Buchanan County bulletin. [volume] (Independence, Iowa) 1869-1891, 1878-11-29

|
but Madame Berenice looked anything
but proud that rainy November morn
| ing.
She was rather slovenly dressed in
an unbecoming old wrapper. Her red
gold hair was all in mass of tangles,
and cloud of sullen discomfort darken-
ed her lovely brow.
To be tied down in this way, with
two brats to nurse!' she muttered, rock
ing her cradle spitefully with one foot.
""Tis too bad! l must toll day in and
day out like a slave, and never have a
weeks pleasure. You knew | had set
my heart on going home for Thanksgiv-
ing day, Frederick.
So [ did, love-" answered her hus-
band, soothingly, looking up from his
desk; but, as | told you, tbs quite i'm
possible for me to be away now. Be
sides, Berenice, I'm sadly cramped for
money
"Oh, yes, you re always cramped when
| want anything! retorted the young
wife, her ill-temper getting the better Of
her good heart. Il had little money
OF my own, that mamma put in the
bank for me, and I'm not allowed to
touch that Well, well, l think tbs right
hard!'
Her husbands cheek flushed. and he
bit his lip, but he kept down his emo
ton well.
. 1t appears hard, DEAR" he answered,
going to her side, and putting his arms
around her; 'but you'll understand it
all, by-and-by. You must be content to
wait little, Berry, and trust in your
husband. Meanwhile cannot you and [
and the babies have our own thanksgiv-
ing day all to ourselves?"
She burst into food of hysterical
tears, and drew herself out of his
arms.
Thanksgiving day, indeed" she said
bitterly. "A great deal | have got to
thank for, haven't I?'
Bercnicer'
{" You need not look at me in that
way" she went on; Il mean what say.
You shouldn't expect woman raised as
| was to be contented in barbarous
place like this, living in miserable
hovel, and toiling like a slave, wearing
out my youth and beauty who might
have been the richest lady in the land;
and two cross brats-two of em-to
worry me out of my senses day and
night! Oh, yes, I'll give thanks! I
would give thanks to be well rid of
them!
"Her husband rose to his feet, his
face white and stern. Her thoughtless,
petulent words had pierced his heart to
the core
perhaps you would give thanks to
be rid OF me, too, Berenice?" he said.
She laughed, recklessly.
I'D give thanks to be free again" !"
she replied free to make my choice
over again. | would never be the fool
that l was when chose penury in pref
erence to wealth.
: In all her after life Berenice never
forgot the look her husband gave herr
he did not utter single word. He took
up his hat and left the ROOM
" In an instant Berenice saw how
rashly she had spoken, and bitterly re-
pented her foolish words. She flew out
at the door, calling upon her husbands
name. He did not answer, and catching
up a shawl, she threw 1t over her head
and ran across the yard and down to-
ward the lane. She saw him a few yards
distant, and called again, but he did not
answer.
. Her proud heart rose up in rebellion
and she turned back, blinded by the bit
terest tears she had ever shed.
" 1t he won't speak to me, let him 60
on, she said, and turned into her untidy
kitchen.
The help was down with fever,
and all the work devolved on Berenice.
She did her best to get things straight
that afternoon, and to prepare a nice
supper against her husbands return,
tor she felt anxious to make amends for
her unwomanly words.
After working half an hour, she ran
into the sittlng-roOm to look after the
twins, thinking it was time they were
awaking. The wicker crib was in the
corner, and there was the pillow still
bearing the impress of the little heads,
but the t,cins pcre gone!
The young mother dropped into the
nearest chair, as if a bullet had struck
her. Her babies gone. Never, until
that moment did she know how she had
loved them.
She sat for some moments stunned
and blind, and then she leaped to her
feet with piteous cry:
I'll find my children!" she cried, and
ran all over the cottage, foolishly search
ing in every nook and in corner, but
there was, of course, no trace of the
twins.
''She left the house, and continued
her fruitless search without. The night
was near at hand, and the November
storm grew wilder with every hour that
passed. She ran hither and thither,
like mad creature, wringing her hands
in her agony.
. | said I'd give thanks to be rid of
them, and God has taken me at my
word!' she moaned "He has taken my
babies from me! What shall | do?
What will Frederick say when he comes
home and finds them gone?
But the wild, wet night shut down
and her husband did not return. A ter
rible fear begant to creep into the moth
8 Had her husband taken her children
from her?
Crouching down by the hearth, she
listened to the wild Glamour of the
wind and rain. her husbands empty
chair and the little wicker crib before
her eyes.
"Oh, God!' she prayed, give me
back my husband and my children, and
Iii never murmur again.
But only the wild voice of the
storm answered her.
Hour after hour went by, and at
last the village bells began to clash. 1t
was midnight!
Poor Bernice could endure her sus-
pense and agony no longer She arose,
and, throwing mantle over her. left the
cottage and took the road leading to the
village The wild winds beat her back.
the rain drenched her, but she struggled
on until the village lights flashed on her
aching eyes.
Guided by sort of instinct, she
made her way to the railway station.
A train was just going out, long train,
the glittering carriages filled with busy,
happy people. She looked up at it, as
the shrill whistle blew. and the snorting
engine began to move, and on the plat
form solitary figure caught her eye.
1t was her husband
She uttered wild cry, but the rush
Of the wheels drowned her voice.
Oh, Frederick, forgive me, and come
booT-t'