The sun. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1937-1972, November 05, 1948, Image 6
f
THE NEWBERRY SUN, NEWBERRY. S. C.
You can handle thorny plants
easier by getting a pair of ice
tongs and using them instead of
your fingers.
— •—
Do not use shellac on a window
sash. It is not recommended for
wood which is exposed directly to
sunlight.
—•—
Crackers spread with peanut
butter and broiled until bubbly
make excellent appetizers.
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Freddy and John wanted a dog but they weren't getting far with
their plea. Then a stray mongrel wandered upon the scene one day and
caused a great deal of excitement.
•‘■YITHY, how do you do! Won’t
VV you come in?” asked Mother
as she opened the front door. Both
Freddie and I looked up to see who
the caller might be.
The shades were drawn in the liv
ing room, so we couldn’t see who
was standing on the porch. Mother
had darkened the room to protect
Freddy’s eyes because Freddy had
the measles. He was covered with
a blanket and curled up on the day
bed which had been moved down
from upstairs. I was spread out on
the floor with the erector set.
We waited to see the unexpected
visitor, and imagine our surprise
when in walked a big brown dog.
The newcomer trotted across the
room to inspect me, and I patted
him on the head. Then he went over
to the day bed and nuzzled his big
head against Freddy, as much as
to say:
“Hi, there. Bud, I’ve come to
help you get well!"
“O, gee, Mom," cried Freddy ex
citedly, “a dog! Can we keep him,
Mom? Where did he come from?
What’s his name?”
“Now, now, not so fast, son,” in
terrupted Mother, as she settled
Freddy under the blanket again.
“He just came to the door when I
went to get the mail, and I thought
maybe he’d help you pass the time
while you're closed up here with the
measles. Do you like him?”
"Boy. I’U say,” Freddy and I
chanted in unison, “he’s swell!”
The newcomer, who was busy in
specting the premises, was just 1
dog; part airedale, part hound. He
was big, grayish-brown, and would
have passed for a genuine airedale I
if he hadn’t had those big floppy, ;
hound-dog ears.
We had always wanted a dog but
Dad said we didn’t have a place for
a dog, and he wouldn’t have one if
he had to keep it tied.
“What’ll we call him. Mom?” I
asked eagerly.
"Why don’t you and Freddy fig
ure that out for yourself, son,” she
said as she went toward the kitchen
to get dinner under way.
All my life I had wanted people
to call me Jack, because I liked it
for a nickname; but all I ever heard
was just plain John, so I said:
"Let’s call him Jack, Freddy.”
“Yeah—Jack’s a good name all
right. Here, Jack, come over here,
old boy!” he called to the dog. And
Jack wagged his tail, put his big
front paws up on the couch, and
licked Freddy on the nose.
“Gosh, look, John,” said Freddy,
“he knows his name already.”
We had a wonderful time with
Jack until Dad came home.
"What’s going on here?” he
called when he saw the dog
stretched out on the living room
floor. “Where did that mongrel
come from?”
“He came to help me get well.
Dad,” piped Freddy from his haven
on the day bed.
Freddy always could work Dad
for most anything, and when he fin
ished telling Dad how the dog just
practically came up and knocked on
the door to help Freddy get well.
Dad just grinned and said grudg
ingly:
“Well, I guess we can keep him
for a while . . . until you get well
anyhow.”
But after Freddy got well. Jack
stayed. Dad kicked about it a little,
but he finally agreed to let us have
Jack if we kept him in the basement
at night, and the dog didn’t get into
any trouble.
We both promised! But keeping
Jack out of trouble was like trying
to keep water from flowing down
hill. Everything went along fine un
til Mr. Westour came over to com
plain that Jack had dug up his gar
den to bury a bone. All our efforts
to explain didn’t appease Dad very
much, and he was disgusted.
Then Jack chased Roush’s cat,
and the cat got caught in the porch
railing and couldn't get out until old
man Roush sawed the railing loose.
Naturally, he wasn’t too pleased
about that.
Dad was adamant by that time,
and insisted Jack would have to go.
He had found some farmer who
would take the dog. But Jack had
a knack for taking things into his
own hands, or I guess we ought to
say, his own paws!
He had a habit of following us to
school, but we’d usually chase him
home after a block or two. But one
morning, when the snow was com
ing down pretty heavily. Jack trot
ted along behind us.
“Go back. Jack,” I shouted at
him. “Go on home, old boy,” but
the dog kept trotting along behind
us. I threw stones at him and tried
everything I could think of, but he
kept coming right along. Nothing
we could do would persuade him to
go back. We knew we’d be late if
we didn’t hurry, so we went on to
school. As we entered the building,
Freddy shouted to the dog:
“You wait here till we come out.
Jack!"
I asked my teacher if I could
bring Jack in, and she gave con
sent if I would promise to keep him
quiet. I hurried out to find him,
but Jack had disappeared.
HEN we got home that night,
Mother asked:
“Where’s Jack? I haven’t seen
him all d$yA
“He followed uf to school this
morning. Mamma,” I explained,
“but when I came out to get him,
he was gone.”
“Well, I suppose that saves your
father the trouble of getting rid of
him,” she said. “Take off your
coats and hang them up to dry.
You’re all wet from the snow.”
No one had much to say at the
supper table that night. Even Dad
was pretty quiet, and he went to the
window several times to look out
before we went to bed.
Two dejected little boys prayed
fervently for the safe-keeping of a
lost dog that night. We rolled and
tossed all night long, wondering
where our pet might be.
That was the last we saw of Jack
until about a month later. One of
the neighbors said:
“You know, I think I saw your
dog this morning over at the Whit
tier school. He was outside watch
ing the children as they came out.
I stopped the car and turned around,
but by the time I went back to look
for him, he was gone.”
Mother replied that Jack was
probably making the rounds of the
schools looking for us. We kept
searching and hoping, renewed by
the news that Jack was still alive.
But we didn’t have much time - to
hunt for him, as I was practicing
every night for a school play. The
night of the play’s performance we
almost found Jack again.
During the second act, there was
a lot of commotion near the back of
the auditorium, and several ushers
ran up and down the aisles. It was
pretty hard for us to enact the scene
with all that commotion going on in
the auditorium.
On the way home, I asked Mom
what the noise was, and she
laughed.
“I think it was your old friend,"
she replied.
“What do you mean. Mom?” I
questioned.
“Why a dog got in during the play
and made a bee-line for the stage
when the ushers caught him. I
looked around to see four of them
dragging him up the aisle, and it
looked for all the world like Jack.”
“But let’s go back and look for
/ilm,” I cried.
“Your father and I did look for
him, son, as soon as the play was
over,” said Mother as the car turned
in the driveway at home. “But we
couldn’t find him anywhere. I guess
we're just not supposed to have him
back anymore.”
But two days later, just as sud
denly as he had gone, Jack came
home! Freddy was out shoveling
snow off the sidewalk, and Jack
came bounding up the street just
like he’d never been away from
home. Everyone welcomed him
back, and even Dad didn't say a
word.
But our pleasure in our dog didn't
last long. About a month later.
Jack was lying on the front porch.
Teddy Long, a tot about two who
lived across the street from us, was
playing on the sidewalk in front of
his house. He toddled toward the
curb, and was climbing down into
the street when Jack leaped to the
center of the street, barking furi
ously at the youngster. Just then a
car came around the comer, and
struck Jr.c':. Jack wasn’t dead, but
nearly all his ribs were broken.
Dad sat up with him through two
long nights, feeding him and nurs
ing him, but old Jack'just couldn’t
make it.
Our only consolation was that
Jack had undoubtedly sacrificed his
life to save little Teddy; for the car
could have struck the youngster just
as easily. But this was a logic dif
ficult for youngsters to understand.
Freddy cried as though his heart
would break, and I guess I was
pretty tearful myself.
After waiting so long to get our
dog back, it was pretty tough, hav
ing to lose him so soon. Things were
so glum around the house that
Mother decided we ought to have a
party to cheer things up. But it
was no use . . . nothing could take
the place of our lost dog. Even
when spring came and Dad took 114
on a fishing trip, something was
missing.
We were sitting on the porch one
afternoon waiting for Dad to come
home for supper. Freddy sighed
and said:
“Poor old Jack.”
Mother asked, “Boys, you’re sure
ly not moaning about that dog yet,
are you?”
Just then Dad swung the car into
the driveway. From along side the
house, we heard him honk the horn.
Freddy ran to see what he wanted.
Suddenly, he burst around the cor
ner of the house, carrying a squirm
ing puppy in his arms and shouting:
"Hey, Mom, look vj'hat Daddy
brought home. He’s our new dog.
Mom . . . and you know what his
name is. Mom? His name is Jack!”
Mom looked at Dad and smiled,
and I thought I saw just the least
sign of a tear in the comer of Dad’f
eye, as the new puppy kissed Fred
dy on the nose.
Hi
-
vening {j'v&yex
his is a holy time—be Sill, be Sill; ^Glace tAb//
A child's white prayer is winging its Sure |
,-vvfe
j - J
mm
Up to die throne of God. Across the sill
The laS red light fades from the winter day,
As a young mother who is very wise
Is teaching a child to pray.
Two tall white candles bum beside her chait.
Piercing the dusk; they center in the eyes
Of the kneeling child like twin fiats shining there;
They glimmer through the twilight of the room.
And make a halo of the mother’s hair.
Brighter than the candles or the sunset light
Will be the fruit bom of this precious hour
The planted seed of frith will bear a white
Incredible flower.
And trufi implanted in a child’s heart may
Bear wonder-fruit some future day.
Oh, teach her well to pray!
But keeping Jack out of trouble was like trying to keep water
from flowing downhill.
SCRIPTURE: The Book of Job.
DEVOTIONAL READING: Job 23:3-10.
Drama in the Bible
Lesson for November 7, 1948
■•WgBMMqi
Dr. Foreman
T homas carlyle, a crusty
dyspeptic but a literary artist
of no small skill, was visiting a
Christian friend. In the morning
at family prayers
(so the story goes)
his host put into
his hands a copy
of the Bible and
asked him to read
a chapter. Carlyle
opened at the first
chapter of Job;
read it—read on to
the next and the
next and the next
— qpd refused to
stop reading till he Jiad finished
all 42 chapters.
Job is like that. It Is a book
you hate to put down. In all the
Bible it is the outstanding example
of the drama; a drama of conflict
in which the opposing forces are
not people* as much as ideas.
• • •
The Characters
T HE characters at first are three:
God, Satan and a man named
Job. Job is a good man, in fact God
calls him perfect. He is also pros
perous, and thereby hangs the tale.
For one fateful day God and Saufn
have a conversation about this man.
The Lord inquires if Satan has seen
him, and how good be is. Oh yes.
Satan says airily, he has seen him.
but he does not think highly of his
“goodness ” He is too well paid
for it. He has a large and happy
family, and has immense wealth;
wh£ shouldn't he be good? Take
away his prosperty and he wiB
curse you to your face, Satan
sneers.
So God lets Satan work his
malice on the man. In a ter
rible series of disasters, one
rnshing on another’s heels,
everything Job has owned van
ishes. His children are killed
by storm and fire, and Job is
left a childless, penniless man.
But Job will not complain; his
faith in God still does not waver.
So when next Satan reports to
God, the Almighty asks again: Did
you see ray servant Job? He holds
fast to his integrity. Ah, yes, sneers
the unbelieving fiend. Yes, but he
still has his health. He can have
another family, another fortune.
Make life itself so miserable that
he will long to die, and then you
will see his goodness vanish, then
he surely will curse you to your
face.
So God let Satan do his worst—
Do all you can to himf God says,
only leave him alive. And then Job
is made horribly and painfully iu,
he cannot sleep for the torture of
boils covering him from head to
foot. Three of his friends come to
visit him. For seven days they sit
in silence, and then begins a great
debate, with ( Job on one side and
his friends on the other: Why must
such things be? Why must good
people suffer?
• • *
Was Job Real?
D ON’T ask: Was Job a real char
acter, or a made-up one like
Hamlet and Macbeth? It is very
likely there was once upon a time
some man by that name who suf
fered in that way, and that he had
friends, not too sympathetic, who
talked it over with him. *
As Hamlet and Macbeth were his
torical characters, whom Shakes
peare used with high art to express
profound ideas, so the author of
Job may well have used the trials
of some man he knew, or knew ot
to express truths about a problem
as profound and widespread as the
human race.
For Job most sorely is real:
his local name may be Smith
or Jones, and he may be living
just around the corner from
you. Indeed, sooner or later
every man’s name Is Job.
Sooner or later, every thought
ful person has to face the
tragedy of human suffering:
Why must such things be?
• • •
Suffering Is Test
T HERE is, however, one solution
which comes out in the course
of the drama. It is not a theoretical
solution; that is, it does not alto
gether answer the question, WHY
must men suffer? It does tell us
WHAT we can do about it
Suffering is a test: A test of
man’s faith and real goodness.
“When he hath tried me, I shall
come forth as gold,” Job says.
(23:10.) The test of a ship Is
not the quiet waters of the har
bor but the roaring open sea;
the test of a man is not comfort
but stress and pain.
To have faith in God only when
we are well-fed and softly cushioned
is not faith at its best. Faith and
goodness prove their reality only
when they hold together even when
torn by the nails of a cross.
(Copyright br tie Internrtionrl Council
of RotigiouM Education on behalf ot 40
Protestant denominations. Released by
WSV Features.)
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To get quick and satisfying relief
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First, make a syrup by stirring 2
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Need Luxury Radios
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Take a ‘good, close-up look at the beautiful new
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There’s no middleman in Sparton’s picture. Sparton
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Compare the 1949 Sparton models with other makes
from base to top—you’ll see what a whale of a buy
Sparton gives you! If your town has no Sparton
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for the name of the nearest one.
HERE'S A BUY! Stunning con- >
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Model 1031 in blond ma
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AND HERE'S ANOTHER! Nifty Utility
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steal at only , 17
*AU prices slightly higher west of Rockier
^A0|0-T*^.* v,5,0 * , * • ,06 **r VALUK*
The Sparlu-Withington Company, Jackson, Michigan
See these new models at your Sparton dealer’s now |
‘
30-Day Test of hundreds
of Camel Smokers revealed
NO THROAT
DUE TO SMOKING CAMELS
In a recent test, hundreds of
men and women all across the
country smoked Camels — and
only Camels—an average of one
to two packages a day—for 30
consecutive days. Each week
their throats were examined by
noted throat specialists—a total
of 2470 examinations —and
these doctors found not one
single case of throat irritation
due to smoking Camels.
j t J6xsaF ! /M& oh
Came/30-Zfey ’fcsf-//}