Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1917-12-28
gle New Year
Dreamer


A woman fell asleep, one New Years
eve, and dreamed a strange dream.
And when she woke, she told a neigh.
Dor about 1t, In some such words as
these:
81 thought I was in a strange coun-
try" she said, (which belonged to us
all. There was no king. And Z
thought that in that country shoes
were ready-made, not fashioned
clumsily of feathers, as we fashion
them now, and that the flax was all
spun for us, and the flour all ground.
I thought that the very cows we're
MIXED without our aid, and that we
lived in cities with clean pavements
between clean, bright houses, and that
milk and meat and bread and eggs
were brought to our doors, day after
day. I thought that there was some-
thing called gas, that made u cooks
ing clean and quick, and things called
cars that carried us safely from place
to place.
"And in my dream we were all
taught, taught to read and even to-
write, as only the scribes do now, and
that we read books, books about
strange things and wonderful places
and saw pictures-the greatest In the
world land that we could hear music
whenever we chose. And there were
wise doctors to keep us well, and to
give us magic sleep in u pain.
But best of ALL" she said, in a low
tone still tinged with the radiance of
her dream, "best of all, was that the
children were safe. There were no
mobiles to seize our girls for their own
pleasure, and to send our boys like
cattle into the wars. No man could
kill another, and even women were of
value, and children were beloved. It
seemed to me a world Of peace, and
sunshine and safety"
"You dreamed of heaven |" said the
listener, her incredulous laughter
changed to wistful awe. The other
sighed and shook her head.
"No," she said sadly, for in that
country they were all madl"
"Mad?" came the ~astonished echo.
"Well, better our hardships than such
a state. Better the village well that
poisons our children and the tax that
holds our men in bondage, and the pes
tlences that sweep usl Better the
dark houses, and the smoking coal
fires, the heats of summer and the
freezing winters, better oven the agony
and terror of bearing, unhelped. But
tell, how were they mad?"
"They do not see the sunshine, they
do not hear the music, and they do
not taste their freedom said the
dreamer. ''Their thoughts are chained
to little things-the stitches in a skirt,
the chopped nuts that must go into
a dish they cook, the shape of a chair.
They long for idleness-who have
nothing to dol They long for pleas
ure, who live ina world that might be
heavenl They lock at this one envi-
ously because she eau come and go to
another city at will and at that one
e~nviously because her picture is prints
ed in the books they read. They weep
because they must buy flax spun on
their side. of the ocean rather than that
which comes to them in ships, and
they weep because the papers they
have pasted on the walls of their
rooms are too green or too blueI"
"Mad-quite madr" agreed the
neighbor, struck. did they live long
agoT'
mo, their time has not yet come"
the dreaming woman answered. "They
will not live for another thousand
years. They will spring from us, who
live and work and die without the
touch of fine linen on our bodies, or
the help of a single hand with the
planting and roasting and spinning and
brewing, the bearing and rearing. We
are their mothers, who will never read
q book or write a letter, or enter a
playhouse. Let us make them a New
Years wish, that their eyes may be
opened and that they may seel"
They knelt down together.-KathS
leen Morris in Pictorial Review.