The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1881-12-03

vine covered porch awaiting the sex
ton s return from a church MEETING.
Not many words were spoken, but
each felt sure of the others thoughts.
and there was comfort in the silence
between them. How quiet it was, A
far of whistle broke the stiffness.
'fTen o'clock train comm i'm said
the mother, ''bringin' good or bad fort
une to somebody, most likely. WAL
God help EN- all, whichever way't is. y
mis- Skeele," said Louise, quickly,
''you don't suppose Nathan is coming
tonight, do you?''
''Why no, child; we ain't heard from
him yet, y know, m / shan't expect
him for week"
''But | hear the coach, m it is com
ing up this way" persisted the girl, her
pale face frightening in the moonlight.
1t came on slowly, rumbling up the hill
like an approaching fate. 1t stopped
before the house, and after an eternity
OF delay to the women at the gate, the
door was opened and Nathan appeared.
"Iwan't no use, Mis- Skeele," said
the driver in loud whisper, as he stood
back to make room for the eager moth
er; "he amt no better off n he was
fore he went" Nathan's quick ears
caught the words, and pressing the fa-
milliar hand, he said cheerfully, ''He' 8
mistaken mother, l am better off, fcr
now I've nothing to expect" They
went into the house together. Louise
had not spoken, but had preceded them
quietly, and now sat by herself in dis
tant corner.
When the young man found himself,
as he believed, alone with his mother,
all his forced courage departed. Her
arms EMBODIED him as when he was q
babe at her breast, and her mighty love
and pity would fam have shielded him.
80, mother, mother" he groaned
l shall bear it after a while, but [ did
not know how hard it would be. Pve got
to say it all out to you. You hav nj
known how | love Louise, nobody can
know. Why should she seem to belong
to me so, and be so dear? l never can
ask her to marry poor blind fellow
who can't make his way in the world.
l must let her 60, m I've nobody but
you, mother"
His head was on her shoulder, and
for the moment a strange gladness filed
her heart. What more could she ask
than that he should be always her own
boy, to be cared for and tended by her
alone? But the unsellishness of her
mother-love triumphed, for she had
seen the end from the beginning, and
Louise was already beloved for her own
sake. The moon shone in a wide belt
of brightness across the room, and as
Mrs. Skeele looked up the girl emerged
from her shadowy corner and came
softly forward. A wonderful light was
on her face. and her fearful, smiling
eyes rested first on the peaceful coun-
tenance Of the mother, and then on the
sons bowed head.
It's alwus darkest before day, Ma
than," said Mrs. Skeele. "We'll hope
for the best"
There's no day for me. mother, m
l might as well face it first as last, -
said the young man, rising from his
seat, and throwing back his broad
shoulders. I'll try to be good son
to you, m if only knew that Lu didn't
care-if | only knew that she could be
happy
.'But she does care, aud she can't be
happy" said thrilling voice. 30.
Nathan, thought | should die if you
didn't love me, and now that l know
you do, there amt anything that can
keep us apart. What should | have
been without you? You've opened my
foolish eyes, and now they shall see for
you all our lives. Here am, Nathan;
your mother knows" and the blind
man felt, in his bewilderment, firm
little hand on his arm.
Thanksgiving day came round apace,
and the time was all too short for we'd
ding preparations. When the cornet
solo was finished that morning (and
the instrument was played as it never
had been played before), Louise came
down from the choir and led the SOLO
list forward. There was a brief pause
before the ceremony began, during
which time an elderly lady and a
bright-faced lad, evidently strangers,
entered quietly and took seats near the
uOOT. Inc uIludl pdIGy IeMdlHou
through the morning service, and when
afterward they were receiving the con-
gratulations of their friends, poor Mrs.
Raymond sat still in her pew, with her
veil over her face. She was both glad
and sorry for her daughter, but she
could not forget the absent boy. "But
l mustn't stay here m grieve when
they're all SO happy She rose to
leave the pew. and saw Mrs. St. John
coming toward her. II have brought
Robert back to you," said the lady,
"here he is to speak for himself"
The veil was thrown back from the
wan, dropping face, and forgetful OF
time or place, the happy mother burst
into a great passion of weeping, and
clasped her son in her arms.
"Don't, don't mother" whispered
Robert with boys distress at a
scene; "rm awful sorry l ran away.
but Pm all right now. Come, mother,
put your veil Town, and let's go home.
Mr.. Skeele says din ner'll be ready"