The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 27, 1903, Page 8

=k The rain- g s mig a t a sof ar that Yes some e < g ag . aisins—ge s Py dozen lemons hiche Puget Se o an’ a neh an’ his face grew for your mother shuff little. hk you = k fer my N et d distinct- rows. Two red r cheeks. “I hope the chrysanthe- i then, with an air of @ disagreeable sub- e no answer. He moved his y. Presently he said »ds a black £k hern looked rust Sunday. Notice F . N aid Emarine. Seeme me she was gittin’ to look his voice broke; he *Il be the first Ch ever eat without my She nd looked at him. He € at flashed into her Y his'n without r < e You go an’ eat < r ur mother 'f . I g alone. Are & ¢ things? If you ain’t, just say so, an’ I'll go an’ do 't He 1 i went without a .~ saucepan from e hearth. Then ed her cheek in d looked stead- Her eyes held a saw a picture, re of the blue green valley r. ‘She saw a mpa 3 abby ¢ red to her own, & rnist and’in it ‘an’ old woman ing down -to her*Chri§tmas dinner alone. ~ After a while ‘she rose with an *impatient 1t"" she exclaimed tshelp to her thisjtime I'd She'might- just as + Lavish she 50.0ld -an’: pitful, in front.o} us in nday aftgr Sunday. The cords meck like well rope, an’ quiv’rin’ so! I-can see her—" pened -suddenly, and. her She was bristling with re sther entered srjosity Emarine!”, She Jlowered., her ige, aighough’ there. was 1o one to Where d’,you §'pose the ynder- ax8oin’aup by here” Have you r of anxbad 1y Np,” said stop by an Lmar&pe Did ()r\llle tell you to hUFEy up?” s I know Why?” I wonder if it's What's the matteF of him? @ one o' the Peterson children where ths undertaker’s a-goin’! They're all got the quinsy sore throat.” “How does he look? he looks so turrable.” y Emarine Parmer! Ey'rybody s he looks so! I only hope know what afls him!"” cried out Em- “What are you hintin’ I don’t see 's don’t they What does afl him?” you know what ails i'd ought to; I'll tell you. dfin’ by inches ever since .you s mother out o' doors.” ne turned rale. Sheet ved in her eyes. vou'd ought to talk about her out!” she burst out, After you a-settin’ 1 with her in this very kitchen don’t s0 light- my me on! Wa’'n't she goin’ to out of your own daughter’'s 7a'n't that what I turned her 1 t turn her out, any- v told Orville this house enough’ fer his mother an at neither o’ us 'u’d knuc he'd best -take his choice ught to talk I egged you on, I'm sorry or Mrs. Endey, solemnly. E that fit o I've f old I'd like to I don’t spunk an’ kind o’ as jest rest st t o, he didn't go to vs—he's gawn right on. My onder ’f it ain’t old Gran'ma a bad spell—no, he corner. I can't think to! with a sigh of de- palely across gone. “May- the attic you she suggested, dryly. old Gran'- open the 1e’s limpin’ worse 'n rine flew to the door. Grand- 3 s one of the few peo- ple she loved was large and therly. She wore a black dress ar and a funny bonnet with a frill of white lace around her brow. Emarine’s face softened when she kissed her. I'm so and her ad to see you,” was tender. Mrs. E face underwent sually it wore a look of of positive suspicion, but beamed She shook h the guest and led 2 comfortable chair. w rheumatiz is wors cheerfully, “because you're she said oice B vour pin® so. Oh, di u see the under- kw g0 up by her We can’'t think where h ] D’ you happen to k oW I don’t I don’t want to, Mrs. E aughed comfort- “Mis’ Endey, you don’t ketch " with undertakers till I have at down and removed her tton glove: “I'm gettin’ to hen I don’t care much they g0 to so long Fix Christmas , dear L aid Emarine in her very gentlest tone. Her mother had never said ar’” to he and the sound of it on this old lady's lips w: sweet. “Won't you come an’ take 'U:I\fd merrily. *“Oh, dearie me, dearie me! You don't guess my son’s folks could spare me now, do you? 1 spend ev'ry Christmas there. They most carry me on two chips. My wife, Sidonie, she nearly’ runs her feet off waitin’ on me. She can't do enough for me. My! Mrs. Endey, you don’t know what a comfort a daughter-in-law an’ feeble!” Emarine’s face turned red. She went to the table and stood with her back to the older women; but her mother’s sharp eyes observed that her ears grew scarlet. “An’ I never wil grimly. “You've got a son-in-law, though, who's worth a whole townful of most sons-in-law. He was such a good son, too. Jest worshiped his mother; couldn’t bear her out o’ his sight. He humored her high and low. That's je: the way Sidonie does with me. I'm gettin’ cranky’s I get older, an’ some- times I'm reel cross an’ sassy to her; but she jest laffs at me an’ then comes an’ kisses me, an’ I'm all right. again. It's a blessin’ right from God to have a daughter-in-law Jike that.” The knife in Y‘marine s hand slipped, and she uttered g little cry. “Hurt you?” demanded her mother, sternly. Emarine was silent, and did not turn, “Cut you, Emarine? Why don’t you answer me? , Aigh?” “A liftle,” sald Emarine. She went into the pantry-and presently returned with. a narrow strip of muslin, which she wound around her finger. “Well, I never seel You never.will learn any gumption.. Why. don’t you look , what, you're. about? : Now| go around Chrlstmas with your finger all tied 'up.” “Oh, that’ll be all rlght bY to-mor- TOW said . Mrs. . Eliot, » cheerfully. “Won’t ‘it, Emarine? ~Never. cry over spilt milk, Mrs. Endey; it makes a body get “wrinkles too fast... O’ course, Or- ville’s 'mother’s. comin’ to take dinner with you, Emarine?” “Dear me!” exclaimed Emarine, in a sudden flutter. “I don’t see why them cranberries don’t come. I told Orville to hurry ’em<up. I'd best make the floatin’ island while I wait.” is when you get old said Mrs. Endey, /THE' SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL:M “I stopped at Orville's mother’s as T came along, Emarine.” “How?” Emarine turned in a star- tled way from the table. “I say I stopped at Orville’s mother’s as 1 came along.” “OR!?, “She well?” asked Mrs. Endey. “No, she ain’t. Shakin’ like she had the St. Vitus dance. She’s failed hor- rible lately. She'd be'n crying. Her eyes was all swelled up.” There was quite a silence. Then Mrs. Endey sald: “What she be'n cryin’ about?” “Why, when I asked her she jest laffed kind of pitiful, an’ said: ‘Oh, only my tomfoolishness, o’ course. She said she always got to thinkin’ about other Christmases. But I cheered her uf® I told her what a good time I always had at my son’s, an’ how Sidonie jest couldn’t do enough for me. An’ I told her to think what a nice time she’'d have liere 't Emarine’s to-morrow.” Mre. Endéy smiled. ‘“What she say to that?” 3 “She didn’t say much son’s to go to. 8he said shé’ pitied all poor wretches that had: to set out their Christmas alone. Poor.old lady, she ain’t got much spunk left. She’'s all broke. down.. But I cheered her some. Sech a wishful look took helt o' her when I pitchered her dinner over s/ o) o A A OI}'MJM: B0 LAIP HLS HEFP LIHE & BoY. 27 75 [T0THEES 1497 I could see: she ‘was thankful, though, she"had a'. up - here at Emarine's. I can’t seem to for- get it. Goodness, I must go. I'm on my, way to Sidonie’s, an’ she’ll be comin’ 3 after me if I ain't on time.” ¥oas When Mrs. Eliot had gone limping down the path Mrs. Endey said:.“You 1 v got your front room red up, Emarine?” e ) 0% . “No; I ain’t had time to red up any- wares. ‘I bet she’d go an’ ask Mis’ thing.” , Palmer over here to dinner if she wa'n't “Well, I'll do it. Where's your duster afraid -I'd laff at her , fer knucklin’ at “down. I'll have to aggravate her.” “Behind ‘the org’'n. ! You can get out the wax cross again. Mis' Dillon: was here with all her ‘childern, an’~I had: to hide up ev'rything. I never see chil- dern" like hem She lets.'em handle things: s0." Mrs. Endey went to the “front room,” and began :to dust the organ. She was something of a diplomat, and she wished to be alone for a few min- utes. “You have to manage Emarine by contraries,” she reflected. It : did not occur to her that this was a family trait. “I'm orful sorry I ever egged and laid it carefully on a plate. her on to turnin’ Orville’s miother out ' ‘“Gran'ma Eliot can go talkin’ about o' “doors, but who'd a’ thowght it 'ud wher daughter-in-law Sidonje- all she break her:down so? -Shesain’'t told ar wants, Emarine. You Re!p a stiff up- soul] either. -1 reckeq,gd she's talk‘ per lip.” ot somethin’ ‘orful about un.'b\lt'uhe ain't ¥ “'l gan ’tend to my own affairs,” told a soul. She’s kep' a stiff ugper lip, *said Pmarine fiercely. an’ told folks she al'ays expegted to ' +‘“Well, don't flare up so. Here comes live alone when Orville got married. Land, but he does look Emarine’s all worked up. I believe the Lord Hisself must "’a’ sent Gran'ma Ellot here_to talk like an angel una- She finished dusting and returned to the kitchen. “I wonder what Gran'- ma Eliét 'u'd say if she knew you'd turned Orville's molher out. rine?” There was no reply. at the table making tarts. Her back ‘was to her mother. “I didn’t mean what I said about bein’ sorry 1 egged you on, Emarine. I'm glad you turned her out.” Emarine dropped a quivering ruby of jelly into a golden ring of pastry - . . . . ‘After supper, when her mother had Ema- Em1rme was ® gone home for the night, Emarine put on her hat and shawl. Her husband was sitting by the fireplace looking thoughtfully at the bed of coals. “I'm goin’ out,” she said briefly. “You keep the fire up.”. “Why, Emarine, it's dark! you want I sh'u’d go along?” “No; you keep the fire up.” *“Ffe: l6oked at her anxiously, but he knew from the way, she Sét her heels down that remonstrance would be use- less. “Don’t stay long,” he said in a tone of habitual tenderness. He loved her passionately, in spite of the lasting hurt she had given him when she parted him from his moth- er. It was a hurt that had sunk deep- er that even he realized. It lay’heavy ‘.on his heanrt day and mnight. It took “the blue out of the sky and the green * outof the grass and the gold out of the sunlight:” It tooK the exaltation and the rapture out of his tenderest moments of love. He never reproach- ed her, he never really blamed her; certainly he never pitied himself. But he carried a heavy heart around with Don't him and his few smiles wers joyless things. For the trouble he blamed only him- self. He had promised Emarine solemn- 1y before he married her that If there were any “knuckling down” to be done, his mother should be the one to do it. He had made the promise deliberately and he could no more have broken' it than he could have changed the color of his eyes. When bitter feeling arises be- tween two relatives by marrigge It is the one who stands between thems—the one who 13 bound by the tenderest ties to both—who has the real suffering to bear, who is torn and tortured until life holds nothing worth the having. Or- ville Palmer was the one who stood be- tween. He had bullt his own cross and he took it up and bore it without & word. Fmarine hurried through the early winter dark until she came to the small and poor house where her husband’s mother lived. It was off the main-trav- eled street. There was a dim light In the kitche: the curtain had not been drawn. Em- arine paused and looked in. The sash was lifted six inches, for the night was warm, and the sound of voices came to her at once. Mrs. Palmer had company. “It’s Miss Pres * & *1 Emarine, re- gentfully, under her breath. “Old gos- sip!” “—goin’ to or have a fine dinmer, I Miss Presly was saying. “Tur- key with oyster dressin’, an’ cramber- ries, an’ mince an’ punkin ple, an’ reel plum puddin’ with brandy poured over it an’ set afire, an’ wine dip, an’ nuts an’ raisins, an’ wine itselZ to wind up on. Emarine’s a fine cook. She knows how to get up a dinner thct makes your about You goin Parmer?” mouth water to th to have a spread, Mis’ “Not much of a one,” said Orville’s mother. ‘1 expected but I c'udn't git them fall potatoes sold off. T'll have to keep 'em till spr git any kind o price. I do are h about Chr mas, though”—her '“*r‘v but she lifted it h It's anybody but children to build so much on Christ Emarine opened the door and walked fn. Mrs. Palmer arose slowly, grasping the back of her ¢ T. “Orville’s dead!” she said, Emarine laughed, but there was tenderness of near tears in her volc “Oh, my, no,” she said, sitting down. “l run over to ask you to come to Christmas dinner. I was too busy all day to come I'm goin’ to have a great 4 I've cooked ev'ry single thing of it myself! I want to show you what a fine Christmas dinner your daughter-in-law can get up. Dinner’s at 2, an’ I want you to come at 11. W >u "’ Mrs. Palmer had sat down weakly. Trembling was not the word to de- scribe the feeling that had taken pos- session of her. She was shivering. She wanted to fall down on her knees and put her arms around her son's wife m hin was , solemnly. the sooner. an and sob out all her loneliness and heartache. But life is a stage, and Miss Presly was an addience not to be ignored. So Mrs. Palmer said: “Well, I'll be reel glad to come, Emarine. It's offul kind o you to think of 't. It 'u'd " be’'n lonesome eatin’ here all by myself, I expect.” Emarine stood up. Her heart was like a thistledown. Her eyés were shining. “All right,” she said; that you sh'u'd must run right night.” “Well, T declare!” ly. “That girl gits prettier ev'ry day o' her life. Why, she just looked full o' glame to-night!™ . . . . . . Orville was not at home when his mother arrived in her rusty best dre: and shawl. Mrs. Endey saw her com- “an’ T want come just at 11. I back now. Good said Miss Pres- inug. She gasped ou “Why, good grieve! Here's Mis Parmer, Emarine!” “Yes, I know,” said Emarine calm- ly. “I ast her to dinner.” She opened the door and shook hands with her mother-in-law, giving her mother a look of defiance that al- most upset that laly's gravity. “You set right down, Mother Parmer, an’ let me take your things. Orville don’t know you're comin’, and I . just want to see his face when he comes in Here's a new black shawl for your Christmas. I got mother one just like it. what a nice long fringe it's got. Oh, ! Don't go to n'! Here comes Or- ville.” She stepped aside quickly. When her husband entered his eyes fell instantly on his mother, weeping childishly over the new shawl. She was in the old splint rocking-chair with the high back. ‘““Mother!” he cried. Then he gave a frightened, tortured glance at his wife Emarine smiled at him, but it was through tears. “Emarine ast me, Orville—she ast me to dinner'o’ herself! An’ she give me this shawl. I'm cryin’—for—joy."” “I gst her to dinner,” said Emarine, “but she ain't ever goin’ back again She’s goinj to stay. I expect we've both had enough of a lesson to do us. Orzville did not soezk. He fell on h knees and laid his his mother’s lap and re »ne strong but trembling arm up his wife's waist, drawing her down to him Mrs.. Endey got up and went-to rat- tling things around on the table vigor- ously. “Well, I never see sech a pack o' loonaticks!"” she exclaimed. “Go am’ burn all your Christmas dinger up, if I don’t look after it! Turncoats! I expect they’ll both be fallin’ over their- selves to knuckle down to each other from now on! I'never see!™ But there was sometRing in her eyes, too, that made them beautiful. to