Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1913)

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JS^sassS^V MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE | JULY, 1913 |ip Vol. V No. 6 The Mothering Heart lenng (Biograph) By JOHN OLDEN Years ago a great kingdom was torn to the bowels with civil war, and brother rode against brother into battle, with a prayer or a curse on their lips and a longstemmed rose streaming from their helmets. That was years ago, and roses have not changed — only men. The shivering lance has given place to the varnished cane; the helmet and the oath have doffed to the top-hat and — ■ with a beggar's choice — the cigaret. Men's hearts still beat in time, and out of time, perhaps less stoutly .... Only roses have not changed. It was the time of the dry bosom of summer, and a girl-woman walked in an old-fashioned garden and counted, in her heart, the withering white and red petals that yet remained about her. In martial rows the thick-stemmed, corn-like hollyhocks were blushing into summer bloom ; masses of flame-colored phlox and border rows of heart 's-ease flanked the turn of her steps. Trumpet-vines clung, like serpents, to the lower branches of venerable fruittrees, giving tawny tongue. Of the roses, only the soul of years to come remained. Two puppies frisked with an empty soup-can in the sun, barking elation, growling caution, nosing into its delectable emptiness. The girl watched their soupless efforts, swooped down upon them and, tucking one under each gingham armpit, carried them to a bench under the grape-arbor that sheltered the kitchen door. As she placed a pan of cool milk between them, their big-dog tactics quelled at once, and, with pink noses deep in the pan and baby tongues curling in and out, they were just puppies again. ' ' Poor little orphans, ' ' the girl said, ' ' do you know that your mother is dead ? And does an empty can and a milk-pan take her place, I wonder?" She stroked their heaving backs caressingly, a mother's look caught in her slow, gray eyes. As the sun, thru the arbor, covered her shape with splotchy light, the swish-swash song of a rocking churn came to her from the kitchen. A jay flew by with a wriggling worm in its mouth. "All the world's a-mothering, " smiled the girl. A currant-bush parted, and eyes shone thru. Then a quick rush of feet brought a man to her side. "It's come, little girl," he panted, thrusting the pups from the bench — "my chance, and I'm going to get twelve dollars a week." 17