The daily Gate City and constitution-Democrat. (Keokuk, Iowa) 1916-1922, 1917-08-13

|
OF the fire. and l the other side OF
the tire--we came to the conclusion
that | might say few words to the
mothers of Britain.
may mention here that Mrs.
Lauder is a great woman, and far
cleyerer than l. And it was natural
when l thought of writing such
thing as this present article that l
should ask her advice. So you'll
understand that the following words
came equally from Mrs. Lauder and
myself.
| Nobody but mother can under
stand what she gives up when she
gives up her son. There's a tie be-
tween father and son which can
never be broken, and the loss of my
boy leaves me with a sinking.
broken, lonely feeling around the
heart. For we were pals, my boy
and I.
The Wee Bundle in Her Arms.
But the mothers loss! Ny dear
wife bears it very quietly, and very
quietly at such moments as these
she tells me little of what she
feels.
From birth up the child is so near
to her-from the time when some
body tells her It's boy" to the
time when she tells her husband
with glad and fearful wonder: Hes
a man now, John" or Harry" as
the case may be.
At first he's just wee bundle in
her arms. And how she has to care
for him them. Every moment Of the
Gay and night her thoughts are with
him. Such TODD with feeding, and
Winding and soothing! Such dress
ing and undressing Such making
and making of fine baby clothes!
Such ceaseless watch and guard to
keep away the thousand little ills
| that baby flesh to heir to. The wee
BARN is still part of her, and his
faintest cry goes through her heart.
Oh, be sure that the mother Of a
dead soldier sees her son as he was
in those old days. Be sure that in
the lonely night watches, in fancy
she still holds him against her breast,
rocking him gently to sleep, and
grooming over him the old world
songs her mother sang to her. He
was a great strarping fellow when he
went out to the war-six feet, maybe,
with broad shoulders and fierce mus
tache. But to his mother he is al
ways, first and foremost, that wee
bundle in her arms.
| She Remembers Now.
| And then he learns to toddle.
That's grand day when first he
toddles from his nanny to his
daddy and back again. And he learns
toll
derful as those nonsense baby words :?
And now he's hanging at her skirts
all day, peering from behind them at
the great world and the posrman
And now he's breeched. His dadds
a proud man, and maybe his mother
Is proud too. Yet she signs as she
folds up the baby petticoats and puts
them in the press with a sprig OF
lavender and tear.
Care for him How mother has
to care All the childish mishaps,
aye and all the childish naughti-
ness, fall upon her. 'Tis she must
send him out to school with shining
morning face, and welcome him back
to dinner-black from head to foot
from a roll in the mud with lang
Sandy Tamson's Sandy. Oh, he'll
vex her often enough (what lad that
is worth his salt doesn'to; but she's
proud of him, he's the apple I her
eve, and even her severest reproofs
are caresses
All this the mother remem bers
now, as she sits with her man, or
maybe by herself, at the f1reside.
Those childish hands still pull at
her skirts, that childish treble still
echoes round the house. A heavy
footed young rascal comes Gathering
down the stairs, and beloved little
voice seems to ask, "Mither, should
/ buy some sweties wi ma penny"
More much more, she remembers
She remembers the boy growing up
into the man; she members the
Jealous pang she had when first his
eyes were cast upon the lassies. She
remembers him passing from school
to work, or to college. Perhaps he
still tells her ali his secrets, perhaps
there are tender little secrets he
does not like to tell. But he still
comes to his nanny when he's hurt
And what a pride she has in his
achievements How her heart exults
(though only the flash in her eyes
betrays her pride) when she hears
one neighbor say to another: "Rab
Anderson's Wully is clever boy!"
She Thinks of Him Night and Day.
Care for him? Does she not still
care for him night and day? Has
she not planned and prepared for him
since his birth? Does she not still
plan and prepare for him? Is she
not always dreaming of what her boy
will becOme7 Does not all that has
been, and all that might have been,
flash before her eyes, as she sits
lonely over the fire, and knows that
it is all over, and knows she will
never see her son again?
Never again! Blot out those words!
She knows she will see him again.
She knows it as surely as that the
fire burns before her and the wind
! -. 1, - II, tL1. sts.Sa+ No. l..