Evening star., 1924-01-28

Elizabethan vowel, as one should pro-
nounce bird" with no sornd Of 'u'-
Marine" the name sounded as she
spoke it. And her voice was full and
| rich and strong, as was her sons;
musically strong.
II am always waiting for you.
Merne," said she. But I long ako
| learned not to expect anything else
of you" She spoke with not the
least reproach In her tone: No. |
in time. because you told me that
you would"
And you did not fear for me, then
gone overnight in the woods?" He
| half smiled at that thought himself.
"You know l would not. / know
| you, what you are-born woodsman.
| No. I trust you to care for yourself
| In any wild country, my son, and to
| come back. And then-to go back
again into the forest. When VIII 1t
days, or four, or six? Sometime you
| will go to the wilderness again. 1t
| draws you, does 1t not?"
She turned her head slightly to-
ward the west, where lay the Forest
| from which the boy had but now
! emerged He did not smile. did not
| deprecate. He was singularly ma
| ture In his actions, though but elgh-
] teen years of age.
| "I did not desert my duty, mother,
4 Sdlu he dl lelB III.
"Oh, no, you would not do that
Merne" returned the widow.
please. mother" said he suddenly:
II want you to call me by my 1uli
name-that of your people. Am not
| The hand on his forehead ceased
| itsgentle movement. fell to its own
er's lap. A sigh passed his mothers
set lips. . o,s
| Sh ha iS
| have lost you. then, it seems? You
do not wish to be my boy any longer?
You are man altogether. them :,
| I am Meriwether Lewis, mother,
| said he gravely. and no more.
| Yes" She spoke absently. mus
| ingly. Yes, you always We're"
| "I went westward, clear across the
Ragged Mountains" said the youth
"These'-and he pointed with con
tempt to the small trophies at his
belt-"will do for the darkies at the
stables j put yon old ringtail up a
, tree last night. on my way home, and
| thought ii was as well to wait TIL
dawn. till 7 could see the rifieslghts;
tiful today. As TO the trails. even II
| there Is no trail, ! know the way back
home-you know that, mother"
Il know that. my son, yes; You
I were born for the forest. / fear
shall not hold you long on this quiet
, farm"
| "AlI in time. mother! am 10 stay
| here with you until l am fitted to go
higher. You know that Mr.. Jefferson
| has said to me. am for Washing
| ton, mother, one of these days-for ]
hold it sure that Mr.. jefferson will
go there in some still higher place.
! He was my fathers friend. and is
1T may be that you will go to
| Washington, my son." said his
mother; 4 do not know. But will
1 you stay there? The forest will cal
! to you all your life-all your life! Do
not know you, then? Can not see
| Your life-all your life-as plainly as II
it were written? Do not know-your
mother? Why should not your
| mother know?"
He looked around at her rather
| gravely once again, unsmilingly, for
/ he rarely smiled.
How do you know. mother? What
/ do you know? Tell me--about my
! self! Then / will tell you also.
We shall see how we agree as to
what / am and what l ought to do"
MY son, it Is no question of what
you ought to do. for that blends too
/ closely in fate with what you surely
will do-must do-because 1t was