G OODBYE I remember that last night-I don't think I could ever forget it. Call it the magic of April if you will, but I knew better. For I had stood on those same steps: before when snowflakes caressed my face-trend yet it was always the same. It alwaye seemed to end before it had even begun, and... Show moreG OODBYE I remember that last night-I don't think I could ever forget it. Call it the magic of April if you will, but I knew better. For I had stood on those same steps: before when snowflakes caressed my face-trend yet it was always the same. It alwaye seemed to end before it had even begun, and the beauty and sweetness of everything always brought with it a strange tinge of pain, because I knew with the new dam it would all be gone for a seeming» eternity. There had been many of those nights, and yet each one was new and different. I remanbe-r standing there and praying for the hours to pass- quickly-c-hut still clinging desperately to each moment as though it would be the last. I remember walking through the park, stopping for a moment to watch the tiny pin points of light in the western sky playing hide and seek between the. pillars. by the fountain. I always wondered at the pillars, never being able. to tell anyone about them be- cause I did not know the right words to use. ’They looked, I always: imagined, as something in Athens had once looked centu- ries ago. But to me they had become more ithan beautifully fashioned pieces of stone-n-they were a symbol of the: whole .25.- Show less
ALONE I must draw this liney' This circle. It must be transparent That I can see out And you, see in. But it must be there, The line, Strong and cold, Announcing I am alone As you are alone. I can march around on the inside And you, on the outside. you look in and interpret. I look out and... Show moreALONE I must draw this liney' This circle. It must be transparent That I can see out And you, see in. But it must be there, The line, Strong and cold, Announcing I am alone As you are alone. I can march around on the inside And you, on the outside. you look in and interpret. I look out and explain But we are-alone. -Florenoe Helland .350- Show less
REJECTION man has a most convenient place, A closet of rejection Where all his doubts are safely stored Away from Mind's inspection. me glibly laughs and turns away When viewing imperfection, Preferring mild conformity To vigorous introspection. He follows the conventional path Of other men's... Show moreREJECTION man has a most convenient place, A closet of rejection Where all his doubts are safely stored Away from Mind's inspection. me glibly laughs and turns away When viewing imperfection, Preferring mild conformity To vigorous introspection. He follows the conventional path Of other men's selection; He dares not face reality; me fears his own reflection. -Beryl.Johnson .41. Show less
THOUGHTS WHILE LOOKING OUT TO SEA The rise and fall of sea waves at dawn helps me feel eternity; A new day with soft sun and the splashing solitude-sound makes me feel clean and new, ready to live in a sundwashed day. The fresh wind scat- ters night-fears. Ideas circle and wheel with the strong... Show moreTHOUGHTS WHILE LOOKING OUT TO SEA The rise and fall of sea waves at dawn helps me feel eternity; A new day with soft sun and the splashing solitude-sound makes me feel clean and new, ready to live in a sundwashed day. The fresh wind scat- ters night-fears. Ideas circle and wheel with the strong grey sea birds. I try to catch and hold one in my hand. I would smooth its strong grey feathers and perhaps pluck one. I would take it to my home, this souvenir of eternity, and tuck it into a drawert When I am far from the sea I would look at, touch it. My night would rush out to see like the back wash. A sea bird screams and wheele and lights near me and the fishing boats come in from the quiet waters, their sides bursting with smooth-polished see things and the strong birds know. They know because they dive into the quiet'water too. They know what silver things swim in cold water. The strong grey bird waits and I waitt The grey bird flies, circles the boat with the silver see things from quiet waters. I feel the wind on my face, the sun on my back, and touch a strong grey feather for- gotten on the sand. -—Jean Harrison .34- Show less
WRITER’S JOURNAL settled myself comfortably in my room in preparation for some quiet hours of study, this unnatural condition was still with me. It remained with me while I tried to apply myself to my books. Only when I de- liberately channeled my thoughts was I able to make myself unaware, for... Show moreWRITER’S JOURNAL settled myself comfortably in my room in preparation for some quiet hours of study, this unnatural condition was still with me. It remained with me while I tried to apply myself to my books. Only when I de- liberately channeled my thoughts was I able to make myself unaware, for short intervals of time, of that subtle, intangible element that was filtering through me. As soon as I relaxed, my head felt as if some- thing inside of it were swirling, very slowly, making me believe that my faculties were on the verge of derangement. About midnight I laid my book aside and allowed my thoughts to run free. I let my head fall back and I gazed at the ceiling. It was then, after a moment of stillness, that the thought of self—hypnotism flashed again into my mind. I had no sooner thought of it when the idea became an obsession. It was strange and unusual. I was unable to think differently. It was as if some outside force had gripped my mentality and commanded it to obey. I was in the clutches of something unknown. Yet, I wanted to be led by it for it seemed to be drawing me into a realm of tempting and delicious mystery. There were no alternatives. I immediately re- solved to make an attempt. I was going to try to hypnotize myself. The conditions could not have been more favorable. A stillness reigned the night, and every distracting element had vanished. I made myself as comfortable as possible, stretching my legs out in front of me and settling myself deep in my upholstered chair, my arms resting on its sides. I let my eyes fall into their easiest focus and my gaze became fixed on the opposite wall. From this point on my recollection becomes vague; my memory is dim and I cannot describe completely the change that came over me. It seems that my ability to recall is from a point of sharpness that gradually fades until my mentality reaches a state of vacuity. I was ex- periencing a mental transition that was from a condition of clearness, through a mist, to the unknown. I remember that my condition of dizziness seemed to be stronger; but this changed, too. My head became lighter and was barely pressing against the back of my chair. At the same time I felt as if all my strength were leaving me. If I had wanted to get up I think I would not have been able to move. During the first few minutes some extrane- ous elements invaded my mentality either in the form of a wave of thought or as an undefineable image, but some form of conscious effort rejected them. I do not know how much time passed. The last thing I remember is a fog, or something more like a film, that spread over my _24_ Show less
The Dry Wind “Who hath destroyed us, Orpheus? What madness hath been great enough to destroy us? . . . Farewell: I am taken, surrounded and carried away by monstrous night, and no longer yours, I reach out to you with unavailing hands.” VIRGIL, Orpheus and Euridice 1 News sheet specters flaunt... Show moreThe Dry Wind “Who hath destroyed us, Orpheus? What madness hath been great enough to destroy us? . . . Farewell: I am taken, surrounded and carried away by monstrous night, and no longer yours, I reach out to you with unavailing hands.” VIRGIL, Orpheus and Euridice 1 News sheet specters flaunt the wind Antic amid this August drift of leaves. Pious Windows are shuttered blind, And in the streets g0, unashamed. the thieves. "Beggars all, we ever posit gods, Raise streaming altars high in sacrifice. The nomad dreaming of our slavery-days Awaits a madman’s reckless cast of dice. Neither asleep nor waking is this land— Where men shall find, as they have found before, That damned and vicious bitten fruit; Shall taste of it, and eat. and lust for more. But this nightmare dream shall have an end, (For things of evil seek to die) ' And in the darkened world shall be no men, ‘ Nor any bird shall Cry. ’ 2 The almond-blossoms of our first day -Whispered a lovely promise, And the goat-footed man—who piped on the hillside— Drugged our hearts with his music. , W'e stepped from the shadows of our sleep Into the bright noon light. _3'__ Show less
PHEB-E DALE sneaked into my room and went to bed. I came down early to breakfast in the morning. Mother and Davey were talking together in the kitchen, but the toast smell and sizzling bacon sounds made me so hungry I didn’t even bother to listen to them. I noticed Davey ran out the back door,... Show morePHEB-E DALE sneaked into my room and went to bed. I came down early to breakfast in the morning. Mother and Davey were talking together in the kitchen, but the toast smell and sizzling bacon sounds made me so hungry I didn’t even bother to listen to them. I noticed Davey ran out the back door, but he was back by the time Nanna came down so I didn’t think too much of it. “Nanna, come over here a minute. I’ve got something to show you.” He opened the palm of his hand. In it was a small gray mouse. Nanna dropped the spoon which she had just dipped into her oatmeal. She pushed her chair back and started to run. I’m sure she meant to open the back door. but she was so excited she opened the basement door instead. Davey ran after her. shouting, “Sissy baby. Nanny. Don’t be afraid! Here, just look at it." I don’t know how many steps Nanna took before she fell. It couldn’t have been more than two or three because I could hear her hitting step after step and then the terrible sound of something hard hitting the cement floor. By the time I got down there, the blood was running out from her dark head and mother was crying and trying to lift her up. But I guess mother knew it wasn’t any use to try and lift her up. I knew it, too, and so did Davey. He was moaning hysterically. “Why did she run?” He stopped to pick up the mouse where it had fallen by Nanna’s arm. “Why did she run. mother? It wasn’t even real. It was only a toy mouse.” —PHEBE DALE “Humanity is a symphony of great collective souls; and he who understands and loves it only by destroying a part of those elements‘ proves himself a barbarian.” ROMAIN ROLLAND _17_' Show less
l JOAN BAXTER to go?" laughed Tony. “I’m sure you haven't heard a word 1 said." "I have too, Tony, and I’m ready." They left the brightneSS of the Inn for the duskiness of the evening. Their footsteps turned home— ward. The warm October sun shone brightly on the green lawn, the grey stone college... Show morel JOAN BAXTER to go?" laughed Tony. “I’m sure you haven't heard a word 1 said." "I have too, Tony, and I’m ready." They left the brightneSS of the Inn for the duskiness of the evening. Their footsteps turned home— ward. The warm October sun shone brightly on the green lawn, the grey stone college buildings, and the gay students. Bright sweaters, crazy cars, and happy voices combined to make a brilliant picture. Angeline stood on the steps of the main entrance and looked about her. It seemed hard to believe that all her wildest dreams had come true. She was here at college. She remembered the night that she had told Papa and Mama about the waitress job and her reason for working. She could still feel that awful silence when Papa and Mama had looked helpless- ly at each other. Papa had waved his hands in a fashion peculiar to the Italian people. “Angeline, I’m through arguing. If you are so determined to go. you can do as you please." He started on his dessert and Angeline knew that the matter was closed. Now she was here, a part of that bright youthful crowd that hurried from class to class. But deep down inside she felt something was wrong—something that she couldn’t find. Yes—she was here, a part of that crowd. Yet she felt as if she didn’t belong. These thoughts were pushed away as a sleek grey convertible pulled up in front of the steps. She ran down the steps to the car, calling in a joking tone. "Jim Vandenberg. What do you mean by keeping me waiting so long ?” “Honestly. Angie. I'm sorry, but I just couldn’t make it any sooner, because that chemistry exam took so long. Hop in and we’ll try to make up for lost time.” “Vou're forgiven, Jim. You’re really only a few minutes late any— way. and I heard that the chemistry exam was really something." “You can say that again.” Jim glanced at the olive-skinned girl beside him. “You look extra lovely tonight, Angie. That's a pretty dress." “Thank you, Jim. I’m glad you like it. But do you think I look all right to meet your mother ?” She smoothed the yellow silk of the dress. “Angie, you look wonderful. I know mother will be glad to meet you. But say now. we’d better hurry if we plan to get home by six. Hang on. Angie. We can still make it.” _.w_ Show less
WRITER’S JOURNAL maybe jealous because mother used to make a fuss over me more than she did over Nanna. But that was because I had sick headaches all the time. One day, mother sent Nanna down to the basement to get a jar of apple sauce for supper. “Are there any mice in the basement ?” Nanna... Show moreWRITER’S JOURNAL maybe jealous because mother used to make a fuss over me more than she did over Nanna. But that was because I had sick headaches all the time. One day, mother sent Nanna down to the basement to get a jar of apple sauce for supper. “Are there any mice in the basement ?” Nanna asked anxiously. “Don’t be silly,” mother answered. “Even if there were, they wouldn’t hurt you. Now go right down and get that sauce.” N anna came running into the living room where I was lying down on the davenport, reading. “Margy, will you go down the basement for me and get the sauce? You know I don’t dare because I’m scared there’re mice down there." “Oh, you’re crazy,” I said. “If mother asked you to go down after the sauce, she meant you. Besides, I’m lying down because I’ve got a headache and I’m not supposed to be running around doing your errands. Honestly, how many times do we have to tell you that a stupid mouse won’t hurt you." She didn’t say any more. but that funny frightened look came into her eyes, and I almost said I’d go. But then mother called again, “Nanna, haven’t you gone yet ?" I could hear Nanna’s light, reluctant steps on the stairway. Then I heard her stamping her feet on the cement floor like she always did just in case any mice would be in doubt about her being there. Then I didn’t hear any more. She didn’t come up for such a long time that finally mother called down. “What is the matter. Nanna? \Ve want that same for supper tonight, not tomorrow.” No answer. “Nanna. Nanna. Nanna. what is it ?” At last mother and I had to go down. We found her sitting on the stationary laundry tubs. trembling uncontrollably. She couldn't even say anything, at first. “I saw a mouse." she said after many minutes. And then she cried and cried. I wanted to laugh because she looked so funny sitting on the laundry tubs and crying, but I didn’t because she really looked scared, too. I remembered the time the Johnson’s big. black police dog jumped on me. He was only being friendly, Mrs. Johnson said. but I was terri— fied. Maybe that was how Nanna felt now. “This is simply ridiculous, Nanna. We’re going to have to get over this. Now get down off there and go upstairs and get washed ._.14__ Show less
LELAND SATEREN _ ence of mere animal spirit, it should be of a religious character." 3. If/when they are sung, they usually are sung very badly—per- functorily, coldly, frequently as dirges. 4. They are sometimes objected to as being “too serious.” To be sure, together with their texts, they are... Show moreLELAND SATEREN _ ence of mere animal spirit, it should be of a religious character." 3. If/when they are sung, they usually are sung very badly—per- functorily, coldly, frequently as dirges. 4. They are sometimes objected to as being “too serious.” To be sure, together with their texts, they are serious in tone; but this is quite in order, for the matter at hand is serious. 5. Ignorance of what constitutes propriety in church music, of what kind of music will arouse genuine religious emotion and, generally, of why music has been admitted to the sanctuary. 6. The seeming aversion of many church-goers really to worship. That is, worship is a spiritual act: to worship is to act—to think, to con- centrate, to apply oneself physically, mentally, and spiritually. 7. Finally, in an effort to capture and maintain interest, there has beena well—meant but extremely dangerous tendency to conform to the likes and dislikes of the world. In short, we allow the world to deter- mine our hymn-singing conduct ; and to this many of our lighter hymns and choruses (in the name of spiritual warmth, evangelical fervor, etc.) have all but out-tin-panned Tin Pan Alley. While, in music and in text, the chorales are beyond reproach, it should be clear that hymns should not be chosen primarily for the esthe— tic gratification they may afford. On the other hand, we cannot expect- the children in Sunday school, for example, to maintain a healthy a‘tti-‘ tude toward the church (every whit sacrosanct—in theory, at least) if the music they hear in the public schools, over the radio, in the concert hall, or on their record players is superior in quality. In their own ways they will sense that God is deserving of music which is better than that produced by the world, and they will Wonder why their Sunday school teachers (and pastors) are willing to settle for less. Much the same may be said of our adult church-goers, for more and more they are becoming musically of age: they are no longer musi— cal ignoramuses. Most will insist they know nothing, about music( by which they mean they can’t play the piano), but they‘don’t walk around during the week with their ears plugged. They may listen to an ap- palling amount of musical drivel during the week. but they also. either by choice or by circumstance, hear a great deal of good music. The result often is that more parishioners than we suspect are forced to lower their sights as they listen to or participate in the hymn singing of their church. And if pressed for an objective evaluation,-they would be forced to admit the disparity in quality between many of their hymns (and choruses) and secular music—with excellence on the side of the __ZI__ Show less
WRITERS JOURNAL The \"andenberg home was built on grand proportions surrounded by grounds that showed the hand of an expert gardener. Angeline felt small and insignificant as Jim led her into the house. Mrs. Van- denberg bore down on them in apricot satin and pearls. Angeline sud- denly wished... Show moreWRITERS JOURNAL The \"andenberg home was built on grand proportions surrounded by grounds that showed the hand of an expert gardener. Angeline felt small and insignificant as Jim led her into the house. Mrs. Van- denberg bore down on them in apricot satin and pearls. Angeline sud- denly wished she hadn't come. The yellow dress didn't seem quite so pretty and nice. “Mother, I’d like you to meet Angeline Crivello.” “How do you do, Angeline." Mrs. Vandenberg gazed at Angeline with expressionless eyes. Angeline felt as if the greeting were cold, but she tried to push these thoughts away as she told Mrs. Vandenberg how glad she was to know her. Dinner was a very strained affair with Jim anxiously trying to smooth things over. Mrs. Vandenberg's coldness seemed to grow into resentment. After dinner, Jim took Angeline into the library to show her a new book. “How about going for a ride tonight? The moon is out and the ocean will be at its best. I’ll hurry and get my keys." As he left, Angie gazed about the room at the expensive furniture and fine accessories. The splendor overwhelmed her. and she suddenly found hrself longing to be at home in the cheerful living room. waiting for Tony. Suddenly, Angeline stiffened. A door down the hall opened and Mrs. Vandenberg’s cold voice sent a chill through her. "But, Jim. I never thought you would pick up with an Italian ggirl! Just think! An Italian? They are a shiftless good for nothing bunch!” “Shh. mother. Don‘t say things like that. She‘s . . ." The door was closed and the voices disappeared. Angeline sat as if she were frozen to the spot. When Jim came into the room. she tried to act as if she hadn't heard, but when they were in the car. she couldn't keep it back any longer. “Iim. your mother doesn‘t like me because I’m an Italian and I . ." “Angie, I'm sorry you heard her say that. She has some queer ideas Angie, so forget it because it doesn’t make any difference to me." "Jim, I’m beginning to understand a lot of things now. The kids at college feel the same way because I’m an Italian. I thought something was wrong. but I thought that was because I was new. No. Iim. Let me finish. I know now that it isn’t. I just don’t belong here.” “Angie, please don’t talk that way. Thinks will be better. Sure there are always kids who get crazy ideas, but you . . .” __5_ Show less
LET’S USE THE CHORALES! The chorale has been called "the crowning glory of Protestant hymnody." It is generally recognized as the congregational song in its most perfect form. Someone once said that the chorales are “as un— erringi as the planets, as fresh as the sea-breeze in the morning, and as... Show moreLET’S USE THE CHORALES! The chorale has been called "the crowning glory of Protestant hymnody." It is generally recognized as the congregational song in its most perfect form. Someone once said that the chorales are “as un— erringi as the planets, as fresh as the sea-breeze in the morning, and as nourishing and wholesome as roast beef or bread and butter." Musicians, when looking at the Chorale as music, see it as of towering strength and beauty. The peer of composers. johann Se- bastian Bach, paid tribute to more than three hundred of them by using them in his compositions. Their texts show the Word of God, pure and prominent. There is profoundly deep feeling, becoming reverence, noble exultation and lofty aspiration. When the chorale is sung correctly one will sense some of its centuries of unparalleled expressiveness and churchliness. Between music and text there is a unity of spirit rarely found in other branches of hymnody. In contrast to the crude, characterless. and often degrad- ing material frequently used in youth meetings, congregational and “at home” singing, the chorales are springs of wholesome appeal and mu- sical solidity—fit “instruments for the songs of God.” Yet, many have left them and substituted counterfeit (a substitu- tion which occurs with astonishing frequency even at Augsburg). Many young people today have neither heard nor sung a Chorale: and thus, often through no fault of theirs. have been denied the gem of beauty and worship which is the chorale. To say that there are no other hymns (even “lighter” hymns) of value is an impertinence: but to use the Chorale as the yardstick by which to judge the other hymns we use is to exclude the dross and sing the best. And among Christians. at least. it would seem inconceivable that there is any valid argument against singing the best. Let us not suppose that we enhance the attitude of worship or heighten religious fervor (the exclusive function of all church music) by selecting musically and textually inferior hymns, merely because they may allow of greater vigor, vivacity, volume. languidity. or lush har— monies. It is important that Christians show by their church music practice that drawing near to God, adoring. praising. surrendering, and praying “on wings of song” is not done by means similar to jukebox travesties and barn dance noises. Hence, the proposition: Let’s use the chorales! _18_ Show less
NO WAY SO LONG The earth lay tepid and listless under a late summer sky, its bosom heavy with ripened grain fields and maturing corn. The leaves of the trees, dust-covered after a long dry season, made pleasant whis— perings as they were stirred by some hot, stray wind from the west. Somewhere in... Show moreNO WAY SO LONG The earth lay tepid and listless under a late summer sky, its bosom heavy with ripened grain fields and maturing corn. The leaves of the trees, dust-covered after a long dry season, made pleasant whis— perings as they were stirred by some hot, stray wind from the west. Somewhere in the woods to the right a hawk shrieked and presently emerged from the bank of green to curve and toss easily near the tips of the tallest elms. For a while, as the bird dipped gracefully above the trees, Jamie was afraid that its wings might fail and that at any moment all till> grace and beauty might crash into a tree and fall—and die. Suddenly and terrifyingly Jamie was brought back to his Here and Now. Grace and beauty disappeared from his mind: he turned his eyes from the sky. forced to realize again what, for a brief, beautiful in— stant, he had lost. He couldn’t focus his eyes. He didn't need to: the blurs and shadows around him he recognized~—the three Hubbarts. Big Bill Hubbart and his wife and son, Little Bill; Lawson Cailey and his wife Susie, who was carrying a bouquet of golden rod and brown-eyed daisies and flax blossoms which she had picked along the river-bottom. as she and Lawson came down that afternoon: and finally, there was the man in the baggy, black trousers and loose coat, standing at the head of the shallow. oblong hole reading words out of a little black hook—words that wouldn’t do his father any good now—in a deep voice that sounded like the water that sang low over the stones in \N’illow Creek. Hearing Elder Meharry made Jamie think of the time when the Elder was preaching down at Hacketsville: a long. long way from here and a long, long time ago. it seemed to Jamie. And when the Elder started to preach, Jamie remembered asking his dad if that was God and then dad had said . . . The pleasant memory came at a hard time. and an irrepressible sob fled past his tightly-closed lips. All the trying gone for nothing; for the tears welled up again. Jamie clenched Mrs. Hubbart’s hand more tightly and turned his aching body against her. his face buried deep in her gingham and pressed against the solidness of her thigh. Suddenly Elder Meharry’s drone paused and then ended with a Soft and breath-taking “Amen.” Jamie turned to look. The Elder’s thin, white head was bowed and his arms crossed over his black book which be pressed to his chest. Nobody moved and nobody spoke. Mr. Cailey _27_ Show less
PHEBE DALE for supper.” Suddenly Nanna felt a little silly. She crept sheepishly up the stairs. I ran into the fruit room and brought the jar of apple sauce upstairs and into the kitchen. “Aren’t you ashamed," mother called to Nana; “Margery is littler than you and she isn’t afraid of mice."... Show morePHEBE DALE for supper.” Suddenly Nanna felt a little silly. She crept sheepishly up the stairs. I ran into the fruit room and brought the jar of apple sauce upstairs and into the kitchen. “Aren’t you ashamed," mother called to Nana; “Margery is littler than you and she isn’t afraid of mice." Mother told Daddy about it at the supper table that night. “Why, Nanna," he laughed gently. "You don't have to be afraid of mice. They Won‘t hurt you." Nanna was Daddy's pet. He was the one Wl’lu started calling her Nanna, even though her real name was JoAnne. The next day after school, Davey came home with a big cardboard box. He scuffled into the living room and set the box beside Nanna. “Here, Sis, open it." he said. “It’s for you.” Nanny looked sideways at both of us, and slowly untied the string. She lifted the cover, and then the box was on the floor and she was screaming. Two scared little white mice scattered over the rug. Nanna was on top of the piano bench now and her voice was raspy from screaming. It was a good thing mother wasn’t there or Davey would have caught it. Davey scooped up one of the trembling little things and carried it over to Nanna. “See, isn’t it cute? Aw gee, Nann, look at it. It won't hurt you.” I could tell Davey was really trying to be nice. Nanna had stopped screaming. She was holding her breath. and she could hardly talk. “Please, please, Davey. Please take them away. Please.” Now she was crying in long, hard sobs. When mother came home, Davey showed her the mice and told her about how scared Nanna had gotten. I think he was afraid that if he didn't tell her first. Nanna would and then he’d get it. But he didn’t need to worry. Nanna wanted those mice taken away, but she wasn’t a tattle—tale. “Mother, I know Davey wants me to like mice. but I just can’t and do we please have to have them in the house? Can't he take them hack to school. Mother? He can still look at them every day." Davey thought he should be able to keep them because after all M r. Millard had given them to him and wouldn’t it be a fine thingr if he brought them back. That would sure look grateful, all right. The mice stayed, but in the basement. Now it was even harder to get Nanna to go down for sauce or jam. We thought maybe she'd get used to having them around. But she never did. The night the Olsons came over was the worst. Mr. Olson was fat, over-bearing and red—cheeked like a little boy. His wife was a __15._ Show less
