Weekly Caledonian. (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1919-1920, 1919-04-16

his back, that stocky, wcll-dress.
ed fincfaccd man down there on the
pinnacle addressing this vast assem-
blage of people in strong, sure steady
statcments-that was her boy!
D, Her gnarled misshapen old hands
made only TO do mother-work and to
hold composing stick, gripped the
railing. Her carc-furrowed face look
cd down upon him transfxcd. Her
eyes were livid things.
! Her boy!
Down there on the vast pinnacle,
the center of that great throng, the
focus of thousands of eyes,-was
Thomas Purse of the poor Purse
place, and all this crowd was
there to hear him preach to
hear her boy preach! Down there
was Thomas Purse, the boy and the
man who had fought and conquered
and won. Down there was the lad
that by sheer merit and brains and
the blood of his mother that was in
him, had pounded his way up until his
voice and his pen were conceded to
rank among those mightiest in the
land. And he was her boy!
and he was preaching!
1t must have come to Aunt Mary,
as she sat there in those next few
moments of pitiful delirium, in
another world, rigid and transfix-
cd, what all those long years
meant in the Office of the little "Paris
Daily Telegraph" Long dreary days
when she had looked forward into u
chccrlcss future and done her task
, only ono hour at a time for the sake
of the doing and because of her moth
cr-lovc which prompted the endeavor;
quiet evening hours when she had
bent over crib where a little boy
cried and said: " you want your
father, little lad; and oh dear God, l
want him, too"; hours when she had
worked into the dark and ticking mid
nights mending tiny little jackets,
making tiny little clothes, sewing on
little buttons,-while her tears blend
cd with the stitches and she could not
sec her needle for them; memories of
the day when his father had died and
she had accepted her lot with the
noble philosophy that "troublcs arc
sent us to be overcome" and "wc1l
get along somehow, guess" which
meant she would shoulder uncom-
plainingly the double burden; mono
tonous backbrcaking months and
years when she had worked over Il
';rimy typccase for the sake of the
food and the clothes and the taxes
end the mcagrc tuition which the re-
"ultant money could provide; days of
agony, when she had watched tho
boys go out of sight around the bend
in the road by the sumachs; lonely
days when she had wandered through
The rooms of the poor Purse place
and fancicd she saw little ghosts tod
ding about the legs of toy-scarred
tablcs-vcrily indeed all these must
have come to Aunt Mary in that
greatest of all moments, that wonder
rul heart-pausing moment when she
looked over the edge of the high ball
cony down on the black stoclsy figure
who was of the world and the worlds
business, yet was placing Jesus the
Son of Mary, the Man of Sorrows,
the greatest of all Statesmen, Christ
the Master, forward as the great pat
tern on whose precepts governments
of men must be built to weather the
vicissitudes of ages and of peoples.
Her boy!
She had lain with her body wet
with agony and heard his first word
less cries piercing the darkness of
his newborn nights. She it had been
who felt for him in that darkness and
gathered him to her warm mother
breast. She had watched over him
through hours of feverish childhood
slumber. She had mcnded his tat
tered clothes in his young school
days; comfortcd him in his boyish
SORROWS; advised with him in his
hcaltrendng high-school love affairs;
guided him as best she knew into
ways that led to honor and upright
ncss,--;s it was given her with her
limited advantages to know.
He had finally left her--as is the
law of life and of species the wide
world over through all ages that have
ever been or will ever come. She had
given the best that was in hcr-and
he had left her and gone out to take
his place in the battle of life among
men. But this was the glory of it:
that he had not been untrue to her
whom he had left in boyish thought
lcssncss up in New England's bleak
hours of twilight. He had fought
man's-sizcd fight and won his recog-
milton. He was her son! And we
know that in those moments when she
watched him down before those
thousands, Aunt Mary came into the
blessing of her heritage through an
emotion that is known by no other
save the mother-heart. 1t was her
great and all-consuming, all-allcviat-
ing, all-rccompcnsing moment of
power and glory,-thc greater glory,
the greatest glory, of whose width
and breadth and depth there is no
telling.
When it was over VIC got her out
of that place somehow and down
~C o., n,,l -,