Evening star., 1909-04-18

The Boyhood Home
Continued from page 4

she asked me, calling me by my name, to my
intense astonishment; and she began to look
more languishing and simpering than ever
l assured her that my memory was SO treach-
erous had not the remotest notion as to her
identity. l supplemented this by expressing
my anazement that she should have recognized
me.
And, sure. why should / not havel" she
asked me, shaking red, pudgy, moist forehnger
at me roguishly. DO sweethearts forget SO
easy as all that would come tor"
Sweethearts! l was too stunned to say
word.
"Sure, and can't you see that I'm Maize
Greenwoodf'. she asked me, not in the least
abashed by my silence.
Maize Greenwood! Maize, the sylph, the
sprite, the elf, the fay, Maize Greenwood of my
boy dreams, for whose idolized sake |, at the
age of ten, had contemplated sanguinary
career on the Spanish Main! This stupendu-
ously fat woman in the fappy calico wrapper
my boyish sweetheartf
/ can't remember word that said in reply
to her stunning self revelation. | emerged
from the trance only when large. clumsy.
round shouldered man. dressed a coal miner
ready for work. the lamp in his cap and all.
appeared in the doorway. And l heard the
sweetheart of my boyhood saying to me in her
wheezy voice, This is Dick"
Yes, Dick Gordon, the particular buddy
of my boyhood, was coal miner, and very
sull1y, ugly customer of coal miner too. From
the sweetheart of my boyhood, and plainly he
was jealous Jealous! And SO he was very
sullen and uppish. Yes, he remembered me;
but what of it? He remembered lot o folks.
What was the use O. rememberin'! He didn' t
have no time f'r rememberin'. Rememberin
didn't git him nothin' And so on.
That was his tone-no encouraging one, you
may surmise. l wasted no time at this leave
taking. l was not wanted. And to be per-
fectly candid, was rather glad of it.
The Sad Start Back
STOPPED at the Mansion House and di-
rected that my unopened baggage should
be removed at once to the station. was for
the night train out from the town of my boy
hood. Then, in fulilment of duty, trudged
through the dwindling sunshine Of the after
noon to the street where stood the little frame
house, in the big yard, where had lived as
boy.
The house still was there; but it was gradu-
against the weatherboards all around it to help
hold it up A Polish family, with many squall-
ing children, lived in the house.
But the dozen and odd old apple trees were
at the height of their Towering, and the BIOS
SONS sifted, sifted down from the fragrant,
vaguely pinkish boughs.
And so, my quest, having been instigated by
a haunting apple blossom memory, bade fair
to end with mere revisualization OF that mem
ory Disappointment drummed in my ears
like the chilling breath of raw mistral The
engaging picture had mentally painted of my
return to the boyhood home had faded into
dull, blotchy blur
A Disillusion Disillusioned
TIRED and embittered, turned and trudged
in the direction whence / had started upon
this final leg of my sorely punctured pilgrimage
little way up the street, framed in the front
doorway of the only neat cottage in sight,
noticed trig little elderly woman in fresh
blue gingham dress She had stepped to the
door, in the midst of her housework, to get
breath of air; for the atmosphere reeked with
the close, languorous humidness of spring
She was leaning slightly against the doorjamb
and, seeming to be in a bit of day dream, did
not notice my approach, but gazed musingly
into nothingness.
But knew her at once. Somehow or other
spinsters-agreeable spinsters, z particularly
never seem to change much in appearance.
Little Miss Crowel had been regarded a
Settled" spinster even when / had been a
small boy But she had always been quite
hair was snow white. But that made no
difference There could be no mistaking her
bright, always interested brown eyes. with the
little lines of kindliness running away from
them at the corners She had been-and still
was, found-a music teacher. On Saturdays
in the old faded time, she had allowed me to
pick out scales and chopsticks and drum at will
on her tinny old square piano. She had let me
read her set of Dickens and explained the
difficult characters to me, like the old man who