Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1877-02-07
The Recognition.

The Recognition.
Grace Greenwood tells in The InteriO,
II story of one Malcolm Anderson, who a
the age of sixteen left his widowed mothe
in the Highlands of Scotland to seek hi
fortune as sailor. After several voyage
the proceeds which were largely bestowe
on his mother, he went to India, and ther
by diligence and shrewdness bocam
wealthy. As his fortunes improved. h
ar ed for his mother and sent her none
enough to secure and repair her coltag,
home, and annually renlitted enough t.
pay her expenses and pay the wages of
faithful servant or companion who abod
with her.
Entangled in business cares, Mr.. Ander
son never found time and freedom for til,
long voyage and visit home; till at last
failing health, and the necessity of educat
ing his children, compelled him to abrupt
ly wind up his affairs and return 10 Scot
land. He was then man somewhat owe
forty, but looking far older than his years
showing all the i'll effects of the trying eli
mate of India. His complexion was sal
low brown; he was gray and somewha
bald, with here and there dash of whit
to his dark auburn beard he was thin anC
a little bent, but his youthful smile remain
ed full of quiet drollery, ana his eye ha(
not lost its old gleeful sparkle, by porin9
over ledgers and counting rupees.
He had married country thu
daughter of a Scotch surgeon, and hat
two children, son and daughter. Ill
did not write to his good mother that h,
was coming home, as he wished to sur
prise her, and test her memory of her sail
Or boy. The voyage was made with safe
ty.
One summer afternoon, Mr.. Macon
Anderson arrived with his family in hi
native town. Putting up at the little i'm
he proceeded to dress himself in suit o
sailors clothes, and then walked out alone
BY by-path he well knew, and ther
through shady lane, dear to his young
hazel-nutting days all strangely unchang
ed, he approached his mothers cottage
He stopped for a few moments on the lawr
outside, to curb down the heart that wa!
bounding to meet that mother, and TO clea
his e.'es of sudden mist of happy tears
Through the open window he caught {
glimpse of her, sitting alone at her spin
ming wheel, as in the old time. But alas
how changedl Bowed was the dear form
once erect, and silvered the locks once 81
brown, and dmmed the eyes once so full
Of tender brightness, like dew stained vic
lets. But the voice, with which she wa!
grooming softly to herself, was still sweet
and there was on her check the same love
ly peach-bloom of twenty years ago.
At length he knocked, and the dear ole
welI-remembered voice called to him il
the simple. old-fashioned way: Coon
benz (come in). The widow rose at sigh
Of the stranger, and courtcously Offered
him chair. Thanking her in IN assumed
voice, somewhat gruff, he sank down a
though wcaried, saying that he was /
waylarer, strange to the country. and ask
ing the way to the next town. The twi
light favored him in his little ruse; he saw
that she did not recognize him, even II!
one she had ever seen. But after giving
him the information he desired, she askel
him if he was Scotchman by birth.
YES, madame" he replied; but
have been away in foreign parts for many
years. doubt if my own mother woul(
know me now, though she was very font
of me b. fore | went to sea"
"Ah, mon! its little ye ken about NTH
crs, gin ye think sac. | can tell yc there
is nil mortal memory like theirs" tie wild
ow somewhat warmly replied; then add
ed: "And where hae yc been for sue Ions
a time, that ye hae lost all the Scotch fraC
your speech?"
I'm India-in Calcutta. madame"
"Ah, then, its likely ye ken something
Of my son. Mr.. Malcom Anderson
Anderson repeated the visitor, rs
tho striving to remember. "There bt
many Of that name in Calcutta; but il
your son rich merchant, and man abou
my age and size, with something such :
tigure-head?"
MY son is rich merchant repie(
the widow proudly, but he is younger
than YOU by many long year, and, beg
ging your pardon, sir, far BONNER, lie il
tall and straight, wi hands and feet lik'
ala sizes; he Lad brown, curling hair, sa'
thick and glossy, and cheeks like the rose
and brow like the swan. and big blu,
cen, wi aglint in them like the liz lit of til,
evening star! Ma, ma, ye are no like m,
Malcom, though ye are guild enough body
| dnna doubt, and II decent womqn'
son.
Here the masquerading merchant, con
siderably taken down, made Il movemen
as though to leave, but the hospitable damt
stayed him saying: Elm ye hae travel
ed a the way from India, ye noun to b'
tired and hungry. Bide bit, and cat ant
dink wi us. Margery! come down an,
let lis set on the supper"
The two women soon provided quite {
tempting repast and they all three sa
down to il, Mrs. Anderson reverently ask
ed blessing. But the merchant coulC
not eat. He was only hungry for his
mothers kisses-onlv thirsty for her rec
ognition; yet he could not bring himself
to Say to her. II am your SON." He ask
ed himself, half grieved, half amused
" Where are the unerring, natural instincts
| have read about, in poetry and novelsP
His hostess, seeing he did not eat, kind
ly as n him fhe could suggest anything
he would be likely to relish Il thank
you, madame" he answered. /" it does
seem to me that | should like some ont
meal porridge, such as my mother used tC
make. if SO be you have any,"
Porridge, repeated the widow. "Ah
We mean parritch. Yes, we hae little left
frae our dinner. Gle it TO him, Margery
But, Mon, it is cauld."
Never mind; know | shall like it, D."
he rcjoined, taking the bowl and beginning
To stir the porridge with his spoon. As he
did so. Mrs Anderson gave slight start
and bent eas erly toward him. Then she
sank back in her chair, with sigh, say.
mg id answer to his questioning look:
"Ye minded O. my Malcom, then-just
in that way he used to stir his parritch-
gicing it n whirl and flirt. All! gin yC
were my Malcolm, my poor laddiem
"Wee then, gin were your Malcom,
said the merchant, speaking for the frs