The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1882-01-28

with many-colored clouds. Mrs.
Granger, wrapped closely in a thick.
black shawl, came out of the door of
tho old house and took the path to the
beach She walked there until the sun
set had burned low in the red west
thinking Of the past, of the barriers she
had raised in her breast against all man.
kind, broken down to-day by the touch
of child's soft lips on her cheek. She
thought of her happy and brilliant
youth, of its grand hopes and promises.
and of the devotion to her of husband
and children. Here where she walked
lionel, and desolate now they had once
walked with her, hand in hand: to-
gether beheld the waters glowing in the
early tints of sunrise and rejecting the
gorgeous splendors of sunset, and SHIN
mering and ripping in the light of the
moonbeams. Here she had stood. too.
when her child was brought to her, the
sweet, blue eyes closed forever, the face
marble white and cold in terrible re-
pose, the yellow hair dripping with the
water of the pitiless sea, which had
stolen the dear life from the mother
who had so fondly cherished it.
Of the wild tempest which had toss ed
her soul at this time she dreaded to
think even now. 1t had been so near
to madness that it was a terror to her
yet. Never since that time, now ten
years, had she.left, except for her lone
ly walks, the old, gray house. She had
shut herself up like hermit, and with
wild and bitter grief, cursed herself and
her God. Down into the deepest gloom
of despair she went, where never a sim
gle ray of heavenly light and comfort
reached her. She brooded continually
upon the darkness of her fate, and sank
into deeper depths of despair with every
day that passed. Though she had year
ly covered her child's grave with purple
pansies and snowy daisies, no blossoms
of hope or faith had ever sprung up in
her own heart Winter and summer she
had staid shut up in the desolate old
house, listening to the moaning of the
sea, morbidly nursing her rebellion
against the Hand which had stricken
her, and brooding over the fact that her
loved ones could return to her no more.
She emerged from her retirement only
to look at the little grave beneath the
cedar tree, purple in summer with the
beautiful pansies, white in winter with
its drapery of snow.
But now light had entered in on the
darkness which had enshrouded her. A
new hope had blossomed in her desolate
heart, Softer feelings had taken pos
session of her, and she longed with a
longing that was almost pain, to see
again the gentle woman and the lovely
child who had worked this miracle.
That night she slept undisturbed by the
phantom of the past, which for so long
had made darkness aterror to her.
Mrs. Arden and Effie came early the
next day, and were received by Mrs.
Granger in a room which had grown
.moldy with disease and neglect, But
the windows were open, and the June
sunshine poured in unrestrained by lat
tice or curtain.
Effie climbed into Mrs. Changers lap
and fell asleep there, one dimpled hand
clasped in that of her new friend.
ITO think that my children can never,
never return to me" said Mrs. Granger,
bending her head to kiss the little one
sleeping on her breast.
"They shall not return to you, but
you shall 60 to them" said Mrs. Arden,
softly. "Let that comfort YOU
Il have found neither comfort nor
consolation in religion" the other an
swered. II cannot believe as you do,
that shall meet my loved ones in a
better land. Why were they taken from
meP"
"You must not ask that question, ="
said Mrs. Arden; "you must feel that
God in His wisdom knew best"
"Ah, how can believe the God good
who could so desolate my lifeP'
Her voice was tense and low, and a
rigid, white look had settled on her
face.
"Believe me, God is ever good.
Whom He loveth He chasteneth," said
Mrs. Arden, softly; and then she went
on to speak of the comfort and consola-
ton found in perfect faith; of the prom
ises held out to those who mourn; OF
the blessed reunion with the loved ones
who have gone before, when this transi-
tory life is over. So earnestly, so elo-
quently, so tenderly did she speak, that
before she had concluded, the woman
whose heart had been stone for so many
years, was weeping, weeping with pas
sionate sobs, like little child.
All through the summer Mrs. Arden
was an almost daily visitor at the old,
gray house by the sea. Mrs. Blount
wondered and the village gossipped, but
the little woman went her way unheed.
ing, feeling that in that old house she
had found the great work of her life.
She cast her bread upon the waters
with no thought of its ever returning to
her.
When autumn came she returned to
her home in the city. leaving Mrs