The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1894-09-23

suddenly come to life.
Up and down the blossomy walks goes
Aunt Prue.
Now who is that, leaning ever the gate.
Just as one stood in tine years ago?
What If she has come back? What was
it the south wind was saying?
Why, he went sailing away in just such
night as this-was it twenty-was it
eighty years ago? In what harbor God
knows; but Aunt Prue has waited these
many years, starting, sometimes, at foot
step, voice, just as she does now-in
vain.
How foolish. 1t is Joe, OF course. only
Joe from the mill, named for him who
comes no more.
''JOe is likely lad" Aunt Prue often
saws, with little sigh.
Poor Joe, he is so tired of the lonely
farm. the sleepy f1Ocks, the duh country
village, the everlasting old mill that was
his fathers and his grandfather's away
back in the dead and gone years.
A thousand voices call him. He longs
for the whirl and rush of the great happy
world outside. Yes, he must go. That is
why he fingers so long by the gate tonight,
for his mind is settled now.
Prue gTieves at his going, so does Ruth,
silently. But the blind old grandmother
most of all. She remembers the sweet
blossoms of her youth, when she was not
blind. the tender pink of the daffodils in
the lush green grass. the blue of meadow
violets; you cannot mention a familiar
object in the neighborhood that she does
not know.
And yet Joe's face she has never seen.
But she thinks it is like that of q bright
and beautiful angel.
Joe is good to her. 1t breaks her heart
10 part with him. Many tear she kniis
into mis- red stockings. as she sits, always
10 the dark, in her quaint old chair.
But hoy can lad stay with his grand
mother all his days?
Aunt Prue's garden is all blaze of bios
SONS; the mill pours out its yellow floods ::
seasons come and 90, but Joe returns no
more.
His letters that were so bright and
hopeful at first, are few and un satisfac
tory now, and Aunt Prue wonders a. the
change.
Harkl That was the click of the latch.
If it should be-but no. 1t is only a neigh
bor-Deacon Field-who often drops In to
look at the garden.
Tonight he seems i'll at ease-hardly
himself. Something ia evidently on his
mind. He stares about in helpless way.
wipes his face with his red bandanna.
speaks Of the weather and the crops. with
out paying any atten ton to Aunt Pru-'s
replies, ami, finally. half turns to go; then
suddenly faces about aud asks in hesitat.
ing way if they have heard from Joe lately.
Something in his face alarms Aunt Prue.
| Now, too, she notices that he has a news
| paper 10 his hand.
"What is the matter ?" she cries. sharplv.
'What has happened? Is anything amiss
with Jne?"
81 dunno-I am afraid-it pears to me-
| the boy has got INTO some sort of trouble. D
he says, SLOWLY unfolding the paper. "But
| it may be only st ~. you know.
| thought 1t no mOre'n neighbOrly to lei vor
see."
Aunt Prue reads it in dazed way, with
| out in the least compromising it. The
words seem to dance and tumble together
before. her eyes like jumping jacks. and
her voice has curious far-away sound ia
! her.
"Our Joe theft" she shouts. suddenly
| turning on the deacon with flashing
eyes. I'll never believe II. Why. l saw
| him grow up from slip of lad. mere
me-" she goes on in high, unnatural voice
1T is somebody else. 1t was never ouI
| Joe-neverP'
"No doubt, no doubt" returns the dea.
con little ambiguOusly. But my wife
and me kinder thought we'd orter let you
be Joe, ourselves. But there is he paper
he adds. standing an the defensive a little.
as he takes his hat to go.
"You did no more than you thought as
| ght, height Dor Field, but ii does surprise
me that you could ever magihe ii might be
tue of our Joe.
swell. we'll" ruefully answers the dea-
| con, feeling that he has suddenly sinned
| against light and reason and Aunt Prue
| and Joe, all together, I'VE all make mis-
takes, aud you hadn't orter lay it up agin
me. | meant no harm TO the boy.
guess he's all right" be concludes, little
| douhtfuly.
'Why. I'll go and see" cries Aunt Prue
| starting up.
"You can have old Don to 60 TO the
| depot" and the deacon brightens little a
| the opportuni 10 redeem himself.
AlasI Before she has time to set fortl