The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1908-09-26
STARTING LITTLE IKE.
BY FRANK H. SWEET.

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People speak of the noisy city and
the quiet country, but there never
was quieter place in the world than
Spruce street on this special summer
afternoon. There was no street rail-
way, which was one of the reasons OF
the remarkable quietude. There was
no trees i'll Spruce street, though the
name might have led a stranger to
expect them nor were there any
birds.
A man and woman walked along
the warm, red brick pavement in the
direction away from the m K e t
around the corner. The man was
pushing a hand-cart piled up with
small, empty flower pots. One could
see by his expression that he was
thinking of nothing but pushing the
handcart, but the woman's face ex-
pressed kind of a longing. This
quiet city street was too quiet for her.
She missed the birds songs; she
would have liked to hear the rustic
of trees overhead, and the tinkle of a
cowbell sounding from grassy fence
corner would have been music to her.
The hand-cart turned up narrow
alley between two high houses. The
man and woman followed it to the
end of the alley, and through white
board gate into tiny yard, where
stood little white house that looked
as if it belonged to the country and
not to the city. Around at the left
side of the little house were long beds
of blooming flowers, and corner of
greenhouse was just visible. But
here, too, the trees and the birds were
missing, save for scrubby damson
tree carefully propped, and the feath-
cred occupant of "a gilded cage in the
front window.
Every market-day afternoon the
old woman returned to the little white
house with the load of empty flower
pots. Sometimes all were not empty;
but they were always underneath and
did not show to the passer-by. The
old man now took up the remaining
BadRts beds ia and fs ssdJM Veg TO s gssnSa sn
They were bunch of purple pansies
and a scarlet pink. The woman en-
tered the house and busted herself
with preparations for supper.
Once, and it seemed very long ago,
there was more in the life of these
two people than the mere journeying
to and from the market. There was
a little tow-headed boy, who toddled
among the hower-beds and rendered
wonderful assistance in the kitchen,
carrying the big dipper clear across
the kitchen floor 'thout wastin'
more'n a thimbleful," his mother
said. Afterward, when little Ike's
legs grew 6rmer and hisarms stronger,
he had hoed in the flower beds regu-
larly every summer morning before
going to school, and had been of much
use in the evenings on his return.
The boy was not dead. but he had
gone out of their life. The old man
complained about it often now, and
he blamed his wife for it. He came
into the kitchen now and sat down on
the wooden bench.
"I'm tired" he muttered, discon-
tentedly.
The woman stirred briskly about,
saw that there was enough coal on
the fire, lifted and replaced the lid on
the potatoes, and then turned toward
him and smiled.
"Of course you're tired, father,
she said, cheerfully, you'd be more'n
human if you wasn't tired. Potterin'
round at sun-up, off to market with
load big enough to break a mans
back, diggin' all day in the park gar
dens, and then helpin' me home.
Of course you re tired" She laughed
softly as she looked at him with her
sweet, affectionate eyes.
"When a man gifts old he ought
ter have some one fer to take his
place. used ter think as I'd hev ii
that away some day, used to think
I'd git my rest" ]" He shuf1ed his
feet uneasily, and would not meet his
wife's eyes.
"I'm tired, an / want my rest, "
he repeated.
It never entered into old Isaac Car
ter's head that his wife might some
times be tired, too. She was not as
young as she once was; there were
lines on her face and silver in her hair
Four days out of the seven she stood
all day in the market, then came
straight home to the work awaiting
her there. If she had grumbled ever
so little it would have given him an
excuse for grumbling still more, in
the endeavor to prove to her how
wrong she had been to let the boy
go; but she never grumbled.
can you'll get your rest, father,
she said, soothingly. you'll set in
your armchair yet, an be glad it wa:
you that gave the boy the start"
The supper was beginning to give
out more appetizing odor and th'
old man leaned more comfortably
back on the bench and fell to dream
ing. Yes, Maria was right. If th'
boy should turn out all that she ex
pected, it would be he who had givei
him the start. He had unlocked thu
big chest and counted out the money
to send him to college, after he hae
gone through the public schools, ant
he had opened the big chest secon'
time to get the cash to 'set in
a-goin.' !"
But it was a long time ago. H
realized how old he was-how old an
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