Tazewell Republican. [volume] (Tazewell, Va.) 1892-1919, 1908-11-26
The NAN WHO
WENT BACK
BY vIRIDIAN GREENE
OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES
Copyright, by Shortstory Pub. Co


Il you should ever go mirage-hunt-
ing from Yuba City out toward the
Suffer Buttes, you would have the
upper Sacramento on your left, wheat
fields on your other side, and an
amazingly dusty road under your feet
You would be pretty sure to find your
mil age. IL the sky and the time Of day
were right. l did, but that was not
the end of my finding-in a camp at
the foot of the buttes nearest the
river ! found Fanshawe
Tom Fanshawe was the man
who went back And I was the man
who kept trace of him until he should
return, If so be he could and would.
Everybody who knew him knew these
things, but not just in this way.
Seven years before I went mirage
hunting Tom Fanshawe and had said
our last words to college commence
moat audience, taken a hurried fight
to our middle west former homes,
lived and loved a little with our own
people, made our farewells before the
end of the month, and by the last day
of another had put on miners boots,
shirts and other manners in a mining
camp near the head waters of the
Sacramento
How we lived in camp, how others
acted toward us, and toward each
other shall not be told by me. Enough
1t is. to say that we held by each
other, took our share of ups and
downs with the rest, kept out OF the
clutches of such villains as we hap
pened to be attractive to, and started
home at the end of the fifth year with
fairly comfortable bit of gold in our
possession. But it was not gold that
led us to these experiences, nor the
requirement OF it that released us. 1t
was life, as you shall hear.
These are all the facts that seem
to have any bearing on this story. All,
though afterwards l saw that one
thing. had known enough to heed it,
might have changed matters greatly.
Fanshawe often used to say to me
when we were in bed in our cabin,
especially on rainy nights: Thorn
son '-Thomson is my middle name
Thomson, / wish l had not left my
mother so long; l know she is lonely"
] forgot that had known one man,
as big and strong as Tom, who had
died of inconsistencies, and tried to
comfort him with half testing, though
kindly, words. But in my heart knew
that should never have left that
mother, If she had been mine. She
was the most beautiful woman 1 ever
saw-body, mind and spirit.
Then one morning Tom suddenly
woke with a tale of dream that he
had seen his mother and that she was
Ill. Nothing would do but that he
must go to her at once.
Getting off was a matter OF merely
few hours, thanks to our habit of
keeping everything square between
ourselves and others, as far as camp
etiquette permitted. We left for
Marysville that afternoon.
On our arrival at the little country
town near our homes, we fastened at
once across the fields, and soon
plunged into the thick grass of the
blossoming orchard, through whose
moonlit boughs we caught a glimpse
of the homeporch. AS 1 fingered to
gather up Toms travelling bag which
he had flung down the moment he saw
her, the happy fellow clasped his
mother in his arms with the words:
Mother, mother, I will never leave
you again. Life is not life without
you"
Other Son. said Mrs. Fanshawe
to me next morning-so she always
called me since my own mother had
left me alone in the world-"Other
Son, 1 am glad you have come home
now. Do not tell Tom, but have
been aiIing a little lately, which, as
you know, is almost a portent for me,
who am never ill.,
Acquiescing, resolved to watch for
any signs of illness, and to speak to
her son, If need be. The first week
went forward happily enough, except
for sense of uneasiness on my part.
Tom seemed to have forgotten ali his
1orebodings. / never saw him hap
pier. At the weeks end there dropped
out of clear sky by the way of the
Mill Center stage coach a distant
cousin OF Isabel Fanshawes-Isabel
Droone, by name, who had come to
teach the school in the district.
No, must not finger over those
happy days, so soon over. What be-
fell little later has made them a
painful memory. We walked one
morning TO fad Mrs. Fanshawe III with
burning fever, in heart-breaking de-
hriGm, unconscious of our presence.
Tom hung over her in an ecstasy of
grief soothing her. tending her, never