Omaha daily bee., 1884-03-01
A MOTHERS REM0RSE.
Written for the Philadelphia Cali by Jenny.

A girl sat just outside the kitchen dool
of the old Stonybrook farm upon a lovely
spring day. The air was soft and wooing
and it lifted the yellow curls that clus
tered around her white brow caressingly
The songs of birds could be heard in tn,
fields that stretched far away clothed in
their new dress of emerald, starred thick.
" here and there with the z lden.eyed
daisies and buttercups. But Phyllis
Trevor never needed these beauties that
surrounded her. Her head was dropped
low over the potatoes she was pairing, and
from time to time the golden head was
lifted, when one could SEQ that her
mournful.looking brown eyes were swim.
ming in tears. Then she would raise her
hand quickly to brush them away, with a
suppressed sigh glancing into the kitchen,
where a tall, hard featured woman was
going to and fro between the wash-tub
and the boiler on the stove.
AS Mrs. Trevor went backward and
forward she cast dark glances at the fig
ure sitting, clad in an old print dress, so
silent and yet so busily working at tho
mother was in a spiteful humor and
wanted some one to vent it upon; 30 at
last she stopped in her progress across to
the stove, and placing her arms "akim-
DO" she delivered the following in a com.
planning, high-strung voice:
phyllis Trevorl l would be ashamed
if | were you, to sit there like the lazy
hulk you are growing to be, and me a.
washing here like a Trojan. l never
have to sit down when l peel potatoes, ]
have never time; but you, forsooth! You
are too much a lady of leisure to GO
ab out your work as your mother has to
You must take care of your wi easel
And there, Phyllis Trevor, you've spilled
that dirty water all over you! l would
be ashamed to be such a baby as you
show yourself when a body happens to
speak a crooked word to you-crying-a
great baby, like you, 1S years old"
All the morning, since she had risen at
3 o'clock with a violent headache, in or
der to milk the cows, she had heard moth
ing but a running stream of complaints
and ,,upbraidings. Phyllis was the eldest
of a family of eight children, and all of
them, except herself, boys. 1t seemed
as if Mrs. Trevor never could get over
the disappointment she felt at her eldest
child's advent into the world because she
was not a boy. "Girls isn't worth their
keep" she complained to the neighbors,
when they admired the delicate, white
bit of humanity that lay, almost neglect
ed, all day long in the rocker beside the
kitchen window, never crying nor max
ing the usual 'coo-coo" of babies in gen.
eral, but lying quiet, gazing 1t the OBJ.
jects around it, and pulling at the bottle
of milk which lay beside it. 1t seemed
as if the child knew it was not wanted
by Its mother, for it never stretched out
its puny arms to be taken, but would
smile and jump whenever its father came
near, for this patient, good-natured farm
err loved the child more than all the boys
in the world put together.
But he could not shield her from her
mouher's fault finding during the day, for
then he was absent in the fields. As she
grew up in her delicate beauty, and
other babies came, she was made a slave
to their every within, and made to carry
| them about in her thin arms until her
back ached pitifully, and her head and
| heart also.
Phyllis arose, now still trembling ner-
fOusly ulucT Ule uIlTGSSTFeu TtpEiLlhlu,
and, without returning a word, continued
peeling the potatoes in a standing posi-
ton; her silence only inflamed her moth
er's wrath.
"You think to a%ggravate me by your
fine lady airs. do you2 I'll teach you to
answer me when l speak to you! You
shall not stir n step to the Sunday.
school picnic tomorrow; but you will
stay to home and keep house while your
brothers and / go, you hateful, stubborn
thing!" Now, this picnic was a pleasure
upon which the girl had set her heart.
She had few pleasures in her young
life, and her father had bought
her a new dress and promised her thst
she would have n pleasant day at least:
And now it was all spoiled. She shed
some tears silently, but did net answer.
Phyllis never rebelled openly; hers was
| one of those gentle, sensitive natures
which are easily hurt, bat never complain:
While her mothers angry voice was still
laised high, the doorway was suddenly
| shadowed. Both the women looked up;
| it was Mr.. Trevor, who had returned
| from the fields, and he stood there gazing
upon the dark face Of his scolding wife.
| There WAS an expression about his gray
| eyes and his usually kindly mouth which
was new to them; an angry, determined
look. He had been in time to hear her
| declaration Phyllis should not go to the
picnic, and the rest of her reproaches. He
remained silent for a moment; at last he
exclaimed:
"What! Scolding Phyllis again? You
never give IL at girl a pleasant word,
mother! 81 o works hard for any little
pleasuring 81 Q gets, and you never give
her Gre 1T for IL. l say sho hal go the
picnic tomorrow" and a still more do
Cermined look wreathed itself around
his lips, giving to his pleasant features q
| harsh expression. Hitherto his wife's
| word had been law in the house; never
mad he, weak man that no was, dared to
interfere with her decisions, and now
she was ia zen by surprise. She stared,
open-mouthed, atsthe impotence of her
spouse; it took away her breath for n
minute. At last, however, she found
her tongue and broke forth, her black
syes swapping with anger:
"And / say she shan't! Do you hear.
Bill Trevor1 l say she shan't!" she cried,
shaking her bony first at her husbands
nose. He stood there calmly.
''She shalt" he said ~composedly, grow
ing more cool and determined as his wife
Saxed more excited. "Phyllis is Is
years of age, and old euoughto have some
voice in such matters herself. She isnot a
baby now, to be ordered about and made
to dance attendance lpon the pleasure nj