Askov American. [volume] (Askov, Pine County, Minn.) 1914-current, 1926-01-28

Joyously piecing together bits 81
rhyme. but I was no versifier, and had
ito be content with prose. put Il
In very matter-of-fact form on my.
slate which ! managed next day to
leave on Jeans desk:
Your proposal is accepted. a."
When / was twelve Granny Lane
died. and after that Mr. and Mrs.
Lane often came over. too. AS we
worked at our lessons we would hear
the restless clicking Of our mothers
knitting needles. while our fathers
fought over their checker board In
silence broken only by an outburst
Of triumph upon some clever strategy,
or of chagrin when some deep-laid
scheme had gone agley. Or some
times the men would lay aside the
board and turning their chairs to.
ward the FIRE. with, their pipes well
lit and glowing In the bowl, would
begin to recount tales Of their youth
when they were part Of the locust
army Of ak men that had swept
through the land and In some strange
way had left standing the great tree
at the end of our farm. Then lessons
were forgotten, and we children drew
silently close to the fire, as, big-eyed
and flushed with adventure, we en-.
tered the enchanted halls of Romance.
It was when was fourteen, and
about to enter the mill, that mother
was taken sick. had never known
mother to be sick, and 1t was hard to
understand the silent house and the
darkened room. Mrs. Lane came over
and took charge. and Marjorie stayed
at home from school to help.
One day as came up the path
Marjorie met me with, Mother wants
you," so I went into the room. Fla.
Their was there; 1t seems he had not
gone to the mill that afternoon. He
was sitting on chair with his ell
bows resting on his knees and his
cheeks between his hands, and q stray
beam Of light from the afternoon sun
fell through the window and across
his forehead. wondered that I
had never noticed before how old he
was
us that you. ladder" my mother.
called In q thin, weak voice, and
came beside the bed. my boy, my
boyl" she said. and her face worked
strangely, but she could say nothing
more than just "my boy" Then
knelt beside her, not knowing what
else to do. and she put one of her
thin hands In my hair. and ran her
fingers slowly, with strange sort of
caressing, up and down and about
my head. And then an odd thing
happened. She began to sing. In
strange, high, tremulous key. "The
Lord Is My Shepherd" She did not
sing it as you have heard 1t In church.
but with gentle rhythmic beat. like
lullaby, just as she had sung 1t to
me many time when was little
| child. After q while she seemed to
| fall asleep, and slipped out again.
Father had never moved. but beads
Of sweat were standing on his fore
head.
Marjorie met me. round-eyed and
pale, at the door. ooh, Frank Is
mother going-is mother going-to
dfe?' The last words were breathed
rather than spoken.
81 don't know" I said, pushing by
her and gulping at something In my
throat
After mothers death Marjorie had
to stay at home from school and take
charge Of the house. Marjorie had a
vast native ability behind her deep
black eyes. and in a short time mat
tiers were running as smoothly as
could be hoped. took job in the
mpl-my dream of being locomotive
| engineer had vanished almost with
by baby teeth-and was now work.
ing from seven IN the morning until
six at night for consideration OF
three dollars week. Ny father
earned ten dollars q week. so we were
In easy circumstances. There were
no picture shows to tempt our spare
| quarters, nor automobiles to make us
envious Of our more fortunate neigh
| bors.
Jack Lane also took job In the
mill. when did. We graduated into
long trousers together, and made our
! youthful excursions. arm in arm, In.
to the town on Saturday nights. Jack
was handsome boy. with the fair
skin and hair Of his sister Jean, and
many coquettish eye was turned
on him as we strolled about the little
town, or, even as he worked at his
| post In the mill But while Jack
was by no means above q mild firta-
ton. he used to dismiss such events
with the comprehensive remark,
They're not in the class of Marjorie
-or JEAN"
/ We were eighteen when the accident
happened to Peter Lane. He was
working about shaft, as he had done
perhaps a thousand times before
when some loose end Of his clothing
tapped around It. He clutched the
| shaft and Whirled withe It until the