r_ and the train was just pulling out
of the station when there came the first of the new attacks of the
enemy. She thought that the pillar of fire rose from the approximate
location of Rutherford, but was not sure until they reached Newark, when
the news was spread throughout the train by passengers who boarded it
there. She worried and cried over the loss of our little home and had
worked herself into a state of extreme nervousness and near-hysteria by
the time they reached New Brunswick.

Then, as the long train left New Brunswick, there was another attack,
this one on the town they had just left. The last two cars of the train
were blown from the track by the initial concussion, and the remainder
of the train brought to a grinding, jerking stop that threw the
passengers into a panic.

Already hysterical, Marie was in no condition to bear up under the
shock, and the loss of memory followed. Jack and Jim clung to her, of
course, and were taken to the Germantown Hospital with her when the
wreck victims were transferred to that point. She had no identification
on her person, and it was by sheerest luck that George, who was visiting
a friend in the same hospital, chanced to see her and thought he
recognized her.

That was all of it, but to me it was more than enough. From the depths
of despondency, I rose to the peaks of elation. It was true that we
would have to establish a new home, but this would be a joy as never
before. Those I had given up as lost were restored to me and I was
content. Hart would have to make some changes in the duties of that new
job--the world travel was out of the picture. I had had my fill of
adventure.

Besides, the hot spell was over.

[Illustration]

The Forgotten Planet

_By Sewell Peaslee Wright_

I have been asked to record, plainly and without prejudice, a brief
history of the Forgotten Planet.

[Sidenote: The authentic account of why cosmic man damned an outlaw
world to be, forever, a leper of Space.]

That this record, when completed, will be sealed in the archives of the
Interplanetary Alliance and remain there, a secret and rather dreadful
bit of history, is no concern of mine. I am an old man, well past the
century mark, and what disposal is made of my work is of little
importance to me. I grow weary of life and living, which is good. The
fear of death was lost when our scientists showed us how to live until
we grew weary of life. But I am digressing--an old ma