MORNING SERIAL

A GREAT weight seemed to have lifted from him. Suddenly he felt as though his limbs were imbued with new strength — a strength which gave him conviction that courage was the one virtue he must develop within himself. He must have courage. He must face up to life.

The foundry, grey and despairing, would always be so if he surrendered to it. But it had to be changed, and it would be changed. Everything changed — the sea, the land, the sky, the rain, the wind, the sun, the moon, and the stars. Life was always changing. And he, too, would change.

Let fears of Sally’s illness consume him no longer. She would get well, and they would know happiness again. He must have faith and courage. He must.

Nor let the fear of the foundry plunge him again into sorrow and despair. Some day he would get away from it. He had the weapons in his own heart and brain. He would use them. He would study hard and diligently. No more the idle dreaming, the procrastinations. Then one day he would be free. Free from the foundry. Free to write of it as he would want to write. To show the world how the men there lived and worked. Write of their hopes, their sufferings; but, above all, reveal the true spirit of men like Frank. Men of strong faith and courage.

With this new resolution burning within him, he ran down the hill. No longer was he afraid. A new hope had been born to him. A new life had been given him.

Along the road he raced, riding the same proud white stallion of his childhood. His body felt suddenly freed of all ache and pain. His mind was eased of fear and sorrow. Not even the chill blast of the wailing November wind did he feel as he turned into the street where he lived and knocked loudly on the door. THE END