eyes. He pre
ferred to spend most of his time In
the tree tops, and Peter only got
glimpses of him now and then.
But If he didn't see him often. It
was less often that he failed to
hear him. “I don’t see when Red
eye finds time to eat," declared
Peter as he listened to the seem
ingly unending song In the maple
tree.
"Redeye believes In singing while
^That April,; the fourth
month of our year was the
second month of the an
cient Romans. Authorities
differ as to thp origin of thg
pany,but it is possible that :
April era% originally Aph
riUs, from Aphrodite, the
Greek name of Venus.
WNU Service
he worjts," said Jenny Wren. “For
my part, I should think he’d wear
his throat out Just listening to
him makes ray own throat sore.
When other birds sing they don’t
do anything else, but Redeye sings
all the time he Is hunting hls
meals, and only stops long enough
to swallow a worm or a bug when
he finds It Just as soon as It Is
down he begins to sing again while
he hunts for another. I must say
for the Redeyes that they are
mighty good nest builders. Have
you seen their nest over In that
maple tree. Peter?"
Peter shook his head. "You
probably couldn't see It anyway,”
declared Jenny Wren. “It Is high
up, and those leaves are so thick
that they hide It It’s a regular
little basket fastened In a fork near
the end of a branch, and It Is woven
almost as nicely as Is the nest o<
Ooldy the Oriole."
“What’s It made of?" asked
Peter.
“Strips of bark, plant down, spi
der's web, grass, and pieces of pa
per,” replied Jenny. “That’s a
funny thing about Redeye—he dear
ly loves a piece of paper In hla
nest He’s as fussy about having
a scrap of paper as Cresty the Fly
catcher Is about having a piece of
snakeskln. I had just a peep Into
the nest a few days ago, and un
less I am greatly mistaken, Sally
Sly the Cowblrd has greatly Im
posed on the Redeyes. I am certain
I saw one of her eggs In their
nest"
©, T W. Burgess.—WN’U Service.
THROUGH A
W>maris Eyes
By JEAN NEWTON
ARE YOU AN ARTIST?
<tj OUGHT to be beautiful, my
* dear. I am seventy-four years
old.”
Many young people will not un
derstand that at alL So let us tell
the story:
“A woman traveling In India
was entertained by a lady of high
rank. The visitor was so Impressed
with the charm and grace of her
hostess that she exclaimed: T think
you are perfectly beautiful!’ Then
came the answer: ‘I ought to be
beautiful, my dear, I am seventy
four years old’ I”
It must have been In our Crea
tor's plan that the years should
give us ^eauty, that for the pleas
ures they take away they should
compensate with other enrich
ment And since enrichment with
in Is always reflected, that means
that years should empower us to
shed beauty around us.
“Certainly,” you will say, “If
what you mean by beauty Is not the
beauty of the eye. There Is the
beauty of wisdom, of humor, of un
derstanding that comes with age.
There Is the beauty of calm and
poise of those who have lived the
’depth’ that makes the mellow
beauty of old silver and old woods.
Take Whistler’s painting of his
mother. Where can you find greater
beauty of peace and calm and wise
content?”
Then I should take Issue with
you. For what I mean by beauty
alludes also to a beauty of the eye.
To me Whistler’s "Mother” Is beau
tiful to look at, no less than Tbe
lush young beauty of the dancing
girl.
Why have the greatest artists de
lighted to paint those rich In years?
Their object Is beauty, and their
medium entirely the visual, the
"Flipper” Likes His Milk and Water
w r'LlFPKK,” two months old baby seal, was rescued at Long Beach,
r callt, by Carl Johnson, nlneteen-year-old school boy. Flipper, who
was marooned on a float, climbed on Johnson’s back, was safely bronght
to shore and after several weeks of being fed two quarts of milk every
day from a bottle, has become strong and very much attached to his
young master. He follows him around like a puppy and both enjoy swim
ming together.
A
Tercentennial of the First Passion Play
■( _
THREE hundred year* ago, In 1634,
the pious peasants of Oberammer
gau, a little vlllage4n the Bavarian
Alps of southern Germany, gave the
first presentation of the Passion
Play. This was In fulfillment of a
vow made the previous year for re
lief from the plague that had devas
tated Europe following the Thirty
Years war. For three centuries the
folk of Oberammergau have kept the
vow and the performance thta sum
mer marks the tercentennial.
This Illustration shows, above, the
scene of the Last Supper; and below,
left to right, Alois Lang, woodcarver,
who portrays Christ, and Annl Rut*,
an office worker, who has the part of
the Virgin Mary.
pleasure of the eye. They apparent
ly agree with the Indian lady of
seventy-four that the years bring
beauty. But beauty of any kind
depends somewhat od the eye of the
beholder. In the artist It finds ap
preciation. Are you an artist In
life?
©. Ball Syndicate.—WNO S or rice.
DAINTY DESSERTS
THERE is no dessert which so
appeals to the appetite as Ices
or other frozen dishes, during the
warm days.
Three Fruits Ice.
Put three cupfuls of cold water,
three cupfuls of sugar and the
grated rind of one orange and the
lemon Into a saucepan. Add one
tablespoonful of gelatin dissolved
In one cupful of boiling water. Sim
mer five minutes. Cut the pulp of
three oranges, three grapefruit and
three lemons Into small pieces and
add to the sirup when cold. Stir
In the stiffly beaten whites of three
eggs, freeze and serve with the
meat course.
Milk 8herbet, Three of a Kind.
Mix the Juice of three oranges
and three lemons with the mashed
pulp of three bananas, add three
cupfuls of sugar and three cupfuls
each of milk and cream. Stir until
the sugar Is dissolved and freeze.
8lmple Fruit Salad.
Take two cupfuls of orange sec
tions, one-half cupful of peeled and
halved grapes, two tablespoonfuls
of grape Juice and serve with french
dressing.
Fruit Cup.
Rub three peeled bananas through
a sieve, add the strained Juice of
three oranges and three lemons,
two cupfuls of sugar, three cupfuls
of water and a pinch of salt. Freeze.
Add thin cream Instead of the wa
ter and one will have, a delightful
cream.
C by Western Newspaper Union.
Question Box
By ED WYNN
The Perfect Fool
Dear Mr. Wynn:
1 bought a horse from a man
who told me the horse could beat
anything In his class. The first race
I put him In, be lost. Can you ac
count for that?
Tours truly,
L M. MORVICH.
Answer—He was out of his class.
Dear Mr. Wynn:
When I was In England, last sum
mer, I was simply fascinated by the
uniformed policemen In London.
What struck my fancy most were
the bats they wore. Every hat I
“Toll a woman oho dooon't look
woll,” aaya catty Katlo, "and oho
will try a now hat before oho will
& Boll Orodloot*.—WNU OWTloo.
a doctor.”
The Blacksmith's
Daughter
By ANNB CAMPBELL
HOW many times she watched
him, as a child,
Shaping a heavy shoe.
The forge was hot . . . the sum
mer morning mild. . , .
The anvil’s ring was true.
And now that she Is older, she
knows well,
As be has turned C - steel.
So bad he cast her he. .—a sound
ing bell—
That makes him her Ideal I
The years have touched him light
ly, . . . They betoken.
As evening colors blend,
She Is, as she was then—with faith
unbroken—
Hla daughter and his friend I
(CoprrlKht.)—WNU 8«rvt««.
saw had a chin strap on It. What
I want to know la this, do they wear
those chin straps to keep their hats
onT
Truly yours,
SIM PLTON.
Answer—Don’t be silly, of course
not. Those chin straps are for the
policemen to rest their jaws on after
answering foolish questions.
"
Dear Mr. Wynn:
Apropos of the milk question,
one thing has always bothered me.
Could you possibly tell me why
"cream” Is always more expensive
than “milk”?
Tours truly,
SUE PERRIN TENDANT.
Answer—The reason cream is
more expensive than milk Is simply
because It Is harder for the cows to
sit on little bottles.
Dear Mr. Wynn:
. noticed a grea. number of young
boys selling newspapers on the
streets. One lad I saw could not
have been more than ten years of
age and he was carrying about fifty
newspapers. Wouldn’t yon think
they would make the poor little fel
low tired?
Sincerely,
HUGH MANNY TAIHIAN.
Answer — Not necessarily. He
probably doesn't read them.
Dear Mr. Wynn:
My boss Is going to give me a day
off next week. I would like to go
some place,-but I haven't any clothes
to wear. What shall I do?
Truly yours,
TT PRYTER.
Answer—If you really haven’t any
clothes to wear, spend the day at
Coney Island.
Q, th# Associated Newspapers
WNU Servlea
WITTY KITTY
My NINA WILCOX PUTNAM
Tha girl chum says If a eroonsi
would lot tha aound out wa all
would hava broken eardrums.
WNU ServiM
Wide-Ribbed jersey
Here la an attractive suit of gray
Wldtrlbbed Jersey that will appeal
to many women. The leather but
tons and leash-Uke belt are navy
bine
Where Is the Lid?
^ - " I
mystery at
rabbit hill
- S8
By R. H. WILKINSON
©, Bell Syndicate —WNU Service.
THE mystery at Rabbit H1U
lasted but a week.
Yet Its brevity served to de
tract not at all from the atmosphere
of glamor and excitement and
heavy intrigue which It created.
Mysteries are not common In our
town of Medway.
Those of us who abide here the
greater part of the time live a
mediocre life, a life of routine that
scarcely. If ever, deviates from the
path of normality.
Hence, mystery brief though It
may be, logical and disappointing
though the solution, because of Its
sheer Incongruity In our staid old
town. Is something to talk about.
Our mystery occurred two months
ago.
The Taylor Winslows, who have
occupied the big white house on
Rabbit Hill for generations back,
departed one bright June morning
for an extended motor tour of the
White mountains and Canada.
Toward dusk of the same day an
automobile containing four people
swung Into the Winslows’ drive and
stopped Just outside the gargge
door.
The car was a roadster and two
of Its four occupants, a man and a
woman, occupied the rumble seat.
It was a One summer’s night, with
a crescent moon hanging above the
pines beyond the house, with stars,
clear and white, blinking overhead,
with the air warm with the smell
of growing things.
» • •
The four people In the automo
bile had driven far and were weary.
The present setting was a far cry
from the city home they had quit
ted several hours before.
It was restful here and cool.
They remained In the car for a
quarter-hour or more, conscious of
the magic spell of peace and quiet
that enfolded them, and thankful
for It.
Presently the man In the rumble
seat stirred and sat erect.
“Let’s go Inside, Bob. It’s getting
cold, and there’s a fireplace In
there."
At the exact moment he uttered
the words the young man was con
scious of an unexplainable sensa
tion of weirdness.
For no reason whatever he found
himself staring Into the darkness
beyond the car; he sensed, he
thought, a mysterious presence oth
er than that of his companions.
The youth looked at the girl.
Her eyes were open and her face
had assumed an attitude of listen
Ing.
Those In front were rigid and
still.
The crescent moon had disap
peared behind the pines.
It was dark and deathly still.
The young man who had spoken
uttered a laugh that somehow
lacked In mirth, and at the exact
moment the sound left his Ups
something neither soft nor hard yet
seemingly malleable crashed against
his head.
He reeled, groaned, Instinctively
lifted up his arm, only to have It
beaten down.
• • •
One of the girls screamed, and
then the other.
The young man at the wheel
swore, and pressed his foot against
the starter button.
The roadster leaped ahead, dis
appeared Inside the open door of
the garage and stopped. . . .
Ten minutes later the village tele
phone operator had summoned Med
way’s police chief from his regular
evening beat In response to an ur
gent summons. Chief Tom Car
mody clamped the switchboard re
ceivers over his head.
“Hello,’’ came a voice. "Chief
Carmody? This Is Bob Winslow.
I’m up at Taylor’s place on Rabbit
Hill. Come up right away, will you?
Somebody's hurt 1”
Chief Carmody, who himself was
not Immune to a little excitement
now and again to relieve the monot
ony of a law-abiding community,
made short work of the two miles
to Rabbit Hill
He listened to Bob Winslow’s ac
count of what had happened, ex
amined the wound on Harry Car
ter’s head, made mental note of the
frightened expressions on the faces
of the two women, and, flashlight
and gun In hand, went out to Inves
tigate.
• • •
After ten minutes’ time Bob
Winslow began to wonder what bad
happened to the chief, and when
another ten minutes had passed,
without word from him, went him
self to investigate.
Bob found the chief lying In the
drive before the garage, a nasty
wound on his head, his sensibilities
departed.
Bob became genuinely alarmed
and sensed again that weird feel
ing of a strange and mysterious
presence lurking about
Summoning Harry, they carried
Chief Carmody into the house and
revived him.
But the officer couldn’t throw
much fight on the subject
He had been attacked from be
hind. be said, and siust have struck
ht> head against a rock when he
felL
The next day Chief Carmody ap
pointed a special officer to guard
the Winslow estate.
But nothing of an unforeseen na
ture occurred throughout the day
light hours.
Toward dusk Bertha Winslow,
Bob’s wife, became uneasy, and
suggested they all return to Boston.
But both Bob and Harry were
for staying on.
They wanted to get at the bot
tom of the mystery.
By this time all Medway was
agog over the strange happenings.
As darkness descended folks be
gan to gather In little groups be
fore the house, as if expecting
some weird phenomenon to take
place.
• • •
It was close to ten o’clock when
one of the spectators, disobeying
orders from Chief Carmody, ven
tured Into the yard on a tour of
Inspection.
Five minutes after he had disap
peared the watching populace heard
a groan and, rushing to the spot,
discovered the curious person
crashing through the shrubbery as
If pursued by devil!
He had, he avowed, been at
tacked.
On the day following, a special
posse was organized and a thorough
search made of the Winslow grounds
and buildings.
But not a particle of evidence
that might lead to a solution of the
mystery was uncovered.
It was all very strange and mys
terious, providing Medway natives
with enough material for novel
conversation to last them for
months to come.
On the third night the posse re
mained on guard at different points
about the premises.
And despite their studious vigi
lance two of their number were
struck down by the same mysteri
ous force.
• • •
The townsfolk were becoming
alarmed.
Bob Winslow and his friends
showed grave concern.
Chief Carmody was puzzled and
not a little angered by it all.
There was, he said, absolutely
nothing to work oa
In all his 20 years’ experience as
a police officer he had had nothing
of this nature to contend with.
People began reciting tales of
ghosts and weird happenings;
stories of bats and vampires and
lost souls.
All In all they created quite an
atmosphere of unrealism, an at
mosphere augmented by the actual
unexplained assaults on at least
, five persons by the strange mystery
force that came out of the dark
ness and disappeared again with
out leaving a single telltale clew.
Another two days passed and an
other guard was assaulted.
Chief Carmody, In accord with
his own wishes and those of Bob
Winslow, was on the point of sum
moning outside aid to solve the
mystery, when Taylor and his wife
one afternoon drove Into the yard
and stared about In bewildered
fashion at the crowds of people and
half-dozen guards posted about the
place.
“What the devil,” asked Taylor,
“Is It all about? What’s happened?
Why, It looks like the place was
under martial law 1"
“Worse than that," his cousin,
Bob, Informed him. “Come Inside
and we'll tell you about It. And In
cidentally, get ready for a shock.”
Taylor and his wife sat down In
the kitchen.
The others grouped themselves
about, with Chief Carmody and two
guards In the background.
— • • •
Bob Winslow told the story, and
while he talked his expression was
grave and deeply concerned.
When the story was ended Tay
lor stared at him apd stared at the
faces of those behind, and sudden
ly burst Into a loud guffaw of
laughter.
He laughed till the tears rolled
down his cheeks, stopping finally
from sheer exhaustion.
Bob and the others, sensing that
they were the objects of this out
burst, grew red and then angry.
“Well, what's so funny about It?”
Taylor suddenly sobered.
“1 should have told you,” he ex
plained. “It struck me funny when
you spoke of midnight prowlers and
mysterious attacks In the dark. I
should have told you about the
owls.”
“Owls!"
“Owls, yes. There’s a pair of
owls made their nest in the hollow
tree behind the garage. Recently
the old lady hatched out four young
ones, and has been teaching them
to fly. Ton ought to know that a
mother owl becomes vicious to a
point of Insanity if she thinks any
one is planning to harm her chil
dren. Why, the night we left she
swooped down on me and knocked
me for a row of gooseberry bushes.
Their claws are like steeL And at
such times they fear nothing, Will
attack any foe regardless of slse.
These, as well as the fact that owls
are entirely silent in their flight,
are well known facts. You should
have known"
And this, which Is partially a true
story, ended the mystery at Rab
bit Hill, disappointing In its solu
tion, but nevertheless having pro
vided the deviation from the path
of normality that is the spice of
small-town exist nice.