The Fargo forum and daily republican., 1916-10-17
The Soldiers Return.

London Answers: Respite! Seven
DAYS respite after nearly two years in
the unceasing sound of the guns, in
the midst of war!
He fingered the precious slip Of pa
per cautiously, tenderly-read it over
and over again: mo. 20,064, Pie. w.
Smith, has leave of absence--to pro-
ceed to England"
England! Blighty, he translated
he would be speeding through France,
pacing the deck of the crosschannel
steamer. Tomorrow night he would
be home-home, after two years!
Glad? He was excited; more excit-
ed-big, strong, hard soldier - than
ever he had been over the impeding
school treat of his boyhood. Only IL
hours more, and then home for six
days.
He placed the priceless pass In his
breast pocket-placed it next to the
photograph of his mother he carried
it always. It seemed that his leave
belonged to his mother.
It was no mere hope now. Home
was real. He had been travelling
since the early morning. He had left
war and France behind. The fast
train to - that had only crawled, the
speedy channel boat that to him had
moved to sluggishly, the train that
had climbed at snaifs pace from
the home port to the London junction,
and the slow wheels of the west coun-
try train, had at last brought him to
the scenes he knew.
And down the country road his feet
could not make pace enough. He was
eager-too eager-for sight OF the old
cottage and all it held to be vouble
he 1I5 -
tionmaster
At last he turned down a narrow
lane. He caught the heavy scent Of
the honeysuckle and the sweet fresh
ness Of the newly mown hay. And
then the old house flashed into view.
Another hundred yards and he saw
the creepers that twisted and climbed
up the frontage, and used. he remem-
bered. to burst into his window. His
eyes feasted on the smoke that curled
so contentedly about the quaint look
ing chimneypot.
They would be at tea. Almost he
gave a whoop of joy. His goal, his
home-he had reached it. He hasten
ed up to the door. He knocked gently.
Surely they would guess! He was
afraid to surprise them. His mother.
his father. his sister-they may not
have expected him so soon, perhaps.
A chair is pushed back; there are
quick steps to the door; it is pulled
open. and he stands on the threshold.
There is a pause.
Mother. 'tis Bill" his sister cries.
And then two thin arms are stretch
ed up about his neck, and he is bend
ing down to her. He feels the linger-
ing caress of his mothers lips as she
kisses him with her kiss of well
come.
The golden days have dawned and
waned swiftly. Six days Of a wonder
full peace, of a quiet that had stolen
into his soul and had made him even
more enamored of the subtle fascina-
tion of home. He liked to hear the
rattle of the kettles and dishes, ne
liked to hear the Squick step of his
m0ther. he liked to listen to his sis
ter's singing as she performed each
household task. NIX.
He looked through the window over
the broad fields, and thought how good
it would be to work there once again.
But not yet.
Tomorrow these things would be
memory. And should he be fortunate
to some back-to come home
Goodbye, mother!" he says. II
shall come back again!"
There is that kiss that only those
who have felt it know the worth of,
and he passes quickly through the
garden gate. He is going to face hor-
| ror and tragedy, brutality and saw
agery again.
For what? He knows the answer
as he looks back at the old thatched
| cottage, with its green creepers trac-
ing over its walls, with the homely
smoking chimney, and. framed in the
gateway, his dear old mother.
And he knows that she and home
are worth it all.