Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1916-07-20
TIE RETURN TO
the farm Home
Wanderer Learns There Are
Toys Money Cannot Buy.

The first frost had come. and the
leaves We're turning. Through a mead
oW flowed 4 shallow stream laZily. A
road wound around the base of a wood
ed hill, dividing it from the meadow.
A man in the prime of life came
walking down the road. He was city
dressed and had the quick motions of a
city man, but as he walked he slack
ened his pace, now and again pausing
to take in some feature of the view
long ago familiar to him. He had often
walked this same road as a country
boy. Again he drove the slow moving
cows. Again he held the reins behind
the horses with which he had plowed
since dawn on the way to the barn.
Caleb Cox was about to put in prac-
tice the dream of years. AS a boy he
had been FESTIVE under the hardships,
as he called them. of country life and
went to the city to better his condition.
lie was of an energetic type and sue
ceeded. Slowly he accumulated till by
a, lucky stroke he secured ample means
with which to work. From that time
money making had been easy, and at
thirty-fve he was rich. Then he deter
mined to visit those he had left behind
and help them. He would place his old
father and mother where they would
end their lives without the necessity
for work. Then when he had seen
them in perfect comfort he would re-
tire from business, go abroad to see
the world and leave labor to those who
were obliged to labor. This was the
dream that had inspired Caleb Cox for
eighteen years.
Passing around the hill, he came upon
a snug farm. The gate clicked behind
him, and, entering the farmhouse door,
he took an old white haired woman in
his arms.
Mother" he said, don't you know
me? I'm Caleb. Eve come back after
my long absence to make you and ia
Their comforta bic. I've got all the
money l want and don't intend to make
any more"
I'm glad to see you, my dear boy.
It's been a long while that you have
been away. I've longed for you all
these years. Why haven't you ever
come to see us, Caleb?"
"Why, mother. l couldn't get away.
There was no that I would dare
put in my place for a minute, but never
mind that. 1 have been rewarded for
my sacrifice-your sacrifice. I'm going
to take YOU to the city and put you in a
fine house With plenty Of servants to
wait on you-you and father. Just
think of il. You car get up when you
like and go to he'd when you like, and
nothing to do but amuse yourself"
The old woman drew away and look
ed at him With a kind of fright. "My
dear boy" she said. what would I do
in a fine city house? And what would
your father do? Could YOU give us the
comfort we have here? Would a stony
street be the same to us as the stream
yonder? Would we like to hear the
noises of the trolley cars as we'll as the
songs of the birds? And what would
we do without the barn and the spring
house, the stock and the chickens?"
Caleb stood looking at the old wom-
an, a load settling upon his heart. Was
this the outcome of his dream? Was
this what he had struggled for and
what had kept him SO many years from
his dear mother? When he left her
her hair was brown. in her cheek was
color. Since then eighteen years had
brought her to the close of her life.
eighteen years of separation that could
not be lived again.
There was a step on the walk. and
the father came in. After the greet,
ings Caleb began again the story he
had been telling his mother. but this
time in a faint hearted tone, and, in
stead of informing his father what he
proposed, asked the old man what he
could do for him.
Nothing. dear boy, nothing. Time
was when I would have jumped at the
money to pay off the mortgage, but
since it has been lifted I notice that my
last object has been taken away. Don't
deprive me of what spur for action
there is left me in my old age
"Bu father, mother, you are obliged
to rise With the sun. and at evening
you are so tired hat you go to bed
when people in the city find relaxation
from labor. With you it Is all work
and no play"
my boy" said the old man, with us
our work is our play. We never hurry
to get through our labor SO that we
may play, for we do our work breath
ing the pure air and listening to the
sweet sounds that surround us. Hard
ships we have, but were it not for the
hardships our lives would be a deat
level, without contrast. consequent,
without enjoyment"
Caleb, loath to give up what he had sc
long struggled for, argued that in thu
city a new life would open to the ole
people that would afford them an in
terest which would not be exhausted 81
long as they lived. He offered to tax,
fharp with him, on 1;c t,,o VOLS All r,ot