Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 117, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 May 1918 — FROM MARY [ARTICLE]

FROM MARY

By JANE WILKINS.

(Copyright, IMS, by the MoCXura Newspa—p«rßyndfc«te.) Grandma Bates sat alone at the window, rocking. She was always rocking these day«. 4 She was too feeble for work about the house, and her old eyes too dim for much fine sewing. She sat rocking gently, looking out at the mellow, autumn landscape. - “Leaves a-failing” she murmurred to herself. “When they are most beautiful and brightest-colored they can drop. They don’t have to hang on and on; Oh', if folks were only like that, if only there' were something I could do!” The sound of quick footsteps on the porch outside arrested her attention, and she looked up eagerly as a slim, dark-hafred girl entered the room. Mary’s coining was always like the coming of the sun to Graadma Bates. But today Mary was not smiling. There were traces of tears on her rosy cheeks, and her lips were quivering. She burled her head In the old lady’s lap and shook with-sobs. - “Oh, grandma, grandma - " Grandma Bates stroked the girl's smooth head'with a “tremulous hand. “There, there, honey, don’t cry,” she urged. “Whatever your trouble is I guess I’ve had lt> too. There Isn’t much I haven’t been through in my time, and I know things come out right somehow. Tell grandma what you’re crying about.” “It’s Jim, grandma. We’ve had a quarrel. Oh, yes, It was silly. I can’t tell you what it was about, but it happened a week ago. I told him I didn’t want him ever to come near, me again •—yes, I did—and he. hasnji, all this week He. acts as if he thought I meant what I said. He ought to have known—” - . The shadow of a smile flickered over the old lady’s face, and the light of whimsical'memories warmed her eyes.

“Just so!” she agreed. “I remember when I quarreTed~with your grandfather, too. It was about the color of a horse, I think, or something as stupid.” Within half an hour Grandma Bates was busily clicking her needles over a lapel of khaki-colored worsted, and Mary was listening, with an occasional preoccupied sigh, to tales of that othei war, the war to which her grandfather had marched away never to return. And so, through the week that followed they knitted together, the old Jady guiding the girl’s fingers as she learned to turn heels and togs, “purl” and “bind-off.” And then, one day, the girl came in white-lipped and sat with her knitting untouched, her eyes dark and tragic. Grandma Bates knew that something had happened, but she wisely kept her silence, and at last Mary spoke. “He’s enlisted,’’ she said dully. “Jim’s enlisted. His sister told me so this morning. And if he goes without my seeing him again—” “He won’t.” said the old lady confidently. “Either he will come to see you, or else you will write and ask him to.” “Oh, I can’t! If only I weren’t so stubborn and stupid. I can’t, grandma, and I’m sure that Jim will never come first." But Mrs. Bates shook her wise old head and said no more. Several days passed and nothing happened, except that Mary grew pal< with the struggle she was .waging. But Mary’s grandmother kept steadily at work upon, the sweaters, socks and helmets which she completed with amazing rapidity. And if anyone had noticed, there was a curious, happy little smile about her lips at times, a secret twinkle in her eye when sh« looked at Mary. One evening after the old lady had gone to bed Mary sat alone trying to read, straining her ears for the sound of steps which never came. And then, quite suddenly, they did come. As ot old there ttffls a quick ring at the bell, an impatient tattoo on the door-pane. Mary opened the front door, to see hei Jim, in khaki. He came in as though nothing had happened. » “Like my uniform, Mary?” he asked. They talked for a strained five minutes of things that didn’t matter, every-day things that had existed before their quarrel. And after a while he took her hand again and they made mutual confessions, each one insisting on the blame for that misunderstanding. *

“It wiisG all my fault. Mary, every Mt. YoU don’t know how hard It’s been to keep away from you. especially since I knew I was to go to France. Fve tried and tried to get over my stubborn, stupid pride and come tc you, but I coffldn’t. If you hadn’t sent me that sweater to show how you felt—’’ “Sweatert* she repeated vaguely. “Yes, it fits beautifully, too, When I unwrapped tt and saw the words ’From Mary’—when I saw how good and forgiving you were, I felt like all kinds of a scoundrel, I can tell you.” Mary sat dazed. She had sent nc sweater, she opened her lips to say so and then, as a sudden thought came tc her, she remained silent. She would tell Jim later, when she had made sure. Next morning Mary stole in with hoi grandmother’s cup of tea and found the old lady waiting for her, bright eyed. *•! know what you’re going to any,’ began Grandma Bates. “But It bronghihim, didn’t it? And I didn’t say iyhn! Mary. I guess my name’s Mary, too.’