10 Story Book, August 1938 — page 45: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

48 INTRIGUING STORIES, SPICED WITH PRETTY GIRLS! The feet of Jesus were now in full view. Shapely as lilies, white as the moon save for the sinister blood-stains, they thrilled the naturally devout soul of Meeka with their martyred beauty. “What do you think of them?” whis- pered Zingare. But she was speechless. She could only make the sign of the cross. Zingare called her attention to the large number of worshippers at the chancel. Many of them were peasants who had come in from the fields without changing their clothes, and the odors of dirt and perspiration were almost nau- seating. But Meeka was not squeamish; and just now her gaze was attracted to Father Gordnik, who was entering from the sacristy. He went to the worship- pers, said a few words and then pointed to the statue. They rose, formed in line, then one by one approached the Cruci- fied One and kissed His feet. Zingare chuckled. “That figure of your Jesus was made to have poor fools like those peasants— and you—kiss its feet. Many churches have them, and I’ve given this one to Father Gordnik in your name. And this is your penance, Meeka: you, who wouldn’t kiss me but who would have braved hell to kiss the Jew, are to come here three times daily, every day of your life, morning, afternoon and eve- ning, to kiss the feet of Jesus — feet that very soon will be black with the dirt and spittle from the mouths of those filthy peasants. What do you think of your penance?” he asked, triumphantly. She did not dare to say that she thought it beautiful, wonderful, divine, for fear he would snatch this unexpected solace from her; so she put on a sad face (while her heart bounded) and went to Jesus and bent down and pressed an adoring kiss on His bleeding feet. She would have pressed ten, twenty, a hundred, if Zingare had not been there. When she rejoined him she was weeping softly. And Zingare, the unseeing, rubbed his hands and was satisfied. And now Meeka’s strange penance began in earnest. Three times every day, morning, noon and night, rain or shine, she went to the church and kissed the feet of Jesus. For quite a while Zingare accompanied her to see that she did not deceive him. He even left his work in the fields to do this. But after a time as harvesting drew nearer and he was worried to death by those lazy peasants, who were doing no real work and yet bleeding him of all his money, he de- cided to trust her to go alone. Why not? She could be up to no harm; the Jew had left the country. Besides, she was a thor- oughly crushed woman. She feared God; she feared Hell; she feared him, Zingare the Master! She had vowed to do her pen- ance exactly as it had been laid down for her to do, and as fear ruled her life she could be depended upon to kiss the mar- tyred feet even if the act meant her destruc- tion. Thus Zingare reasoned. He was not an observing man, but for some time he had been noticing a grad- ual, though striking, change in her. She was losing much of her flesh and high color. She had grown almost slender, and her face had taken on a mysterious delicacy. Her features had sharpened; her eyes glowed strangely; her feet seemed to grow smaller and daintier; even her housewife’s hands had lost some of their coarseness, while her flaxen hair, always her glory, seemed twice as luxuriant, twice as golden. She dressed, too, with more care and more taste. And suddenly, tingingly, overwhelmingly Zin- gare realized that a miracle had been per- formed. Meeka was a beautiful woman, a woman infinitely desirable, more desirable than she had ever been! The feet of Jesus had made a lady of her. A lady! And she (Continued to page 50) CoOmcbooOoks.c©