The examiner., 1881-12-03

this bitter memory clashing wills,
 of stern authority on the one side and
 angry defiance on the other, and a
 young life drifted out of sight amid the
 worlds fierce breakers. A memory
 that had bowed Ansel Places proud
 head, end threatened the thick lines of
 gray amid his wife's dark hair. But
 tonight her words had opened the door
 of the sepu1chre, and there rose before 1 him the visions of other Thanksgiving
 Days, when merry children had made
 music in the old house, and their glad
 spirits broke over for the day the for
 mality of their set rules, and set the
 low rooms ringing. Ansel Place was not an emotional man. Life had been hard and wearing, the poetry and TO-
 nance had long since faded from it. but tonight, with the November rain beating on the
 pane, tide of tendern ess welled up in his heart he saw two fond young parents bending over the cradle of their baby boy, and, dinner still with tears, sweet girl face, lifted to loving eyes,
 while set in moonlit frame of swaying g honeysuckle vines and blooms. That
 was long ago; there was no trace left
 of girlish grace or beauty in the face
 before him, worn by care and time, but,
 looking, he saw not the vanished fair
 ness, but something better, sweeter
 still, crowning the years they two had
 walked together, and touched by 8 sud- den impulse, he took her thin, worn hand in his, saying with tremor of deep feeling threading his voice:
 ''Say not So, wife. We are the Lords. He is the giver as we'll as the taker, and though I sit here lonely and perhaps childless old man, am not left deso- late nor lack Thanksgiving guest while you are left me-"
 "Forgive me, Ansel," sobbed Hannah Place, resting her head on her husbands shoulder, "and may God forgive me my ungrateful thoughts while we are spared each other. But this pain of uncertainty at my heart grows heavier than can we'll bear. To know that Willy was dead were comfort beside this fear that haunts me day by day, that he is wanderer, an outcast, suffer ing, perhaps lost to God and himself" Her voice choked. and for a few mo- ments only the ticking of the tall old clock in the corner broke the stiffness; then sine spoke again. Do you know, Ansel, often wonder if we were wholly blameless? Willy was wild and thoughtless, but he was loving boy, and I cannot believe he was bad at heart"
 "T, too, have been wondering that of late. God knows I loved and tried to do my duty by the boy, but l fear I was over strict, too severe with what were only boyis errors, and that instead of leading him in tho right way I drove him from it. I thought then I was right, but the more I think of our heavenly Fathers love and patience with US, who arc at best but weak, erring children, I feel how much failed myself"
 So hand in hand they sat and talked of this long-absent son, whose name had not for years passed their lips, re- minded each other of ways and words that neither had forgotten: yet which were sweeter for the others telling. 1 Laughingthroughtheir tears at treasured child memories, and speaking in lower tones of the sad dayswhen the high boy ish spirit had risen in fierce rebellion 1 against restraint, and of that darkest of 1 all, when they had awakened to find l that home and hearts had been alike for l saken, and this their only son had gone l out beyond their love and care, each talk ing the blame of the mistake made in l trying to break instead of train that in- tangible but in5ractable power of 1 will.
 "Deacon Places Willy had run away" It had been bitter blow to pride and heart, so that for years his prayer that ssthe arm of the Lord might be over the1r wanderer," was more an impreca- tion than blessing but with the creeping weakness of age, he felt the need of the strong young arm he had thought would have been his stay and comfort, and tonight each confessed to the other the yearning with which they longed to behold their child.
 The night wind rose unheeded as they talked, dashing the waves in 8 foam of spray on the beach. The fog lifted from over the water. The warning bell ceased it's dreary tolling, and the gleam of the Forkness light flashed out path of eplendor in the night. The rain ceased. Only the withered leaves stir red ndssrustled fitfully around the feet c{ one whose steps were turned toward 8 long forsaken home. Trial and toll had made of the self-willed boy reso- lute man. Out amid the buffeting and cold indifference of the world, the of the smarting resentment under whose passion he had fled soon faded, leaving only the tenderest recol- lections of loving ministries and cares.