The Marietta journal. (Marietta, Ga.) 1918-1944, 1920-03-19
THE~WANDERER
RETURNED
By GENEvIEvE ULMAR


He had left his native town a raw,
Qndeveloped hamlet, he had returned
to find 1t small city. In those back
years a narrow-gauge cut off had run
a baggage and second-class passen-
ger coach once a day; now the trunk
line direct operated twenty. The estab-
lishment of four great plants at Vir-
den had come about, and Donald Bruce
strained his gaze to find something IA
milisr, and experienced strange
sense Of disappointment, of loneliness
and Of fear, for he knew not how
many Of those he had come back hop
ing to find might have passed away
with the new order of things.
He was bronzed, bearded, uncouth
as to dress, and his pose was not that
Of q man attended by fortune. He
met no one he knew as he left the
depo' He passed the site Of the old
Raj house to find it occupied by
a MAJ n.fcent hotel. Where a minia-
ture lake had covered the center Of
the public square there was an ornate
city hall.
Donald checked his steps as he
turned corner round which he had
played hunt the gray!" in his boy
hood days. His eager glance sought
the pleasant porticoed structure he
had known as home. 1t was not there.
A public garage had superseded it.
His heart sank. An oppressive, brood
ing chill assaulted him. Home, father
mother-these he had dreamed of, and
had longed for-and now the initial
augury was one of menacing despair.
Eight years exile, long, weary wait
ing! He turned from the spot feeling
like stranger in a strange land. A
square farther ON his glance swept
neat little cottage, set in charm
ing nest of greenery. It was the first
remaining token of the past that had
met his view. There was the old-time
garden, and even the horse block upon
which he had often rested. Donald
sat down upon it now, his head bowed
in reverie.
His mind went back eight years to
the old home, now swallowed up by
the monster of progress. His father
conducted a village general store
slow, methodical, plodder. For two
years Donald worked there. He was
paid no wages. He rebelled at strict
ness and discipline.
Father talks of slow but sure 1t
isn't the worlds way nowadays" he
had one day told his great friend, Lucy
Gray, the daughter of the village ply
stefan, whose house he now faced.
I'm tired of it! I'm going away to
see real life and earn real money"
And then and there he and Lucy, mere
children that they were, pledged them
selves one to the other and parted with
a kiss.
How he had dreamed of pretty, low
ing Lucy all those succeeding years!
How he had built up fabric of gaudy,
gided ambitiOn-a fortune won, a re-
turn to his native town loaded down
with riches, to prove to his methodical
father that dull grubbing was a poor
business system!
But his was not the path of for
tune. He had worked hard, but sue
cess had always eluded him. He lost
his grip-his nerve-at last. He was
hOmesick, dispirited, all broken up.
Without a dollar he had left Virden,
without dollar he had come back.
Contritely, humbly, he was ready and
willing to assume the burden he had
once disdained, to acknowledge that
his father was right and he himself
wrong. longing for the old sweet home
life with all its lovelinessl as the
greatest boon in the whole world.
And now? His soul shrank within
him. His parents were probably dead,
the little business enterprise of his IA
Their engulfed by the rush and havoc Of