Alma record. (Alma, Mich.) 1878-1928, 1894-03-09
the MARYLET SEAL
By JENETTE II. WALWORTH.
copyright 1892 by J.. b, Lippincott Co.

puzzled DaDy race. Mother bOOSe!
Precisely" said Ida, accommodating
herself To the tender little feet and
rhythmically supplying the context:
There was an old woman.
Tossed up in blanket,
Seventeen times as high as the moon;
What she did there
I cannot tell you,
But in her hand she carried broom.
Old woman. old woman,
Old woman said l.
Oh, whittier, oh, whittier, Oh. whittier so high'
To sweep the cobwebs on the sky,
And I'll be back again by and by"
1t was so deliciously easy to be nom
sensicsl that day.
'But you'll come back, auntie, by and
by?" There was touch of anxiety in
The ignorant little voice.
II will never get very far away
from you, my darling, my little sun
beam, my salvation"
They had reached the front door of
their own home by this time Ida
handed the child promptly over to old
Dido, who was her abject serf Then she
turned towards the stairway alone.
~ have found out all want to know,
Dido"
face before her with new respect. She
had lifted the veil heavy with the dust
of half century
well, my chil'?"
Rubbish" Ida snapped her fingers
airily I'm disguised to think how
much veneration have wasted on it all
these years. And. Dido am going to
have plain talk with father to-day
wanted to know the whole truth first.
After to-day you sha'n't hide our dear
little girl away In that gloomy old wing
any longer I'm going TO sweep the
cobwebs out of fathers brain next"
Not much hardship in the wing"
said old Dido, not altogether relishing
the iconocastic spirit that was invading
Glenburnie. Things that had remained
solid So long must have some inherent
strength in them-the vendetta among
them. She was almost too old to adjust
herself to livelier order of things.
81 tell you what it is, missy"
But Ida's skirts were just disappear
Ing around the last curve in the spiral
Staircase. She had gone TO sweep the
cobwebs from her fathers brain. 10
fiutter her new wings dcfantlv in his
presence She found him impatiently
arranging the chess-men on the board.
He consulted his watch before ac-
knowledging her cheerful greeting:
you are outgrowing the old-fash-
Toned virtue of punctuality, Ida, | am
sorry to see"
II am outgrowinga great many other
things, father, am glad to say, but |
hope will always retain due respect for
that old-fashioned virtue, as you call it
She took her place opposite him, but
made no motion towards awaiting her
self of the accorded privilege of taking
the first move:
Il think our game will have 10 wait
little while this morning, father
want TO have a long and a plain talk
with you-must have, in fact.
The sybarite leaned back in his chair
with groan:
"Spare me! Are the mules dying
with epizootic? Send for veterinary.
Are the gin-sawsin need of sharpening?
Send for gin-wright.'
Ida held up her hand imperiously:
Father, am in no mood for your
cynical jests. have just come from
White Cliffs, Mrs Lorimer is very i'll,
but do not think she will die. Her
sons do"
white Cliffs You have been TO
White Cliffs, and have the temerity TO
acknowledge it TO me?" His face was
purple with rage.
II have"
And you are not afraid of my
eurseP"
Not in the least"
There was such cool assurance, such
tindomitable courage, in her face and
voice that her father felt suddenly self
convicted of foolish buster. He shifted
his position restlessly, but remained ST.
lent
Father" she said, in sweet, grave
voice, utterly devoid of disrespect, u
want you to listen 20 me quietly. When
get through, then will be time enough
for any vaporing you may feel inclined
10. But things must be altered"
You take advantage of my helpless
old age 20 insult me with impunity,
girl. 1t is the common lot of parents
TO experience the ingratitude of chill
dren. But go on; go on. am listen
ing"
1t was poor old Lear's lament minus
its dignity and its provocation.
She let it pass without comment.
zone hears a great deal Of what
children owe TO their parents in this
world, father, but remarkably little of
what parents owe 60 their children
Among other fixed moral laws of crea-
tion is the one that compels child TO
believe every word its parent utters,
Tor no better reason than that it is ut.
tered by parent.
For twenty-one years, father, or, at
least, ever since | have had sense
enough TO imbibe hatred, have been
told that it was my duty to hate any
body, everybody, rather, and every
thing, connected with White Cliffs.
And honestly tried TO do my duty in
that respect. owed it 20 my father.
"When / met Dennis Lorimer at the
Pass that summer on my one free holt
day and fell in love with him, felt