The Press. (Stafford Springs, Conn.) 1883-1935, 1901-08-15
The Return
Of Mary.
BY W. z. ROSE.


The air was growing chill in the
early twilight when Mary Hamerton
opened the little garden gate and went
swiftly down the path to her fathers
house. How familiar everything look
ed! How few changes Is years had
wrought! No doubt the greatest change
was to confront her within the old
home. She slipped through the un-
locked doorway into the kitchen. There
was q young woman there, young
woman who looked up with startled
eyes when Mary entered. But Mary
explained her presence in few words,
and the young woman, whose heart
was tender. listened with a suspicion
Of tears in her eyes and gladly second
ed her suggestions. And Mary learned
that the young woman was the daugh-
ter Of a neighboring farmer, who had
come over to care for Gilbert Blair and
his home. No; the old man was not, as
Mary had feared, in failing health. He
was feeble. It was true, and kept to his
chair and his reading more, but he was
now in the old rocker by the fireplace.
The young woman had just fixed the
lamp for him, and he had taken up his
book. Would Mary go to him now?
No, Mary would wait little.
AS she looked about the familiar
room memories rushed upon her that
filled her eyes with tears-the gentle
mother who had passed away when she
needed mother most; the aunt whose
rigid rule had imbittered the child's
life; the father whose iron will had
found in her a will fully as strong and
whose harsh words had driven her
from his door and into the great world
beyond. Perhaps she had been wrong
to brave him as she did, but her soul
rebelled against the narrow limits of
her life in the dull little hamlet. She
wanted knowledge; she wanted society.
There had been a wordy strife, and she
had gone forth.
Later on, when she had established
herself in the city by the lake and the
cruel days of the early struggle seemed
passed, she had written to him, but he
had not answered. She wrote again.
Her letter was returned. He was very
hard and very unforgiving. Occasion
ally she heard of him in indirect ways.
Once she met a man from the neigh
borhood, and he told her that her ia
Their never spoke of her and never per-
mitted her name to be mentioned in
his hearing.
And so the years passed, Is Of them,
and then great longing to see her ia
Their came to her 1t came to her after
the death of her child. And SO she
was here.
Mary put a huge apron over her trav
cling dress and went to work. She
had not forgotten her cunning. The
abiding places of the dishes came back
to her; the recipes of long ago were
swiftly recalled. The young woman
watched her quick movements with
fascinated eyes. Mary wanted to pre-
pare the evening meal alone, and she
had her way.
Presently she glanced a little anx-
iously at the clock. Then she smoothed
down her apron and went forward to
the sitting room door. The old man
did not hear her approach. She looked
at him a moment before she spoke. No;
he was not greatly changed-grayer
and thinner; that was all.
Father" she said.
He looked around.
"Why, it's Mary" he said. 81 was
just dreaming of you. l had fallen
asleep. So you have come back?"
Mary did not move from the door
way.
EYES," she said, II have come back"
A whimsical smile fluttered across her
face. do you want wheat cakes for
supper tonight, father?'
The old man stared a little. Then
he nodded and turned and looked closer
at his prodigal daughter. But she did
not wait for him to speak.
Every WELL" she said and vanished.
She laughed as she came back to the
kitchen. There was a suspicion of sad
ness in her merriment, but she nodded
as If satisfied with her reception.
''It Is the right way" she said.
She was busy with her cakes when a
slight noise in the doorway drew her