NATIONAL BISCUIT COMPANY,
words of the poem, How dear to this heart are the
scenes of my childhood, when fond recollection
presents them to view. The whole was entwined
with gaudy roses and signed, Samuel Woodioortfi.
"I been meaning to throw it out since we re
modeled," the woman said, embarrassed, "but my
husband had a hankering for it. I'd be obliged, if
you like it, to take it as a souvenir."
"utside with the picture wrapped in a newspaper,
Janet talked to the twins, silent and bashful.
"Ever go swimming in the swimming hole?"
she asked smiling. They shook their heads.
Butch and Ken came out of the barn sooner than
she expected. Butch ran toward her holding a baby
kitten. Ken didn't meet her eyes. "Milking machines
make quite a difference," he said to the woman. To
Janet it was as if he'd said, "You can't recapture
the past. It's over and done with."
Janet suggested that they return to the car.
"Naw. You gotta go with us, Mom, to see the creek
and Skunk Hollow." Butch took her hand. "The
man says the creek's only a little dried up."
Sensing the hollowness in Ken's laugh, she
thought, "Coming here was a terrible mistake."
Butch raced ahead to the overgrown ditch, once
a creek. "No bullheads today, Dad."
"Guess not, boy," Ken called.
"Darling, darling," she wanted to say. "It's you
I don't want to get hurt. Butch'U forget." What she
said was, "Butch's getting a kick out of seeing it all."
"You think so?" Ken's voice was so hopeful that
it twisted her heart. She saw now that though this
visit was a disappointment, Ken wanted to preserve
the story illusion for his son. It was Butch's reaction,
not Ken's, that mattered.
"Butch," Ken called, "race you back to the car!"
She watched them running through the tall weeds
as she picked her way carefully. Ken would let
Butch win. That, too, was part of the illusion, for
the boy as much as for the man.
At the car Butch was talking to the twins. He
looked up at her, his forehead furrowed, his hot
little face flushed. "They haven't ever done any
trapping, Mom."
His tone of sympathy and regret told her what she
wanted to know. For Butch there was no personal
disappointment, only compassion for these boys who
had been denied milking by hand, the dammed-up
swimming hole, the attic with its treasures.
As Janet got into the car, she thought, "I'm glad
we came. It isn't a question of recapturing the past;
the past lives only in memory. But the memory can
be real and beautiful."
They were turning off the dirt road when Ken
said, "Here, let me sling that newspaper package in
the back. What did you pick up, a bread board?"
When he reached for it, the paper came off. "What
in the world!" He eased to a stop and looked at the
homely oil painting, the hideous roses, his mouth
crinkling at the corners.
"Don't laugh," said Janet, "read what it says."
"How dear to this heart are the scenes of my
childhood . . ." He chuckled. "To think I missed that
picture when we moved from the farm," he said.
'.'I used to think the roses looked absolutely real."
"Butch and I think they're beautiful!" she said.
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ALL
SALTINES
ARE NOT
ALIKE
SEE AND TASTE THE DIFFERENCE
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AND ONLY PREMIUM SNOW FLAKE SALTINES HAVE IT!
Family Weekly, January 19, 1958
19
Only Nabisco takes this extra bak
ing step Golden Glow to give
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RECIPE: Combine can of cream of
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