Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1900-11-12

| 1ellOW exclaimed IN aStOnlShment.
"They spell Welcome because moth
er's coming home tomorrow. To-mor-
| row morning-yes, Stree! They've
cured her at the hospital, and she's
coming home. We've got pieces to
speak, and singing. and we're going to
| drape the picture with vines and flow
ers. l tell you there's times. when
your mother comes homer
| Little Scarecrow crept away in the
| darkness. Even the bright silver quar-
ters clinked, unheard, in his pocket.
| He was thinking.
There are "times"-I tell you'll
when your mother comes home. That
is what Scarecrow was thinking.
Scarecrow's mother was coming
home, too, tomorrow. Had they
"cured" her at that great, grim hos
pital for sick souls, over there? All
at once Scarecrow remembered some
| thing. She was coming out weeks
earlier, because of "good behavior"
they said. Some one had told him.
Scarecrow was conscious suddenly of
being proud of his mother. He had
never been proud of her in his life
before.
"Dcy're goin' to let her out sooner
along O. her bchavin' good" he mu-.
INJURED, little glow warming his thin,
| brown cheeks. "Oh, I say, mebbe"-
his voice quavered excitedly-"m "mebbe
dey'se cured herr
But there would be no green and
flowers or welcome" on the wall. The
utter contrast smote Scarecrow like
dull blow. He stopped in the street
and sobbed in sudden compassion.
| There would be no vines, no flowers,
no singing-no anything-when Scare
crows mother came home. That 9TH
er mother would have them ALL
Then the silver coins clinked remind
ingly. They bore inspiration straight
from the tattered pocket of despondent
Scarecrow to his brain under the tat
tered cap. Fifty cents will "carry"
a great way sometimes, and it was
Scarecrow's trade to carry things.
There We're the odds and ends of
green's and the half wilted flowers that
the florist let him have cheap; there
were the buns and sausages and the
tea-and the bit of sugar and milk.
He carried them all home to the attic
in the dreary alley. All the way up
stairs, flight after fight, Scarecrow
whistled Across the dark hallway
the invalid woman took up her nee
die again and smiled.
maybe she amt comm home after
all-then l don't wonder he feels like
whistlin'," she thought. Its dread
full good to hear him agalnw
The little attic was swept and pol
ished and decorated with the treasures
from the florists. Scarecrow got up
at the first ray of daylight to do it.
And he set out his little feast on the
fitting old table. Over the one little
window he nailed a gigantic w that
he had fashioned patiently out of
shreds of green. 1t was crooked and
queer, but it was w, and it began
the word welcome. He would explain
she would understand.
81 wish l could remember de way
de other letters went" he thought,
standing off and eyeing the solitary
letter wistfully; but I'll tell her wot 1t
STAINS fer, an how she's welcome
home again, and when she comes in
de door I'll set up an whistle, loud.
Dat'll be de singin'."
1t was midway in the dull, wet morn
ing when the mother of little Scare
crow came home. Sore-heartcd and
hopeless, with the brand OF shame on
her forehead, she dragged listlessly up
the stairs, fight after flight. She had
been good" over on the Island, but
now
81 sayw
1t was Scarecrow on the upper land
ing, nodding cheerfully. His little
brown, lean, hungry face was elate
with pride.
'Ier come along in an look, will
yer!' he cried, exultantly, hurrying her
| before him. ut STAINS fer Welcome
see?-it's de first letter. 1 couldn't
an de vittles-dey all STAINS fer wei
come.'"
Then the boys lips pursed into
whistle, and the whole decorated little
attic was filled with shrill music.
| y moment the mother gazed-for q
moment she listened uncomprehend-
| ingly. Then, with understanding,
arose something sweet and warm in
her calloused breast, and she caught
little whistling Scarecrow in her arms.
The music stopped when she kissed
him. He could never remember to
! have been kissed before, and the proph-
eSy of better things was in the strange,
warm touch on his lips. The faith of
n little child and the love of n mother
were born then, and the squalid lit
tie attic blossomed into a home. 1t
would be easier to "be good' after
that.-The Interior.
Cat That Kills Snakes.
Miss Ruby Fleming, daughter of Mr..
and Mrs. George NJ. Fleming of this
place, has cat that is not only a fine
mouser, but has developed a penchant