Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1871-12-23
denins; he would have broken up the year with

deningi ne would have broken up the year with
But Mary had conquered. She had been
tempted by pleasure in her youth, and now she
had LAID out narrow. stony path for herself To
heaven, and meant to take her child in IL with
her. There was no time for idling in the House
either.
John entered the dull, dark entry a few min
utes after bis wife. She was already seated
hard at work sewing by the stove in the dining
room. the only place where she allowed fire.
After the picture outside, the lighted. eager
street, the sunset reddening the snow fields, and
the vast sea, this bald, square room came with
the sudden contrast OF utter niggardliness and
discomfort The table was set with delft, of
different patterns; yellow wooden chairs were
ranged about the wall: a tin lamp hared on the
mantel-sheh. Mrs. Firth did not look MP when
he came in. -" Ahn!"sh called sharply; "Ann!
supper" She never scolded her servants, or
wasted a syllable more upon them than III they
were machines. Firth sat down and looked
wistfully across the stove at his wife She was
growing thin and haggard with hard, unccasing
work. 1t was all for him and the boy. She
cared nothing for her own comfort. And yet he
would have given all the money she would make,
just then, to have had her throw down her work
to welcome him, and race an hour away as she
used to do. She had a habit once OF stroking his
| forehead when ii ached, and fussng with his
some as Apolio's, poor girl! But that was along
1 time ago.
Ann brought in the boiled mackerel and pot OF
| rye coffee. She was an old woman, a mulatto,
she had rung the bell she bobbsd courtsey.
"If you please, Miss Mary, kin hev to-mor-
| row evenin'? De chiIlen they've made it up to
hev bit OF Christmas supper"
81 should think you were too old a woman to
want merry makings, Ann. | certainly cannot
neglect my own work to indulge you.n She pat
the tin lamp on the table and sat down
"Where is Rob, mOtheT?' asked John, crumb-
| ling his bread nervously.
4 81 had to discipline Robert. He is SD shame
| fully idle with his lessons that L gave him the
Sateehism to study, and sent him to bed without
his supper"
tasted and went out in a minute or two. Mary
heard him going softly up stairs. The bread
| ehOked her. She leaned her elbows on the table
staring at the lamp. She knew what her hus-
| band and child thought Of herl She was black
cloud plotting out all their sunshine. Because
| she knew her duty. Did she take her own pleas
ure? They thought she did not love them. Oh
| God what had she on earth but John and Rob?
Some day they would do her justice when they
| knew how she had toied and saved the money
| they would have FILTERED away.
She rose hastily, and going to another room,
| took out a box and unlocked it. 1t was full of
| coin. She dipped her hand in. There was the
means to provide for their old age. and to make
amah of Rob. She would coin her hearts blood
| into money to give Rob a chance among men.
She went up the stairs. The touch of the
money had strengthened her. John had taken
| Rob from the window. where he sat i'm his night
/ gown, crying and shivering, watching the bows
outside, and was rubbing his bare feet and
| whispering story. Now, Rob was the worst
4
| his mother purpOsed. He was a brOad-bult.
! quick-blOOded little six-year old, with an ugly
honest face, bold, frank eyes, and clef chin,
like his fathers that quivered easily. Firth
/ could not stop his shivering or sobs
| 1T was so dark and cold, papa" he cried sci
/ don't care il I'm coward. L don't care for
\ anything. i wish 1 was dead"
| Are you hungry, Robert? 2" she asked.
He would not speak to her at first, at all; then
he suddenly rushed over to her, climbed into her
| lap, and laid his head on his breast, almost
hnr wi hsl tnxnA
brace. ROb's affection always frightened his
mother as much as his rage. She felt as if she
had some untamed, dangerous animal in her
yoke.
| "Control yourself, nv son, ;" she said, irving
to put him from her; but he clung the closer A
| minute afterward his head sank heavier, and he
was asleep, still sobbing dry, fearless sObs.
| Firth laid him in bed and then stood there
| silent. The moon threw a white light over the
| pillow and the unhappy little face there. 81
fear you hardly understand the boy, Mary" she
ssid gently.
Sometimes think do not" her lip trem-
/ bled for minute. Then she added, "The child
| Is more open with even Ann than me. NOmother
| ever worked harder for her children; but have
| no time to humor or play with them"
Now this is all a hOmely little matter. 1t
might happen in any any house any day But John
| boys life and his own would strike that night
For himself the end was not probably tar off,
but it was the beginning Of all things with Rob.
The lives OF both. The lives lay in the hands Of
| the woman who stood quiet and firm in the win
| ter moonlight. He turned Rob's pillow and
smoothed down his night-gown; he could not
keep his trembling fingers away from him
Could God mean life to be SO hard and bare for
his boy? He would have dealt differently with
any little child.
fo his wife he said not a word. When she
spoke he would know how it would be.
% will do my duty in the sight Of jealous
God" she said, at last. Il will try and mold
my son into the manner Of man he should be. If
fail, his blood will be on his own head, not
mine"
There was no answer. John Firth held the
childs chapped little hand in his, patting il
softly. In a little while, perhaps, he would 90
out of that door never to return; and it seemed
to him as if his boy would be driven then into a
cold, and dark and silence, where no help could
follow him. He sat there long whild, and then
stopped and kissed him, and then went out 10 his
nights work. He tried to say "Good-by, Rob, -
but could not.
CHATTER III.
The surf boat rocked like shell upon the sea:
it pushed its way through grey wet clouds of fog
and rain. The great headlands, wrapped in
mist, stood like ranks of gigantic ghosts along
the far of melancholy coast, while a mile or two
out of the fog. Through the rain the ceaseless
CRY Of the sea upon the shore came the boat, the
distance giving it terribly human sound. The
proof cloak over her head to shut il out She
kept her strained eyes fixed upon the steamer as
she had done since they left the shore.
That moan OF the sea troubles you" said her
watchful companion.
"Yes. 1t seems like the cry of soul leaving
a dead body, and there are no dead here."
"No." His eyes followed her to the steamer,
and he made q secret sign to the oarsman TO
hasten.
"My son does not expect me?"
"No, Mrs. Firth, 1 saw him on board the
steamer at Charlestown, and when found his
strength was 70 low, came on by rail TO take you
to him here. That Is three DAYS ago. The
danger may be over now"
Il will take him back on shore with me-"
The old man began To speak and stopped. SIT
would be better to tell YOU" he said hastily.
1.-The wound was given to him on his arrest. He
Is in charge of the officers and going north tor
trial. Robert has lived a life you can hardly un-
derstand. He IL a passionate, desperate fellow,
but good at heart, earnestly true as steel to his
friends, and no man has more. Rob has been
very dear to me for years"
felon? She stood up. straight and stiff her
arms stretched out to the black hulk where her
boy lay, hearing neither the storm that drenched
her nor the woefui cry of the sea. This was the
end, then. Ii was for this she had waited these
twenty years. Ii seemed but yesterday since he
left her, boy, choosing to live mans life
apart from her.
"There never was a man with finer posi- bill
ties in his nature than Robert Firth ~ sail no