Motion Picture Story Magazine (Aug 1912-Jan 1913)

THE UNWELCOME GUEST 73 "Why, here's my weddin' suit in this old trunk — she 's kep ' it all these years," he said, holding up the long, black coat with sorrowful pride; "here's th' coat an' pants, but I wonder what she done with th' vest — it wuz gray satin, with black leaves worked in it." He folded the clothes back into the little trunk and turned to Obed. "Let's dont look any more, now," he said ; ' ' mebbe it '11 come ter me in th ' night where she put it — sometimes things come ter me thet way." But that night, and many nights, slipped by, and it did not "come to" pa where the money was hidden. The problem of living became a difficult one; crops had been poor that year, and they had expected to draw upon the hidden hoard to carry them thru the long winter. Then, the taxes were due and had to be met. From a vague uneasiness, the situation crystallized into acute need and anxiety. Something must be done, and that right soon. If not, the dreaded poorhouse across the hills stared him in the face. Again and again, every inch of the house was searched for the money that was now so sorely needed. Obed searched even the barn and the henhouse one night, with the aid of a lantern, but without results. The next morning, as a last resort, he ventured a suggestion. "Pa," he said, "I hate ter say it, but we've got ter do somethin' right away, an' I want yeh ter go over ter Bob's. I reckon he'd be awful glad t' have yeh come an' stay a spell with 'im. Th ' Winthrops want me t ' work fer 'em this winter — he told me yesterday he'd board me fer doin' th' chores an' takin' th' kids t' school. Then I could come over here when I had time, an' hunt fer th' money. I'll find it yet, an ' then yeh kin come back hum, an' we'll get along fine." A tear was trembling in the old man's eye as he looked at the lad. "You're a good boy, Obed," he said slowly. "You've stuck by th' old man like a real son. ' ' He paused for a moment, and Obed knew that his thoughts were with the one child of their marriage — the boy who had married a wealthy farmer's daughter, and, with increasing prosperity, had drifted far away from the old folks. It had been the mother's one great sorrow; she had longed for her boy, and for the little grandchildren, who were brought to the old home so seldom that they hardly knew their grandparents' faces. Thinking of this, pa's face hardened, and he spoke with angry decision. "I'd quicker starve than ask him fer a hum," he declared bluntly. Then the gentleness of his nature reasserted itself, and he hastened to add: "There, I hadn't oughter speak thet way. Bob wuz a good boy 'fore he married, an' it's nat'ral fer th' young ter get weaned 'way from hum — 'course, he'd take me if 'twuz necessary. ' ' It soon became necessary; grim fact was not to be evaded — pa must go to his son, or go to the poorhouse. A letter, secretly written by the pitying selectmen to Bob, had brought a curt reply, which showed plainly that he would take his father in, simply to avoid the disgrace of having it known that he was "on the town." So the old man, with a sorrowful heart, packed his few possessions in the old-fashioned trunk. "I'll leave my weddin' togs in th' bottom of th' trunk," he said to Obed. 1 ' I cant give it up, after ma kep ' 'em so long; mebbe Bob's children might like to see 'um — there's three of 'um, two girls an' a boy. I kin tell 'um stories an ' do a lot fer 'um — eh V9 Loyal-hearted Obed tried by every means that his honest heart could devise to comfort the old man. "If yeh dont like it, come back," he told him, over and over. "We kin get 'long somehow; if yeh kin stand it there till spring comes, I kin work out in th' summer an' make anough ter keep us — but I'm talkin' dumb-foolishness; prob'ly by spring yeh couldn't be drug 'way from them children fer love nor money!" But his face was very serious as he stood by the old gate, finally, waving a good-by to pa, who leaned far out of