Morris tribune., 1881-08-18

yourself? And you may hereafter I wont
have my desk crowded with any such rub
bish," and making good her words. she
tossed the papers she had been overlook
ing on the floor.
Ben looked down at the promiscuous
heap. There we're receipts and business
papers, and amid them, old love letters and
tufts of faded blossoms, that had passed
between him and Berenice in the DAYS of
their courtship.
"Why, Berry," he began, and then find
ing his voice unsteady, he stopped short
and turned away.
His wife saw in an instant what she had
done. but with the perversity of child,
instead of trying to make PREPARATION, as
her woman's heart yearned to do, she made
matters worse.
II shant look another Bit" she said,
petuantly, pushing the papers aside with
her pretty foot. GIVE wasted half the
morning already. You bother me so, I
wish you were gone"
I'm going now, then, Bernice. Good
by"
He did not even turn to look at her, but
strobe from the room and out into the
yard, Bennie was playing before the door
way, and Bernice standing breathless, heard
him kiss the child, and say:
"Good-by, little one! Be good boy to
mother, don't forget"
That was the last. When, after mo-
ment of stunned bewilderment, she hurried
to to the door, he was gone.
But he would come back. All day long
sitting with Bennie on her knee, she said it
over and over, he would come back, and
they would make it up.
But night came, and the dusk Of the
March sunset, sailor came up Tor her
husbands sea- chest. Berenice was too
proud to ask question or send message;
but the long lonely night subdued her
pride. As soon as the sun rose. she made
her way down to the pier, where his vessel
lay, but it was too late-the craft had sailed
at day break, and her husband had gone.
Month followed month, year drifted after
year, and Berenice lived, and Benny grew
up sturdy lad, never forgetting his fathers
parting command. He was good boy to
his mother; but all his simple, unaffected
devotion, SO like his fathers, could not
drive the unspeakable sorrow from her
heart. And now she sat there by the blaz-
ing fire, with her thin hands clasped, and
wistful, hungry look in her great, shining
eyes, that poor little Ben felt awed and
frightened, and crept away to his bed in
the corner, not daring even to see her agian.
But the child could not sleep. He lay
listening to the voice of the winds, as they
roared and whistled through the pine hills,
and to the ceaseless moan and thunder of
the sea, raising his head ever and anon to
look at his mothers white, sad face, and
wondering in his heart, if God and his
angels were SO good and merciful, why they
did not do something to comfort her. A
strange terrible feeling came over him, an
INDISPENSABLE prescience of som ething to
come.
Mother" he called, gently, sitting up in
his bed. "Oh, mother! what is it? Ican't
tell, but feel something; indeed I do
mother?"
But she did not heed him. The old sea-
dog lifted his pointed ears, and listened in
tently; then he arose, and battered across
to the child's bed, with look half human
in his eyes. Bonnie laid his cheek against
his shaggy head.
"What is it, Triton?" he whispered.
The dog listened again, then he bounded
to the door, and began to search and sniff
beneath it.
"Oh, mother! mother!" called Bonnie in
amazed fright
She arose with Trembling hands and a
death white face.
why, my boy, my darling" she whis.
pered; then she went to the door and
opened it.
Triton stood an instant with his eyes
erect and his nose to the ground, then he
shot off, making great flying leaps, and
uttering Short exultant cries. Impelled by
something stronger than herself, or her
own will, Beenice followed him, and poor,
affrighted little Ben was left alone.
Out through the wild, dark night she
went, down to the bleak, icy cliff, and
there, standing upon the desolate sands,
his black, hurley figure sharpely defined
against the pale, winter sky, she saw the
form of man, with Triton leaping and
barking around him; and never stopping
to question or wonder, but impelled by a
wild instinct; she flew on, and on, until
she fell breathless and senseless at his feet
When she arose to life again she was in the
cottage, lying on Bennie's little bed, with
the glimmer of the freight before her, and
Bonnie himself was hanging over her, pat
ting her cheeks with his chubby hands, and
kissing her vigorously with a look they. had
never known before.
Then a wild vague hope thrilled through
her, and she started to her feet with cry
that rung above the din of the storm.
Yes, there he stood, bronzed and worn,
and unchanged, but with the same honest,
kindly eyes, Ben Cnudleigh, her own hus-
band. He held out his arms, but she went
down prostrated at his feet.
"Oh, Ben! Oh, my husband! my darling!
forgive me! know that God has, because
he has given you back to me"
And Ben, sobbing like woman, gathered
her up in his strong arms, kissing her lips
\