The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1905-03-24

the Old woman watched the white give
way to the green on the hills that
curved in and out around her old
home
MA" she began one morning. 81
think will have to be packing up this
week"
Packing up what?"
why, don't you remember, ma
we're going to town the first of May?"
ooh, la, Libby, I've give that up
long ago! I'm going to die on the old
place"
But you know, ma, the arrange
lnents have all been made. I'm afraid
we'll have to CO."
She turned to her Grossly.
There's no use to argue VII me.
LIBBY Anderson. | amt goin'"
But what about Dave?'
you can jest write Dave, and saw
his mother don't want to leave the
place. Dave won't have nothin' fur
tier to say"
She looked off at the meadowland as
If 1t were all settleu. Libby would
have to tell her.
Ma" she said, "its no use to write
to Dave"
why not?" she demanded, in
half-frightcned, half-aggressive voice.
Hes sold the place, maj"
Whats that you say? Something
about Dave selling my place? Are you
gone crazy, Libby?"
you know you decided it to him.
ma. 1t was his after you did that
And he's sold it, and We'll have to
move out"
Hearing no answer, she turned
around, and it was then she coveted
Dawes gift of saying things smoothly.
The old woman was crouched low in
her chair, and her face was quivering
and looked sunken and gray.
Il didn't think he'd do that" she
faltered
Never mind, ma" Libby said awk-
wardly. Poor ma"
1t was the nearest to a caress that
had passed between them since Libby
was little girl.
Nothing more was said until after
ma had gone to bed. Libby supposed
she was asleep, when she called quav-
eringly to her.
Libby" she said, you mustn't be
thinkin' hard of Dave. He must have
thought it for the best"
Libby was used to caring for ma,
and she needed care now.
Yes, ma" she answered; I'm sure
he must"
1t was not until the morning of the
fourth day that the silence between
them was broken. Libby got up to
take down the clock, when she heard
strange noise behind her, and turn
ing, she saw that mas head was down
low in her hands, and she was rock
ing passionately back and forward, and
crying as though her old heart had
broken.
She put down the clock, and again
she wished for little of Dawes sikh
ness of speech. But she did not have
it, and the best she could do was to
pull mas chair out from the barren
room into the sunshine of the porch.
The hills, she thought, would still
look like home.
Ma did not get up at all next day.
Perhaps she was i'll, or perhaps it was
only that she did not want to go out in
the sitting room and see how unlike
home it looked. But the next day she
did not get up either, and then Libby
went to town for the doctor. He said
the excitement had weakened her, and
did not seem very certain she would
ever get up again. That night Libby
wrote letter to Dave, asking him
again to let his mother die on the
old place. A week passed, and an an
swer had not come, and still ma had
not left her bed. The packing was
all done, it was the first of May, and
she was just waiting-she did not
know for what.
Her whole soul rose up against
moving ma from the old place now,
when her days were so surely num-
bered, and so she sent telegram to
Dave, telling him his mother was i'll,
and asking leave to stay little longer.
There came a reply from his partner,
saying that Dave was away and would
not be home for two weeks.
That night the old woman raised
herself and sobbed out the truth.
Its Dave that's killing me! It's
to think that Dave sold the place
and turned me out to die!"