Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1919-10-28
THE STORY OF MARIAN SWAMI
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| letters be exchanged. Therefore,
! Immediately did as she ordered. The
man seemed surprised, but I ex
! planned it had to be. 1t never oc
! CURED to me that L might carry or
! q correspondence all unknown to her
| Somehow, her will completely mas
tered my own, and 1 never question
! ed her decisions in matters pertain.
! ing to myself. Although Philip and
1 were good friends before father
died, we did not marry until after
! ward.
Kenneth was in college, miles
away, when Dad took suddenly i'll and
died before Kenneth reached home
was with him before he passed
away. He asked me to bring a box
from mis- trunk. He opened it and
found long envelope which he hand
cd me saying. Marion, it's only "a
scrap of paper, my girl, but I've
kept it because-well, it would be
hard to explain matters so you'd
understandable been with me these
many years, and I've held on to it
because long ago, back in Georgia at
the Burnt Oak Ridge mine, l felt
thered come a day when the old
company gave orders to abandon it,
I did so unwillingly, and a notion
occurred to me one day. I couldn't
resist the idea, so L bought a hun
dred and sixty acres of the land
where the old mine had promised
developments, then failed to produce
results. Some investments 1 made
turned out badly of late. I'm not
lao
by any means. But you keep this
safely. One never knows. I've pro-
| vided for your mothers comforts as
best 1 could. I'm glad I've reared
! you as ] have, so if that time ever
, comes when you must work you'll
| be capable, and not feel honest Ia
| Dor beneath you.
| 1.-THE rents from the hundred and
sixty do not amount to much. I've
fixed everything through my attor-
ney and the yearly rental will here
after be placed to your credit. Farm
ing doesn't pay there as it does here,
therefore, the rental isn't much, but
it will come in handy for rainy days.
I'm sure.
Kenneth is capable of looking out
for himself. He'd work his way
! through college, if necessary. He's
| that sort. He's a son in a thousand.
After all, inherited wealth is often
| times a curse instead of blessing,
and I'm glad I can leave rsy chill
| dren with democratic visions and
| ideals, rather than mere money. |
| do not think your heads are full Of
fool notions, but instead you both
have common sense. You'll be mar
rying some day, Marion. ana hope
| he'll be a mans man."
| And Dad talked on while 1 folded
the scrap of paper inside my blouse,
| where l forgot all about it until
hours later, after he died, ana cried.
| The swelling of my bosom caused a
faint crinkling and rustling, which
| made me remember again, and
| touched it with my hand, and my
| touch was a caress. I'd keep it al
ways, because, Dad had believed in
and loved that scrap of paper! So it
| became sort Of sacred talisman to
me. And, told no one except Ken
ne tn. He was very solemn, and re-
marked. Burnt Oak Ridge. Sound
| romantic. Marion. Place where ] was
born. Do you know 1 catch myself
| wanting to go back there again;
Som etimes l feel longing Suppose
a fellow never can get away from
the place here he first saw the
light of day. 1 guess I'll have to
go back and look around some day.
Funny, but / often lose myself in the
picture of that place. And, some
| thing tugs at me to gop'