The times dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1903-1914, 1914-02-08
Inanimate Things

When you were q little girl, ever 80
long ago. and your mother tied your
hair with blue snood and buttoned
your Sunday frock with careful fingers,
all the time you were learning the
Golden Text" she said, and her mouth
was full Of pins. too. you remember,
My daughter you do not love Ice
cream--you like It, You love you,
mother and your father and all of your
twenty-five first cousins. but you like
food and playthings." You stopped In
the middle Of learning moro of Joseph
and his brethren and reiterated with
firmness that you did love ice cream.
The vision OF q fascinating saucer and
bigger and bigger bowls arranged up
on tables without end filled your mind.
and all that was within you cried out
in affection and admiration. There
was no like In 1t: it was love as wide
and deep as your whole child's nature,
and you would not have 1t called by
any other name
so you said. "Yes'm," quito meekly.
to your parent. fond and true, busy at
brniding your hair and clothing her
daughter for the day. but inside of
your heart. simply swelling with love
Tor chocolate eclairs and candy pigeons
you knew that you would never believe
anything OF the kind. And ever since
then. and now that you have tucked UP
your hair and forgotten all about tho
blue snood. you have treasured in your
tnnermost soul a genuine affection for
the dear, inanimate things of your life
One supposes that older people have a
motive for saying such truths or
course. you have long ago come to real
izc the difference in your feeling to-
ward the big black rocking chair in
the nursery and the sweet-eyed girl
that was your friend. but even now
you protest that you did love that
chair. Into its capacious and all-re-
ceiviug arms you and the sisters might
pile when occasion demanded It and
he the grandest settlers ANYBODY ever
saw. watching out for Indians and rid
Ing for dear life across the Rocky
Mountains Who cares IL the Pacific
slope was only big lowered carpet.
and tho Indians but two very small
brothers squeezed behind the wardrobe
doors? You could never even look at
It's swayed old sides and the com!cal
twist OF its rockers without at once
thinking of another splendid new
game to play in st. To this day you
love that old chair.
a pink lampshade Is only a pink
lampshade. but II certainly does make
the rosiest, incest possible feeling TO
see IL and possess II and know that
you accomplished Its precious pleated-
ness with your own fingers. You do
love things that are Just fixtures and
the same way that you do people. The
lilac bushes In your backyard can bow
their heads and tell you over and over
again about the tea parties that you and
the dolls had down under their scented
purple blooms. and they nod and bend
and remember the rabbits YOU brought
so happily TO ilvc beneath their sh elter.
only to find that the ungrntcful hippi-
ly-hops preferred the parsley bed In
the neighbours lawn. You flung your
self face downward In great agony
OF sorrow and grief and the scent OF
the delicate flowers and the damp
grecnness OF the grass have lived with
YOU ever since. They reached out
sweet fragrant arms of comfort. and
they did not say IL was silly TO cry
over rabbits that would not stay at
home. You have always loved those
lilac bushes.
And now that you are not a little
girl and your mother has only occa-
*ionally to button your Sunday dress
up the back. and now that YOU think
YOU know All there is TO know about
1osep hand his brethren. you, perhaps
would answer again. "Yes'iu." To your
elders remarks about loving people
and not things. and yet you have knelt
many night in the red hrellght TO
hug the black rocking chair with more
than ono secret doubt about all of the
twenty-five first cousins!
BRENT WITT