Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1905-11-16
H C~OUNTRYMAN'S
RETURN
[Original.l

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 q crow far up among the tops of
distant trees.
A man in the prime Of life came
walking down the road. He was city
dressed and had the quick motions Of a
city man, but as he walked he slack
ened his pace, now and again pausiny
to take in some feature Of the view
long g familiar to him.. He had often
walked this same road us Il 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 a
country lad?
Caleb Cox was about to put in prlc-
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 all 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-tivc 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.
a snug farm. The gate clicked behind
him, 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 ia
ther comfortable. I've got all the
money | want and don't intend to make
any more"
In 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, Caleh?'
"Why, mother, l couldn't get away.
There was no JIG that | would dare
put in my place for Il minute, but
never mind that. l have been reward
ed for my sacritice-your sacrifice.
Pm going to take you to the city and
put o in Il fine house With plenty
Of servants to wait OF you-you and
father. just think o. it! You can
get up when you like and go to bed
when you like, and nothing to do but
amusc yourself"
The old woman drew away and
looked at him With Il kind OF fright.
"My dear boy" she said, what would
I do in Il fine city house: And what
would your father do? Could you give
us the comfort we have here: Would
a stony street ne the same to us as
the stream youder? 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
c~hickens:'
Caleb stood looking at the old wo-
man, Il 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 vas 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 a step Oh 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 4 faint hearted tone. and. in
stead Of informing his father what he
proposed, asked the old man what he
could do for him.
"Nothin@. dear boy, nothing. Time,
was when | would have jumped ut the
money to pay Off the mortgages, but
since it has been lifted | notice that my
last object has been taken away. Don't
deprive lie of what p II for action
there is left me in my old age"
But father. mother. you are obliged
to rise witt, the sun, and at evening
YOU are so tired that YOU so to bed
when people in the city find relaxation
from labor. With you it is I'LL work
and no play
My boy said the old man, with us
our work is our play. We 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
hartiSllipS our lives would be Il Geud
level. without contrast. consequently
without cnj0yment.'
Caleb, loAth to give UP what he had so
long struggled for, argued that in the
city Il new life would open TO the Old
people that would afford them au in
tercst which would not be exhausted s.
long rs tlry lived. He offered to take