HOME AND FARM MAGAZINE SECTION
A C hristm as C on valescen t
I fl A A N 'T I have an egg, doctor! J o e ’
tLp a s o f ' boiled egg.
I aster
’spise ’em, bat now I ’d give all
the money in my cannon bank for one.”
‘ ‘ Too low a b id ,” declared the doc
tor, ‘ ‘ in a few more days you ’d offer
yonr immortal soul. Yon had better
take those flowers out of the room, Miss
Vaughn; th ey’re too sweet.”
His critical, professional glance rested
upon the young mother.
‘ ‘ D on’t lose'courage now that your
boy ia doing famously. Good morning. ”
As his footsteps echoed down the hall
the mother said with forced enthusiasm,
‘ ‘ We had nearly finished our story,
hadn’t we. When the glass slipper fit
ted exactly, she drew the mate from her
pocket, and she wore them when she
was married to the prince.’ ”
‘ ‘ Did they have a weddin’ supper!”
asked the weak little voiee.
‘ ‘ Yes, dear,” she hurried it over,
‘ ‘ and music and daneing, and Cinder
ella wore a dress embroidered in silver
stars. ’ ’
‘ ‘ Did they have ice cream at the
supper!” persisted the weak little voice.
“ Yes, darling, and the Fairy God
mother gave them the pumpkin ponies
had a------ ”
“ Was it choc-lit and van iller!”
The trained nurse looked amused, for
she was used to typhoid convalescents,
but the mother’s eyes filled with tears,
for the past few weeks had brought her
first experience in racking suspense.
“ It was chocolate, but the eourt cook
was so excited that she spilt some salt
in it, and the Prince couldn’t eat any
o f it .”
“ You fo rg o t,” he returned with gen.
tile insistence. “ ‘ Fore I was sick,
when you told it to Bertha and May.
The Prince ate one saucer of choc lit
and two o f vaniller. Th at’s why I
wanted to bear it over. The glass slip
per part is silly.”
“ Shall I get the new catalogue and
read over the list o f Christmas books
so that we can tell what you would
like b e s t!” she diverted into new chan
nels.
He did not answer, only looked at
her with big, lack-lustre eyes, which
six weeks ago would have been joy-
oaaly responsive.
" W e must have a book or two to
read while you 're in bed, but you 11
soon be well, and then a bicyele will
be the best thing. Or do you prefer a
splendid sled and a pair o f ball-bearing
sk ates!”
“ I dun no. ”
“ D on ’t you knew what you want,
precious! Our Santa Claus ia asking.”
" l e e cream.”
The nurse glanced at the eloek and
brought half a glass o f bnttermilk,
from which he turned with siek dis
taste. Then be remembered.
“ Next time i t ’ll be predergestid beef,
and I hate that worse ’n buttermilk,' ’
aad he gulped it down bravely.
"W h a t did you have for lunch,
m other!”
“ I hardly remember— steak and po
tatoes, and sliced tomatoes, I believe,
and some honey.”
“ Honey! Oh, mother, lemme smell
your breath I ’’
She bent and kissed him.
“ I didn’t eat any o f it, little son.
That was for Bertha and May, be
cause they eouldn’t have the dessert.
I wasn’t hungry; I only had some tea
and toast.”
She would not ssy how food ehoeked
her, when the thought of the hungry
child, up stairs, still condemned to liquid
diet.
Boy looked troubled.
' * Please don ’t get siek, mother.' ’
The doctor's injunction came back to
her, and she went into her own room
and looked ia the mirror, for the first
time ia weeks with any comprehension
o f what was reflected there. She re
alized that it must be bad for Boy, now
that hs was wsll enough to notice it,
to see her look so worn. She took o ff
the dark wrapper she had been wear
ing while she was nursing, and pot on a
pretty gray gown, made more becoming
by the noft fluffineae at ehiffan. After
she had pi ashed her cheeks until the
color came, she west back to Boy's
room.
His face brightened— and fell.
“ Y ou ’re gain' somewhere oth er!”
“ O f course not, precious. I ’m going
to sit with you all the afternoon, while
Miss Vaughn takes a walk.”
He shook his head and smiled faintly,
recalling the physician’s parting words.
“ The doctor w on ’t let you stay in
here, mother; you're too sweet.”
“ You dear little knight I” exclaimed
the nurse. “ Y ou ’ ve been such a good
patient that I think you are just as
sweet as— as— ”
She paused a moment to find the
adequate simile.
“ As ju n k e t!” suggested Boy polite
ly. “ Th at’s sorter sweet, about like
me. Though, of course mother thinks
I ’m as good as the best things— apple
turnovers, cocoanut cake, and custard
pies (only I don ’t like to eat those at
picnics ’cause it musses my ears), and
blackberry dumplln’, and
chewin’
gum ’fore y o u ’ ve chewed the taste out,
and all the things you get at soda-
water fountains— and
'spestly ice
cream. ’'
His voice grew eager over the
nomenclature.
“ There’s heaps o f good things that
a in ’t sweet, too. Turkey and rice and
gravy and fish and peanuts and sam-
wiches and hot waffles and pickles.
And all the things me and Dick
Freneh et outdoors, mos' ripe apples
and raw turnips and that rabbit Diek
killed with his rifle and we cooked
him ourselves. M os’ everything's fine
when you're well. And one time Dick
>»
“ D on’t talk quite so much dearie,
you will tire yourself. Your mother
wants to read to you now.”
Boy flared into unexpected rebellion,
contrary to his inherent gentleness.
“ I don ’t want to hear any stories.
I ’m so tired o f ’em .” A happy thought
struck him. “ You never have read
me any out o f your cook book, mother;
read me some o f that.”
Miss Vaughn nodded to the mother
to acquiesce, and she brought the
book before she left them to take her
walk.
Boy selected the recipes and his
mother read the directions for mak
ing each o f his favorite dishes, until
at last his eyes grew heavy, his breath
ing regular, and he slept.
Alone in the quiet room, watching
the easy respiration, the moisture on
the brow, she rejoiced that the days
were past in which the thermometer’s
verdict made necessary the dreaded cold
baths. She tried to say a psalm of
thanksgiving, yet she realized a con
straining dumbness, even as she had
felt during the worst period o f her
b o y ’s illness. The future, all unknown,
through what pain and stress might he
have to pass to find again the portals
which were then open to the touch of
his unsullied hand! So in those days of
anguished suspense she had fought with
herself not to otter the cry o f her sonl
that he might live, but no other words
had seemed to flow from the springs of
her heart through her white lips.
Now as she mechanically repeated,
“ Who redeemeth thy life from destruc
tion, who erowneth thee with loving
kindness and tender mercies,” she felt
shocked to realize that while her lips
were framing D avid’s words, her heart
was echoing the feeble query:
“ ‘ C h oclit and van iller!”
Suddenly, passionately, she fell upon
her knees.
“ Oh, Father, please let him have ice
cream Christmas day! He has been so
patient, give him this little happiness on
Thy 8 o n ’s birthday! For the sake of
the Blessed Christ-Child. Amen.”
A rain of healing tears melted the
control in whieb she had armored her
self. Never sinee her own childhood
had she felt so near to the love that
understands, “ knowing our childish
The nursery echoed with the laugh
ter and ehatter o f Bertha and May, with
their dolls and bears and bulging stock
ings. Boy looked with quiet pleasure
at the gu ts friends and kindred had
sent ia generous measure, but there was
a question in his eyes. He hated to
ask it directly, knowing how hard a re
fusal would be to them both.
“ The snow looks mighy pretty, moth
er; sorter like vaniller ies cream !”
All his fortitude could aot keep baek
the rising inflection.
9
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“ We shall have to wait until the
doctor comes, dearest. He has promised
to come early to give his directions for
the day.”
But already she felt sure o f his ver
dict.
“ Can you get the cream ready for
his 1 o ’clock nourishment!” the phy
sician was asking a little later.
“ Can I ! ” she echoed indignantly.
“ Why, I made it the first thing this
morning as every mother would have
done.”
She brought np the tray, with a doily
embroidered in a wreath of holly, and
the iee cream in a pretty saucer, dec
orated with red berries and mistletoe.
But this adorning— as much of woman's
is— was purely for her own satisfaction,
for Boy would not have known whether
that delectable white mound was served
from a gold platter or a tomato can.
His thin hand reached for the spoon;
the first, cool, sweet, adorable bit melt
ed in his mouth.
The future might hold jolly fraternity
banquets as college, the keenness of
the hunter’s appetite over the campfire,
the first wonderful meal in his ewn
home when his housekeeping days should
begin. Yet his mother knew that this
was the supreme gastronomic moment of
his life, that never again could anything
taste so miraculously delicious.
The saucer so empty that washing
seemed a superfluity, Boy turned over
on his pillow with a contended sigh.
“ This is an orful nice Christmas.
I ’m glad I ’m not Dick. His mother
don't make ice cream near as geod as
you do, mother.”
Write Us for Information on Market
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Dryer, Bollam & Co.
General Commission Merchants.
128 Front Street, Portland, Oregon.
W hen In Seattle
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