The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1904-10-28
A DriftWoOd Fire.
By Kate Whiting Patch.



The widow Carson was on the beach
gathering driftwood. 1t was raw,
gray day. The dull clouds hung low
over the waters and the waves beat
restlessly against the reefs; strong
salt wind blew the widows hair into
her eyes and wound her scanty gar
ments more closely about the spare
figure. She was a slender woman, but
the strength of the wind and rocks
and sea had crept into her veins; her
brown face showed that
She filled her apron with the drift
wood and turned a moment, shading
her eyes with her .land, to gaze out to
sea- 1t was a desolate picture: the
long wet beach, the dripping rocks COW
cred with dull-brown sea-weed, the
foaming, angry waters breaking on the
cruel reefs.
The widow shivered and, drawing
, her shawl closer about her shoulders,
mounted the rocky, winding path that
led from the shore to her small, wealth
er-stained house.
AS she approached a little face was
fiattened aginst one of the eastern win
dows. Seeing it smile fitted across
the woman's eyes, then vanished as
though frightened at it's own audacity.
1t was like sunshine in November, that
smile, and yet the face was not harsh
vi stern There were quivering. ten
der lines about the mouth but the JOY
of youth and summertime had fed In
her deep eyes lay the shadow OF de-
ported gladness.
The widow opened her door and the
salt wind rushed in with her, nearly
blowing over the golden-haired laddie
who ran to meet her with shout of
welcome. She held him for moment
in a closer embrace, then gently put
him down and went to the hearth with
her armful of drift-wood.
The fire leapt up. and the little boy
clapped his hands and laughed gaily,
looking up into his mothers face. She
smiled again, that rare, 1eeting smile,
and stroked the sunny head against
her knee.
g IT'S a pretty fire, mother" lisped
the little voice. THAT plank of wood
there's the biggest piece Did the old
sea bring that, too, mother?"
"Yes, child" the mother answered;
"we would go cold these fall nights but
for the wood the old sea brings us.
Then she was silent, unconsciously
surrendering to the atmosphere of
dreams, the enchantment of the wood
fire. The little child felt the influence,
too, and climbed upon his mothers
knee, and both gazed int the heart of
the burning driftwood.
The flames sank lower, the light
grew more dim, and then for the wild
ow's sad eyes the rudy embers be-
came picture gallery.
Time slipped backward for her. 1t
was a clear August day; the sun
danced in the water, throwing before
himelf path of silver and diamonds.
Numberless small white sails cleaned
against the blue of sea and sky. A
banner of early golden-rod flashed here
and there among the rocks. There
was not cloud in the Sky. Captain
Carson stood at the doorway, ready to
start on a long days fishing cruise.
such a day." he cried, eager to be
off. Come, Polly, wife, the suns an
hour high"
The golden-haired baby, hearing his
fathers voice, crept out into the sun
shine to be caught up in the captains
strong arms and tossed over his head,
laughing with glee. Then Polly came
out into the sunshine, too, and caught
the laughing baby in her arms. Such
glad group; the ruddy father and
child so like one another, and the pref
ty mother with her happy eyes.
Captain Carson strongly embraced
wife and child, kissing his Polly's
brown cheek Goodbye, sweetheart;
goodbye, youngster!" he called back
gaily as he hurried down the rocky
path. "I'll be back ere nightfall."
They stood in the doorway, Polly
and the youngster, and watched him
launch the dory and set his sail, way-
ing his hand cheerily as he started.
Then he sailed away, away from the
sunshine into the shadow, out of their
lives-forever
.
The sunshine vanished: the sky