THE PRIZE THAT MOTHER WON

New Zealand Tablet, 24 February 1916, Page 7

THE PRIZE THAT MOTHER WON

With her brows knit in deep thought, Sarah Jane Folsom sat by the table in her bare little room. Books paper, and pencil were arranged in a neat pile before ner. '

‘ It’s not because I’m really stupid that I can’t think of anything to write,’ she said to herself bitterly. 'lt’s because I’m sp tired.’ All that Saturday morning she had swept,, and cooked, and washed dishes, and kept her younger brothers and sisters in order. Now it was late in the afternoon, and as she picked up the pencil and made meaningless marks on tire paper before her, her mouth drooped hopelessly at the corners. Suddenly the sound of merry laughter came through the open window. She raised her head and gazed out listlessly. Arm in arm, three young girls were coming down the sidewalk; their feet were fairly dancing with the joy of the bright June weather. Opposite Sarah’s window they halted. The tallest girl made a trumpet of her hands and called, ‘O you, Sarah Jane Folsom ! Come out here as quick as ever you Can!’

Sarah thrust her tousled head out of the window. There was a wistful light in her grey eyes. I’d just love to, but, O girls, I haven’t even begun my composition for the contest Monday. • Is yours finished, Anne?’ '

‘ Oh, yes, I finished copying the masterpiece this morning. Do come with us, Saralr just for a short walk ! Susan, here, has thought of the most marvellous scheme for entertaining the seniors. We really can’t tell whether it’s practical until you hear it and give us your opinion. You have the best old brain for such things. - Come on, Sarah !’ ‘ Girls', I just simply can’t. Of course I haven’t the slightest hope of winning the prize, but I promised mother I’d try. Besides, I know I’d hate myself if I gave up now. So don’t tempt me any more.’ ‘ Ojdear !’ thought Sarah, as she watched the girls disappear round the corner. 1 They have all the time they want to study. I can’t ever quite finish my lessons. ‘ Whenever I have a minute I peg and peg, but my work is just common; ordinary, middling ! - Why, I can’t even write compositions like the other girls ! I haven’t time to put in all the nice-sounding words, and even if I did have time, I probably couldn’t think of them. ' I know how Anne’s composition will sound fine! and easy, and flowing. And mine! Short, choppy sentences, common,‘ practical words! Practi—yes, I’m practical! .That’s the reason the girls wanted me to walk with them—to* tell whether their plans are practical. I hade the word ! If it weren’t dor mother, I’d drop everything.’ ,

; ; Her eye fell, on the paper before her, and she picked up her pencil wearily. The subject of the composition was to be some great person. She tried to fix her mind on her work, but in spite of every effort J*er thoughts wandered. W Half an'hour later Sarah's mother softly opened the door and looked in. . Her worn face was flushed and tears stood in heir eyes. ' Sarah, dear,' she asked in her sweet, gentle voice, 'do you suppose you could get supper? I know you are .busy and I hate to disturb you, but I've such a headache. The twins have been so bad to-day. There's cold meat and potatoes; it won't take long.' •' ' Mother,' Sarah cried, ' you ought to give those twins a good whipping ! They're five years old and ought to know better. O dear,' she went on in a disappointed tone, ' I'd just begun—' She looked at her mother—the gentle little mother who was so frail and yet had so much to do—and her heart filled with sudden tenderness. 'Why, mother, of course I will. You go right into your bedroom and lie down, and don't you dare show yourself again to-night!' Jumping up, Sarah threw her arm affectionately round her mother. I'll get dinner and supper and breakfast and dinner and supper, world without end ! You run along and climb into your little bed. You do too much for us wicked youngsters, and I, for one, am going to see that you stop.' ' Why, Sarah, I love to do what I can for you children. And, truly, dear, I'm afraid I do too little instead of too much.' When Sarah was alone again she eyed her books somewhat ruefully, and then hurried down the narrow stairs and began to lay the table for supper. ' Say, sis,' said her big brother, Tom, coming into the room, ' what have you done with my fishline ? I've hunted everywhere for it. Wish you'd let my things alone !'. 'Now, see here, Tom Folsom !' Sarah began angrily, and then stopped short. She thought how hurt her mother would be if she could hear her. ' Honestly, Tom,' she said more softly, 'I haven't seen your fishline.' ; ' You've probably forgotten where you put it,' Tom replied surlily. ' You've a mania for picking things up!' He went out and slammed the door. Sarah fried the potatoes and sliced the cold mutton. When all was ready she went to the door and called, 'Supper y. „ First came Sarah's tall father; his shoulders were bent a little and his face was rather lined, but he was still a fine-looking man. Then the twins, Harry and John, tumbled into the room, with their faces and hands disreputably dirty. Sarah silently urged them toward the kitchen sink. Close behind the twins came Florence and Mary, two attractive girls of thirteen and fourteen. Last of all in tramped Tom. - 'Where's mother? Where's mother?' inquiredeach in turn. ; Sarah explained, and then sat- down in mother's place and* began to pour the tea. It had always seemed an easy, pleasant task when mother did it, but it took Sarah a long time, for she had to stop and ask each member of the family how much sugar and cream to put in his cup. Mother always knew, and she had quaint, humorous, incidents to relate as she poured the tea. . .£ Sarah set down the .teapot with a sigh of relief. The twins" began-to argue with each other. » Father addressed a few .remarks to the children, but, in , general, conversation lagged, and the meal went on gloomy silence. &~ 1 Oh,' thought Sarah, 'how different this is from supper last night! ; Having mother with us makes all the difference in the world.' , "* * • - " - v They had all been so happy, last night. Sarah remembered how mother's eyes had. lighted with interest when/father told her about the customers who had come t into the store that day; about little, .; barefoot Susan Jones,' who had run y ~ a ' nail ; into^her': foot > when ~<£

she was passing the new house that was building down the road. '

On hearing that last bit of news, mother had said, 'I must go straight-up to Mrs. Jones' and tell her what to do for Susan's foot.' Florence and Mary had told mother about a pretty hat, just the kind they wanted, that they had seen in the window of a millinery shop downtown. 'We'll try to manage a new hat for each of you girls,' mother had said with a cheerful smile. ' Perhaps we could steam that old, -worn velvet cape of mine, buy a bit of ribbon ' —and then had followed an animated discussion of ways and means. How pleased and delighted mother had been when Sarah told her that Professor Oldworthy had complimented her upon her character sketch of Lady Macbeth ! v . ' I knew you had it in you, Sarah,' mother had remarked. ' Now,' Sarah said to herself, when the dishes were washed and put away and she had climed again to her room, ' I simply must do something with that composition.' . For a long time she sat and pulled her hair and frowned. She had not even chosen her subject. What great person should she write about Suddenly she gave a glad little cry, seized a sheet of paper, and printed at the top of it in great, bold letters, ' Mother.' Her pencil speedily squeaked its way down the paper; she wrote so fast that the rickety table wobbled. incident upon incident crowded into her mind; little, homely things that her mother had done for her children and her home. Pictures of her mother flitted before her eyes : mother sitting late at night, darning stockings; mother binding up a cut finger or bathing a bruised knee • mother straightening out the tangles in an arithmetic problem for her; mother nursing her when she was ill. It was 11- o'clock before Sarah finally finished writing and rose stiffly. .. ' I don't dare read it over,' she said to herself, 'and, anyway, I haven't time. I'll get up early Monday morning and copy it. -In the , high school Monday morning a subdued excitement prevailed. The compositions were to be read that afternoon, and for the contestants the morning dragged tediously. At noon Sarah ate her dinner hastily, helped her mother to clear the table, and hurried back to school. The last bell rang just as she arrived. In the front of the assembly-room sat. the president of the . board ,of education; beside him was a famous professor of literature, who was to make the final decision in the contest. Sarah watched the trembling aspirants as, one after another, they rose, walked to the front of the room, and read "their compositions; she heard not a word. She was thinking of the time when she must stand in the same spot and read what she had written. ' Miss Sarah Jane Folsom,' announced the president, of the board of education. Sarah rose and walked to the front of the room. She felt strangely light; her feet seemed scarcely to touch the floor. When she first began to read she could not tell whether any sound was coming from her lips or not; but as she read on she seemed to see her mother smiling encouragement upon her, and her voice became steadier. The famous professor of literature leaned forward in his chair. The stout president of the board of education threw back his shoulders and looked' pompous and important. As Sarah took her seat, Anne whispered to. her, 'O, Sarah, that was fine! I'm sure that you'll take the prize.' v Every eye was upon the professor of literature and the president of the board of education as they left the room in order to. make the important decision; In the silence that followed, the pupils' faces wore a look of strained expectancy. . • 'See!' whispered Anne, touching' Sarah's arm.' 'They're coming back already! Didn't take them long' to decide.' ff** "":"' ";*/■' ; -/'-" ir> /' '-''■' 4

The professor of literature stood in the front of * the . room and gazed calmly and benignly round. He cleared his throat two or three times. The students ; fidgeted in their seats. I , 'My young friends,' he began, 'I have- listened \vith interest to the reading, of your excellent; compositions. * From among them I have chosen one that to Ijrme seems fullest of meaning and strongest and best in literary style: i i The, words are simple, practical, and well chosen—words that fully and forcibly express the thought of v the writer.. Above all, this composition in its sincerity has made, I am sure, a strong appeal vto the heart of everyone who has heard it. It gives me the greatest pleasure to present the medal to Miss Sarah Jane Folsom, who wrote " Mother." ' Sarah's face paled and she grasped the seat for support. Suddenly the color came back into her cheeks and her lips parted in a glad smile. As if in a dream she walked to the front of the room, where the famous professor of literature pinned the gold medal to her blouse. . When she came back to her'seat she saw Tom looking at her proudly. Tom was proud of her! Sarah never knew how she reached home. • Like a whirlwind she rushed up to her mother's room, threw .' herself on her knees by the chair in which her mother was sitting, and pinned the medal to her waist. ".■> 'Congratulations, mother dear!' she cried. 'See what you have won Why, Sarah! What do you mean?' Sarah's words fairly tumbled over each other as she told her mother about the composition she had written. ; "~ >. ." . ' Don't you see,' she said, ' that I never, never could have written that composition and won that medal if it hadn't been for you ? When I was trying to think of a great person to write about, I suddenly thought, "Who can be greater than my own mother? Think of all she does for us and everyone!" I couldn't write fast enough to get down all I knew. I tell you what, it's one thing to read about great people in books, but it's quite another thing to live right in the house with one, and to love her and have her love you.'