Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1878-12-27
ales ano Skettbes.
THE STORY OF ALICE.

life. Had loved him when he died as
well as loved him at the time of our
marriage could have endured it better !;
for a simple helpless sorrow is less aw-
full than that spiritual conflict when an
anguish of hopeless bereavement contends
with remorsetul compunctions for some
possible kindness left undone-some duty
unrecognized while it might yet be full
filled
1t would not he difficult for me to make
it plain why, although we had loved each
other at the outset, Tom and had grad
ually grown apart; but when his dust
alone could claim any allegiance from me,
it seemed my own sin that had lost my
faith in him, that had turned skepticallv
from his professions with cruel expert
ence of how little desirous he really was of
reform.
These weary thoughts which | could
neither master nor dismiss kept me in the
fluctuations of perturbng and hopeless
sorrow. might have yielded to NOR
bid condition of mind until it gave bias
and color to my whole life had not my
children claimed my love with their per-
petuallv recurring needs for service and
sympathy. Bcrt's solemn questions, his
wise speeches, his endless iteration of his
hearts desire. "Does mamma love Bert?"
then babv's laughing and growing. her
babble of incomprehens!b BILE talk, her
Hands all wants and looks all wonder"
made them more than ever supremely
dear. Stricken dumb although had been
at my husbands sudden death. | finally
began to feel that | might vet take little
comfort and 90 on, the shadow of the past
adding tenderness and sanctitv to my flu
ture. Instead of turning shudderingly
away from the events of the summer, !
began to talk to my little boy about his
father, and at last was enabled to dwell
with pain which grew every day less bit
ter upon the incidents of the five years of
my married life.
| Staid in -----. near Winport bav.
where my husband had lost his life out with
a pleasure party. | was very poor. 1t
needed careful contrivance to make the
least of homes for my children. had but
one near relative in the world. my aunt,
Mrs. Falconer, with whom | had lived
from the time of my fathers death until |
left her to marry Tom. She had now been
in Europe for three years. She had for
hidden our marriage. and her evil predic-
tions had been more than fulfilled: and
the recollection of what her clear-sghted-
ness had easily OWNED had thrown
ghastly illumination over my unhappiness.
She had refused to recognize me as Toms
wife and one of my bitterest humiliations
had been that he would persist in contin-
ued recourse to her contemptuous liberal
ity-making extortionate demands upon
her purse in my name. During his life.
however, had never ventured to confess
to my aunt that my girlish folly and obsti-
IL. I
was left alone in the world it would seem
treason to Tom to be over-speedy in re-
turning to her | knew that as soon as
she learned that | was widow she was
certain to come and claim me: until then
| was determined to struggle on as best
might.
In spite of our narrow means we were
snugly settled long before Christmas
Our house was very small, but for that
very reason the more easily made warm
and bright. The parlor was bower of
evergreens and red berries, and there
put up the Christmas tree laden with bon
bons, oranges and droll little gifts ! had
prepared for Bert. Everything was de-
light to him and baby! Baby was an in
cendiary if trusted too near the tapers
Although her mischief was wrought with
such bewitching recklessness that the
fault was sweeter than virtue her little
hands could vet grasp so easily and pull
so hard that needed to hold her all the
time in my arms where | might command
her gay impulses and have IL chance be-
sides to kiss every other minute the dewy
scarlet lips and laugh into the great round
eyes, which seemed brimtul of fresh as
tonishment at every sugar-plum | gave
her.
Then when the lights went out and baby
was in bed, Bert leaned against my knee
and listened while | told him over and
over again his ftvorite story of how
"Whie shepherds watched their focks by night.
All seated on the ground
The angel of the Lord came down
And glory shOne around"
The memories of that long vanished
Christmas are powerful with me vet
What wonder if my nights of inward cry
ing and clinging to old weary thoughts be-
came as if they had never been? That
holiday time grew to be a season of peace
and of gradually Frightening hopes. 1t
was Bert who was my consolation. Ifthat
were all my story, might write for hours
about my little boy, of his goodness to me.
his quaint mystical fancies. his wonderful
savings.
One morning late in January he was
languid over his play and crept to my feet
begging me to lift him up and hold him in
my arms. Bert is tired said he.
BERT is lazy | answered laughing ;
but was glad enough to pet him and tell
him stories and sing to him all the songs
knew He grew drowsy presently, and
after had rocked him in my arms to sleep
laid him in his crib, covered him up
warmly and went back to my work. |
prepared dinner little past noon, and
when it was ready went to the bed, lift
ed the coverlet and looked down at the
flushed face. He was awake but lay pas
sive and heavy-eyed, yet he smiled as he
looked up at me.
He stretched out his arms languidlv
when | told him dinner was ready.
Mamma take Bert" he muttered. His
voice was choked, and felt his bounding
pulse with some dismay. But he laughed
when piled his plate with chicken and
marmalade, then at the first mouthful
flung down his spoon with fretful cry.
whats the matter, Bert ?" | asked GO
ing round to him.
Bert can't eat, mamma" said he 1t
hurts Bert to eat ~