The Penn's Grove record., 1883-09-22

1At - ~
would not listen.
''She is your daughter, as well mine,
Robert" l said, land, of course, you
will name her to suit yourself, but to
me she can never be any other than
what | have said"
How our conversation would have
ended [ cannot tell, but fortunately for
both of us, it was interrupted by callers
who spent the evening with ms, and for
the time being our dispute and its cause
were forgotten.
At breakfast the next morning the
subject was not once alluded to in eve
the most remote way, and at noon and
in the evening it was the same.
Another day came and went, and
still another, and yet not a word was
said. Our tsble-talk was no longer
the pleasant pastime it had once been,
for we found it difficult to sustain a
conversation on topics of minor inter-
est. while the one subject which en-
| crossed our hearts and minds was
tabooed.
behold how great a matter a little
fire kindletb !" As day after day
passed away, and the week drew to a
close, a heavy weight settled upon my
heart. My husband appeared a differ
emit person to me. 1t seemed to me
that a great gulf mad come between
us even baby, who before had been
associated only with the purest, deep
est 10Y. seemed changed. | could not
take her in my arms without thinking
of what | choose to call my trouble.
Friday morning came. 1t was a lovely,
sunshiny day but it seemed to me the
dreariest ever sun rose upon.
WHO would think Robert could be
50 obstinate ?" l said to myself, as l
rocked my little one to sleep.
Just before noon our pastor called.
[ was so i'll at ease that it was with
ifficulty that | sustained my part in
the conversation l suppose he no
ticed m agitation, for he inquired if
| were well as usual. For a. instant
| felt half inclined to tell him all. 1t
| seemed as if it would be a relief to
! open my heart to some n but a feel
ing of pride restrained me.
Robert seemed unusually silent at
| dinner, and / fancied he was looking
pale and i'll. He kissed the baby, but
did not toss her in the air and play
with her as he generally did as for
| myself, every word | spoke cost me an
effort. When Robert had gone, | took
my little girl in my arms and rocked
her to sleep, then l threw myself in
my chair again, and silently brooded
| over my unhappiness. 1t seemed to me
that a good, hearty cry would be a lux
| ury in which | had determined l would
rot indulge.
The time passed slowly away, and |
egan to wonder why baby did not
wake. | went over to the cradle. Her
face was flush, and I thought her
breathing very unnatural. "What if
our darling should beill 2" l cried, and
then with a chill at my heart, what if
God should take away from us the cause
If our dispute ?"
At that thought a great revulsion of
feeling came over me. 1 knelt down
by my baby's cradle and wept unre.
strainedly.
"After ALL" l thought, sis it not
natural that Robert should not care to
have his child given so common a name
as Mary :? And what right have | to de.
eide without consulting him what hel
name should be? Oh, if he would only
come p
took baby in my arms and went to
the window to look for him. Them re,
membered his pale face at dinner.
IF anything should happen | should
never forgive myself" l said.
At last | heard his footsteps on the
stairs ; l laid baby down and just
rushed to meet him.
sob, Robert I" l cried, as I threw
my arms around his neck, s'name hel
Laura or anything you please, but dc
let us love each other again"
He kissed me in silence, and theI
went into the parlor. In an instant
he came out, bringing with him my
fathers wedding gift--a large family
bible.
He opened it, and turning to the
family record, pointed to a line under
the head of births. 1t was this
Mary Evelyn Spencer, born May Is
1866.
II wrote it this neon," he said.
cannot tell what happened next
for l really do not know /; but / hav,
had seven children since then an6
they have all been named without tn,
least particle of trsuble between theil
father and mother, and in closing thil
little account OF our first real difficult,
thank God that / am enabled to de
clare it was not only u first, but on,
last.