The Evening statesman. [volume] (Walla Walla, Wash.) 1903-1910, 1905-11-22
THE COUNTRYMAN'S
RETURN
IOriginal.1


The first frost had come and the
leaves were turning. Through a mead
ow flowed a shallow stream lazily. A
road wound around the base of a wood
ed hill, dividing it from the meadow.
The only sound was an occasional cav
ing of crow far up among the tops OF
distant trees.
walking down the road. He was city
dressed and had the quick motions of
city man, but as he walked he slack
ened his pace, now and again pausins
to take in some feature of the view
long ago familiar to him. He had often
walked this same road as a country
boy Again he drove the slow moving
cows. Again he held the reins behind
the horses with which he had plowed
since dawn on the way to the barn. Is
it strange that his quick city step
should have slackened to that of
country lad?
Caleb Cox was about to put in prac-
tice the dream of years. AS a boy he
had been FESTIVE under the hardships,
as he called them, of country life and
went to the city to better his condition.
He was of an energetic type and sue
ceeded. Slowly he accumulated till by
a lucky stroke he secured ample means
with which to work. From that time
money making had been easy. and at
thirty-five he was rich. Then he deter
mined to visit those he had left behind
and help them He would place his old
father and mother where they would
end their lives without the necessity
for work Then when he had seen
them in perfect comfort he would re-
tire from business, go abroad to see
the world and leave labor to those who
were obliged to labor. This was the
dream that had inspired Caleb Cox for
eighteen years.
Passing around the hill, he came upon
a snug farm. The gate clicked behind
aim. and, entering the farmhouse door,
he took an old white haired woman in
his arms.
Mother he said, don't you know
me? I'm Caleb. I've come back after
my long absence to make you and fa
ther comfortable. I've got all the
money l want and don't intend to make
any more"
I'm glad to see you, my dear boy
It's been a long while that you have
been away. I've longed for YOU all
these years. Why haven't you ever
come to see us, Caleb?"
why, mother. l couldn't get away.
There was no one that l would dare
put in my place for minute, but
never mind that. l have been reward
ed for my sacrifce-your sacrifice
I'm going to take you to the city and
put you in fine house with plenty
Of servants to wait on you-you and
father. Just think of it! You can
get up when you like and go to bed
when you like, and nothing to do but
amuse yourself"
The old woman drew away and
looked at him with a kind of fright.
MY dear boy she said, what would
l do in a fine city house? And what
would your father do? Could you give
us the comfort we have here? Would
stony street be the same to us as
the stream yonder? Would we like to
hear the noises of the trolley cars as
we'll as the songs Of the birds? And
what would we do without the barn
and the spring house, the stock and the
chickens"
Caleb stood looking at the old wo-
man, a load settling upon his heart.
Was this the outcome of his dream?
Was this what he had struggled for
and what had kept him so many years
from his dear mother? When he left
her her hair was brown, in her cheek
was color. Since then eighteen years
had brought her to the close of her
life, eighteen years Of separation that
could not be lived again.
There was step on the walk, and
the father came in. After the greet
ings Caleb began again the story he
had been telling his mother, but this
time in faint hearted tone, and, in
stead Of informing his father what he
proposed, asked the old man what he
could do for him.
Nothing, dear boy, nothing. Time
was when 1 would have jumped at the
money to pay off the mortgage, but
since it has been lifted l notice that my
last object has been taken away. Don't
deprive me Of what spur for action
there is left me in my old age"
But father, mother, you are obliged
to rise with the sun, and at evening
you are so tired that you go to bed
when people in the city find relaxation
from labor. With you it is all work
and no play"
"My boy" said the old man, with us
our work is our play. We never hurry
to get through our labor so that we
may play, for we do our work breath
ing the pure air and listening to the
sweet sounds that surround us. Hard
ships we have, but were it not for the
hardships our lives would be dead