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CAMELS
^tf There's an added pleasure in giving Camels
'^ at Christmas. You know your gift will be so
genuinely 'welcome. More smokers prefer Camels
than any other cigarette. And that preference holds
for men in the Army, the Navy, the Marines, arjd
the Coast Guard, too! So remember those lads in
uniform . . . remember all the cigarette smokers on
your list . . . -svith the cigarette of costlier tobaccos
— Camels. Your choice of the package of four flat
fifties or the popular Camel carton.
PRINCE ALBERT
jA If he smokes a pipe, a big, long-lasting pound
*^ of cool-burning Prince Albert spells smoking
pleasure 'way into the New Year ... at camp, on
ship, at home. Prince Albert is choice tobacco, "no-
bite" treated for mildness and "crimp cut." It's the
National Joy Smoke. There's no other tobacco like
it. Your local dealer has two handsome Prince
Albert "specials" . . . the pound tin (above) or the
special glass humidor jar. (The humidor itself makes
a handsome gift!) Get yours today.
B. J. R<?ynolds Tobacco Company. Winston- Salem. X. C.
Gins TNAT ARE SURE TO PIEASE IN BEAUTIFUL CHRISTlMAS WRAPPERS
CO RAD D I
Vol. XLVI
December, 1941
No. 2
CONTENTS
Cover Harold Smith
Christmas Poem _ Dorothy Seegers 3
Silent Night Doris Sharpe 4
illustrated by Jean Hair.
Campus Crisis No. 1
Ruth Heffner and Jean Be)iram 8
America Dances Dorothy McDuffie 9
illustrated by Betty Quick.
Khaki and Brass Buttons
Margaret Gleim and Josephine Howard 10
illustrated by Anna Medford.
Here in Dark Stone Mary Childs 12
illustrated by Norma Croom.
Murphy Marionettes, Incorporated
Nancy Murphy 21
Out of The Moist Earth. ..Margaret Jones 18
illustrated by Frances Templeton.
Diana .....Mary Frances Bell 20
REGULAR FEATURES
Breaking Ground 2
Blueprints and Waxprints 6
Oil for The Wheels
Books Ruth Heffner 15
Drama Joan Morgan 16
Exchanges Betsy Saunders 17
all features illustrated by Jea)t Hair.
The CORADDI is published by the students of the
Woman's College of the University of North Caro-
lina, Greensboro, North Carolina, every October,
December, March, and May.
STAFF
Jean De Salles Bertram Editor-in-Chief
Christine Allen Business Manager
Ruth Heffner Associate Editor
Margaret Jones Managing Editor
Betsy Saunders Exchange Editor
Jean Hair Cartoonist
Georgie Hughes Circulation Manager
Marion Middleton \
Kay Coan I
Carlyn Frank /
May March ( „ . . • ,
^ „ \ Business Assistants
Catherine Paris /
Carolyn Wheatley
RoxiE Hales
Katherine Palmer
Josephine Howard Proofreader
Rgwena Sutton, Claire Reaben Typists
(Member]^ est U, i^zi '^1940-41)
Subscription Rate, .$1.00 Per Year
Page 1
Hhsiakbuj^ ^JwmitL
x^
Talent anew is discovered on Woman's College
campus as ten new writers and four new artists
contribute to the second issue of our general
literary quarterly CORADDI.
After struggling with the featured Christmas
poem, Dorothy Seegers declared that it would be
an act of kindness if our English department
would bring to this campus a well-known author
to teach poetry. Dot is a tenacious sophomore
English major who willingly worked her poem
over at least ten times. Bless the spirit of perfec-
tion and sacrifice for CORADDI !
CORADDI'S Associate Editor Ruth Heffner has
been indispensable to the magazine for three years
now. But with this issue she breaks ground as
joint satirist in CAMPUS CRISIS NO. 1. Ruth
is going into publishing this June.
For two years a member of the modern dance
group on campus, Dorothy McDuftie is in a posi-
tion to speak knowingly in her article. Interested
in the dance, Dotty is, nevertheless, a sociology
major. She will enter the field of child welfare
work if she does not attend graduate school next
fall.
CORADDI keeps pace with current events and
current thought in national defense particularly.
We present two opposing views on the situation
created by the draft. Read them and decide your
individual position. Margaret Gleim, daughter of
a national guardsman, has seen tragedy in the
eyes of soldiers at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, where
her father is now stationed as a colonel. A sopho-
more, Margaret is looking forward to a career
in the publishing field. Josephine Howard, an
army daughter since the day she was born, has,
unlike Margaret, seen the army as a constructive
factor in youth training. An English and history
major, Josephine wants to work with orphans
after graduation this summer.
Page 2
Radio plays have a particular fascination to
Mary Childs whose HERE IN DARK STONE
was produced on the radio a few weeks ago. In
her play, Mary has combined her love of the
historical with her delight in fantasy by writing
the story of the last witch to be hanged in the
New World — Ann Pudeator. Mary chooses her
title from a quotation by Hawthorne.
A junior B.S.S.A. major, Joan Morgan has been
writing since she was a freshman. Joan breaks
ground in Coraddi with a sprightly history of
the evolution of our traditional Christmas pageant
on campus. In the next issue watch for her article
on T. S. Eliot.
A Coraddi poet last year, Betsy Saunders
breaks ground in this issue as exchange editor.
Betsy is anxious that other college magazine
staflfs reading her column take her comments as
helpful suggestions.
Coraddi gives a boost to freshman genius on
the campus by giving a page to the best freshman
work produced thus far in the class. Nancy
Murphy's paper was chosen because we feel that
her essay is the best indication of talent demon-
strated by freshmen. The choice of Nancy's paper
was, however, difficult for Margaret Bilyeu, Mar-
jorie Wheeler, Frances Winslow, Maud Wenken-
back, Betty Styron and Mary Apperson — all have
promise of good material to come. Justify your-
selves next time, girls !
College life is fun some time and is trying at
other times. Mary Frances Bell, a junior English
major, shows us both sides in DIANA.
Cover title: A Star Shall Guide Them. A
scene from the Sophomore Christmas Pageant is
presented with a star which is especially symbolic
at a time when we need to be guided from the
superficial glitter of Christmas to the deeper glow
of a sincere Christmas.
CLidma>-
Carried by the ivinter luinds streaming through
the night,
Snowflakes gleam and glisten as they rush in
endless rout.
Branches in silhouette siuay lotv upon the snoiu;
Stars spin and twinkle in the deepness of a vast
firmament.
In the clear and icy night chime the gentle
Christmas bells —
Bells that ring and tingle over valley, lake, and
plain —
Bells that peal once more of gladness, holiness,
our Saviour —
Bells that bring His omnipresence close to heart
and mind.
L^kfiitmai — ^vv/r
The land is filled with whispered lies
With flashing steel and furtive moves.
Joy is gone. Peace is torn.
Our Saviour is not recognized.
Acr'oss the waters boom the guns
And forivard tramp the somber uniforms.
But through each land a people knows
That someivhere still there is a God.
By Dorothy Seeders
Page 3
Anna thought Christmas was wonderful; but then there were
some things she did not quite understand about the season.
A NNA was awake, but she kept her eyes closed
tightly. She curled herself in the bed and
rubbed her face against the tan blanket. "I feel
just like a kitten," she thought. "I could almost
purr." She smiled at herself sleepily. "The day
before Christmas." She shivered and buried her-
self deeper in the cover and curled up smaller.
She looked at her watch. Mickey Mouse's glove-
fingers pointed out nine-thirty, and she had said
that she would be at Betty's by nine. "I guess
I ought to get up." She sighed. "But it looks so
cold." She touched one foot against the floor and
slid from under the cover. Throwing on her red-
plaid dress, she ran into the kitchen.
The cook was shaking cleanser into the sink.
"Merry Christmas, Mary. Merry Mary Christ-
mas," slowly recited Anna, smiling.
"Pore child," said Mary. "She don't even know
she's slept till Christmas is done with. It's almost
New Year's now."
"I know it's not so," said Anna.
"You'll find out," answered Mary.
"Well, I'll go look at my presents, then, if
Christmas is over," Anna said.
"Law me, we done throwed your presents away.
We didn't want 'em cluttering up the house if
you was gonna sleep all time."
Anna laughed. "You're so funny."
"I don't reckon vou'll be wantin' no breakfast.
You wouldn't want no dinner if you did."
"It's not so late," said Anna. "Where'd you put
my breakfast?"
"On the table, like I always do," said Mary.
Anna went into the breakfast room and stuck
a spoon into a piece of orange. "What time did
Daddy go to work?" she said, continuing the con-
versation from the breakfast room.
"Same time he always goes."
"Well, what time did Mother go to work?"
"Same time as usual."
Anna took a drink of hot chocolate. "I'm going
to spend the day with Betty. Mother said I could.
We're going up town, too."
"Help yourself," said Mary. "But you better
finish your breakfast first."
"I'm going to." Anna nibbled a piece of toast.
"Don't you like my red and green plaid dress,
Mary? I'm wearing it because it has the Christmas
colors."
There was no answer but the sound of pots and
pans hitting together.
"Mary, what are you going to cook us for
Christmas?"
"Food, I reckon."
"Bet you'll fix us something nice."
"It wouldn't make no diff'erence for you," said
Mary. "You'd think anything was nice just so
it was Christmas."
Anna scraped her chair back from the table.
"I've finished my breakfast." She went for her
coat and ran through the kitchen. "Whee, I think
Christmas is grand !" She heard the back door
slam behind her.
Anna trotted along the sidewalk and sang
"Deck the Hall with Boughs of Holly" in a voice
that jolted with her running. When she ran into
the kitchen at Betty's, she was out of breath.
She stood by the stove.
Betty's mother was ironing. "I'm trying to get
this dress ready for Betty to wear," she said.
Anna was looking at her. "You're pretty," she
said. "Honestly, every time I look at you, you're
just so pretty."
Betty's mother smiled.
"Just hinting for a compliment," said Betty as
she ran into the kitchen.
"It's not so. You don't have to tell me how
beautiful I am," Anna replied. "I already know."
She ran her fingers through her hair.
"Such beautiful golden locks," said Betty.
"Don't forget my dimples."
"What dimples? And oh, her lovely eyes."
"Sure, I've got four of them." As she spoke,
Anna pulled her glasses down on her nose.
"Here's your dress, Betty. Now, hurry and get
ready," Betty's mother said.
"Come on, Anna, if you want me to show you
Page 4
•DJtgl^t
^By ^oris Sharpe
how to dress in a hurry," said Betty. They dashed
from the room.
It was not long before they climbed into the
car. Betty and Anna chattered as they rode to
Main Street.
"The Christmas decorations are getting old,"
said Betty.
"But they're still so pretty," said Anna. "I
think they're prettier this year than ever. Look
at all the green and red and silver. Isn't it beau-
tiful?"
"Oh, look," both the girls screamed.
"It's a little boy's Christmas dream."
"Stop so we can see it better. Mother."
"There's no place to park here, Betty. You can
see it all right. I'll drive slow."
"Oh, the little boy is dreaming that he's play-
ing with a train and a wagon," Anna said.
"And a football and a pistol," Betty added.
"Oh, look, there's a white Santa Claus in that
window."
Betty's mother finally found a parking place,
and they walked down the street. They were
enveloped in red and green and white and the
tinkling of a little bell. People passed by, dropping
red and green packages and laughing. Anna
smiled up at the faces, which were red in the cold
air. "Christmas is nice," she said to Betty.
"Everybody's so happy."
"And the sooner it comes, the better," said
Betty.
"Let's go in here," said Betty's mother, "and
you two wait right here while I go up to the
second floor. I won't be gone long. And, Betty,
keep out of mischief."
Red toys lined the walls of the store. Betty
and Anna glanced at them and then went to the
costume jewelry and walked around the counter.
They looked at the people coming in the door.
A tall lady dressed in green entered the store.
"Oh, isn't she beautiful!" said Anna. She kept
watching her as the lady walked toward them.
"I dare you to tell her so," Betty said.
As the lady passed, Anna said under her breath,
"You're so beautiful."
"She didn't hear you," said Betty. "I dare you
to tell that one."
"He's a man," said Anna; "I can't tell him."
"Go on, sissypants."
As the man passed, Anna gathered courage, and
she said, "I think you're nice." The man looked
back at her.
"That man's ugly," said Betty, looking at the
next one.
"Oh, I think he's pretty," Anna said ; "his
mouth looks nice."
"Not pretty, handsome," Betty corrected.
"I think you're handsome," Anna said to him.
She looked at Betty. The man laughed.
Betty's mother was there. "What on earth are
you two up to now?" she asked. "Come on." Betty
and Anna followed her part of the way to another
counter.
"Oh, look," Betty said ; "there's a bunch of kids
talking to Santa Claus. Come on, let's tell them
the awful truth."
"No." Anna pulled at her. "You're not sup-
posed to tell anybody."
They followed Betty's mother out of the store
and rode home. Anna stayed at Betty's until she
fell asleep that night. She knew that her mother
and father would get her and take her home.
At five o'clock Anna was awake. She was at
home. It was Christmas morning. She propped
up on an elbow. "Merry Christmas, Mother!
Daddy, Merry Christmas !" she yelled. "Mother,
let me get up." Until seven she begged to get up,
and then she dragged them into the living room.
"Oooh!" she shouted and stopped. "My bicycle!
and it's red, too." She climbed upon it. "Oh, let
me ride it to Betty's."
"Wait until after breakfast. There'll be plenty
of time."
"Isn't it wonderful ! It's so pretty !"
Her mother and father were smiling. "Aren't
you even going to look at your other presents?"
"I think everything's here," she laughed. "I'll
look at the biggest ones. Oh, isn't it wonderful !
Oh, a blue dress. It's so pretty! Oh, let me ride
my bicycle to Betty's."
"No, come on, darling; let's get ready to eat
breakfast."
"You know what comes next," Anna said to
her father after breakfast.
"The Christmas story," he said. "Well, I can do
that in short order."
They sat down. Anna curled up in his lap and
rubbed her face against his coat.
"Is this in the bargain?" he asked.
"On Christmas, Daddy."
"All right." He began reading. "And there
were in the same country shepherds . . ." His low
voice went on in the familiar rhythm above her
head. Her eyes were closed tightly. Her eyelids
made a dark blue night sky. It was on a night like
this, she thought, and there were sheep in the
night. "I feel soft like a sheep," she smiled to
herself ; "my eyes. Daddy's lap, and his soft hand."
The door bell broke in and then her mother's
voice, saying, "I'll go. You're holding her."
"JoijeiLV Noel!" a voice in the hall greeted.
Next would have come the angels and then the
Baby in swaddling clothes. Reluctantly Anna
opened her eyes and let the pictures go. She saw
the firelight playing on the orange upholstery.
(Continued on page 17)
Page 5
ShiophmiA,
Tin Noises
'"pHE night was cold, and the wind blew sharp
from the Mississippi. Neon lights glowed
against the St. Louis sky, and Christmas carols
sang out from machines. The air was spicy with
cedar ; the streets were full of tin noises. As a part
of the merry shopping crowd, we wandered into
a throng of children, old men, and young mothers.
Before us sat Santa Claus with a beard, a suit,
and a crown like old King Cole. He sat on a
throne and looked out over a Christmas circus —
a mechanical monkey skipped with a tin cup in
hand ; a fur elephant and a suede horse rode a
miniature merry-go-round ; a clown hopped in the
air between moments when his blousy breeches
slipped up and down on thin wires ; and a little
wooden man with jerking fingers played a calliope
that rang out "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town."
Here was "Big City" Christmas.
The night was crisp, and the wind puffed across
long stretches of plain. Candles flickered on the
window ledges of small white houses, and red
glows fell slantwise over the snow. A sleigh
jingled by ; the air was full of merry carols. As
we sat and looked out from the window of the
train that was speeding us home to our own
Christmas, we saw a tall young man dragging a
tall bushy tree up the lane to a house. Five little
children with arms full of holly scampered after
him. Later, we passed a village church, and
through the windows we glimpsed the choir —
practicing Christmas carols. Here was "Small
Town" Christmas.
We had caught a preview to both kinds of
Christmas. And then we thought of the Christ-
mas we were going to : it was neither "Big City"
Page 6
nor "Small Town" Christmas. There were tin
noises at the big department store on the main
corner; otherwise there was merry laughter and
a tinkle of bells for the Salvation Army Christ-
mas dinner. This year we were going home to
decorate our tree in tinsel and silver shredded
icicles. Six years ago we strung popcorn for the
tree. This year the girl across the street has
invited us to a big Christmas Night party. We
will dance around a silver tree and laugh and
exchange presents later in the evening. We will
have fun. But six years ago, after a simple supper
of oyster stew, we all pulled out the cotton and
tore off tiny bits to make snowflakes for the
tree. Together we rolled out a white sheet under
the tree and set up the nativity scene across the
sheet. Then we read the Christmas story from
Luke, and very late on Christmas Eve we opened
our presents. This year there will be pens, brief
cases, and perfume for presents. Like most of
us, our friends will have been too busy to make
a personal gift. Six years ago on the day after
Christmas there came a thick envelope in the
mail. We opened it and unfolded the card inside.
We found two linen handkerchiefs edged in tat-
ting— homemade. This was the only present that
meant anything to us.
We have written to our parents that we want
a good old-time Christmas, the kind we used to
have six years ago. We have accepted the invita-
tions to the Christmas Night party, but we have
told our boy friends that Christmas Eve was
family night. They say we are sentimental and
old-fashioned, as outmoded as maidens who wait
for knights in shining armor. We realize that we
are grown up into a new Christmas — a Christmas
and (jJaxphinibu
that is shiny and brilliant, a Christmas that our
parents can no longer hide. But we believe that we
can balance the tin noises and the traditional
Christmas carols.
Hemispheric Solidarity
A LL our recent public display of affection for
Latin America is, as we see it, doing little
to promote a deep and inviolable understanding
between North and South America. It is, instead,
encouraging the whimsical and superficial "con-
cern" of a dilettante. Drawn together as they are
by fear of an Allied defeat, and by belief in man
as an "individual to be developed" and not as
an "instrument to be dominated," the Saxon and
Latin Americas cannot attain to hemispheric
solidarity overnight. Over a period of years, a
well-planned trade program can do more to pro-
mote understanding than can innumerable polite
social engagements, movies, travel articles, and
student-teacher exchanges. An understanding
between the two Americas can and will never be
rushed by the niceties of social and literary func-
tions. We do not deny that the niceties will con-
tribute to understanding, but we maintain that
it is the actual and real plans formulated that
will draw the republics together in fellowship.
A Latin American, Belgodere, has pointed out
that the United States has many suspicions to
overcome in this program for hemispheric soli-
darity: "The Latin Americans would like to have
effective collaboration with Saxon America, but
they cannot strip themselves entirely of suspicion.
They fear they will be the workers charged with
putting out the flames, and after . . . will they be
scrupulously paid the agreed salary of labor?"
But already the United States has done much to
inspire the confidence of Latin Americans. She
has advanced lend-lease aid, contributed to a
favorable trade balance in five out of nine Latin
American countries, overcome the shortage of
hemispheric shipping through the use of some
eighty German, Italian, and Danish ships stand-
ing idle in American harbors, worked out easy
payment terms in export houses, established a
clearing house for inter-American trade com-
plaints, and guaranteed special priorities. There
are certain defects, however, which the leaders
of the two continents should face and remedy
immediately. For example, the removal of trade
restrictions among North and South America is
not sufficient: private trade initiative should be
encouraged. There must be close cooperation
among the countries : without cooperation the
governments of the republics can never succeed
in keeping Hitler from control of the economy
of the western hemisphere. And finally, though
detailed plans are underway for the present,
there is little evidence of planning for the time
when the emergency has passed.
We feel that just as Leon Henderson desires
to plan consumer economy for the next ten years,
so should the governments of the twenty-one
western republics work out a detailed trade plan
to cover the years following this emergency.
Such a plan could do more than all else to destroy
the suspicions of which Belgodere spoke and
would constitute our strongest common bulwark
of defense against foreign domination.
Page 7
CAMPUS CRISIS No. 1
CORADDI Editors Observe Tragic Situation, or
Hon to Lose Your Man in One Easy Lesson
^His is the story of Mary College and how she
lost her man. It all began when Mary College
w-ent to see her English instructor for the fifth
time in three days. The instructor had asked the
class to write a personal estimate of Browning's
lyric poetry. But Mary College and all her class-
mates had no estimates or opinions to offer. The
instructor would not write the paper for her.
So Mary College trudged home and bawled. Then
she went to the college library and furiously
compiled the opinions of ten leading critics on
Browning. The day after the paper was turned
in with ink stains and tear stains, Mary College
was handed a current-event test paper marked F.
The only comment read : "You show no perception
of modern problems." So Mary College trudged
home and bawled. In her next class, she listened
for fifty minutes to Mr. Professor gripe about
the inadequacy of last night's lecture. She was
bored in class because she was too bored to go to
the lecture last night. So Mary College trudged
home and bawled over her boredom. But at last
came that one night in fifty — Mary College's S. P.
(secret passion) was announced over the amplifier.
"Whoops, Where's my hat? How's my lipstick?
Is m^' .iersey sophisticated enough?" With that
Mary College tripped down into the arms of her
S. P. who stood in wordless awe of her beauty.
Ultimately, Mary called him back to earth to
remind him that he came to take her riding. They
drove in town, and then he told her that he had
been called into service.
"But aren't you too young?" asked Mary Col-
lege. "I thought they didn't take them under
twenty-four."
"Japan, it seems, has been the cause of the
extension of the draft age," said S. P., satirically.
"Japan?" said Mary College. "What's wrong
with Japan?"
Mary's date explained but to no avail. Finally,
he gave up and left ; thoroughly disgusted with her
slim brains. So Mary College went home and
bawled louder than ever before. This time she
had lost her man — all because she could not
understand Japan.
But not for long was Mary College without
her man. New eyelashes and an up-hair-do enabled
Page 8
her to snare a likely young lawyer from Yale.
The engagement was announced two weeks pre-
ceding date of graduation ; and she took her
diploma (she barely made it) and her marriage
vows on the same day. At lawyer-husband's sug-
gestion to help curtail expenses, Mary took over
the ofl^ce. But matters grew worse as lawyer-
husband discovered it was easier to forget his
briefs than to try to read the atrociously typed
cases. He joined the Country Club with an eye
to prospective clients ; but soon the club members
tired of Mary because she could not talk about
anything except clothes, make-up, and her cute
'ittle hubby. It was only a matter of months
before Mary literally ran off her husband's
prospective clients.
One day Mary's new eyelashes fell off ; her
permanent grew out ; and lawyer-husband was
not making enough from his practice to allow her
to make an appointment at the new beauty salon
on Main Street. So Mary became di-ab. And Mary's
husband took notice, especially when he had to
sit around the house all day and count swiss dots
in the curtains because he did not have any
clients. Suddenly, Mary's cheery conversation
became monotonous conversation ; and lawyer-
husband became tired of Mary College. Said
lawyer-husband to himself : "Mary doesn't know
that there is any such thing as intellectual com-
patibility behind marriage. She cannot talk about
even such poets as Browning. She has no con-
ception of modern problems. She never goes to
the lectures at the Civic Auditorium unless she has
a new gown to display." One day he told Mary
what he thought. So Mary trudged home and
bawled.
Then Mary went to Reno and became Miss
Mary College.
Moral — especiaUij to seniors: Even if you do
not enjoy intellectual pursuits for their own sake,
you can enjoy them for their practical purposes.
Inability to face a problem, analyze it, organize
your views, and carry them through is a sign
that you do not have the stamina to hold the thing
that you desire and value.
by Ruth Heffner and Jean Bertram
^fieuca
a^ce^
At Woman s College what does the modern dance mean to
you
"What cannot be spoken can be sung,
and what cannot be sung can be danced,"
says an old French proverb. Too often the
spectator fails to realize that if the idea
which the dancer wishes to express could
better be said in words, he would not be
dancing. The spectator who really enjoys
a modern dance recital is one who relaxes
during the performance, does not try to
analyze each movement, allows the dance
to be its own excuse for being, and catches
the beauty and the meaning of a beauti-
ful piece of music or of a graceful statue.
Modern dance has been called many
things — some complimentary, some other-
wise— but the generally accepted explana-
tion is that it is an expression, through
the medium of movement by the human
body, of the dancer's reaction to the world
and to life as he sees them. A dance is a
combination of mass and line in space,
of contrasts in direction, in focus, in level
and in floor patterns. The dancer's move-
ments have varying degrees of balance
and unbalance and may be percussive,
sustained, or appendular. One of the first
things he must learn is the control of his
own body. Through simple and later more
complex stretches, rhythms, and move-
ments he achieves this control. Like any
art, the performer learns a sequence of
skills from the very simple to the very
complex. For instance, in doing a fall,
which is one of the most spectacular
elements of any dance, unless he wishes
to collapse in a heap with several broken
bones, the dancer must learn to control
his movements so that he actually goes
down gradually, not striking wrong places
at wrong times. He begins by "falling"
from a sitting position and gradually
works up to a jump before his fall. After
mastering a few techniques, the dancer is
ready to use his own imagination and
ideas to compose his own dances — not to
combine already formed techniques but to
make new movements which best express
the meanings which he wishes to convey.
Modern dance came into being because
a few people who were tired of the old
traditional dance forms had the imagina-
tion and ability, both physical and mental,
to create a new system. Isadora Duncan is
generally accepted as the first dancer to
make a great break from the old ways
of dancing: she decided that what was
good enough for her forefathers was not
good enough for her. Ruth St. Denis was
also an originator. She, with Ted Shawn,
created the Denishawn group which was
the first great American dance group.
From this beginning emanated Martha
Graham, Doris Humphrey, Charles Weid-
man, and Hanya Holm, who built their
dance on this new foundation but added
their own personal ideas and ways of
expression to become probably the great-
est present day modern dancers.
At last, modern dance has spread to
every nook and corner and has been
accepted by both sexes with equal enthu-
siasm. In the theaters and in modern dance
class, men are finding that they are none
the less men for having indulged in a
little of the manual labor called by the
modern dance fanatics "techniques."
For example, the modern dance enthusiast
will often find himself in the midst of
cannibalistic drum beats and flying arms,
legs, heads, and torsos which gradually
evolve from all angles to an ordered and
meaningful pattern.
Since modern dance has established
itself among our arts, it has joined with
itself other arts — music, costuming, pho-
tography, even the theater itself; and the
result has been a new scheme of personal
enjoyment for the dancer and the specta-
tor. America has taken literally Isadora
Duncan's prophecy, "I see America
dancing."
''By Dorothy McDuffie
Page 9
Articles of Opinion on
KHAKI:
T STOOD at the intersection of two highways out
in the flat prairie country of Illinois and
watched an olive-colored stream of army trucks
flow past. The drivers were grim and solemn ;
the boys in the back of the trucks were holding
their guns in an upright position and were staring
silently ahead. I realized as I watched those trucks
rumbling out of the grey morning mist that this
was the closest I had been to actual war or to
preparation for war. It is true that I had listened
to radio repoi'ts of bombings and air raids and
mass slaughters. I had heard of the leveling of
Warsaw by German planes and tanks. I had heard
of the massacre of Rotterdam, of the bombing of
Old London. But these reports had always
remained something I heard. I had been shocked,
but I had not actually realized their true horror.
I knew no Polish people, nor Dutch, nor Belgians,
nor French. I had no personal contact with the
war; and although it had always been painful to
me, it had remained extremely unreal, extremely
remote from my life.
But while I stood on the corner that warm sum-
mer morning as the sun burned away the clouds
of mist, and while I watched wave after wave of
army trucks roll past, I realized that these were
not soldiers of a distant land. They were our own
American boys, boys whom I knew, boys who
were my friends. The war was suddenly, force-
fully brought into my life — brought with a real-
ism that I shall never forget.
Suddenly I understood that there was danger,
and that America had seen the danger and was
working frantically in preparation to meet it.
America was calling my friends, my relatives,
even my parents into service ; and suddenly,
there I was witnessing the desperate attempt of
my nation to meet a force greater than its own.
But as I looked into the deeply tanned faces
of the soldiers riding past me, I felt that some-
thing was missing in all the grim determination
of preparation. These soldiers of 1941 were veiy
different from the usual conception of exuberant
lusty soldiers. What was it that was lacking in
their youthful eyes? I wondered. To me they
lacked a definite purpose and aim, a definite con-
viction that they would be repaid for all they
were sacrificing or that they were certain the
sacrifice was necessary. What is it that caused
the lack of animation and aimlessness of these
soldiers? Perhaps it lies partly in the deep-rooted
What Price Army
'3y Margaret GJeim
uncertainty they feel. Their immediate future is
uncertain, not only next year, but next month,
next week, tomorrow. They are constantly on
twenty-four hours' notice, subject to transfer at
any moment. Living under such a strain, they
cannot dare to plan, or hope, or dream.
Then, I I'emembered that these were boys who
had been brought up on pacifism, educated on
peace parades. They were boys who had read A
Farewell To Arms, who had seen "Journey's
End," who had sat through the great movies, "All
Quiet on the Western Front," and "What Price
Glory?" These boys knew that promises of jobs
had flickered out when their fathers returned
from France. They had felt the privations and
heart-breaks caused by ensuing depression. They
had sworn emphatically that they, as Americans,
would never enter war. Now suddenly they have
been snatched away from all their hopes and
dreams of a peaceful future to form a mighty
bulwark against Hitlerism. Their entire attitude
reflects their bewilderment: uncertainty over-
shadows each plan, each hope, each dream.
I have watched these soldiers of 1941 and have
seen clearly the listlessness and confusion in their
eyes. I have seen soldiers wandering around a
small town in the rain. Groups of two or three
standing on a corner, hands in their pockets,
cigarettes loosely in their mouths. The street
lights were dim under fine rain, and a solitary
soldier was standing a little apart staring at the
water gurgling in the gutter. The town itself
was composed of nothing but row on row of
dimly-lit bars and cafes. The cafes were crowded
with khaki-clad soldiers and hard-looking girls
in gaudy dresses.
I have seen soldiers sitting on the steps of
their barracks and not speaking to each other,
only staring thoughtfully into space. I have seen
groups of soldiers clump silently, morosely down
the street. No one speaking. No one looking at
the other. Each engulfed in his own thoughts.-
I have seen soldiers crowding into a small
theater on the post to watch a movie. The movie
was at least a year old if not more. Most of them
I knew had seen it. I had heard some of them say
so. The show was over at ten-thirty, and the
olive-uniformed boys spilled out into the street
and soon disappeared into the night. Only the
(Continued on page 24)
itmtt I'll owxay— ■iii»iiyiwwi»ni«nimL|Hi|jpin;)jj|Byi)p«
»as>yii<»ra»«!a9w»aa*!»wa»Mn^*w»«''»w»!^^
AND BRASS BUTTONS:
T STOOD at attention near the edge of the parade
field and waited as the retreat bugle sounded
through the dusk. Slowly the notes rose and
slowly drifted across the field. The cannon was
fired ; "Present Arms" was given ; the call to
colors was blown. Then stepping forward in
polished shoes, two soldiers lowered the flag of
their country. Clean-shaven, their faces were
strong and proud in the twilight. Dressed in well-
fitted olive-drab uniforms, with brass buttons
and insignias shining, their outlines against the
sky were firm and straight. Together they folded
the flag as the military band played "The Star
Spangled Banner." And retreat parade was over
I lingered there, wishing to retain the feeling
of pride that had welled up inside me ; and sud-
denly I thought : Why this impressive ceremony ?
Why these uniformed men in an Army camp
crowding to eat in the mess halls, 'k.p.ing' in the
kitchens, clerking in the oflices, drilling on the
parade fields, 'pill-rolling' in the hospitals, driv-
ing trucks and tractors, working as mechanics in
the motor pools, 'nurse-maiding' mules and horses,
acting as 'dog-robbers' to officers, walking posts
as guards on duty?
As an Army daughter, I always took these
activities for granted. But the day of retreat
parade I realized that I was witnessing some-
thing I had never seen before — preparation for
war. For the second • time in twenty-five years,
our nation has called upon its youth to come to
its defense. For the second time in twenty-five
years, a vigorous training is being pursued ; and
a physical, moral, and psychological fitness is
needed.
Can we depend on these men who have been
inducted into the Army to stand up erectly under
all the strains and pressures and deprivations of
their new kind of life ? Can we depend upon them
to retain, in spite of all hardships and disap-
pointments and disillusions, their plans and their
hopes and their dreams? I say, yes!
In the eyes of these young men as they first
entered the Army was a look of confusion, of
regret at separation from home and family to
enter an institution about which they knew noth-
ing. The Army to them, at first, meant uniforms
and 'yes-sirs' and 'no-sirs' and long and hard
hours of work with no visible goal. But having
become a necessary part of the mechanized ma-
chine designated as the United States Army, they
"Sy Josephine Howard
ultimately have realized the need to cooperate.
They obey orders of their superior officers; they
do the rough tasks assigned to them, never for-
getting their plans and hopes and dreams of the
future. They plan for the day when they will
receive honorable discharge from the Army. They
continue to hope that the war will pass, that the
world situation will clear, and that they may
return to civilian life. And they continue to
dream the dream of every normal American man
— the dream of a good job, a wife, and a family,
happily living an average life. These hopes and
plans and dreams are their protection. Strip them
of their dreams, and they will crack under the
strain. Strip them of their hopes, and they will
be but shells of men. Strip them of their plans,
and they will desert. Strip the men of these, and
the Army will collapse !
A sagacious mind will realize the need that the
Army is fulfilling. Many soldiers are actually
gaining an education, learning an actual trade.
Sent to cooks' and bakers' school, to officers' train-
ing school, to communication, flying, x-ray, busi-
ness, finance, and engineering schools, they are
learning to be cooks, bakers, aviators, radio
operators, laboratory technicans, clerks, typists,
engineers, mechanics, welders. Art, stories, and
music are created by individuals in our highly
disciplined ranks. The Army has not stifled the
arts. To efl'ect the placement of these men when
peace comes, economists in the Army work out
economy plans and submit them to their "higher-
ups."
Ernie, a New York Frenchman, a former cheap
night-spot entertainer, said to me, "I'm happy,
'cause I'm taking up welding. I'll know how to do
something!"
Otto, a former music teacher, now has time for
composition after drilling hours at five o'clock.
Several of his pieces have been heard over a coast-
to-coast hook-up.
And besides acquiring a knowledge of a pro-
fession which they will be able to pursue after
their release from service, men in the Army are
learning to live with one another, to tolerate
diff'erences and eccentricities of character and
personality.
I have acted as recreational hostess in an Army
Service club, where I have seen this tolerance.
One Sunday night, leaving a group of boys en-
gaged in a technical discussion of chess, I sat
down beside a dark young fellow called Boy.
(Continued on page 24)
A
line
PuJcjtor nm fcisciuiiting, mysterious. But she could not stop
the miffging tongues that gossiped about her.
J4.
em in
Music: Sibelhis No. 5, Movement No. 3. Fade
up. Hold for few seconds. Take out.
Narrator: {Man's deep voice readvig sloichj,
sojioroushj to get legend quality.) Salem, Massa-
chusetts, was, in 1690, a city of religious people:
its inhabitants were imbued with the fear of God
put into their hearts by the fiery sermons of
Increase and Cotton Mather. In 1690 Salem was
bounded on three sides by virgin forests ; there
were a few roads cut through to the lesser settle-
ments that surrounded it. On the fourth side was
the sea. Salem was a town of small white houses,
built around red brick chimneys. Here and there,
on the outskirts of the city, there were still a few
log cabins surrounded by the stumps that had
once been trees. A thriving community in the
late days of the seventeenth century was this
town, this Salem. The good folk of the city
attended the Thursday Lecture and the Sabbath
Sermon religiously. Old wives were punished for
gossiping, and the whipping post and the pillory
were set in prominent positions in the public
square.
The last Indian attack had been made thirteen
years before; and while the good people of Salem
slept in comparative peace, there was still a
guard who walked the streets and called out the
hours of the night. In the day, the blacksmith
moved in his dark shop ; the carpenter built new
houses ; and the cartwright made wheels for
innumerable wagons. By the sea there were
wharves, ship-building yards, and the homes of
the sea-men.
Music: Sibelius. Hold up for few seconds. Fade
to background for:
Narrator : These people of Salem were safe :
after thirteen years the fierce Wampanoags
would not return. Yet, who of the Salemites would
not admit that they breathed more easily when
they heard the horn of the cowherd at sunrise?
Then the women rose from their beds and threw
open their doors to let in the blue haze and the
golden sunshine of the New England mornings ;
soon smoke poured forth from their chimneys ;
and as the sun rose higher, the women and the
young boys came from their houses to fill their
pails at the spring. Still later, the men came into
the fields to look over the young corn shoots and
the cracks in the earth that foretold the first
pumpkins. The women moved their spinning
wheels out into the sunshine, and the village cats
came from the houses to sun themselves on warm
doorsteps.
Music: Harris No. 3, Movement No. 2. Fade up.
Hold. Fade to background for:
Narrator: When the night came again, the
cowherd returned from the fields, and the bells of
the cattle tinkled through the dark. The night
fell. For a brief hour the candles lit the white
houses, and then once more the night spread
over the village.
Music : Sibelius. Fade up and hold for a feiv
seconds. Fade out for:
Narrator: At noon, in the spring of the year
1690, there came to Salem village a tired and
bedraggled young woman. She entered the town
from the wood road that lay to the west of the
town square. She was dressed in a torn Indian
robe ; her dark, tangled hair hung to her shoul-
ders and was bound by a leather thong. Her
arms and hands were scratched and bleeding;
her feet were bare. She stumbled to the door of
the nearest house on the outskirts of Salem. In-
stead of using the heavy iron knocker, she beat
on the door with her bare fists.
Sound: Fists on heavy wood.
Narrator : No one answered her summons ; she
beat on the door again.
Sound: Fi,sts on heavy wood.
Narrator: Then, weak from lack of food and
sleep, she leaned against the door-frame. Slowly,
the door of the house opened. The girl swayed
and fell forward on the step.
Patience: Oh! Theresa! Theresa! Come here!
Theresa: Did you call me. Miss Patience?
Patience: (Breathlessly) Yes — here, Theresa,
help me.
Theresa: (Suspiciously) Who's that?
Patience : Never mind. Help me to get her
inside.
Theresa: Yes, Miss Patience, I'll help you.
Sound: Shuffling of feet. Hold over for:
Patience: She's not very heavy, but we must
be careful. I don't want to hurt her.
Theresa : She looks as if she had not eaten in
days.
Patience : And she's all torn and dirty. Here,
Theresa. We'll put her in this chair.
Sound: Shuffling of feet dies out.
Theresa: Ummmmm — There!
Patience : Run and get me some warm water
and towels, Theresa.
Theresa: I'll go.
Patience: (Musing softly) Poor thing; she's
so strange. That savage robe ! And those beads !
She's beautiful, though. Where do you suppose —
Anne: Quiet crying.
Patience: There, child, there. You'll soon be
all right.
Anne: Crying suddenly stops, and she speaks
in a low, resonant monotone. She uses the tongue
of Indians. Hold over speeches of Patience and
Theresa.
Patience : Ah, you're better.
Theresa : Here is the towel. Miss Patience —
Patience: Thank you, Theresa. Dip it in water.
Page 12
By Mary Childs
<Ujam J^L
one
Sound: Towel rung out in water.
Theresa: Oh, what's that she's saying? What
is she talking about?
Patience: I don't know, Theresa, but never
mind that now.
Theresa: But listen to her; she's staring at us,
and she keeps on mumbling. She seems to under-
stand. Why doesn't she talk sense?
Patience: It is strange — Do you feel better?
She doesn't answer — Do you feel better? Oh see,
Theresa. She's nodding her head. I think she's
trying to make us understand.
Anne: What — place — is — this. From where —
do I — come?
Patience: I don't know, dear; we found you
on the doorstep just a few minutes ago.
Anne: From — where — do I — come? Why —
am — I — so — dressed ?
Patience: {Slowly) I do not know. What is
your name?
Anne: I am called Pudeator.
Patience: Have you no other name?
Anne: Yes — It is Anne. {Fulls back into swift
Indian speech.)
Theresa : Miss Patience, come away, please.
She is a strange one !
Patience: Silly Theresa. There is nothing
wrong.
Theresa : Yes, she is strange. Come away !
Come away !
Music: Fades up: Quick and sparkling: Holds
few seconds: Fades out.
Anne : My name is Anne Pudeator.
Patience: Is there nothing more? How do you
come to us?
Anne: I do not know. I do not know anything.
Only my name —
Patience: You can think of nothing else?
Anne: Nothing! {Pause) You have been kind.
Patience: Any one would have done the same.
Anne: No, only you; they are not all kind.
{Growing intensitij, groping for mojxls) . They do
not all believe! They do not understand that I
cannot tell what I do not know.
Patience: Do you ever remember anything,
Anne?
Anne: Sometimes at night, there are dreams.
I wake to find myself speaking a strange lan-
guage. I have odd and savage visions, but there is
no memory. I can not remember.
_ Patience : Try to think, dear.
Anne : There are no faces. Nothing has hap-
pened. I cannot see behind the shadow. I can-
not lift the dark veil that binds my brain in
black chains.
Patience: It is so strange.
Anne: It is strange.
Narrator: And time went forward in Salem
village for a girl who knew no time past. Patience
gave Anne an honored place in her home. Anne
remembered nothing from the years before 1690.
She was a beautiful and mystic girl. Many people
liked her, in spite of her shadowed past. But old
women talked on deserted corners about her. Why
would a white woman come to them in Indian
costume? What was her past? They dared not
talk too loudly, for the Iron Gag and the Ducking
Stool awaited slanderers and gossips.
1st Woman: She is an odd creature, this
strange girl.
2nd Woman : Aye, she is more than that.
1st Woman: More?
2nd Woman : Aye, strange tongues she speaks.
Theresa says that she has heard —
1st Woman: Yes?
2nd Woman : At night she has heard her mov-
ing from her bed and speaking the language of
the heathen Indian. And Theresa has seen —
1st Woman: Theresa has seen — ?
2nd Woman : Aye, Theresa whispered to me
that one night she crept to her room and saw the
girl behaving as one in the hands of the Devil.
1ST Woman : The Devil ! The Devil ! Oh, tell on !
2nd Woman : Rocking back and forth as she sat
cross-legged on her bed. Speaking strange spells —
and laughing — laughing silently.
Page 13
1st Woman: (in horror) She has said spells?
2nd Woman : Yes. Then of a sudden she would
seem to wake. She would look around in an odd
manner as though she were trying to remember
something. And then she would fall back on her
pillow exhausted. And then she would sleep.
1st Woman : If this be true, we have another
wise woman in our midst.
2nd Woman: Who can tell!
Music: Ee)-y and mijstoious. Fades up. Holds.
Fades to background for:
Narrator: Who could tell? For in the village
of Salem, Evil walked abroad. Evil so terrible
that it made Salem remembered long after she
might otherwise be forgotten. In 1692, to this
village of peaceful and religious people, the blight
of the Devil, the curse of witchcraft had appeared.
In England now, more than 200 innocent people
were in their graves because they had some pecu-
liar quirk of personality or appearance. And here
in Salem, the curse of witchcraft set its mark
firmly on the people of the colonies. So firmly was
witchery branded on their hearts that the minis-
ters preached of it from their pulpits. Cotton
Mather burst forth one Sunday —
Music: Fade to:
Cotton Mather: . . . and I tell you, every one
of you who hears my voice, to go and tell Man-
kind that there are Devils and witches, and that
those night-birds least appear where the day-
light of the Gospel comes ; yet today, here in New
England, there are examples of their existence
and operation.
Music : Fades up. Holds for a few seconds.
Fades out.
Narrator: And so witches and wizards, and
the Devil himself, ceased to be legends in Salem
and became real beings.
One day an extraordinary thing happened.
Anne Pudeator disappeared from Patience's
house. Twilight came, and Anne did not return.
As night fell. Patience went to each house and
asked the men to form hunting parties to search
for the strange girl. Into the dangerous and evil
forests the men went seeking the lost girl. They
looked all night ; and as morning came the men,
unshaved and sleep-ridden, came back to Salem
with the sad news that .she was nowhere to be
found. When the cow-herd's horn sounded at day-
break, every group but one had returned to the
village. (Start to fade gradually). This group had
not been seen since the night before, and —
1st Man: (Grouchy). We might as well turn
back.
2nd Man : Yes, I did not believe that she would
vanish, but we had best return.
3rd Man: (Persuasive) No, let us go on for a
little while. Just a half hour more ; then if we
do not find her —
2nd Man: All right; for a half hour more.
1st Man: My eyes are glued shut.
3rd Man : Come on. Come on, man ; only half
an hour.
1st Man: Oh, all right; I'll come!
2nd Man: Wait! Wait! What's that noise?
Over there !
1st Man: I hear nothing.
3rd Man : Your ears are glued shut, too, then ;
there is something ! Come on !
Anne: (Off mike chanting of Indian speech.
Hold ne.vt few speeches).
1st Man: What is that?
2nd Man: It is she!
3rd Man: Of what does she speak?
3rd Man: Hello there, maid! Hello! We've
found you ; we've been searching all night.
1st Man : Speak sense, girl ; speak up, I say !
3rd Man : Gently, friend ; she must be ill.
1st Man : Aye, she is sick indeed !
2nd Man: What mean you?
1st Man: I believe it now!
3rd Man: What do you believe?
Anne: Stop Indian chant.
1st Man : I believe — I believe that Anne Pude-
ator is a witch !
2nd Man : Witch ! A witch !
3rd Man : Quiet, man. She's looking at us ; she
will speak. Speak up, maid ; what is it?
Anne: (Speaks English once more) I — found
— the — answer — and I came away. He wants me ;
I must go back.
1st Man: (Whisper) 'Tis the Devil wants her!
2nd Man: The Devil!
3rd Man : Quiet, both of you !
Anne : I must go back to him.
3rd Man: No, you must come with us, Anne;
come with us, Anne, back to Salem.
Anne: Yes. Yes! I must go back to Salem.
Perhaps he will let me go. Perhaps I can stay in
Salem and be happy. He — oh, say that he will
not come again. Tell me —
Anne: Tell me —
3rd Man : No ; he will not come again, Anne.
Anne : I may live in peace — in Salem. With
Patience. He must not come ; he shall not possess
me. He shall not have me. I shall go back to Salem.
I shall forget the empty places ! I shall live in
Salem! I will! I will!
Music: Sacre Du Printemps by Stravinsky.
Fades up. Hold for a feiv minutes. Fade out for:
Narrator: Anne came back to Salem. But not
to live in peace. The fever of witchcraft was in
white heat. And one of the men who had found
her was convinced that she had spoken of fol-
lowing the Devil. In the past month, many had
been tried for witchcraft. Forty-eight men and
women were in prison in Salem accused of being
in league with the Devil. The first witch to be
hanged was Bridget Bishop who went to the gal-
lows on a bright morning in June.
Through the streets of Salem in a prison cart
more people were carried to the noose on the
rocky, treeless ledge called Gallows Hill. On the
19th of July, Sarah Good, Susannah Martin, Eliza-
beth How, Sara Wild and Rebecca Nurse were put
to death. On the fifth day of August of the hot
New England summer, John Proctor, John Wil-
lard, George Jacobs, George Burroughs and
Martha Carrier were hanged by the neck until
dead.
Indian Summer came to New England, and the
first breath of Autumn touched the green forests
around Salem.
(Continued on page 26)
Page 14
Oilio/LthiL
BOOKS
Oliver Wiswell. By Kenneth Roberts. 836 pages.
Doubleday, Doran and Company, New York.
$3.00.
John Jay once said, "The true history of the
American Revolution can never be written."
Oliver Wisivell is not a history, but perhaps it
is truer than the history that has become our
heritage. The novel verifies John Jay's further
statement that "people in those days were not at
all what they seemed, nor what they are generally
believed to have been." In the novel we see for
once the Tories who loved America, the Tories
who would not take arms against the uneducated
patriot, the Tories of keen mind and leadership
who believed in England despite her blunders.
They were men like Oliver Wiswell and his father.
Seaton Wiswell faced the revolution mature in
mind and great in spirit. Oliver faced it with
youth and the desire to record truth.
The story, although of historical content, never
once overshadows the characterization of Oliver.
The war is the molding force that guides him
to a mental maturity as great as that of his
father.
Kenneth Roberts gives strength to his novel
with scenes of momentous action ; but, of equal
benefit to the story, though not of historical sig-
nificance, are the escapades of Buel, Oliver's self-
appointed protector, the unique activities of Mrs.
Byles who also allies herself with Oliver, and the
genuinely human love story of Oliver and Sally.
In the midst of world shaking crises are found,
surprisingly, the homely detail of everyday. Per-
sonal emotions, so emphasized in time of war, are
treated with a frankness that proves sincerity.
Perhaps it is because of this sincerity that one
becomes so convinced of the fallacy of tradi-
tional pictures of traitorous Tories. It seems,
from the Tory view, that the patriot is the traitor
— the traitor who seized the property and took the
lives of his countrymen, who turned against his
own culture, who could not restrain violence with
reason. The leaders of these men no longer seem
invincible military strategists. They won, not by
foresight, but by accident. The victory was im-
possible, but it came.
This novel coming when it does, in the time of
another great war, naturally stimulates com-
parisons. Not only does it recall the old adage,
"History repeats itself," by reminding us that
once England was defeated ; but it also presents a
sane philosophy of war. Oliver's final speech
illustrates the perspective so needed to keep
rational when irrationality prevails.
He says of wars, "Perhaps that's how God
slowly sculptures the world to a shape concealed
from us. Perhaps that's why the impossible hap-
pened, Sally — why that rabble that drove us from
our homes were incapable of winning, but did
win. Perhaps, Sally, something great will come
of all that agony and all those deaths, all that
intolerance and all that cruelty. Perhaps some-
thing great will come even to that rabble some
day, as well as to us."
— Nancy O'Brien.
Lady Editor. By Marjorie Shuler, Ruth Knight,
and Muriel Fuller. 288 pages. E. P. Button
and Company, Inc., New Yoi'k. $2.00.
Lady Editor, an account of careers for women
in publishing, is written by three young women
who are in a position to speak authoritatively.
The book is divided into three sections : the first
one is on journalism, the second on magazines,
and the third is on books. Marjorie Shuler, author
of part one on journalism, started her newspaper
experience at sixteen writing society news and
women's gossip for a large newspaper. From this
position she went to an international newspaper
which sent her on many important assignments
both in America and in Europe. Miss Shuler was
the first woman to fly around the world, and the
first woman to cover South America by plane.
Beginning her advice to young women desiring
to enter the journalistic field, Miss Shuler states
bluntly : "The most remarkable thing about jour-
nalism is the unanimity with which journalists
condemn it." From this sentence on, Miss Shuler
pictures the trials and glories of newspaper busi-
ness. The section is fairly and frankly written,
illustrated with actual stories of careers in this
field, and filled with good advice on "breaking in"
and getting along in the world of news.
Ruth Adams Knight, author of the new novel,
Women Must Weep, has had wide experience in
editorial positions, in writing for radio, and in
writing for magazines. Her section on magazines
opens with the statement that, "Nothing in our
national life is more characteristic than our
periodicals. They are as American as icewater,
and as generally popular. But with circulation in
the millions, they must appeal to highly diversified
tastes." Each type of magazine — class publica-
tions, pulp magazines, women's publications,
news, trade, fanfare, and children's magazines —
is discussed. (Continued on next page)
Page 15
Muriel Fuller, who at the present is on the edi-
torial staff of Redbook Magazine, has served on
many editorial staffs. An authority on children's
books, she has reviewed many of them for ChUd
Life, Chicago Daihj News, and the New York
World-Telegram. Her section on book publication
permits the would-be student to take a peek into
some of America's largest publishing houses. Miss
Fuller does not stop with giving advice ; she
illustrates her opinions with examples from the
lives of her fellow-publishers who, like the stu-
dent, were once confronted with the problem of
beginning.
Lady Editor will be read chiefly by prospec-
tive women journalists. It will be read because of
its down-to-earth approach and advice to these
young journalists. It is a girl's book, exciting,
important, and, most of all, well-written by those
who know what they are saying.
— Ruth Heffner.
DRAMA
Up through fifty years kis come a Woman j College Christmas
tradition— the Sophomore Cloristmas Pageant
\X7'HEN sophomores rush back and forth from
Aycock Auditorium to the dormitory in the
middle of December, they are planning a Christ-
mas pageant. It is a tradition begun seven years
ago when the sophomores, because they had
studied the old mystery plays in English litera-
ture, were given the privilege of putting on a
pageant.
Before the first sophomore Christmas pageant,
every year on the last night before the Christmas
holidays, the students would sing carols around
a large Christmas tree in front of South Spencer
Hall or on the front campus in front of the
Administration Building. But every year, on the
last night before the Christmas holidays, Greens-
boro decided to have a rain ; and the unlucky girls
were forced to take shelter in the Students' Build-
ing. At first, the singing was not organized, but
later definite programs were planned and carried
out. Romance language students sang carols in
French, Spanish, German, and Italian. The last
song was always "Silent Night," and the students
sang it as they walked from the auditorium.
It was in 19.3.3 that the sophomores first became
aware of their abilities. Without the aid of faculty
members, they presented the "Second Shepherd's
Play." The Madrigal Club sang carols behind the
setting of a church altar. They called it a pageant,
but it could scarcely be classed with the pageants
that were given in later years. The lack of proper
direction doomed it to failure.
The wise sophomores of 1934 enlisted the aid of
Miss Rowley, Miss Bush, Miss Summerell, and
Mr. Thompson and presented a surprisingly good
"Second Shepherd's Play." The play was both
dignified and simple. At the end of the service,
the college choir, carrying lighted candles, walked
from the stage out of the auditorium while the
audience remained standing. With such a success
before them, the next year's sophomores decided
to give again the "Second Shepherd's Play."
In 1936, however, a more modern theme was
approached. Colored lighting and color symbols —
Page 16
blue, crimson, purple, and gold — represented the
various periods of Mary's life from the Annunci-
ation and the Adoration of the shepherds and
kings, to the realization of the significance of
the birth of Christ. The student audience appreci-
ated the significance of symbols and asked for
more pageants like this one.
For the next four years, the sophomores con-
centrated on the Nativity, presenting it in a series
of tableaux, each year employing a different
theme. In 1937, with the setting in a typical
medieval church. Dr. Elbert R. Moses, Jr., directed
the choric speaking group in the pageant for the
first time. A simple theme of two parts was car-
ried out in the production of 1938 — The Promise
of God to His People That There Would Be a
Redeemer and the Fulfillment of the Promise.
The sophomores of 1939 gave a beautiful dra-
matization of the birth of Christ, with angels and
choir music in the background. Last year, a series
of full tableaux were presented, the first four
portraying the Nativity, and the fifth, "Christ-
mas in the Modern Family."
As the pageant grew from the former singing
of the carols, so the carols are still a part of the
pageant. There is carol singing both before and
after the performance. The students troop over
the quadrangle, where one of the sophomore voice
majors leads in carol singing.
The Christmas pageant requires, however, the
best of sophomore talent and the hardest of hard
work. But it inculcates our deep-rooted desire for
expressing our joy at Christmas through the
singing of carols. It is the substitution of an
expression just as gratifying as the gathering
around a tree. It renews again the story within
us of the birth of Jesus Christ. And as long as the
sophomore Christmas pageant creates in us a
feeling of satisfaction of "peace on earth and good
will towards men," it will remain with us.
'By Joan Morgan
EXCHANGES
By Betsy Saunders
PIECES O'EIGHT
East Carolina Teachers College
The fact that there is only one style of type heading
in the entire magazine makes it very monotonous. The
articles are elementary and conveniently vague of plan
and purpose. In general, the fiction is weak; however,
credit should be given to "One Hour Fast," a well planned
short, short story. The poetry section is neatly presented
and is amazingly good in a "Ted Malone" manner. Most
of the jokes are old. We suggest humorous essays and
anecdotes.
THE STUDENT
Wake Forest
This is a magazine with a purpose — that of keeping the
student aware of his problems and interests in Deacon-
town. There are several well written articles on local
situations, three short stories, and no poetry. This pub-
lication, however, stays at home too much and does not
venture out of its own backyard.
PACE
Los Angeles City College
This magazine is definitely in pace. All photographs are
excellent, but the art work is only fair. Though there is
variety in the lay-out, the type is too small for easy
reading. Generally, the fiction is weak — there is a lack
of distinction and imagination. PACE is an up and coming
magazine — definitely the product of "city kids."
BEAVER REVIEW
Beaver College, Jenkintown, Penn.
The magazine cover is neat and concise in black and
white but is not very inviting. There is, however, a definite
bit of quality in spite of the quantity (only sixteen pages).
The art work in this magazine is too ornate for the sub-
ject; and as there are no photographs, the lay-out has a
rather bare appearance. The poetry is fair with a fascinat-
ing student translation of the Victor Hugo poem —
"Extase." We enjoyed the book review on Poncins'
KABLOONA and found the two short stories unusually
interesting. The entire magazine reveals thought, time,
and energy.
THE DISTAFF
Florida State College for Women
There is very little art work, other than a few decora-
tive ornaments here and there. The cover is attractive but,
in our opinion, has no connection to the material beneath
it. The articles are pertinent, practical, and very read-
able. The short stories are racy and clever. And the
Department of "All Wool" is a riot! "And a Yard Wide"
is the review of three recent books being widely read by
college girls. We think that poetry is one of the best
features of THE DISTAFF, for it reveals superior crafts-
manship and feeling. Our suggestion is make the cover do
justice to the magazine.
MAKE YOUR CHRISTMAS GIFT
A LASTING ONE
from
SEARS, ROEBUCK & COMPANY
.227-229 N. Elm Street Next to 0. Henry Hotel
(Continued from page 5)
"Oh, Jane, how are you?" Mother's voice was happy.
"Come on in. I'm so glad to see you. We were just read-
ing to Anna," she went on. "She makes us read her the
Bible story every Christmas."
"Really?" asked Jane. "How quaint!"
Anna lifted her head quickly and looked in her father's
face. He looked tired: there were little wrinkles around
his mouth.
"So Anna still remembers The Forgotten Man," Jane
went on. "How naive! I didn't know children did that any-
more. I thought these modern children had even outgrown
Santa Claus."
Anna blushed.
A red-haired lady dressed in black smiled as she entered
with Anna's mother. Anna was almost dumped from his
lap as her father stood up. As they exchanged greetings,
she looked for their place in the book. Anna noticed that
the lady's eyes looked cold as steel, and she sat down
on a hassock by her father's chair.
"Oh, please, go on reading," Jane went on. "I love
these anachronisms. Especially on Christmas."
"What does that mean?" Anna wondered.
"No, I'm afraid we'll bore you," said her father.
"Oh, no, really," said Jane; "I haven't heard it since
I was two years old, I'm sure."
"Don't read it. Daddy," whispered Anna. Slie shut the
book in his hands and, after they had talked a few minutes,
slipped out of the room.
"I think she's ugly," Anna said to herself. She would
not go back into the room until after Jane had gone.
Then she sat down on the hassock again. Her mother
and father were talking. The sound of "Silent Night"
came faintly from the distance and became louder and
more distinct. Soon it was outside the window.
"Listen, the carollers!" Anna said.
They kept on talking.
"Listen, Mother — Daddy, don't you want to hear the
carollers?"
Singing "O Little Town of Bethlehem," the voices
faded. Anna strained to hear the last notes.
(Continued on page 23)
Page 17
Out of the
All Intcrprehitioii of Qirohihi Folk js Seen by Pciul Green
Page 18
Moist Earth
By MarMret Jones
T yp ON the hill in a big rambling farmhouse live
the white folks. After the cows are milked
and the horses and pigs are fed long fat ears of
corn, the white folks come out on the porch and
talk about the crops or the new litter of pigs.
Pale summer moonlight sifts through red maple
trees ; and except for the flutter of the chickens
going to roost, all is quiet. Soon fireflies alternate
their brightness across the narrow dirt road, and
a June-bug flies against the side of the house and
buzzes a circle on the porch floor. Then, not
abruptly, but slowly like a coil of wood smoke,
comes the sound of soft, doleful music from across
the hollow. "Down by the River" and "Nigger
Blues" float from a negro tenant house. Before
long the sound of a fiddle punctuates the monotony
of the singing voices. The white folks are tired
from plowing tobacco and hoeing corn. They pay
little attention to the music. "It's just old Abe
and his young'uns cutting up," perhaps they say.
Nothing more.
But in the low, mournful music, Paul Green has
heard a story; out of the pale, summer moonlight
he has woven drama. The brow-beaten negro, the
pain of Uncle Abe's rheumatism, the yearning of
the young blacks to own a Ford, the twisted super-
stitions— all these things Mr. Green has heard
in their chanted music. He says :
"My first memories are of negro ballads ring-
ing out by moonlight and the rich laughter of
the resting blacks, down by the river bottom."
And because Mr. Green feels the fire and the
drudgery of the negroes and the white tenant
farmers in his own veins, he writes about them.
Not artfully, not didactically, but out of the fresh
loam of the Carolina soil he draws them. Weaving
into the plays the superstitions and the twisted
philosophy of the North Carolina negro, cutting
with his pen into the life bread of the kind of
people that he has known, he paints life.
The opening of In Ab)'a]iam's Bosom rings true
with a common saying of the superstitious negro.
"Monkey walking in dis wood — Fall on Puny's
back 'bout th'ee o'clock, git um down. Hee-hee."
Without deep thought, the North Carolina negro
can nudge his brother, cutting tops at his side,
and point across the rows of corn to another negro
who seems tired and worn after a half day's work
in the hot September sun ; simply he can scratch
a shiny black head and grunt to his brother, "The
monkey is riding his back."
This is the by-play of subtle superstition which
becomes the entire background for other plays.
In The Man Who Died at Twelve O'clock, the
characters are caught up in the "signs of death."
When the young negro girl tells her father, Uncle
6
January, of the crowing of the "dominicker" hen,
the ringing of deathbells in her head, and the
moaning of the death hounds in the night. Uncle
January feels the black dirt piling over his dead
body. By blind superstitions and simple beliefs
the negroes chart their lives before them.
By using the ordinary habits and customs of
the North Carolina negro as a background, and
by using one outstanding or unusual incident as
a theme, Mr. Green brings forth a play. Religion
that comes in big revival meetings in the middle
of the summer to stir the blood and the faith of
the white man and the black is used by Mr. Green
in Unto Such Glory and in The Field God. Nor is
a southern negro black without his religion.
Negroes at big-meetings in the hottest part of
August; negroes sweating, moaning and singing
past twelve o'clock, past one o'clock; negroes
swaying and rolling their fat or skinny bodies
under the chant of a straight-backed preacher of
the "Lawd ;" negroes walking home tired and
exhausted, but laughing in the glory of their new-
found faith; negroes walking along dusty little
roads to dark clap-board houses — this is big-
meeting time in the south. Roosters crow the com-
ing of another day — a working day from dawn
to dark.
Paul Green uses a theme with an intensity,
perhaps an exaggeration, that makes his plays
rich and vital. In The Field God he uses the
intense theme of a man who has a deep-running
love for a young girl at the same time that he
must remain faithful to a fussy invalid wife. As
a background to this turmoil, there is the common-
place smell of the acrid burning of hog hair and
the sound of the bubble of "chittlings." Hog-
killing time in Carolina. ". . . Don't let the hair
set on that hog. That's it, scrape him, boys. Get
it off him while he's hot."
It would seem that Paul Green's plays do not
generally lend themselves to successful produc-
tion. His characters are often difficult to interpret
except by persons who have known the Carolina
people. His plays are often difficult in setting.
Possum hunts, hog-killing, and square dances do
not lend themselves well to most stages. Paul
Green seems to feel that the theater should be
made for the play, not the play for the theater.
Paul Green acknowledges the existence of a
black and white conflict in the south. At the same
time he demonstrates by the simple words of an
old negro woman that in most cases the conflict
of the black is a lethargy rather than a rebellion.
Mr. Green's treatment of the conflict is not
(Continued on page 23)
Page 19
Lcifta
'iirbiini hid dlniost forgotten those days at Corbin College until
Diana came as a perpetual reniinJer
M
[RS. Phillip Teasley Lawerence turned down
toward her garden. She swung along with
the easy grace of one who has walked in many
gardens. The diamond bracelets on her wrist
clicked in time with her steps.
Barbara Lawerence moved toward the two large
men who were lifting a heavy box from the back
of a delivery truck. The backs of their shirts were
dirty and marked with circles of perspiration.
"Did my husband send you?"
"Yes, Ma'm. He sent this piece out from our
shop."
"Oh, yes, of course." What had Phillip bought
for the place this time?
"Here she is, Ma'm." The greasy man snatched
the last nail from the crate. "Diana, they call her.
And lady, she's one of the best." The man patted
the figure affectionately as he unwrapped pieces
of burlap. "Some number. The only Reilley orig-
inal in town, and they's plenty hard to get."
"The gardener will show you where to put it —
on the mound in the rock garden."
A seven thousand dollar original. Barbara
leaned again.st the elm tree and gazed at the
figure, but what was she looking for? The figure,
firm on its pedestal, was exquisite ; and the expres-
sion on that marble face, strong, yet human, was
out of place here in the garden. Barbara wondered
what Diana would say if some celestial power
were to put words into that stone mouth. Diana —
Diana of the chase.
And with Diana, Lynn Caxton came again into
Barbara's mind.
Barbara stared at the ground as she walked up
the green slope to the terrace. She tapped a
cigarette on a red-lacquered nail and then sat
down without lighting it. A cold white line en-
circled the crimson perfection of her mouth.
Barbara's fingernails dug into imaginary circles
on the arm of her chair. Lynn Caxton had always
wanted to do Diana. She had filled her sketch
books with the woodland goddess — Diana with
her bow, Diana at the bath. The girls used to
tease Lynn about being the goddess of chastity
herself.
Barbara leaned back and closed her eyes ; she
fought back memories of Lynn and herself, but
she remembered. She remembered the night that
Lynn met Scott Reilley.
Lynn and Barbara had gone to Corbin College.
They both lived in Kinley Hall for four years ;
they moved in the same set. A dull pain around
her heart came to Barbara along with the remem-
brance of those last months at school.
Scott Pieilley was coming down from Carnegie
Tech to go to the Senior Ball with Barbara. The
girls in Kinley knew Scott by the smiling picture
on Barbara's dresser, by the square gray envelopes
that were in Barbara's box every day, and by the
candy or flowers that came every week or two.
The day Scott's picture came, the girls crowded
into Barbara's room to watch her open it. They
gasped at the handsome boy smiling out of the
white leather frame.
Lynn took the picture, held it at arm's length,
and said, "Barbai'a, he's simply beautiful! I'm
going to snare him the very first chance I get."
Barbara smiled, "You couldn't if you wanted
to." The girls all laughed; Barbara had laughed
too.
The night of the Senior Ball, Lynn had worked
in the art lab until after seven o'clock. She was
trying to finish two pieces for the National exhibit.
As Barbara dressed, she noticed Lynn hurrying
around the hall powdering backs, fastening neck-
laces. She was almost late for the dance.
Barbara had applied her last touch of violet
eye shadow and was clipping a diamond star in
her black curls when Lynn came into the room.
Why, she had on scarcely any make-up, and her
dress was as simple as a skirt and sweater; but
she was fresh and cool — vibj-antli/ alive. They
pinned on each other's flowers, Barbara's three
speckled orchids and Lynn's three gardenias.
"Lynn, your flowers are lovely; so like you."
Barbara was dancing when she saw one of
the boys lead Scott out on the floor and introduce
him to Lynn. In the middle of a sentence about the
graduation dance at Tech, Barbara stopped talk-
ing to her partner. Lynn and Scott danced beau-
tifully together. Watching them talking as they
danced, Barbara's breath came short. A strange
voice deep inside shouted to her, "Barbara, what
is happening? Why don't you stop it? Can't you
do something about it?" She couldn't understand
its meaning; she was confused just then. In a
few minutes they danced out of sight.
After the dance Barbara and Scott talked over
tall, cool limeades at the Soda Bar.
Barbara tapped a cigarette on a jeweled case
and lit it after a second or two. She turned sud-
denly to Scott and said, "What do you think of
Lynn?"
Scott flipped a gold charm on Barbara's brace-
let. "Good girl."
"You seemed to think so." Barbara's laugh
sounded high and shrill even in the crowded
room. "By the way, just where were you that
(Continued on page 22)
"By Mary Frances Bell
Page 20
Freshinan Page Of The Quarter
MURPHY MARIONETTES. INCORPORATED
^y Nancy Murphy
Tt all started with a little piece of wood not
more than three inches long and less than an
inch thick. I was sitting in the kitchen with the
piece of balsa in my hand and several knives and
razor blades before me. The wood looked as if
someone had been trying to whittle something
out of it : the cut on my thumb gave me a clue.
I had, indeed, been trying to make a model air-
plane, but all my plans had come to nought. I
definitely could not whittle. When my father came
into the room, I handed him the little piece of
balsa and asked him to make a little sphere of it.
Although I did not know it at the time, once I
had that little ball of wood in my hand, Murphy
Maiionettes, Incorporated, was born. The little
ball of wood looked like a head ; very well, I would
make a head out of it.
About supper time, I produced "Archibald
Percival," whom one could recognize as my piece
of wood plus a black cotton wig, huge ink eyes,
wooden nose and ears, mercurochome mouth, and
a huge handle-bar mustache. It was an amusing
face, but the face was no good without the body.
I descended upon my father, and again it was
the same request that he whittle a ball of wood,
this time slightly larger. My father's curiosity
was aroused. What did I want with another one?
"I'm making a marionette," I announced, and
my fate was sealed.
"Archie" was not a lovely figure. His joints
were composed of screw eyes and string, which
made him very double-jointed. But he was just
the beginning. Soon I had produced a lady, a
pronounced redhead — shoe polish and mercuro-
chome were my only dyes — who was duly chris-
tened "Physostega." She remained the only lady
in the whole company — excluding myself. After
"Physostega" came "Butch," who was our lead-
ing man. "Butch" had yellow powderpuff hair
and a manly physique. My father was tired of
whittling spheres and refused to do more than
cut a few corners off" "Butch's" torso.
These three were my own creations. My stock
company was soon increased, however, by "pro-
fessionals." A neighbor bought a small plaster
of Paris marionette which she promised to turn
over to Murphy Marionettes, Incorporated, if I
would give some performances for her first grade
pupils. Thus we acquired "Sambo," the only col-
ored member of my troupe. Doing some Five-
and-Ten shopping, I ran across "Punch," the
clown, who was destined to become a box-office
attraction.
One day my neighbor asked me to give a per-
formance for a group of her first-graders' par-
ents. This was something of a command per-
formance, for she was an important stockholder.
I agreed to give the pei-formance although I did
not have a stage prepared, and none of my
actors had strings.
Making a stage on short notice was quite a
task. A pasteboard box was cut up to form a tem-
porary substitute. The play I decided to give was
my own version of Parson Weem's fable, which
is better known as "George Washington and the
Cherry Tree." As this was an historical epic, it
took quite a bit of preparation.
"Physostega" was, of course, Mrs. Washington.
As I doubted that the original Madam Washing-
ton had auburn hair, "Physostega's" red wig was
covered with cotton. The costume was made by
sewing a yard of white lace on a doll dress.
"George," alias "Butch," was dressed in knee
breeches and a long-tailed coat. A little iron
hatchet completed the efl'ect. The immortal tree
was a spray from a Christmas centerpiece. After
one or two dress rehearsals, I announced that we
were ready; and with all the confidence of an
amateur, I believed it.
I have good reason to think that the audience
will never forget that cardboard stage, those
six-inch marionettes, or that performance. Mrs.
Washington sat stiffly in her chair. Not once did
she move her hands or show the slightest sign
of animation. George, in addition to his famous
misdemeanor, had evidently been touching his
father's bottles. He staggered into the room back-
wards, one shoulder very much bent by the weight
of his hatchet ; and swinging back and forth,
he repeated his famous lines. Not until the cur-
tain was about to fall did he assume a respectful
posture.
Nor were things going so smoothly backstage.
The janitor had been pressed into service as
electrician and stage manager. His combined
offices included holding a light bulb over the
stage proper and holding up the front of the
"theater," which was threatening to collapse
upon the actors. My neighbor filled the office of
general assistant by holding up the blue cordu-
roy curtains and making herself generally use-
ful. Shortly after the performance, my cardboard
stage collapsed from the strain ; and I threw it
away, resolving to build a new one.
It was more than a year, however, before the
new stage was built ; and it, too, was something
of an accident. Prowling about our cellar one day,
I discovered several two-inch pine strips, the
remains of the Woman's Club Festival float.
Deciding that the women were through with their
lumber, I annexed it for my own purpose, that of
building the Little Globe Theater. Eventually, the
stage, like Topsy, just grew until I was alarmed
at its ungainly proportions ; but I solved the prob-
lem of wheeling it about by constructing a rickety
roller base.
(Continued on page 25)
Page 21
Diana
(Continued from page 20)
half hour or more when you didn't dance with
your own date?" Carefully avoiding Scott's eyes,
Barbara traced circles with her finger.
"Now, Duchess, don't turn green on me. I just
mentioned that model reservoir that I have to
do tomorrow and said that I didn't know how
to put the plaster of Paris on my frames." He
ground his cigarette in a green tray. "Look, we
sat down, over by the chaperons, and she told
me how to do it. Then we talked about sculp-
ture— that's her line."
"O.K., darling. I didn't mean to give you the
third degree ; I'll take your word for it." She
touched his sleeve lightly. "It really doesn't mat-
ter anyhow. But just what do you mean about
that model something-or-other?"
"Gee, honey, thought I told you in a letter. I've
got to hand it in by Monday, so I can't possibly
stay over tomorrow. I haven't even started the
thing yet. I'm driving back tonight as soon as I
take you in."
Barbara's breath caught in her throat. "But,
Scott, you never have gone back from a dance
on Saturday night. And I have plans for us
tomorrow. Can't you do it after you get back
tomorrow night?"
"Sorry, darling, but it counts half my final ; and
you do want me to graduate, don't you?" He kissed
her lightly on the cheek.
They walked back to the dormitory in silence.
They passed a dozen or more couples getting in
from the dance loud and happy. Barbara turned
a button on her evening coat. She was trying to
think of something to say — about the graduation
ball, about that model thing; no words would
come. The late bell rang just as they stepped up
on the terrace. Scott shoved Barbara in the door
just before the hostess closed it, and he yelled,
"G'night, Duchess. See you soon."
Three or four days had passed since the dance,
and Barbara had not received a single letter from
Scott, not even a note saying that he had enjoyed
the dance. Barbara walked down the hall to Lynn's
room.
"Lynn, do you have a stamp that I could bor-
row? I've just got to have one tonight."
"Sure, there are some in my writing case."
On top of a gray envelope was the book of
stamps. Barbara paused for an endless second,
tore one out, and snapped the case shut. She
looked up to see Lynn looking at her rather curi-
ously. Hate for Lynn flamed up in Barbara. Its
choking fingers clutched at her throat. Barbara
fought for words.
"I'll bring it back tomorrow when I get some.
Thanks."
A hundred times that night Barbara told herself
that dozens of people used stationery like Scott's.
She hadn't seen the address, and even if she
hadn't heard from him since the dance, what of
it? He would probably give her a ring for gradu-
ation, and then they would have an autumn wed-
ding. Her friends and her family's friends would
accept him into their circle. She would help him
to get big engineering contracts.
Barbara had much to offer him. She was beautiful —
well, strilcing at the least; slie had lovely clothes and knew
how to wear them; she was one of the wealthiest girls
in the state. She was a young moderne who tallied bril-
liantly— on things other than art and sculpture.
Her spirits brightened. She began to hum a little tune-
less song. Yes, Scott was probably terribly busy here the
last months of school. Besides, didn't she owe him a
letter?
The following Saturday, all the girls were huri-ying
Lynn so she wouldn't miss the bus.
Fran Taylor said, "Lynn, where does your grandmother
live anyway?"
"Caxtonville. The town was named for my grandfather."
"Where on earth is it?"
"About ten miles from Dalton."
The bus drove up and stopped. As Lynn stepped inside,
Barbara called, "Bring us some of your grandmother's
cookies, darling."
Dalton. Ten miles from Dalton. Why, Scott lived in
Dalton. But Scott was at school. He said that he had to
study.
Barbara called Scott that night. His roommate took the
call.
"Hello, Barbara ? . . . Sorry, but he took a bunch of boys
into town tonight. If it's important, I'll have him call
you when he gets in, but it'll be pretty late."
"Oh, I just wanted to talk to him. Tell him a friend of
his sends her love."
Bill was the kind of boy who would tell his roommate's
girl the right answers for a sudden call. Wasn't he?
Barbara went to her room, threw herself on the bed, and
buried her hot face in the pillow.
The week-end after Lynn had visited her grandmother
was the one that Barbara had been planning for months.
(Continued on page 28)
Tennis Racquets
GoU Clubs
ODEll'S
Greensboro, N. C.
The Home of All Sports Equipment
327 South Elm
Walton's College Shoe Rebuilders
Christmas is drawing near! Don't forget
to have your shoes rebuilt before return-
ing home for the holidays.
409 TATE STREET
T. W. Walton J. R. Fogleman
Page 22
SlknL TUqhL
(Continued from page 17)
Her father turned on the radio. "Christmas," the
announcer was saying, "almost two thousand years since
the angels sang, 'Peace on earth, good will to men.'
But the fighting in Europe did not pause on the anni-
versary of the birth of the Prince of Peace. It is reported
that the Germans advanced . . ."
"Aren't we going up street?" Anna's mother asked.
"It's getting late. I'm afraid we won't see much if we
don't hurry."
"Well, let me hear the news," her father said. "Then
we'll go."
In a little while they drove up street. Anna looked at
the Christmas decorations. Betty had been right; they
looked old. The street lights threw a yellowish color
across everything. Few people were on the street.
They got out of the car. A stooped, black little figure
came up to them. "Won't you buy a poinsettia?" she
asked.
"No, I don't think so tonight."
The street light glared in the figure's face, showing
it thin and wrinkled. Anna looked up at her Mother's
face in the yellow light. It looked wrinkled, too.
"You certainly miss the Christmas lights, don't you?"
her mother said. "Everything used to look red and green,
and tonight everything looks yellowish."
The people on the street thinned. A group of boys
looked in a window. They said nothing.
The street was silent. Only a few cars passed.
"Everybody must have left town for the holidays," her
father said.
"It's late," Mother said.
"Let's go up to the store on the corner," said Anna.
"The window's so pretty. It's a little boy's Christmas
dream."
They walked to the store and looked. A small boy sat
dreaming. Around him were trains, wagons, balls, and
tov pistols. In the background sat a man chained.
"Oh, I didn't see that before," Anna said. "Has it been
like that all the time?"
"I don't guess they changed it just for tonight," her
mother said.
They looked in a few more windows and walked back
to the car.
A boy, a bundle of rags, sat on the running board of
their car. "Gimme a dime." His head was flung back, and
he stared up into her father's face.
Her father reached into his pocket and put something
into the boy's hand.
"Couldn't we take him home?" whispered Anna.
"There are so many like him," said Mother.
Her father started the car. On the way home, Anna
looked at the yellow faces of the models in the store
windows; there was no one else there, unless in the black
shadows.
"Anna's sleepy tonight," her mother said; "she's so
quiet."
Anna still said nothing. Her mother's arm came around
her until they were home.
The car door banged after they got out.
"The stars are bright tonight. Look at them twinkle!"
her father said as they walked in.
"They're almost laughing at us," said her mother.
"Thev always seem so cold and far off' on a night like
this. Look, Anna's almost walking in her sleep. We've got
to get her to bed."
"I'll carry her," her father said.
Anna felt his arms grasp her body firmly and carry
her to her bed. The tan blanket was tucked up against
her chin. She closed her eyes. She felt them kiss her,
"Good-night," and heard them leave the room. It was
dark in her room now, and she was alone. Above her and
her room, she thought, the stars still softly laughed.
The End
Out of the Moist Earth
(Continued from page 19)
the emotional rebellion of Bigger in Richard Wright's
Native Sou. Paul Green speaks softly and slowly of a
more prevalent feeling in the south. In White Dresses an
old negro woman sums up her resignation to the over-
whelming forces of the white folks by saying to her
granddaughter, "I knows yo' .feelings, chile, but you's got
to smother 'em in, you's got to smother 'em in."
And Paul Green writes, and there is joviality. The black
man with gingham patches in the knees of his faded over-
alls can shake from stooping shoulders the pain of hoe-
ing endless rows of tobacco, can wipe from red, knotty
hands the calluses made by the hoe, can enjoy the warm
June night. In The Woods Colt, Mr. Green tells of the old
neighborhood square dance.
"Square dances and breakdowns they were. Aih,
them was great times, plenty of cider and brandy
and the fiddles going, swing yer pardner, promenade.
Sashay, it was, salute yer lady, and music beat the
band. All night long we'd go it till we'd wear our
shoes clear through, and then back home in time fer
breakfast, tired down and happy and ready to pull
fodder all the whole day."
Nor are possum hunts concerned only with possums to
the ragged black men and the white tenants who go
hunting on frosty-clear winter nights. Ghostly tales, dead
men, and "hanted" swamps mingle with the barking of
the hound dogs. In The Possum Hunt, Mr. Green scai'es up
many more North Carolina apparitions than bristling
possums.
The importance of a Saturday night is not over-looked
or lightly passed by the seeing eye of Mr. Green. Cranking
up old cars to go to nearby towns, taking baths in big
tin washing-tubs, making big freezers of home-made ice
cream — farmers are no longer tired because it is Saturday
night. In the introduction to Saturday Night, Mr. Green
says:
"If the crops are not too pushing, the farmers
usually end their week's work at Saturday noon. After
dinner you will find them congregated in the neigh-
boring village, buying rations, swapping news,
politics, and sometimes religion until evening comes.
The boys have gathered over at the old-field baseball
diamond where with run and shout and a little cuss-
ing they play their hearts out till darkness drives
them home, perished for water and with the seat
of their trousers dragging the ground. And if times
are not too hard the old man will return with ice and
vanilla flavoring to make cream for the children.
And everybody will have some fun between the heat
of the fields behind and the loneliness of Sunday
coming on."
It is with a deft hand that Mr. Green handles the
dialogue in his plays. With a few, curt words he gives
a meaning and a feeling to a character. Men of the soil do
Page 23
not waste needless words. In Saturday Night throe men
sit on a porch, watch the summer moonlight sweep across
cotton fields to tall pine trees, and talk about life and
death,
"Lucas: Sixty years is a long time to live.
Jones: Uh-uh, now, always think of something.
Day: Long, and not so long.
Jones: Long one way, not so long another."
Mr. Green does not ignore that the black man's exist-
ence is a problem in the south; but he chooses to portray
the negro as an individual, not as a social problem. "Doubt-
less," he says, "readers of these plays will object that
they are not generally representative of the Negro race.
They are not meant to be. Specifically, the chief concern
here is with the more tragic and uneasy side of the Negro
life as it has exhibited itself to my notice through a
number of years on or near a single farm."
And so Paul Green goes back to the moist earth, back
to the clapboard houses and patched ragged overalls,
back to life — sordid, sensuous, earthy, or tragic as he
may have found it. Out of the moist earth he brings the
sweaty bodies, the indecent jokes, and the bent shoulders
of Carolina folk.
The End
KHAKI
"All the News All the Time"
WBIG
•
Greensboro, N. C.
(Continued from page 10)
occasional flame of a match, and the red pin-prick
of a cigarette glowed in the darkness.
I have seen the Service Club filled with soldiers too.
The Club was noisy and smoke-filled. For the greater
part, the hostesses were old gray-headed women. Some
of them were friendly in a motherly sort of way. Others
were friendly in the obvious martyr-to-a-cause attitude.
I have seen a soldier sitting at a desk in the corner
writing to his girl back home. He, too, was listless and
unanimated.
I have seen soldiers wandering aimlessly about on
the campus of this college. I have seen one in particular,
a fine looking boy, leaning against a tree looking thought-
fully at the girls passing by. I had wondered what was
in his mind — if perhaps he was remembering someone far
away. These boys cannot even dare to think of the future
that lies far ahead. They cannot think of a reliable job,
of any property that they can call their own, of a home
or a family. In such a life there is little incentive, little
encouragement, little hope, but only an increasing sense
of futility and disillusionment.
Autumn, 1941, is a difficult time, an unnerving time,
a hopeless time to be growing up and to be realizing that
the normal di-eams of youth may prove empty and
worthless.
There is no immediate solution to this tragedy, no
way that this situation can be remedied. We, as the hope
of America and of all the world — the builders of tomor-
row, can only pray sincerely as Lincoln once prayed "that
this scourge of war may speedily pass away," and that
the young men of America may return to the useful hopes,
the normal dreams, the vibrant well-laid plans of far-
sighted youth.
TO LOOK YOUR BEST AT CHRISTMAS
VISIT
HOSE, LINGERIE, SUITS, DRESSES
216 S-outh Elm Street
The
Jefferson Roof R estaurant
"on Top of the Town"
DELIGHTFUL
ATMOSPHERE
EXCELLENT
FOOD
AND BRASS BUTTONS
(Continued from page 11)
"Funny," he said; "here we are — and actually getting
a big kick out of it!"
"Getting a kick out of what?" I asked.
"The Army. When we came here, we thought we were
coming to a desolate camp where we'd spend lonely nights
looking at the four walls of our barracks, go to bed, get
up in the morning for a rough day's work, and return
to our four walls. But, look. Every man in here is engaged
in some activity. There are Paul and Everardo going up
the stairs to the library where they'll spend a couple of
hours reading Russian history. Paul is Polish; Everardo is
Italian: the best of buddies. There are Joe and Art con-
centrating their energies on a game of ping-pong. Joe's
girl is 'restricted to quarters' tonight." He paused; then
continued.
"See that jerk taking dancing lessons from Ernie ? He
told me he'd gained twenty pounds since he was 'selected'
for service. He said he had pouches under his eyes that
would run a close second to any subterranean passage!
And he couldn't dance a half-step before he entered. Look!
Willie is settling himself at the piano for another fling
at 'Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2'. And see how those fellows
are occupied . . ."
Page 24
t followed his glance up towards the balcony which
borders the upstairs section. We saw boys intently writ-
ing letters and reading magazines. Occasionally, however,
they paused to flash a word of greeting to their comrades
downstairs.
I left Boy to talk to a lean and lanky individual who
introduced his parents and his fiancee. They had come
down from Massachusetts to spend the ' week-end. They
were staying in the Guest House which is provided for
the friends and parents of service men.
Noticing a short and fat and bald man who had come
in the front door and was standing in the vestibule, I
welcomed him and asked him whom his son was.
"Mine son — he iss in de hospital. He iss vaitin' for a
C. D. D. [certificate of disability for discharge], und I am
stayin' heah so dot I kin take him beck to Pennsylvania
vif me." (Later I found out that the boy had pen planus —
flat tootsies!)
At eleven the boys began to leave, coming one by one
or in a group to bid their hostess goodnight. Each grinned
and said, "Thanks for an evening — like the ones back
home."
Taps was sounding ....
"Day is done;
Gone the sun
From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky.
All is well; safely rest.
God is nigh."
Night — and silence once more — and then another dawn
• — an awakening to hard work — another night — and an-
other. Yes, we admit, there is a peculiar solemnity in the
Army; but there is also a happiness — a happiness of
association, of comradeship, of cooperation, of discipline,
of hardness and fitness of the physical self, of alertness
of the mental and moral faculties. For the defense of their
country — soldiers happy, well-rounded; and as before,
planning and hoping and forever dreaming!
The End
mar school; and so many requests were filed by private
parties that I was forced to produce more plays. As the
audience ranged in ages from the first-graders to the
members of the Parent-Teacher's Association, the task
of making these plays simple, but interesting was diffi-
cult indeed. No play enjoyed more universal favor, how-
ever, than my simplest one act "Sambo Goes to the Circus,"
although "Sambo Gets A Scare" was given equal rating
by many.
The season came to an end when school closed, and I
began to plan for college. Our little company was forced
to disband. The stage and all the "dolls" except the
Colonel, I left with the Dramatic Arts Department. As
I felt the cares of my position as manager of our com-
pany slip from my shoulders, I was rather glad. I thought
it a relief to be through working with marionettes.
But now I am not so sure that I am through playing
with dolls. Before I left for college, I had to overcome
the temptation to pack the Colonel and bring him along.
I have a strange hankering to see a marionette club here
on the campus. For, after all, if one girl could do so
much with a little piece of wood, what could a dozen do
with a tub of plaster of Paris?
The End
On Your Shopping Tour Make
Wilkerson-McFalls Drug Company
Your Rendezvous
FOUNTAIN SERVICE
PRESCRIPTIONS
CANDIES
MAGAZINES
Corner of Elm at Gaston
Murphy Marionettes
(Continued from page 21)
Meantime, several new actors had joined Murphy
Marionettes, Incorporated. "Snowball," the white elephant,
and "Tarbucket," the black donkey, owed their careers
as actors to the mechanic for the county schools. If
he had not fastened a length of copper wire in each of
their wooden bodies, "Snowball" and "Tarbucket" would
be plain toy animals today.
Our new "human" actor was a gift from the patron
for whom we had presented "George Washington and the
Cherry Tree." As he was much larger than the other
actors, our new member could be used only for solo acts;
but this slight disadvantage was disregarded because he
was a real marionette and not one of my none-too-
successful attempts. A white-haired old riding master,
he bore the name of "Colonel Chewing Gum."
With my new actors, my new stage, and a little prac-
tice, I was soon able to produce some of my own plays.
From the first time we presented "Sambo Goes to the
Circus" for the first grade until the end of our career.
Murphy Marionettes, Incorporated, was a success. Per-
formances were requested by every grade in the gram-
Select Gifts of Distinction
at
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226 South Elm Street
i ^
Headquarters for
CHRISTMAS GIFTS
for the entire family
230 South Elm
Phone 4836
Page 25
Here in Dark Stone
(Continued from page 14)
Accusations were poured on the lovely head of Anne
Pudeator; and at last on September 20, 1692, she came
to the trial before Judge Sewall and Justices Hawthorne
and Corwin.
Sound: Crou-d noises: Fades up. Hold a second. Fade
out.
1st Man: and we found her there in the woods.
Sewall: Yes, yes, go on!
1st Man: At first she babbled in a strange tongue and
acted as one possessed.
Sewall: Yes?
1st Man : Then we spoke to her, and she finally stopped
shaking and seemed to understand what we were saying.
Hawthorne: Come on, fool; get on with the story. Stop
this dabbling.
1st Man : Yes, yes, your Honor. She cried out that the
Devil possessed her and would not let her go. She said that
she would not come back, but that she would go with the
Devil. Then she suddenly changed and said that she would
return to Salem.
Sewall: Is that all?
1st Man : That is all, your honor.
Sewall: You may take your place in the court room.
Sound: Crowd noises: Murmuring : Fade tiTp. Hold for
a few seconds: Fade down for:
Sewall: Call Theresa Wainright to the stand.
Man: Theresa Wainright! Do you swear to tell the
truth, the whole truth, as God is your witness?
Theresa: I swear.
Sewall: Tell us your story, Theresa.
Theresa: Well, from the first day that she came, I
knew that there was something wrong with her — the
way she talked, the strange tongues ; and then her voice,
so low, so alive, goinsr on and on, always in the same
tone.
You Are ALWAYS WELCOME
at
Greensboro's Outstanding Drug Store
HOSE
BAGS
SHOES
SLIPPERS
For CHRISTMAS CHEER
Pollock's Shoes
"A Southern Institution"
102 South Elm Street
Sewall: Please get on with your story, Theresa.
Theresa: Yes, sir. Well, one night I {Start to fade
from mike) came to her room, and I saw her —
Narrator: Many a witness was called. People were
interested in this strange girl who had suddenly taken
up her life there. Some few knew that Anne Pudeator
could not be a witch. They knew that she was only a poor
girl, hopelessly lost. They understood that she could
remember nothing of her past — an amnesia victim. But
while they forgave her for her mysterious ways, they
could not testify in her behalf lest they themselves be
accused of witchery. A few believers could not save her
head in that flood of madness. The judges had to hurry;
there were more witches to be tried at Salem that day.
The jury deliberated for only a few minutes, and then
filed back into the court room. (Start to fade from mike.)
Judge Sewall asked each one for his verdict.
1st Man: Guilty.
2nd Man: Guilty!
1st Woman: Guilty!
2nd Woman: Guilty!
3rd Woman: Guilty!
3rd Man : Guilty !
4th Woman: Guilty!
4th Man: Guilty!
5th Man: Guilty!
6th Man: Guilty!
5th Man: Guilty!
6th Man: Guilty!
1st Man: Guilty.
Music: Fast ivhirling. Lasts for a feiv seconds. Stops.
Narrator: On September 22, the lifeless bodies of
Martha Corey, Mary Easty, Alice Parker, Margaret Scot,
Willmet Reed, Samuel Wardwell, Mary Parker, and Anne
Pudeator were taken from the tree where they were hung
and thrown into a common grave there on Gallows Hill
in Salem.
Music: Ein Feiste Burg. Hold for a feiv seconds. Fade
out for:
Narrator: Time passed quickly in Salem Village. Anne
Pudeator was the last witch to be hanged in the New
World. Salem went on her usual round of events once
more, but the dark stain left on the hearts of the people
of Salem could not be erased so quickly. A few years after
Anne was hanged, Judge Sewall appeared in the pulpit
of the old South Church in Boston. The Judge had aged
a great deal in the few years since 1692. {Start to fade
from mike.) In an old and shaking voice he announced
to all the world that —
S. Sewall: I, Samuel Sewall, sensible of the reiterated
strokes of God upon myself and my family, desire to take
the blame and shame of the witchcraft trials, asking
pardon of men, and especially desiring prayers that God
will pardon this sin {Start to fade from mike) and all
other sins.
Music: Holds for a few seconds. Fade out for:
Narrator: Sewall 's confession was all very well; but
nineteen innocent men and women — nineteen created in
the glory and image of God — were dead, murdered, before
their just time.
The people of Salem who had denied the existence of
witchcraft had not forgotten; and those who had believed
in witches and wizards and the Devil had forgotten even
less. But they were dead. Anne Pudeator had been in
the Gallows Hill Pit for eleven years now. She had no
family to mourn her; only the ties of love that bound her
Page 26
to Patience. Patience^ too, had grown old. Young she was
in years, but her face was lined, and her hair was grey.
She had not forgotten.
Cotton Mather died at last. And the fire and brimstone
sermons went to their grave with his body.
From the hills of Western Massachusetts, a new
preacher came to take his place. He was a kind and
gentle man, well liked by all who lived in Salem. He must
have heard all the witch stories again and again, but one
day he visited Patience in her home. They talked of many
things that day, and among the stories that Patience told
was that of Anne Pudeator. The minister {Fade from
mike) listened quietly while Patience told her story.
Patience: (Brokenly) I tried everything to save her,
but they were all so sure. She rode in the witches cart
with all the others. She didn't say a word, but she looked
pale and frightened! I left then, for I couldn't see the rest.
They say that she is buried with the others on Gallows
Hill.
Minister: Pudeator — You said that she talked slowly?
Patience: Yes, she spoke strangely. No tone — just
words, but I hung on evei'y word she spoke.
Minister: Yes — Yes. I did too! Yes!!! I remember, now.
Music: Wild, savage Indian music. Uj) for a fete
viinutes. Down to background for:
Minister : I remember that one day, while hunting many
years ago, I came upon an Indian festival. I saw the
red men dancing around their fire. I went closer. It was
evening, and the long shadows of the leaping Indians kept
time with the throbbing drums. I crept nearer to the
fire and lay very still. It was the harvest of the year,
and the Indians were celebrating the feast of the Leaf
Falling Moon. There had been a wedding that day.
Music: Up for a feiv seconds. Fade to background for:
Minister: I saw the bride enthroned on a high pedestal
covered with bear and deer skins. Her hair was black
and long, and I thought at first that she was an Indian;
but as I came closer, I was amazed to see that she was
white.
Music: Fades out on "was amazed to see that she was
white."
Minister: I never learned her name, but later I did
learn that this white bride of an Indian had been cap-
tured as a young child and reared among the Indians.
She could remember nothing of her former life in the
white settlement. She was conscious that something had
happened in time past, but she knew not what. I shall
never forget that night I saw her as the bride of a tall
Indian.
Music: Gaij alive. Hold for a few seconds. Fade down
for:
Minister: Her groom in ceremonial dress looked wild,
like a strange devil! (Fade from mike). The bride must
have been . . .
Music: Gay music up to full. Hold for a fetv seconds.
Fade to background for:
Narrator: And so the strange story of Anne Pudeator's
Indian marriage became known. The people of Salem will
never forget her — the last witch. With Hawthorne they
believe that:
Hawthorne: Here in dark funereal stone should rise
another monument, sadly commemorative of the errors of
an early race, and not to be cast down while the human
heart has one infirmity that may result in crime!
The New Year rings in the
Fiftieth Anniversary
of our college.
CORADDI will celebrate
the occasion with
a special issue.
Justify yourself and your talent:
Submit to the
editor of CORADDI
a poem,
or a play,
or an essay,
or a story
interpreting what the
Woman's College of the University
of North Carolina
means to
YOU TODAY.
SANDWICHES OF ALL KINDS
PLATE LUNCHES
At
THE GRIll
Phones 7.306—9465 Fred Showfety, Prop.
Take
Your CHRISTMAS LIST
BELK'S
To
Greens
joro's Modern Department
+ +
JEFFERSON SQUARE
Store
Page 27
Diana
(Continued from page 22)
Slie and Scott were going to drive to Washington. Again
and again throughout these last weeks, Barbara had said
to herself, "I'll have him to myself this week-end. After
this week-end everything will be all right."
Wednesday Fran brought a telegram for Barbara.
IMPOSSIBLE TO MAKE TRIP THIS WEEK-END.
LETTER FOLLOWS. LOVE— SCOTT.
Barbara wasn't quite sure about what followed that
week-end. She couldn't remember just what had happened.
Hot tears ran down Barbara's cheeks when she read the
last of Scott's letter, even though she didn't realize its
meaning until months later.
". . . Duchess, now don't get any wrong ideas about
my wanting my pin back. It's just that I know I don't
love you in the way I thought I did. I don't think it
would be fair to either of us if I didn't tell you the
truth and say that we should call it quits.
"I'll always remember you as one of the swellest
girls that I have ever known, and I can still count you
as one of my best friends, can't I ? I hope so.
"Best wishes for graduation.
"As ever,
"Scott."
Fran Taylor came into the room and said, "What on
earth? You look horrible!"
"Scott just kicked me." Barbara turned suddenly toward
Fran. "So he wants his pin back, does he? Well, he'll never
get it! Not for any other girl to wear!" Her body trembled;
yet she was not crying.
Fran was wide-eyed. "Are you going to keep it?"
"Keep it? I wouldn't keep it if it were the crown jewels
of England!" Barbara fumbled with its catch, yanked it
off her sweater, and flung it on the bed where Fran was
sitting. "I never want to touch it again! Fran, throw it
down the drain pipe — anywhere where I'll never see it
again!"
The day before her graduation, Barbara was packing
in her room. The girls had gone into Lynn's room to
watch her open a tiny special delivery package.
In a few minutes Fran came into Barbara's room,
sprawled out on the bed, and watched Barbara brush her
hair. "Guess what?" she said, lighting a cigarette. "Scott
just sent Lynn the cutest little platinum watch that you
ever saw. And do you know what she did? S'he cried like
an idiot. What do you make of that?"
Barbara brushed her hair with long, deliberate strokes.
The bristles dug into her scalp. "Sables come next, my
dear," she said and threw the brush on the dresser.
The following August, Barbara received an invitation to
Scott's and Lynn's wedding. She sent them a silver vase
and her wishes for their happiness.
Barbara looked up suddenly to see Phillip standing
beside her. She raised a cheek for him to kiss.
"I finished that abstract for Mrs. Barkesdale this after-
noon, but she probably won't like it." He sat on the arm
of his wife's chair and put her hand in his. "Did the foun-
tain come?"
"Yes, a little while ago. You couldn't have given me any-
thing I would have liked better. Shall we go down to see
it?"
Together they strolled toward the garden, Barbara tall
and cool.
A hedge of lilacs bloomed just behind the rock garden
where the figure stood. Tiny streams of water glanced
up and across Diana's legs and ran down over the pink
and lavender verbena at her feet. Diana's white skin
shone in the late afternoon sun.
Phillip said, "You know, I'm going to try my hand at
this sort of thing some day. There's really nothing in
painting any more."
Barbara looked at the vacant stare in his eyes; she saw
the fanciful thoughts in his mind — wishes that, like his
paintings, would never mature. He would chisel blocks of
marble for a few months, and then she would tell James
to move them out of sight.
He spoke again. "You know, that Reilley woman's really
got something, hasn't she?"
Barbara reached up to touch Diana's hand. The diamonds
on Barbara's arm caught a thousand little red and blue
lights from the sun. The bracelets clinked against the cool
marble.
She lifted her shoulders, smiled at her husband, and
said, "Yes, that Reilley woman's really got something."'
The End
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Sr JOHN
STUDIO
DISTINCTIVE PORTRAITS
Reasonably Priced
In BELK'S DEPARTMENT STORE
Page 28
®l|p Nattmtg
(St. Luke, II, 1-20)
1. And it came to pass in those days that there went
out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world
should be taxed.
2. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was
Governor of Syi'ia.)
3. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own
city.
4. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the
city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David,
which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house
and lineage of David.)
5. To be taxed with Mary, his espoused wife, being
great with child.
6. And so it was, that, while they were there, the
days were accomplished that she should be delivered.
7. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped
him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger;
because there was no room for them in the inn.
8. And there were in the same country shepherds
abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by
night.
9. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and
the glory of the Lord shone round about them : and they
were sore afraid.
10. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for,
behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall
be to all people.
11. For unto you is born this day in the city of David
a Saviour which is Christ the Lord.
12. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find
the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
13. And suddenly there was with the angel a multi-
tude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying,
14. Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace,
goodwill toward men.
15. And it came to pass, as the angels were gone
away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to
another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this
thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made
known unto us.
16. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and
Joseph, and the babe lying in the manger.
17. And when they had seen it, they made known
abroad the saying which was told them concerning this
child.
18. And all they that heard it wondered at those things
which were told them by the shepherds.
19. But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them
in her heart.
20. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising
God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as
it was told unto them.
Mtn^ Olljrtetmas
an&
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