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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, April 27, 1915, NOON EDITION, Image 18

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1915-04-27/ed-1/seq-18/

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GRANDMA'S FIRTAT10N
By Mildred Carter
(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
Nowthat I have passed my seventy
eighth birthday flike to sit on the
piazza and doze in the sun on warm
afternoons. I like to see the life of
the village, the. girls and young men
passing along the sidewalk under
neath. Sometimes one of them will
look up at me. "Hello, grandma!"
they shout cheerfully, and nod.
I like it, especially in springtime,
when the leaves are beginning to un
fold and nature takes on a renewed
life. It is always a miracle to me, this
new opening of the buds, just the
same now as when I was a girl so
many years ago.
I was brought up very strictly in
the Presbyterian belief. In those days
we all thought that only the elect
could be saved, and that many were
destined to perish everlastingly in
hell fire. Then, I remember, Mr. Dar
win brought out a book which told
us we were nothing but monkeys and
had no souls, any more than the
beasts. I was never so sure that the
beasts hadn't, and I am less sure of it
now than ever; but, still, that was a
period of great unrest. A lot of re
ligious folks ceased to believe in any
thing, and there was a good deal of
hypocrisy in the matter of church
going.
But of late years I have seen the
change that is coming over folks
again. It isn't so much that they are
turning back to the old beliefs as that
they are beginning to believe. They
haven't got it all down so fine, about
predestination and all that, I mean,
but still they are beginning to believe
as they used to. And that strikes me
as the finest sort of belief a belief
you have to cling to faith, I sup
pose. To my mind it isn't only the open
ing of the leaves year after year, but
the opening of our hearts, too, that ,
convinces me of a better life to comev
I don't believe, any of the young peo
ple who see me nodding here in the
sun understand, that even at 78 one
may be, at heart, the same as a girl
of 20.
It was only three months ago that
I met Tom Bentley after a separation
-of 50 years. The Bentleys had lived
for generations in this little town, but
Tom went west when he was a boy,
after a quarrel with his sweetheart,
and I understood he had married and
"My Wife and I Were Very Happy
Together."
settled for good in California. The
first part Was true, but the second
was exaggerated; at any rate, he had
come back a widower, his children be
ing married and scattered, to end his
days in Four Corners.
When I looked at the gray old man
and remembered the dark-haired boy
whom I had Joved so much and sent
away, my heart felt as if it was going

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