The French Broad hustler. [volume] (Hendersonville, N.C.) 1896-1912, 1907-11-21
~HE day is done, and as we are
too tired to think, we take up
our favorite paper, or live over

~HE day is done, and as we are
too tired to think, w take up
our favorite paper, or live over
again the days that are dead"
and this dwelling upon memory's pic
lures has both its sad and it's sunny
side. This day, of all others, belongs
to the family-home-gatherfngs, fam
lily reunions, meetings and greetings
of friends, and feastings about the
old h~ome-board, amid the old home
scenes from which the young feet
went out into the restless world be-
yond, never to come back quite the
same. They carried away with them
something the worlds warfare
wrenched from them, and for which
it has no recompense to bestow.
Home was indeed home in those old
days, when father and mother bore
the burdens and buffetings of the
rude old world for their children's
sake. and the dear, SCARED hearts
grieved bitterly when at last the
musings found their wings and few
away.
But at Thanksgiving time the
children" come trooping back, and
father and mother, grown DINNER
eyed, greet them with warm hearts,
seeing little change, despite the
troops of little folks the wanderers
bring back with them from the world.
Are they all here? All the boys
and girls that went away? The faded
yes glisten as they count the faces,
cleaning down the row. No vacant
chairs - in the stalwart men and
graceful women the old eyes see but
the children" of their love. Father
wipes his spectacles, smiling still,
and looks down the row to where
mother" lovely white-haired moth
1er, sits behiGd the cups and saucers.
To him she Is unchanged. He has
seen her every day, and she but grows
dearer with the passing years. But
c~..u1en: as You grow accus-
toned to their presence, you feel
family that there issomething wrong.
You look at mother, and you e a
Wistful look in her patient eyes, and
you know that she, too, is looking for
something she does not see. At her
right hand sits a bright-faced matron,
whose fair hair recalls the golden
curls of little Ella, but the quiet, So
Der face beneath it lacks the laughing
dimples that Ella always carried, and
the smile that lights up her face is
little like the abandon of merriment
that always hung about Elias atmos-
phere. Yet, as she calls across the
table to "Tom,' she flashes her saucy
eyes, and her graceful hands have the
old, gleeful gestures. The voice has
the same sweet ring, yet there is
something %plaintive in its cadences.
You look at "Tom,'' and the rich
deep voice that answers is little like
the high-keyed treble you listen for,
and instead of the ruddy, boyish face
OF the memory picture, you see a So
ber-eyed. serious man whose lips only
smile-TQm used to laugh with his
eyes. You look at him with a startled
realization of his length of limb, and
wonder whether he could get into the
loW-ceiled garnet, or if he could lie
comfortably, or sleep a. dreamlessly
In the low bed up stairs, from which
he a away one winters morning.
long age. What has he done with
his old, boyish appetizer How list.
1essIy he handles his knife and fork
or nibbIes at the cake mother made
SO much of because Tom Away:
liked It." And you see, too, that hi:
hands are larger and whittier; the!
were small and scrubby in the OLE
days, and Tom never did take kindl.
TO soap and water. He catches you
eye and smiles-yes, it Is Tom, bu
there Is Something gone.
Tom lives in the city now, and con
trolls a large manufacturing plant
and men count him a king /
finances, but this morning he caugh
the dear, faded old mother in hi
arms and kissed her, just as he use
to do in the old, old days.
A shrill. merry challenge pipes u
from the pathway outside, and yo
turn to call Charlie but it is on
Charles boy; SO liRe his old sci
Bkarrying down the walk, with hand
and mouth full of pantry stores ar
! IA full pursuit of the young-Togue-
Is 1t mother? No, mother sits befo
you, smiling. 1t must be Fanny, b
you had forgotten that Fanny W
middIe aged. And then you reme1
her that Fanny has daughters of h
own, and lives just e the ride
and that her home is famed for
hearty hospitality and wholesor
good cheer.
A soft, low voice recalls you, a