PICTURES
Nothing is lost that our memories hold,
Nothing forgotten that once we knew;
And to-day a boy with curls of gold
Is running my fond heart through and through--
In and out and round and round--
And I find myself laughing without a sound
At the funny things he said that time
When life was one glad nursery rhyme.
It should not be so hard for mothers to give up their children. We
should grow accustomed to it, for we are always losing them. I once
had a curly-haired baby with eyes like blue forget-me-nots, who had a
sweet way of saying his words, and who coined many phrases which are
still in use in my family. Who is there who cannot see that
"a-ging-a-wah" has a much more refreshing sound than "a drink of
water"? And I am sure that nobody could think of a nicer name for the
hammer and nails than a "num and a peedaw." At an incredibly early age
this baby could tell you how the birdies fly and what the kitty says.
All mothers who have had really wonderful children--and this takes us
all in--will understand how hard it is to set these things down in
cold print or even to tell them; for even our best friends are
sometimes dull of heart and slow of understanding when we tell them
perfectly wonderful things that our children did or said. We all know
that horrible moment of suspense when we have told something real
funny that our baby said, and our friends look at us with a dull
is-that-all expression in their faces, and we are forced to supplement
our recital by saying that it was not so much what he said as the way
he said it!
Soon I lost the blue-eyed baby, and there came in his place a sturdy
little freckle-faced chap, with a distinct dislike for water as a
cleansing agent, who stoutly declared that washing his hands was a
great waste of time, for they were sure to get dirty again; which
seems to be reasonable, and it is a wonder that people have not taken
this fact into account more when dealing with the griminess of youth.
Who objected to going to church twice a day on the ground that he
"might get too fond of it." Who, having once received five cents as
recompense for finding his wayward sister, who had a certain
proclivity for getting lost, afterwards deliberately mislaid the same
sister and claimed the usual rates for finding her, and in this manner
did a thriving "Lost and Found" business for days, until his
unsuspecting parent overheard him giving his sister full directions
for losing herself--he had grown tired of having to go with her each
time, and claimed that as she always got half of the treat she should
do her share of the work. Who once thrashed a boy who said that his
sister had a dirty face,--which was quite true, but people do not need
to say everything they know, do they? Who went swimming in the gravel
pit long before the 24th of May, which marks the beginning of swimming
and barefoot time in all proper families, and would have got away with
it, too, only, in his haste to get a ride home, he and his friend
changed shirts by mistake, and it all came to light at bedtime.
Then I lost him, too. There came in his place a tall youth with a
distinct fondness for fine clothes, stiff collars, tan boots, and
bright ties; a dignified young man who was pained and shocked at the
disreputable appearance of a younger brother who was at that time
passing through the wash-never period of his life and who insisted
upon claiming relationship even in public places. Who hung his room
with flags and pennants and photographs. Who had for his friends many
young fellows with high pompadours, whom he called by their surnames
and disputed with noisily and abusively, but, unlike the famous
quarrel of Fox and Burke, "with no loss of friendship." Who went in
his holidays as "mule-skinner" on a construction gang in the North
Country, and helped to build the railway into "The Crossing," and came
home all brown and tanned, with muscles as hard as iron and a luscious
growth of whiskers. Who then went back to college and really began to
work, for he had learned a few things about the value of an education
as he drove the mules over the dump, which can be learned only when
the muscles ache and the hands have blisters.
Then came the call! And again I lost him! But there is a private in
the "Princess Pats" who carries my picture in his cap and who reads my
letter over again just before "going in."