The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1885-09-09

My son is n rich merchant," re-
piled the widow, proudly, 81 but he is
younger than you by mony a long year,
and, begging your pardon, sir, lar
BONNER. He is tall and straight, wiz
hands and feet like a lassie's; he has
brown, curling hair, sac thick and
glossy! and cheeks like the rose, and
brow like the shaw, and big blue cen,
wi CLINT in them, like the light of the
evening start Ma, ma, you are not like
my Malcolm, though you are a guild
enough body, | dinna doubt, and a de-
cent woman's SON."
Here the masquerading merchant,
considerably taken down, made move
ment. as though to leave, but the hos
pitable dame stayed him, saying, "Gin
we haze travelled a. the way fra India,
we maun be tired and hungry. Bide a
bit, and eat and drink wi us. Margery!
come down, and let us set on the sup
perl"
The two women soon provided quite
a tempting repast, and they all three
sat down to it-Mrs. Anderson rever-
emily asking a blessing. But the mer-
chant could not eat. He was only
hungry for his mothers ksses-only
thirsty for her joyful recognition yet
he could not bring himself to say to
her, g am your SON." He asked him
self, half grieved, half amused, where
are the unerring natural instincts |
have read about in poetry and novels?"
His hostess, seeing he did not eat,
kindly asked if he could suggest any
thing he would be likely to relish. 81
thank you, madam" he answered.; it
does seem to me that / should like
some oatmeal porridge, such as my
mother used to make, if so be you have
any"
I" Porridge?" repeated the widow
" All, we mean pdrritch. Yes, we hae
little left frau our dinner. Gle it to
him, Margery. But, mon, it is cauld."
Never mind; | know | shall like it,"
he rejoined, taking the bowl, and be-
ginning to stir the porridge with his
spoon. AS he did so, Mrs. Anderson
gave slight start, and bent eagerly
toward him. Then she sank back in
her chair with sigh, saying, in answer
to his questioning look:
Ye minded me o. my Malcolm,
then-just in that way he used to stir
his parritch-gieing it a whirl and
firt. All! gin We uere my Malcolm,
my poor laddien'
I" Weel, then, gin ocere your NAL
colm," said the merchant, speaking for
the first time in the Scottish dialect,
in his own voice; I" or gin your Draw
young Malcolm were as brown, and
bald, and gray, and bent, and old, as l
am, could you welcome him to your
arms, and love him as in the dear auld
lang syne? Could you, mither?"
A II Al Al. = i. "a
the widows eyes had been glistening,
and her breath coming fast; but at that
word, " mither," she sprang up with
glad cry, and, tottering to her son, fell
almost fainting on his breast. He kissed
her again and again-kissed her brow,
and her lips, and her hands. while the
big tears slid down his bronzed cheeks;
while she chung about his neck and
called him by all the dear old pet names,
and tried to see in him all the dear old
young looks. By-and-by they came
back-or the ghosts of them came back.
The form in her embrace grew come
lier; love and joy gave to it a second
youth, stately and gracious; the first she
then and there buried deep in her
heart-asweet, beautiful, peculiar men,
Dry. 1t was moment of solemn re-
nunciation, in which she gave up the
fond maternal illusion she had cher
ished so long. Then, looking up stead
lily into the face of the middle-aged
man, who had taken its place, she
asked, "Where haze we left the wife and
BARNS 20
"At the inn, mother. Have you room
for us all at the cottage ?"
Indeed l have - twa good spare
rooms, VII large closets, weel stocked
wi linin l haze been spinning or weav-
ing a. these lang years for We bath,
and the weans."
Well, mother, dear, now you must
rest" rejoined the merchant, tenderly.
"Na, ma, dinna care to rest till We
lay me down to taxi my lang rest.
There'll be time enough between that
day and the resurrection to fauld my
hands in idlehess. Now 'twould be
unco irksome. But go, my son, and
bring the wife-I hope | shall like her;
and the bairns-I hope they will like
me-"
have only to say that both the good
woman's hopes were realized. A very
happy family knelt down in prayer that
night, and many nights after, in the
widows cottage, whose climbing roses
and woodbine were but outward signs
and types of the sweetness and blessed
ness of the love and peace within
Grace Greenwood.