Connecticut western news., 1910-07-28
HUMAN INTEREST
 STORIES
By William Henry Spear.
A Mothers ReVerie.

ON@~~ resting. Without, was the drone of summer life; the hum of insects. the song of birds, the lowing of kline. The old watchdog bayed at passing team.
 The poultry, turned loose for the day, ran hither and yon about the farmyard, picking here and there a choice morsel, and rejoicing over their hour of freedom.
 The shrill peep peepl peep |" of chickens-tiny masses of yellow down sound loud and clear as they sourry around, the mother hen coaxing them to some dainty morsel she has found. These sounds lend an odd orchestration to the panorama of rural life.
 But mother needs it not. Her thoughts are busy with the past. She has to-day been assorting the drawer of an old bu- reau il, the attic, long unused. Much of its contents she has thrown away, but there were treasures there with which she could not part.
 At the close of this summer day she sits dreaming by the window. The old fashioned clock of grandpa's day, with its quaint wooden wheels. solemnly ticks the seconds of time. It is 6 room of rev erie. Disturb not the old mother Let her dream Note her scattered locks of gray, smoothed back from a face plain but kindly. Care has left upon it i'm printed furrows. The shuttle of time, plying in and out the warp of destiny, has woven the fabric of her life after a peculiar fashion. ...
 A far-away look is in her eyes as they finger on the hilltops yonder by the tall naples which shed cooling shade over a slab of gray stone diacolored by age.
 In her hands nestles a curl of silken hair. Years ago she severed it from the head of the little boy who sleeps beneath the naples. We'll does she recall those earlier days-the home coming to the old farmhouse, happy bride.
 How joyous was she when the life of her little boy was given into her keep ing What pride filled her breast as she planned his future Four times had the swallows nested meath the caves of the barn; the little fellow is now toddlinR arpund, following papa here and there. Now he is in the meadow lands with mother, where golden cowslips blossom and drone of bees is heard as they siI the nectar of the flowers and gather the pollen, fitting from flower to flower.
 How his childish laugh echoes and re- echoes as with mother he sought the red strawberries on the pasture hills How cute he looked and how wise as he brought to her white daisies with golden hearts How he laughed and crowed and tried to initiate her as she plucked the petals from the leaves
 But there came day in that never-to- be-forgotten past when the pattering footsteps were silent. Mother sat by the bedside and smoothed back the tan. gled curls from the fevsred brow. Through days and nights she watched there, doing all that was possible to ad. minister relief, and when at last the lit. tie life went out in the dawning of the morning, mothers hands placed for the last time the little garments upon tho form she had loved so well. Creeping tendrils of baby life, how they had sn twined her heart
 They laid him at rest on the green hill wonder, meath the shade of the ma ples, where the songbirds come to sing near the pasture where the violets grow and the daisies he loved. Mothers heart seemed buried with her boy but Time, the merciful healer, soothed ths bruised and wounded heart. Cares of life intervened. Other flowers from the con. seryatory of love came to the farmhouse and mothers hands were busy and her cares many.
 So passed the years. One by one the children have gone from the old home nest to shape Iifs's destiny amid other scenes.
 Mothers eyes rest tcnderly upon the tiny bootee wonder. It was worn in in fancy by dear daughter, now to wom. anhood grown, whose children at times come dropping back to the old farmhouse and call the patient woman with the kindly, gentle face, grandma. There are little dresses with camphoI odor strong upon them. They were packed away in the bureau years ago Many a stitch did the patient mother take in fashioning them, each thread forming the warp of love which hound her heart to her children.
 So sits she as the rays of the setting sun gild the hilltops-sits and holds IT her hands relics of earlier days. Some recall one who took her from her girl hood home, when life was in its morn ing bloom. For years they walked iti pathway side by side, soothing each oth CTS sorrows, sharing each others joys
 He, too, is resting on the hillside resting, and waiting for "mother. 2