The Yale expositor., 1920-12-02


houseboat the Iron-Gray-Woman still
lay back in the shaky rocking chair.
Dipping the battered cup full OF fresh
water, the man stepped to her side.
your cool drink, mother"
The thin lids raised. The eyes she
| turned toward him must have been
wonderfully beautiful I'm her day
large and deep and lustrous. The
cough that wasted her breast seemed
| powerless to dim their luster.
The man crossed the cabin and laid
his hand on the rumpled curtain over
the doorway, about to return to his
task of sharpening the fish spear.
sit looks coOl-and calm-up there"
He paused; glanced back over his
shoulder at her, and waited for her
to go on.
as that log house see up there
under the cliffs?"
The floor of the houseboat creaked
under the weight of him as he came
to the window. He had to stoop low
| to bring his eyes level with the open
ing.
"a log house; old and empty"
The Iron-Gray-Wom sat musing a
moment, her eyes astray among the
trees nodding languldly in the serene
| June afternoon.
II wish might live again upon the
shore. The sun beats down so hot
upon the houseboat, and grow weary
Of the eternal throb of the river. II
l could only live little while up there
l should grow strong"
"And why not? It's empty, and no
body would care. In these deep woods
there's nobody to care"
A flicker Of light crossed her face.
I'D get well up there, under the
strong cliffs, with the cool spring so
near. And I've lived so long-since
| you were child in arms-On the river
the Ohio; the White; the Wabash ~
always, motherl Always the house
boat-drifting drifting-and you so
frail, so beautiful !"
The man left the window and knelt
by the rocking chair. The Iron-Gray-
Woman saw the question In his eyes
q hunger for some word out Of the
past; word that had never come. All
his life she had kept 1t from him
whatever II had been that happened
back there behind the veil of her ST.
lence that left him nameless; a river
waif; a nomad In an orderly world;
fisher of pearls; q pearlhunter Her
eyes came back and faltered over him.
No longer a child; boy-the refec-
| ton startled her. A man knelt at her
side-the question written big upon
his face. And II was his right to
know. Her head dropped back against
the quilt that cushioned the chair. It's
solemn thing TO be the mother Of a
man-glorious but solemn.
The lustrous eyes-brighter for the
fever wasting them-came' back to him
after a time. He saw a far-fiung
thoughtfulness In them; knew they
had strayed into. that past from which
he was barred. The thin lips parted.
The mans fingers curled tense upon
the chair arm.
ITO a city on the Wabash, in early
| DAYS. came three families Of Virginia's
purest blood-my family, your fathers
family and the family of-of-anOther
man."
The Iron-Gray-Woman shuddered
| and was silent for q moment. The
man picked up a wasted hand; stroked
II softly between his own, and she
went on, strained and slow, like one
desperately nerved to a long-dreaded
task.
my parents both died when 1 was
so small that 1 can barely remember
them, leaving me, their only child, to
the care of distant relative. a great
uncle Of my fathers. This great-great-
uncle-well, as l look back upon my
life / cannot remember that he ever
gave me pleasant word.
my aunt was as different as dawn
to dark. She was everything that he
was not. A thousand times she loved
my hurt away.
"They had daughter, an only child,
almost my age, and of the same name
surname and all. When uncle was
away on business trips, as he often
was for weeks, II was like sunshine
after rain. Such happy times They
are high among the few pleasant
memories Of my life"
The Iron-Gray-Woman paused, her
dark, deep eyes seeming to search
back into the dead past, like traveller
straining his gaze across a stretch Of
desert to where the oasis lies. The
man shifted to his other knee and she
went on.
MY aunt died when we were in our
girlhood. After that-the gray days
we're ever more than the bright. A
petulance settled deep upon my uncle.
His best word was a growl. The serv-
ants moved about the house like silent
shadows.
I'm this same city upon the Wabash
lived two other families, as have told
you-your fathers family and the
family of-of-another man. Your
father and this other man were both
my suitors. But my uncle tried every
means in his power to turn your IA
Their away from me to my cousin,
while he secretly encouraged the at