Evening star., 1917-11-11
AROUND The CITY.

. movement that met with her ap-
7 dom. blame .em . bit. glory in
esni,n smi = ny YOU Liant sant get your rights sx;
you. Henrietta. you don't halter call this
a mans world. The fac speaks for it,
self! A woman don't stand no show
at all: Why. iissen: I give a little
after l took the time an trouble to
write 1t up an take 1t to tho papers the
last thing SADLY night-don't you know
there wasn't one ofem hadda line about
as I'm a-standing here! But they was
sloppin' over with murders an wars
an things! s'pose II / hadda killed
my husb'n or choked ma to death. Tder
tell you. Henrietta. It's tho men who
cause all the sufferns in this world
What / want to live to see Is Q wom-
ans worr. with ever'thin' goin' on
peaceable an consfdrit-"
She had accented her yearning with
forward plunge Of the cruiser that
caused Henrietta to jerk back to q safer
MY goodness. woman. you liked to
II you amt careful. you'll get your
picture in the papers YETI" And that
was about all there was to It, except
that:
There is one 1ustinable thing abou.
a mans world It isn't responsible FOR
the h@tpins in it.
Tho Way OF the Sorrowful' Is ono
name for the long. straight mile that
leads to an iron gate. The Directory
calls it the Bladensburg road.
Many people pass that way. Most of
them carry flowers, and some. slow
ploddfng under tho weight OF many
decades. say their rosaries Of coarse
I black beads. Automobiles and street
| cars whizz by. going and coming: but
in the face of each pilgrim there is
something of the silence that lies be-
hind the iron gate.
| One woman who was going that way
! overlook another laden with chrys-
anthemums enough to decorate q ball
| roYm rather than a grave; When the
offer to help with the basket was ac-
cepted. the one who owned 1t explained
| the cause of profusfon:
This is the anniversary Of our wed
ding. When we stood up I held
bunch of white chrysanthemums-lik
like this The supper table was gay
with dark red ones-like these-And
the parlor was dressed out in bushels
, and bushels of yellow ones-like these.
My husband was a dear lover Of posies,
and though he worked long and hard.
he had to have his hours time every
morning in his garden. He was such
a handsome young man. Everybody
remarked 1t. His hair was light with
| a wave to 1t. and he had blue eyes and
a skin as fair as a baby's. Oh. ma'am.
isn't it heartbreaking? But Gods
| holy will be done,-I feel that he IS
| waiting for me at the heavenly meet
ing place to welcome me fondly when
I come. He wasn't out of his twenties
when he was killed in the war. and I
haven't missed coming to his grave a
| single Sunday. except for sickness At
| times. since laid him here. August II.
1883"
If mathematician had been around
he could doubtless have calculated
how much fifty-two trips a year for
nfty-four years would amount to, IL
reckoned by miles. But only the God
who made a human heart could COM
pute the sum of it's devotion
, And as the younger woman climbed
the cobbles to a place of grass and
gray stone she wondered-and won
dered-what the woman of the chrys-
anthemums would do If the youth who
was blue-eyed and fair as a baby
failed to recognize the toothless old
creature at the eternal gates? And II
all else that heaven could give her
would compensate?
MAMIE LANCASTER.