GRANDMOTHER’S ROOM

Manawatu Times, Volume LIII, Issue 6672, 27 July 1928, Page 11

GRANDMOTHER’S ROOM

Grandmothers’s room!. Memories tenderest of memories, those .words awaken. The heart of the, man who knew that room as a boy is stirred and warmed. It is a most gentle, stirring, a creeping glow of warmth as whpn tiny sunbeams , steal into some secluded woodland nook. It is not simply remembrance of something dear in the past; it is .vastly more. ' There comes, with that memory, a sense of reaching out to bring back something strangely, subtly sweet, something not partially forgotten, but . only dimmed a little by the moments - that have ■flown. Grandmother’s room! How softly those words reverberate' down the aisles of memory! . What echoes they awaken, as of far-off open, surf breaking on some coast : of fancy! What a gracious, friendly room it was. The smile of welcome for theboy, as for all who crossed its threshold, came not alone from: Grandmother, for the whole room smiled. It smiled because it was- her: room and was happy. It could not be a dull, sleepy room- with Grandmother there. It did not whisper'of other years. It was just glad for to-day. Quietness hovered all about, but it was tho quietness of Juno meadows with' waving grass and gurgling- brooks; the quietness of Tdld-fashioned gardens with droning bees, . and the world outside seemed leagues and leagues away, the half-audible creak of the old-fashioned rocker, the gentle click of . knitting needles, the; subdued hum; and crackle of tho wood fire, melted into soft music as of invisible orchestras playing. Halfheard; strains ’ were wafted here and there, "echoed back from ;tiny recesses: and-hidden: Corners, where elfin musicians dwelt, - - -

. But, of all times, i the , boy loved most to :seek, thb inviting; seclusion of Grandmother’s: room oa a stormy winter’s day. Let ruthless winds tear at the shutters 1 and 1 driving’-’snows ,swirl and heat against tho heavily frosted window panes! Then, /when siren strains of arctic music'were borne on far reaches of the gale, what a haven, of content’’was-that room! There boyish imagination’s was unfettered. - - The half-muffled, roar of . the’ fire was the song of forest'winds in the distance. The stripes in the cheerful rag carpet became roads and streams, leading to undiscovered realms and distant ports on fancy’s ’shore. •' 1 - I '' Grandmother’s room is not of the past. It lives in the heart. It is as vivjd to-day as yesterday.'