Homeland and the Birds 



By MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT 



^LL the land is astir, and every loyal heart in it is striving for the winning 

 r\ of the Great War that shall make the earth safe for its people. From 

 college, laboratory, workshop, field, hospital and home the people 

 are flocking to make the winning sure and lend aid to the fighters. Men, 

 women, children, all eager to do their part in the way that seems best, those 

 who cannot go over seas, often doing double tasks to release those who can 

 go forth. 



We are lending our money for our country's need; we are denying ourselves 

 sugar to help the shell-shocked soldier boys grow strong again ; we are conserv- 

 ing every scrap of food that it may be used as a bulwark against grim famine; 

 but are we stay-at-homes, whose part is equally necessary in the great wartime 

 fabric, doing all we can to keep the Homeland at its loo per cent value? Are 

 we doing our best to keep alive the organizations for its conservation upon 

 which so much time, money, and personal effort have been lavished during the 

 past score of years? 



Last spring, at twilight, a mother stood in her garden near here, waiting for 

 the coming of her son just grown a man, who was to say goodbye before going 

 'over there.' 



The flower-beds showed bare spots; such blooms as were there looked 

 straggly and uncared for. Presently a step came behind her and the strong 

 arms that at first nearly crushed her relaxed and led her to one of the garden 

 seats, while in the content of being there, the young man's eyes scanned the 

 home acres. 



"Why, what is the matter with the garden, Mother? You don't seem to 

 have gone at it at all, and you've always been so keen. You're not ill, are you?" 



Avoiding his searching eyes by shading them with her hand, she answered 

 with a forcedly steady voice : 



"You will not be here to see them, so I meant to let the flowers go this year; 

 or else plant food-stuff in their place. It seems to be right these days that we 

 should only give our time to useful things, my son." 



"Useful things! Nonsense, Mother. Home is always useful and something 

 that will help a fellow as much as food. That is, I know that they will help me. 

 Wherever I am I want to be able to close my eyes and see you here in your 

 garden. I want to see the breakfast table with the roses on it between you and 

 as much of dad's head as can be seen above the newspaper. And, for heaven's 

 sake, Mummie, watch out for the Quail that nested down beyond the brush- 

 lot — draw them up this way by feeding and later don't let those scamps across 

 the river break up the covey! If I didn't think someone would look after my 

 real home country, I couldn't bear to leave it." 



(406) 



