Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 248, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 October 1915 — Folk We Touch In Passing [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Folk We Touch In Passing

by Julia Chandler Manz

WHAT WILL THE HARVEST BE? When The-Mother-of-Five dropped In for a friendly chat with the mother of The Little Maid she found her frantically sewing on a filmy lace frock for the child, who stood at the window, her great, wistful eyes watching the children at play in crisp winter air. "I hare had a wonderful tramp,” said The-Mother-of-Five. "The winter air is such an excellent tonic to the nerves. It is beautiful out. Why don’t you put up your sewing and take The Little Maid out in the glorious sunshine V "O, I can't,” answered The-Mother-of-One, in a superior tone. “The Little Maid is to dance for the Twentieth Century Club today. I have worked for a week on her dress. It Is Just about finished now, and I am too tired to go out. “Margaret, for goodness sake, stop that fidgeting and fretting,” she ended, Irritably, addressing the five-year-old girl who stood at the window. The Mother-of-Five glanced at the finery on the speaker’s lap—the finery that had shut both mother and child away from the life-giving air and sunshine for a solid week. But, what of that! Isn’t a lace dress in which to show off The Little Maid’s tricks of more importance than the air, the sunlight, and the throb of the earth? “There,” said The-Mother-of-One, "it

is finished. Come here Margaret and let’s try on your new frock.” A light flickered up in The Little Maid’s eyes and brightened her waxen features as she came to her mother’s call. She responded eagerly to the finery. “Now recite ‘Little Orphan Annie,’ ” The-Mother-of-One invited the Little Maid when she was all decked out in her filmy lace, and the child, responding to the pride in her mother’s voice, lisped 'the lines of the poem, embellishing it with many bodily contortions and much uplifting of the eyes that looked like veritable moons in the wan little face. "I can say another, mamma,” suggested the baby, when she was at the end of “Little Orphan Annie.” She is like her mother to the corepoor Little Maid—eager to show off! "No,” said The-Mother-of-One, “dance your dance instead.” It was pretty enough, the twirling little figure in the soft lace frock, but The-Mother-of-Five lost interest in the intricate steps through the pictures which kept crowding into her mind of the round, rosy-faced children she had seen in her walk of the afternoon, dancing the mad dance of the winter wind as they had romped in the open air. At 7:30 in the evening—when The Five were all sound asleep in their cosy beds—The Mother-of-Five and her John nassed the home of The Little Maid. The parlors were anlaze with light and filled with guests. The Little Maid was quite ready for ner evening performance, and The-Mother-of-One was proudly showing off her tricks, and the little lace areas, i Returning from some calls at 10:30 The-Mother-of-Five and her John

dropped into a moving picture show. When they had slipped into their seats and their eyes had become accustomed to the darkened room they saw that they sat beside The-Mother-of* One and The Little Maid. ' “Margaret did her dance just bean-' tifully,” said the mother of The Little Maid proudly to The-Mother-of-Five. “She was so tired that I thought I would just drop in here tor a little rest,” she went on to explain. Rest! What a place for-a little girl; of five summers to rest at 10:30 in the evening! The first film was that of "The Night Riders.” When the masked men bound .their victim to a tree and lashed him into seeming insensibility The-Mother-of-Five took the hand of The Little > Maid into her 6wn and felt its convulsive quivering, and she was not surprised, for the horrors depicted on the screen set her own pulse leaping, and tore at her own nerves until they were on ragged edge. Then what of this frail little child who should have been in bed hours ago after a day spent largely in the great out-of-doors? The-Mother-of-Five looked from The Little Maid to The Mother-of-One. THE-MOTHER-OF-ONE WAS LAUGHING. At 11:30 The-Mother-of-Five passed the home of The Little Maid as she made her way home with her John.

The lights in the parlor were still glimmering brightly, and sounds of revelry penetrated the walls. “I wish The Little Maid would die," said John. “OH!” exclaimed The-Motherofr Five,” shocked. “Yes; I wish she would die,” Insisted the husband of The Mother-of-Five. "It would be a mercy if she did. For if she lives—” "What will the harvest be?” came the singing voice of The Little Maid to the passing couple, and with its shrill and weary tone was mingled the loud applause. of the foolish Mother-of-One.

It Was Pretty Enough—the Swirling Little Figure in the Soft Lace Frock.