The Portland daily press., 1869-04-17
selected story.
WHAT HAPPENED.


In little post town among the Highlands
OF Scotland, far away from any great CITY,
there lived, a few years ago, woman much
respected and we'll beloved, though of lowly
birth and humble tortmes-one Mrs. Jean
Anderson. She had been left widow. with
one son, the youngest and last of several
promising children. She was poor. and her
industry and economy were taxed to the ut
most to keep herself and her son, who was
tine, clever lad, and to give him the educa-
ton he ardently desired. At the early age OF
sixteen, malcolm Anderson resolved to seek
his fortune in the wide world, and became
sailor. He made several voyages to India
and China, and always, like the good boy
that he was, brought home some useful pres
ent to his mother, TO whom he gave also a
large portion of his earnings.
But he never liked seaiaIing life, though
he grew strong and stawart in it; and when
about nineteen, he gradually rose to place
OF trust and Importance, and finally to a
partnership. As his fortunes improved, his.
mothers circumstances were made easier
He RENTED money enough to secure to her
the old cottage home repaired and enlarged
with garden and lawn; and placed at her
command annually a sum sufficient to meet
all her wants and to pay the wages of a
faithful servant, or rather companion; for
the brisk, independent old lady stoutly re-
Entangled in business cares, Mr.. Anderson
never found time and freedom for the long
voyage and visit home; till at last, failing
health, and the necessity of educating his
children, compelled him to abruptly wind up
his affairs, and return to Scotland. He was
then man over forty, but looking far older
than his years, showing all the usual i'll effects
OF the trying climate of india. His COM
plexlon was sallow brown; he was gay
and c0mQUbof bod xrifI, 1.
dash of white in his dark, auburn beard; he
was thin and little bent, but his youthful
smile remained full of quiet drollery, and his
eye had not lost all its old and gIeeful
sparkle by pouring over ledgers and counting
rupees.
He had married a country woman, the
daughter of Scotch surgeon, and had two
children, a SON and daughter. He did not
write to his good mother that he was coming
home, as he wished TO surprise her, and test
her memory of her sailor boy. The voyage
was made in safety.
One summer afternoon Malcolm Anderson
arrived with his family at his native town.
Putting up at the little inn, he proceeded 70
dress himself in suit of sailors clothes. and
then walked out alone. By by-path he well
knew, and then through shady lane, dear TO
MS young, hazel-nutting days, all strangely
unchanged, he approached his mothers cot
tage. He stopped for few moments on the
lawn outside, to curb down the heart that
was heating to meet that mother and 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! Bowed was the dear form, once SO
erect, and sivered the locks once SO full of
tender brightness, like dew stained violets-
But the voice, with which she is grooming
softly to herself, was still sweet, and there
was on her cheek the same lovely peach
bloom of twenty years ago.
At length he knocked, and the dear re-
membered voice called to him. in tbe simnIe
old fashioned wayz"Coom benz (come inl
Inc WIDOW rose at sight OF the stranger, and
coarteously offered him chair. Thanking
her in an assumed voice, somewhat oruff he
sank down, as though wearied. saving that
he was wayfarer, stranger to the country.
and asking the way to the next town. The
twilight favored him in his little ruse. he
saw that she did not recognize him, even as
one she had ever known. But after giving
him the information he desired, she asked
him If he was Scotchman by birth?
Yea, madame" he replied; "but have
9een away IN foreign parts many years. l
doubt If my own mother would know me
now, though she was very fond of me before
l went to sea-"
An, mon! it's little We ken about mithers
GIN ye think sac: can tell ye there is ma
mortal memory like THEIRS" the widow some
what warmly replied; then added:
AND where haze ye been for sac lang a
time, that We haze lost the Scotch fra YOUR
speechp" 49,
"In INDIAN Calcutta, madam
"Ah, then it's likely We ken something of
my son, Mr.. Malcolm Anderson"
Anderson p repeated the visitor, as though
STRIVING to remember. "There be many of
that name in Calcutta; but is your son rich |
merchant, man about my age and size, with |
something such fgurehead ?"
my son is rich merchant; !" replied the
WIDOW proudly; "but he is younger than you
by many long year, and, begging vour mar
don, sir, far BONNER. He is tall and STRAIGHT.
WI hands and feet like lassie's, he had |
brown, curling hair, sac thick and glossy and |
cneeks like the rose, and brow like the |
shaw, and big blue cen, VII CLINT in them. |
like the light OF the evening star! Ma, ma We |
are guild enough body, dinna doubt, and |
decent woman's son."
Here the masquerading merchant, consid- |
eiaply taken down, made movement as |
though to leave, but the hospitable dame
stayed him, saying-"Gin We haze travelled a. |
the way fra lndia We maun be tired and hun |
cry. blde bit, and eat and drink wiz us. |
support" wv =" 'Ho
line TWO women soon rosided quite a |
tempting repast, and they all three sat down
TO it-Mrs Anderson reverently asking
pressing. But the merchant could not eat
he was only hungry for his mothers kisses
only thirsty for her joyful recognition: vet |
he could not bring himself to say to her.aI
am your son." He asked himself half ories-
ed, half amused-"Where are the uneyrino |
natural instincts | have read about in noetrv
and novels?" p'0'iS
His hostess, seeing he did not eat. kindly
asked II ne could suggest anything he would |
pe hKeIy TO relish. II thank you, madam |
ne answered; lit does seem to me that / |
snould IKE some oatmeal porridge, such as |
my mother used to make, Iif SO be YOU have |
y"
"Porridge?" repeated tire widow. "Ah, We
mean parritch. Yes, we hae a little frae our |
it is cauld." -'
Never mind l know l shall like it.v he re-
ne reloined, taking the bowl, and beginning
70 .: sur tne porridge with his spoon. AS he
ala SO, Mrs Anderson gave a slight start. and
pent eagerly toward him. Then she sank
. D@cH ~ ner chair with sigh, saying, in an
swer to bis questioning look:
Ye minded me o. my Malcolm then. inst
IN that way he used to stir his parritch-gie-
ing 1t whirl and firt. All! gin We were
my Malcolm, my poor laddie!o
well, then, gin were your Malcolm. . said
the merchant, speaking for the first time in
the Scottish dialect, and in his own voice:
or gin yer Draw young Malcolm were as
brown, and bald, and gray, and bent, and old
as am, could you welcome him to your
srms, and love him as in the dear auld lang
syneF Could you, mither?"
v; an through this touching little speech, the
hrs. v% eyes had been gIlstening, and her
err She o ong last; but at that word "mith-
terinc tn hang ar up with glad cry, and tot
breast. He t ion, iel almost fainting on his
ed her brow as'1 ner again, and again kiss
while the bio '' to-, ner lips, and her hands,
cheeks; while she called him T hr n nI 1ronzeo
old pet names, and tried To sc -; al the GEAR
Old looks. By-and-by they came n haa al tne
the ghosts OF them came back, The oSS os.--
her embrace grew comlef; love and ; ,o,m l 10
to it second youth, stately and S Soy save
the first she then and there buried deen
her heart-a sweet, beautiful, peculiar mem
ory. 1t was moment of solemn renuncia-
ton, in which she gave up the fond maternal
illusion she had cherished SO long.
Then looking up steadily into the face of
the middle-aeed man, who had taken its
place, she asked: "Where haze We left the wife
and bairns?"
AT the inn, mother. Have you room for
US all at the cottage?"
Indeed have-twa good spare rooms,
W. large closets, Weel stocked vii linen haze
s Seen spinning or weaving a. these lang years
'ol T ye path and the wesns."
;o;nod Z, mother dear, now YOU must rest.o re-
ssNa 'ne merchant tenderly.
down 70 ~, alnna care to rest til. We Law me
enough betwaas lang rest. There'll be time