Evening Star Newspaper, March 2, 1930, Page 91

thrilling activity, what with the sailor coming and going, his tanned face laughing in the doorway, his pleasant voice calling Emma, or her aunt. They had fixed up a place for him in the dusty little attic that was half filled with junk. and it was very comforting to have a man around the house again. The old lady sometimes thought it wasn’t very proper, but then they were both young and life was a long and dreary thing and Emma was grown up. Emma was always laughing these days, laughing and singing. She had quite a talent for singing and even without a piano she could go over quite a list of songs, especially those songs she heard at the shows where her sailor was always taking her. He seemed to be pos- sessed of some devil where money was con- cerned, for he spent it without thought. This worried Emma sometimes, but he would only laugh and kiss her and for a while then she would forget about it. Her bought her a new coat as proof against the rains and winds of Winter; he bought her a new dress and a hat; and a tiny chain of gold with a small locket for her throat. Sometimes Emma thought she would die from too much happiness. THE little old aunt was happy, too, and laughed to herself a great deal, especially on those evenings when Emma and her sailor stayed home. She would insist on going to bed early then and she could, by straining her dull ears, hear from the other side of her red plush curtain soft whisperings and softer laughter. And so every one was glad and no one minded the rain and the wind all blustery in the chimneys outside. They were married a ‘week before he sailed again. When he said good-by, Emma wept. She was so afraid, so very much afraid. And then his voice was low and strong and soothing, and his arm tightened her to him, and he kissed her wet eyes and her trembling lips. Nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. Nothing at all. Only four months this time to be away from her. A short voyage to Naples and Mar- seilles, to Malta and Oporto. And then, when he came home, he would go to the navigation school and take his ticket. It would be Sum- mer when he returned, and the skies would be blue and the trees in leaf and they would have glorious days in the country until the time came when he must go. He would be an officer then, earning more, better able to keep her. They would buy a tiny cottage on the cliffs some day, not too far from the city, and she would be able to watch the ships pass up and down and perhaps, when he was a captain, see his flag dipped in salute to her. All this he told her, and all this they saw against the darkness, and the dream was good and lay warmly on the heart. But still she cried and whispered in his ear. She was so terrified. How could he leave her now? Four months! Only four months! But four months was an age. They parted at last and Emma stood fixing her hair, her eyes wet, but smiling. He must g0, she knew, and she would not have him re- member her any way but happy. There was a tightness in her breast and a mysterious little chill beneath her heart, but her . voice was gay when she spoke to him again. He took her cheeks between his palms and kissed her. He squeezed her little chin, smoothed back her cloud of dark hair, and if there was a tightness inside his own breast his laugh did not betray it, though nothing could keep the shadow from his blue and friendly eyes. Only four months. Why, nothing could hap- pen in that time. And one last gift, a very special gift be- cause he was going away. He placed between her wondering hands the little spray of sweet- peas he had searched the city for and her eyes brimmed over. He had remembered then how she had loved them, remembered that day, so long ago it seemed, when she had walked with him through the fields, her arms filled with flowers from the old country inn. But here was the rain and the chill wind outside and sweetpeas didn’t bloom until Summer. Did they now? They never bloomed until Summer. He must forgive her for crying now, but it was so good of him. She knew how hard it had been to find them and they must have cost him so much. Sweetpeas in Winter! They stood locked for long minutes in the doorway, the windy rain blowing unheeded over them and the cart wheels slurring by in the mud outside. And then she was alone, and there was a moving shadow down the street, and she was hoiding the flowers to her mouth with one hand while the other fluttered in the night and the rain beat upon her. It was so very lovely of him, because they didn’t really bloom until the Summer. Did they now? Sweetpeas in the Winter. . . . She whispered to herself long after the shadow had gone from the street and her hand still fluttered. “Good-by, sailor . . . Good-by . . .” The months went on. She heard from him from Naples, and that letter went to join those others in the sandalwood box on the table of special treasures. She heard from him again from Malta, and she knew then he would soon be home. She dreamed for long hours, shiny- eyed, her hand pressed beneath her heart, and the little oid lady in the chair nodded to her- self and dreamed, too, and a strange golden shadow seemed to hover above the house. But the months went on and on, the wind grew warm again, the trees budded and leafed, the sweelpeas climbed over the trellis near the little inn on that dusty road across the fields, Slow!ly the golden shadow lifted from the house. And Emma could not understand, not even when they told her his ship had gone down off Finisterre and that he had been taken to South Africa on the vessel that had saved him. He could write, she thought. He could always write. One little word would be enough. But the months went on and on, and Emma forgot how to laugh; and when her aunt died that Autumn, she forgot how to ery. . . . It was a year before he came home. THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, MARCH 2, 1930. el -— ——— g He had brought her tribute from all over the world—silks }rom India, a magnificent shawl from Port Said. THmE was the little junk store with the win- dows all boarded up. The rain was cold in his face again, the skies were sullen, and the wind was a blustry moan in the chimneys. He leaned on the door and tried to peer through the dusty glass. He hammered and called. But there was no sound answered him, no sound at all except the soft hush-hush of the rain and the wind moaning in the chimneys sl L First the aunt died, said the neighbors. And then there was a child, a boy so small and pink. And he had died, too. There had been no money, and it was hard to raise a sick child. He could understand that. She acted sort of queer toward the last. . . . Always standing in the doorway and staring down the street, like she expected to see a ghost. sHe got thinner and thinner then, as if something inside her was burning her up. And at last she died, too. And the store was closed. No, they had no idea what had become of a san- dalwood box with letters inside and sweetpeas dried and pressed between the letters. No, that was all they knew. First the aunt, then the boy and then the young woman. The parish had buried her, they did not know where. The sailor went away. He was like a dead man, the neighbors said—dead on his feet, stumbling, rocking, talking to himself, his face the color of ashes. He went away, and he bothered them no more. He was drunk for weeks, for months perhaps. He never remem- bered himself. He lost count of time, lost track of everything. He existed in a gray haze, a sick and aching mist. He would have died, he knew, but toward the last, one night when the wind was a howling torrent and the rain beat like gravel against the windows, Emma came to him. She came to his dingy, dusty room with the bottles on the table and his clothes all stained and rumpled on the chair. And she stood beside the bed and talked to him and smoothed his hair, and he could feel her hand 50 cool and soft against his burning skin. She told him he was very, very foolish, because she loved him and it burt her to see him as he was. She had his flowers still, see! The same little spray he had given her in the Winter, though they never bloomed until Sum- mer. He must be brave now, because she un- derstood everything. . .. She was very sweet and lovely. And her eyes were dark stars, and her lips, when she kissed him, were soft and - warm. . . . And when last she left him, smil- ing over her shoulder, he was well again. There is a captain in the East, the master of a 5,000-ton freighter. His hair is a silvery white between the dark edge of his uniform cap and the rich tan of his face. His eyes are Forest Service Celebrates. CELEBRATING its silver anniversary, the Forest Service can point with pride to the golden return from its activities in protecting the foress from fire, in aiding in the develop- ment ot efficient methods of lumbering in which the future welfare is considered during the reaping of immediate profits, in stimulating reforestration programs and in the many other activities that go to make up its service to the country. On February 1, 1905, the Forest Service was created in its present form through the merging of the old Bureau of Forestry of the Depart- ment of Agriculture and the forestry division of the United States General ™and Office. Although forestry reeeived the attention of the Federal Government as early as 1876, it was not until the present Forest Service came into being that a rounded national policy of forestry was developed and the work began to go forward with long-range objectives. o In the 25 years of its existence the United States Forest Service has had a colorful history. “Old-timers” in the service recall their part in bringing to an end the bitter range wars be- tween the cattlemen and sheepmen over the use of the Western ranges, the early fights to save the public forests for the use and benefit of the public, and the struggles of former days to establish scientific practices and sound ad- ministration on the national forests in the face of antagonism. The service has gone through several bad fire years, among which 1910 and 1929 were outstanding. In the 25 years the Forest Service has de- veloped into an organization which today has nearly 2,700 public servants permanently on its rolls, and employs in addition to this personnel some 2,800 forest guards each year during the fire season. The service administers as a public property 150 national Yorests with an aggregate net of nearly 160,000,000 acres. Co-operation with the States in fire protection has been ex- tended to afford some degree of organized pro- tection to nearly two-thirds of the entire forest area of the country. The management of timber lands for continuous production is re- ceilving increasing attention as a commercial proposition, To a Pear Tree, Blossoming in February. By Sara Henderson Hay. There was hoary frost with yesternight, On the hills the smoky wmist wreaths hover, Little Sister, decked in bridal white, February was a faithless lover— Lying to you, in a lover's guise, Wooing you with dawns bedewed and pearly, Smiling at you from deceitful skies Till you blossomed, tragically early. ~ Till you vielded—then he went away. Foolish Virgin, never doubt dismayed you, Did you blindly think that he would stay, The seducer who has thus betrayed you? Sad—that you so tardily discover February was a faithless lover— somber and blue, and his mouth is grim, with lines graven deep each side of it. He is fa- mous in the annals of the sea for many things, for his cold daring, his indifference to women, his unshakable determination once he has set his hand to a task. He is a man of iron, silent, strong, dispassionate, hardly human, his fellow captains say—and they ought to know. But, according to his steward, he has two peculiarities. He will never allow sweetpeas to be placed on his table, and if, by chance, he finds such flowers, in a bouquet or in a garden, he will always remark, very gently: “They never bloom until Summer, you know. Isn't that right? Never until Summer.” Only at such times is he known to smile. He thinks he is a man, but he is really emly a child, just 19 years old. . . . Handling Trout Fry. THE careless expression, “It’s about a ten-8g- one chance against them,” just about sums up the chances of small trout fry surviving when placed in a stream. FPishery experts esti- mate that the chances of fingerlings surviving are just about 10 times as great as those of the little fry. ¥ Placing either fry or fingerlings in a stream or lake is a delicate matter, and not just a matter of tipping the cans into the water. Fish are very sensitive to sudden changes in tem- perature, and great care is necessary to see that the fish are gradually accustomed to the tem- perature of the water into which they are to be placed. As a usual thing, the temperature of the water into which they are going is much colder than that in the cans in which they have been transported. Usual practice calls for the re- moval of a small amount of the water in the cans and the addition of an equal amount from the lake or stream. This is continued at inter- vals until the temperatures are about even when the fish are dumped into the water. Great care must be taken in the case of trout that none of them are handled with a dry hand, as the dry hand destroys the protective coating on the sides of the fish, and brings death to it when it is placed in the water. Apples Shipped Abroad, EUROPE seems intent on keeping the doctor away. During the last year 1,829,000 barrels and 8,« ° 149,000 boxes of apples were shipped from ae United States, by far the greater part of which went to Europe. : The United Kingdom was the principa) * buyer, taking about 60 per cent of the apples. A Other countries taking a share of the expor§ were Germany, Netherlands, Canada, Argentinag Brazil, Sweden, Denmark, Philippine Islandg and Mexico. The export of American fruit, however, wag not confined to apples. Grapefruit showed a remarkably large increase, and pears, grapes, berries, lemons, peaches and pineapples also * figured in the trade. Butrer Substitutes Abroad., FUROPEAN countries apparently have de- ~ cided that it is better to use butter substi- tutes at low prices and ship their butter abroad. In Germany, for instance, there is more mar- garine consumed than butter, so great has the use of the former become. This is due in part to the lower cost of the margarine and in part to the improved quality, 8 Denmark and the Netherlands also are using mnrgtflneathomeinordertohcreuemlh ments of butter. The shipment of cheese from European nations to the United States is on the incresse, Italy, which is the source of nearly half tw 3 imports into this country, has shown a stead..y developing cheese industry. Slackening of the - output of Swiss cheese in the United States has brought about a corresponding stimiz'stust of the industry in Switzerlave " il ) 1