The Wyandotte herald. (Wyandotte, Mich.) 1879-1943, 1938-12-30
Lights Of Network
hy IL. STEVENSON

in many ways. The return from the
land up in New Hampshire was not
great. In fact work as hard as he
might from early morning until
darkness, his acres supplied merely
bare living. But with his wife and
children, there was happiness. IL
twas close-knit family and the In.
terests of one were the interests OF
all. In addition there was the hope
that some day. things might be bet
ter. That farm products would bring
more in the market. That would
mean the little comforts, the end OF
worry over economic problems and
perhaps trip somewhere. The fam
lily often talked about that in long,
lamp-lit evenings-and kept right on
working. But despite faith in the
future, misfortune came. Illness.
That grim specter that stalks into
homes humble and great. 1t was the
wife and mother who was stricken.
So severely stricken that only an
operation would save her life.
Bright lights of New York had so
little appeal for the wife Of the we'll
known writer when compared to the
glories of the fall in New Hamp-
shire. So while her husband went
back to the city to hammer his type
writer and turn out another book,
she remained on the country place
in the scarlet and gold hills. A
graduate of one of the country's
best known universities, she has
many interests so no loneliness was
hers. Related by marriage to one
of the best-known families Of the
country, she preferred that which
Nature had to offer to social activi-'
ties. Then, too, her son was with
her. Another thing. Her family
goes away back to the roots of the
country. To the days when pioneers
fought for their land. So there was
lure in the old farm house and the
peace and quiet of the countryside.
Through the villages, the woods
and across the fields flashed the
news, Tipped as fast as If carried by
wires. The woman who had been
operated on was at the point OF
death. Skilled surgeons had will
ingly done their best. But unless
there was a blood TRANSMISSION, the
faint spark of life would turn dull.
The question was that of donor.
The husband stood ready. But his
blood was not of the right type.
Neither was that of the children. A
professional donor had to be paid
and there was no money.
The woman from the city leaped
into her car and drove into the town
with the throttle wide open Straight
to the hospital she went. She knew
exactly what to do because training
had made her familiar with such
things Calmly she waited while
her blood was typed Just as calm
ly she lay down beside the woman
whose life was rapidly ebbiEg away.
A hundred centimeterS of her blood
went into the veins of the dying
woman. Then, pale and little
shaken, she drove back to the farm
house among the scarlet and gold
trees.
As this is being written. a woman
is recovering in hospital And
the one who made the recovery pos
sible is preparing to return to the
city She holds that what she did
was merely ordinary-that under
similar circumstances anyone else
would have done the same thing.
Her husband is inclined TO disagree.
So am I. But for one thing, ! would
like to tell you her name and list
her as a heroine She wouldn't like
it.
Driving down from Old Greenwich
the other afternoon, we passed a
long line of motor cars parked in
front of a church. At the church
door stood huge piece of motor
FIRE apparatus. But the ladders and
other fire fighting appliances were
hidden by flowers. Evidently some
fireman had given his life to his
duty and was being honored by fell
. low townsnen. ! can't give the
name Of the town-it might have
been Portchester and it might have
been Rye, because those towns
merge so rapidly there is little to
distinguish one from another. But
anyway, sentiment still survives in
the smaller communities.