Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1879-09-18

"what is your little boys name ~
"Stephen. 1t was the name of my
brother who died. My first child wa,
called after my father" -.
'Stephon," said Mrs, Hepworth, open
ing her arms, "come here, darling, auC
kiss Your grandmother.
The child sprang at once to the lovely
grandmother, kissing her again and again,
Putting him into his mothers arms tlTt
young wife lifted her own baby from its
cradle and left the room.
In the darkly-furnished library, Mr..
Hepworth was leaning back in his arm
chair
\ light step reused him from his reverie
and his wife stood before him.
Over her morning dress of delicate rose
color that suited well her fresh young
beauty, fell the long white robes of the
infant she carried with all the pride of
motherhood.
Her husband opened his arms to caress
both, and laughed as he said;
'Oh, these mothers! Do you suppose,
madame, that babies are admitted into the
sanctums of legal gentlemena"
81 do" said the mother, eff the legal
gentlemen have the additional honor of
being their papas."
Listen to this most conceited of moth
ers, comparing legal honors with the own
ership of little pink roly poles like that "
did you know, Harold" said Meta,
her lip quivering slightly, as she felt the
deep import of her words, "that this is
my birthday, and you have given me no
gift I"
"You are impatient, little wife" he an
swered, thinking of the costly bauble that
was to come without fail by noon.
''But would like to choose my own
gift, " she persisted.
"What can give my rosebud that she
has not alreadyl"
does not your office include the power
of pardonl" she. asked, her sweet face
paling with earnestness.
''In limited degree it does" he replied,
"but, dear one, shouldn't like it to be
known that l had shown clemency TO
criminal upon your solicitation: You
would be constantly annoyed by the loving
relatives of scamps trying to move me to
pity through your intercession."
. But this is not case of roguery, Har-
old-only true penitent one who erred
in extreme youth, was led from a path of
duty by love as warm and true as our
own, but mistaken. Oh, dear husband, do
you not know for whom l would plead
Cannot you guess for whom would beg
"Olarice," he asked, hoareely, "who
has told you of herr"
"She has come herself to seek your for
giveness.
''She is here?"
eyes You will forgive herr For the
sake of our own boy, Harold, let this be a
home for her and Stephen"
I" Stephen ~ he cried, starting.
"Her son. Her husband is dead. She
is widowed, poor and lonely. Let her re-
turn TO your home and your love, Harold.
There was moment of silence, and the
mother softly carried the strong, right hand
of her husband in her own until it rested
upon the head of the babe in her arms.
He looked down and said:
"I will grant your birthday wish, Meta.
Take me to Clarice."
With a tender, loving kiss upon the hand
that still rested upon her child's head, Meta
led the way back to her own pretty sitting
room, where Clarice awaited the result of
her errand:
She waited, with fast throbbing heart
and trembling lips, for the words that were
to give her sorrowing lonely heart peace
and rest, or the stern mandate that would
close the doors of home upon her and her
boy forever
Her gratitude could never fail, she felt
sure, for the beautiful woman who had so
lovingly undertaken the office of mediator
on her behalf, and the tears rolled down
her cheeks as she thought of the unse,fish
tenderness of her stepmother.
As she heard the steps coming across the
wide hall toward the room where she was
seated, her agitation became too great for
patient waiting, and she stood up, holding
her child by the hand, her breath coming
in quick, painting sobs, her eyes dilated
with suspense, and her whole figure quiv-
ering with intense emotion.
Ii was this eager, flushed face that met
the fathers eye as he opened the door-the
face Of the child to whom he had gwen the
entire strength of his love for years.
He forgot her waywardness, her disobe
dience and the six years of absence.
He remembered only that she was his
only daughter, the child of his dead Clarice,
and he opened his arms, with smile that
carried love and forgiveness to the sore
heart
There was rry of:
"Father, dear, dear father"
And they were folded fast in each others
arms, while Meta drew wondering Stephen
into an inner room and closed the door.
1t was not long that Stephen was with
held from his grandfather's kiss, for father
and daughter alike turned to tie gentle in
fluence that had united them once more.
The gossips are divided in their opinions
as to the exact amount of hatred and jeal-
ousy existing between the young widowed
daughter and the young wife at the great