Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1882-11-16

the generous sun SEMI It's CDe6Tlng rayS
into the sick-room; q golden canary that
hung in cage by the attic window hop
ped and chirped, then burst into clear
full song so glad was he of the sunshine
Madame opened her eyes and smiled.
"Does the bird disturb you, dearie p
asked Mrs. Merton. "Shall | take il
away?
mo, no; my bird has long been my
one solace. Poor pet, it is inviting me
to join its melody, but j shall never
sing again OR earth; my sonl is saving
up its songs for Paradise"
The sun sank down reluctantly, show.
ing his glory of gold and crimson long
after his bonny face was hidden behind
bank of clouds. Madame was looking
brighter for long sleep, and was listen.
ing for the footsteps that had once
quickened as they neared her.
Now she heard them linger on the
landing; she clasped her hands above
her heart, and said in clear high tone:
"Felix."
1t was the yearning cry of one who
feared to lose a longed-for, but almesl
despaired-of, blessing.
The door was pushed back quickly
and DR.. Holt entered and crossed to the
bed, quietly sinking down on his knees
beside it, and silently hiding his face on
her feeble fiuttering hands.
Darling, knew you would come.
Oh, husband, husbandi can you forgive
me all the silence of these bitter blasted
years ?" -s-.l-.
The mans broad shoulders heaved,
and the little waxen hands beneath his
face were wet with tears coming from a
bursting heart. Still that wooing voice
went on unanswered:
Felix. l wanted you to know that
though /, like the wicked wayward
thing l was, tired of your stiff English
ways and the dull routine you called
duty, did not tire of you. Oh, my
love, my love, how l have longed for
you, but / knew how stern you could be
and feared that ice-cold woman, your
mother, would not let you take me back.
was mad with the monOtony of my
life, dear; l who had been brought up
from my babyhood in bright Bohemian
gaiety. So 1 ran back to my old pro-
fession, and sang my heart sick on the
Italian stage. Yet not even that ice :
woman you call mother could have lived
purer life than |. Then my beautiful
babe was born. Oh, husband, you start,
you tremble; there is some compassion
left in You for our little child who
blooms amid the blossoms of my south
ern home, guarded by poor old mother
After my child came my voice failed,
and grew sickly. so L staked my allin
one venture, and came to England to try
and win your forgiveness for the -child's
sake. dared not bring her with me,
for might have died, and left her
among strangers"
Here the wooing voice grew faint. and
Dr. Holt raised her in his arms, and
pressed some wine between the pallid
lips. She looked gratefully into his.
face with such fond entreating eyes.
that he closed them with kisses, saying:
Hush, no more now, poor foolish lit
tie wife. Rest and wait"
Then followed reconciliation, the
sweeter for their long parting.
A month passed, aud summer WAS
softly signing into autumn. DR.. Holt
was alone with his good but severe
minded mother.
Felix, my son." said the old lady,
her silvery hair little ner-
vously beneath her quaker cap, surely
some great good fortune has come to
you. What has the old mother done
that she is not allowed to rejoice in the
happiness of her only child?''
The cool firm tones were broken 10y
emotion, and the keen old eyes were
misty with unshed tears. Her son sat
down beside her, and in eloquent words
revealed to her all the misery he had
suffered, all the weariness of life that
seemed so unenjoyable without that
brighter half of himself that he had al
lowed to drift away. Then came the
history of his wife's suffering and near
ness to death; and last, but most mOv-
ing of all, his joy at his child's birth,
and his longing to see her face.
MY life has seemed so empty, moth
or, SO dreary and undesii able; now it is
full of hope and joy and gratitude. am
going to take Mignon back to the sunny
south, to the birthplace of our child.
Will you come too, and share our hap
Diness, as you have shared our mistakes
md misery" 2"
Not yet, my son, for feel helped
% make the trouble, but when my boy |
las made a separate home, then l will |
,ome and live near. but not with you |
ill your darling can come to our colder |
cut truer home. Man and wife should
i've in home unshared by any but |
heir own flesh, their children. have
,een unjust through my Jealous ve.lad,
,ut it shall never bring anght but bless
ngs to you again"
Three years later, happy family
roup arrived at their bonny English
ome, ,and the quaker grandmother leads
y the hand a gaily-attired little lady,
vho with the wanton waste of child
ood, throws aside little bunch of
overs. The old lady bends her digni-
ed body to pick them up, and says with
ond severity:
Never despise abunch of fowers,ret;
or a bunch of flowers brought peace to
wo aching hesrts, that both my little
laid and her cross old granny love
early"
A lovely little lady left her husbands
rm, and tip-toed TO kiss the good old
ace gratefully.
Felix Hollis heart sings at the gracious
ght, and he smiles approval on her and
iys gravely:
THANK you, wife.
"No," she says softly, rearranging the
title nosegay, "thank the flowers"