Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1869-12-22
The Unexpected Son,

One summer afternoon, Mr. Malcolm An
derson arrived with his family at his native
town. Putting up at the little inn, be pro.
ceeded to dress himself in a suit Of ssilor
and then walked out alone. By
path he well knew, and through shady
lane, dear to his young hazle nutting days,
all strangely unchanged he approached his
mothers cottage. He stopped few mo-
ments on the lawn outside, to curb down the
heart that was bounding to meet that moth
er. and to clear his eyes Of sudden mist Of
happy tears Through the open window
he caught glimpse of her, sitting alone
at her spinning wheel, as in the old time
But alas, how changed
Bowel vas the dear form, once so erect and
silvered the locks, once so brown, and dim
med the eye once 30 full of tender bright
ness, like dew stained vioe,s But the
voice with which she was grooming softly to
herself, was still sweet, and there was on
her cheek the same lovely peachbloom of
twenty years ago.
At length he knocked, and the dear re
IaciabcreI VGlcS ciiitu " bittl iii tIe Sluiple,
old fashioned way
Coon benz" (come in}.
The widow arose at the sight of stran
ger, AMI courteously offered him a chair.
Thanking her in an assumed voice, some
what gruff, he sank down as though weary,
saying that he was a wayfarer, strange to the
country asked the way to the next town.
The twilight fay ored him in his little ruse ;
he saw that she did not recognize him, even
as one she had ever seen. But after giving
him the information he desired, she asked
him if he was scotchman by birth.
''Yes, madam he replied, ''but have
been away in foreign parts many years. L
doubt if my own mother would know ME
now, though she was very fond of me be
fore / went to sea.
''Ah, mon it's little We ken about NTH
nae mortal memory like theirs, the widow
somewhat warmly replied then added: and
where has We been for sac long time, that
ye hae lost a Scotch from your speech p
LII Co4Suttsf ibAttiiii-
''Ah, then, it's likely ye ken something o
my son, Mr. Malcolm Anderson p
Anderson, said he, as though striving
to remember. There be many of that
name in Calcutta, bnt is your son a rich
merchant, asd man about my size and
age %
MY son IS rich merchant, " replied the
widow but ne is younger than you by
many year; and begin your pardon, sir,
far BONNER. He is tail an straight, wi
hands and feet like lasSie' 5, he had brown
curly hair, sac thick and glossy, and cheeks
ike roses. and brow like the snaw, and
cen, wi CLINT in them, ike the light o
the evening star. Ma, ma, We are ma ike my
Malcolm, though ye are guild enough body
| dinua doubt, aud a decent woman's son. !"
Here the merchant made movement as
though to l@ave, but the widow stopped him
saying, "Gin ye hae Travelled all the way
from India, We maun be tired and hungry.
Bde Bit, and eat and drink wi us. Margery
come down, and let US set on the supper.
The two women soon provided supper,
and Mrs. Anderson reverently asked bless
ing; but the merchant could not eat His
hostess seeing this, e>kcd him if he could
suggest anything he would relish.
Il thank you. madam, lie said sit
does seem to me that | should ike some
oatmeal porridge, such as MY mother used
to make.
''porridge," repeated the widow, ''yt
mean parritch Yes, we have little le9
frae our dinner. Gle him it, Margery. Bu
mon it's cauld.
Never miad. know I shall ike it, HI
reioined, taking the bowl and stirring Tho
porridge with spoon. Then she sank bacl
In her chair with a sigh, saying, ''ye min(
me O my Malcolm, then-!jtst in that wa.
he used to stir his gieing it a whir
and fiirt. An, gin ye were my Malcolm
my poor laddie
'eWeel, then, gin | we're your Malcolm,
said the merchant, speaking in the Scottisl
dialect and his own voice, ''or gin yer bray
young Malcolm were as brown and bald an
grav. and bent, and old as | am, could y
welcome him to yer arms, and love him as il
/ the dear old lang syne? Gould ye, mither 2
All through this touching little speecI
the widows eyes had been glistening, an
her breath came fast; but at the wor
'mither, she sprang up with glad cry, AN
tottering to her son, fell almost fainting o
his breast. He kissed her again and again
while the big tears slid down his cheek:
while she clung about his neck, and Gale
him by all the dear, old pet names, an
tried to see in him all the dear, old youn
looks. By and by thoy came back-or tn
ghost of them came back. Then lookin
up steadily into the face of the middle age
man who had taken its place. she aske
''Where have you left the wife ard BARNS :?
'At the inn, mother. Have you room a
the cottage for us all p
Indeed hae-twa good spare rooms, vi
linen hae been spinning or weaving thes
long years, for ye bath, and the weans. -
"Well, mother dear, now you must rest,
said he, tenderly.
INA, ma, dinna care 20 rest till We la
! ,,,a lapn Tbara' II !