The commonwealth. (Scotland Neck, N.C.) 1896-1929, 1903-05-07
THE SMELL OF FLOWERS
JUST WHAT SHE NEEDED
In the Nick Of Time.

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Youths Companion.
| Mary Searle was, as she would haye
said, eat the end of the rope" It was
May on the Western ranch. It had
been long, bard winter. Mary's three
babies bad been happy and well. but
what active fset and hands and tongues
they had, and how "mother" was called
on every waking minute, no one bat
"mother" knew.
Now, with the coming Of spring, she
had been seized with that desperate
homesickness which comes to the New
England girl on the vast pralries.
She loathed the fat expanse OF treeless
| plain. She hated the thought of the
great droves of cattle. She dreaded
the faces of the rough ranchmen who
must be fed and housed for the work
of the great farm. With a hungry
longing she longed for the sight OF
mountains, of pines, OF flowing water
ard of the little village street; for the
sound OF women's voices, and for all
the pleasant social interests In life in
the home of her childhood.
She had ceased to sleep we'll. Every
bit of her will-powe was needed to re-
strain her from some wild and desper-
ate deed-she scarcely knew what. OF
course good cry would do her good,
but she seemed to have forgotten how
to cry. Then Tom was too busy even
to know that anything was the matter.
Would he care, if he did know? Was
he not all wrapped up in the spring
work and the prospect of making "big
money" this year?
This was the situation on Saturday,
the first day of May-and it was full OF
peril, as any doctor would have known
If he had looked at Mary Searle's tense
face, and the dilated pupils OF her eyes,
and heard the strained tones OF her
voice.
When Tom came home that night
he brought packet of mail. He be-
Iieved in keeping up with the times,
and there were papers and magazines,
and there were sure to ha letters 1rilin
the old home. Mary took up the
bundle inditferent'y. Her mothers
letter lay on top, and she opened it.
She glanced over the pages OF family
news, hardly knowing what che read.
She came to the last leaf.
II am sending you," she read, "by
this mail little box of arbutus. I
hope it will do you good, dear. I'm
sure it Will. How I wished you were
with me as 1 picked the blossoms this
afternoon! Not a glimmer of sun
shine had they ever seen till lifted
them out of their gloomy, chilly
caverns of snow and dead leaves. I
never gather them without wondering
fthe Pilgrims found them at Plymouth
in the spring after that terrible winter,
and if they plucked heart and courage
with the fragrant blossoms.
"They are the very flowers for the
pioneer; and am sending them to
you, my daughter, with prayer that
you may not falter, as you do in your
own place the same pioneer work to
which the early settlers in New Eng
land were called"
As Mary read, her aching heart
seemed to rise into her throat. She
snatched the box, broke the string
and raised the cover. The poignant,
delicious fragrance of the Mayfiowers
met her. She buried her face in the
delicate bloom, and in another instant
sobs shook her and the welcome tears
poured down her face.
Tom found her so ten minutes later,
aud his "Why, little woman!" was
very tender, as he gathered her into
his arms. He bad the whole story
then, and he blamed him self, and he
praised her, and he petted her, and he
laid plans Tor the future all in one
breath. Was it the familiar fragrance
OF the Mayflowers that brought the
tears to his eyes?
At all events, the crisis was past at
the ranch, and Mary told the exact truth
when she wrote her mother, "The
lovely Mayfowers came safely on the
first of May-ln the nick of tims!"
500 REWARD 500.