The Press., 1913-06-04

her countrywomen call hutch. On her neck was folded white handker- chief, and her rusty black dress hung In straight folds. She had very little to live on, but people helped her deli cately. and she had only one fear in the world, that of living to be "a bur den and of dying without leaving enough to bury her decently beside the ladtlies who lay-six stalwart sons they had been-asleep in the cemetery. Three of them had died in the war: one had survived it and died when the peace summer spread its aureOleS of beauty over the rejoicing land. Two had since succumbed to disease. The old mother had seen them laid one by one in the plot, which was the only real estate to which she possessed a title deed. One would have expected her to be gloomy. but no! Aunty Mac Gregor was as bright as a May morn ing.
 Just then there came a tap at the door. A tall young man stood there with a helpless look on his face and in his hand shirt which had met with an accident in the wash.
 '"The button is off the neckband, aunty," he exclaimed piteously, not noticing me.
 Give it here, lad" said aunty. "and hand me my basket from the bureau. I'll put it right for you in minute"
 'T don't know what I'd do if it wasn't for you, aunty." said the youth.
 "Alrs we'll with you, Johnny. I hope" said the old lady as she returned the quickly renovated garment. -
 "Yes, aunty, thank you," said the boy as he departed with the shirt over his arm.
 "Aunty MacGregor," said a little girl. putting her head in at the door, mamma wants to know how much ipecac and squills she must give Bob by. He's threatened with the croup."
 The requisite dose was mentioned, and the child flew back to her apart ment to tell her mother. Aunty's Judgment, found. was relied on i'm plicitly by her neighbors in such emer- gencies as illness or burns or bruises.
 While I sat with her five different people came in on as many errands and not one was sent away.
 To each were given in turn aid, cOun' sel and comfort AS was ready tG take my leave up to the humble dooI drove fine equipage. a coachman il livery. two splendid thoroughbred horses such carriage as the mil Ionaire's daughter drives about in Out sprang the child of wealth and luxury. beautiful golden haired girl dressed i'll the height of fashion. hei hands full of vioIets and lilies of the valley Aunty MacGregor introduced her young friend with pardonable pride.
 Miss Ruth MacLean-ye'l ken hel feyther. na doot She's aye ready tC do some sweet thing for the like O me!' z
 %The like O you. dear old friend" ex claimed the girl, 'when I'm not fit tC tie your shoes, you're so patient and so tiighty and so easily vexed. Don't speak that way. please. l came, tc bring you these flowers and to tell you that tomorrow will be Memorial day An, you knew it. dear heart. And Pm going to the cemetery to decorate your plot. I'll come first and show you the wreathS and the baskets, and you shall tell me first what tO do with each and where to put them. I'll do 1t exactly as you'd do it for your own self if you could go."
 '"Thank you, my darling" said Atii1ty Mact;regOr. with catch in her voice, ''The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord reward thee for thy good. ness. The Lord lift up his counte- nance upon thee and give thee peace.'
 "Aunty," said the girl. pausing at the door and returning, you haven't ask ed me to sing for you and for this lady, but I'm going to do it nevertheless.
 ''The day may be long and late, love-
 But the evening time draws on.
 There is rest for the worn and weary
 And love for the lonely one.
 "And the Fathers house Is waiting.
 It's doors will wide unfold
 For the pilgrim who comes with timid
 knock
 To the beautiful gates of goId.''