Radio romances (July-Dec 1945)

ing "Pop — Pop!" until I thought his little lungs would burst. I switched on the radio to quiet him. Switched it on just in time to hear those electrifying words, "This is it . . . this is it . . . the war is over!" The road disappeared; I had to stop the car and shakily wipe my eyes. The war is over! I caught Hank to me and kissed his little button nose. For him the war never would be over. It had taken too much toll: both parents, his home. ... He was standing up now, pressing his little head into my shoulder. "Look, Hank," I said just as if he understood. "I don't know anything about these Cavells. There must be special arrangements or the Red Cross would not be sending you to them. But just the same I'm going to keep an eye on you too. So don't worry." For answer he planted a big wet kiss on my cheek and yelled lustily, "Pop!" 'T'HE Cavell ranch, I had to admit, was ■*■ in a beautiful setting. It was on a rise of land, and a brook babbled along at the foot of it. There were prune and apple orchards, gfreat sweeping acres of wine grapes golden in the sun. The house itself was low-spreading, and painted white. As we came to a stop on the gravel drive, a fat spaniel puppy waddled out to meet us. Hank was entranced. He jumped out and squatted beside the puppy and murmured, "C'est joli. C'est tres joli!" Hank was going to be happy here. I had that feeling about it even before I saw the woman on the porch. She was older, worn, but there was a look of gentleness about her, a certain peace. Her warm greeting made us really welcome as she led us into the pleasant chintz-draped livingroom. There was a pitcher of cold milk on the table and a plate of enormous homemade cookies — little-boy language all over the world! Hank ate solemnly. And all the while his eyes searched the room, the doors, the windows, as if he expected someone to come in momentarily. Mrs. Cavell spoke to him in French, words I could not understand. After a moment of watchful attention, a wide smile broke over his little face. "A great many years ago .1 lived in France," Mrs. Cavell explained to me, "before my husband and I came to California. But this has been my home now for so long that I don't believe I could be happy anywhere else. When I had to sell it recently I was heartbroken. But" — and her face lit up with pleasure — "the new owners insisted that I stay and help run it. I was so glad, particularly glad when I heard about Hank," she added gently. "You must come out often to see him." I looked at hm, absorbed now with the puppy in the middle of the floor. He seemed at home already. "I'd love to come!" I said with more enthusiasm than I'd known in months. After that I made every excuse I could think of to go out to the Cavell ranch. There were some new toys that Dad got in the store that I thought would be just the thing for a sevenyear-old. Another time I ran across a cute sailor suit that seemed made for Hank. In all, I made three trips that first week to see him. And each time he crept a little deeper into my heart. I thought that I had stopped feeling any emotion, that it was dried up in me. But Hank quickened it again. He was always so glad to see me. He accepted me with such complete trust. "Why don't you come out to supper on Sunday?" Mrs. Cavell said. And I needed no urging. Sandra found shopping packed jg plenty of punch... -But H0LD-BO8 pins kept her ha/'r styl/sh til/ lunch I • Why is a bobby pin? To hold your hair —smoothly, firmly, invisibly. And that's the way hold-bob bobby pins are made : for longer-lasting, springy power. Remember, only hold-bobs have those small, round, invisible heads. Add satiny finish and the rounded-for-safety ends ...and you have the advantages that make hold-bobs America's favorites! Look for, ask for, the hold-bob card. Copyright .1945 Gaylord Products, Incorporated Chicago 16, Illinois ''The bobby pins that HOLD" n M 69