Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1904-01-20
The End Of a Journey.
By Claudia Ashton.

By Claudia Ashton.
"Do you know what tomorrow is,
oJhn?"
The old man started. He had been
gazing into the tiny fire till he was
half asleep.
Tomorrow" he repeated, sleepily.
Tomorrow, Susan. What day is to-
morrow"
'The fifth of April" answered the
woman, softly; don't you remember,
John?"
''The fifth of April! Why-why,
bless me! It's our wedding day, sure
ly. Of course, ! remember now you
mention the dat&; but somehow the
days seem all mixed up and | forget.
Let me see. 1t must be forty-eight-
forty-nine years ago-eh, old wife?
He touched her hand gently, and
she smiled at him through the gloom
of the little room.
"Fifty years, John fifty years to-
morrow since you and | started on the
road of life together. It's been steep
road. and now we're getting to the
end it seems to get sleeper" she
sighed softly, and the smile died from
her face. "Do you remember what
lovely day it was, John, dear that fifth
of April fifty years ago. The sun was
shining as if it were June, and all
the village came to see us married.
pAll the girls were jealous OF me, John,
for carrying off the handsomest man
In the village. remember my
dress"
The old man interrupted her. Il
remember what your dress was, SUI
san; you were the prettiest girl in
the neighborhood, and you looked 1t
that day." He smiled at the remem-
Mance. "Your dress was white, and
your hat was trimmed with primroses,
and you carried big bunch of them
in your hand. And do you remember
when we came down the church path
the children threw primroses in front
of us? mind me, the clergyman said
1t was the prettiest wedding he had
aver SEEN"
"Primroses," repeated the woman,
musingly; "prmroses then, when we
we're young, and strong, and happy,
and now that we are old, and destitute
and on the brink of the poorhouse-
this" She looked around the misera-
bly, furnished room and shivered.
"a big bunch of primroses," she
continued, as If speaking to herself.
"Yt's years since I've so much as seen
a primrose, to say 1-othing of holding
one in my hand. Before | was i'll,
when l could get about, could some
times go to the park and see them
growing, and I've seen them In the
shop windows; but not now. No flow
ers would find their way to McDon-
ough's Alley. I'm sick with longing
for flowers sometimes, John; not al
tways-not quite always"-she spoke
quickly. as though now she had begun
she would gladly finish as soon las pos
sible-"but in the spring, when the
sky is blue and the sun shines even
here, hurt, l ache, and l long for the
country. l would give all | have, |
would gladly die, l sometimes think,
if | could get out in the fields again
and gather primroses. l don't want
to hurt you, old husband, my dear old
John. know you'd take me to the
country and give me primroses if you
could, but l can't help the feeling. 1t
s6lzes me, it tears me,,~it grips my
very heart, and l long for what can
never have till l am dazed with long
ing.
"Do you remember. John, how we
used to go to the woods on Saturday
afternoons-you and | and Tony
the old man caught his breath, for the
Years had not entirely healed the
Wound his sons death had given him
land pick primroses? l. need only
shut my eyes to see him now, my
strong little sturdy son, with his dear
little laughing face, and his soft brown
Eair, and his hands full of primroses
Cor mother OH
r She stopped suddenly, exhausted by
her outbreak, and the old man could
find no words to answer the outcry
from the unsupported depths of his
wife's heart. He only stroked her
hand with his gnarled, work-worn
fingers, and whispered:
Don't take on so, old woman; it'll
all come right in the end" and she
quickly regained the usual self-control
which, on a sudden impulse, she had
let fall from her.
'oThere. there" she said, I'm tired
+o.night and a bit upset, | suppose.
mont think anything of what said.
,Tobn dear. Very likely, as you say,