The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1884-02-01
HIS MOTHERS STORY.
BY JOHN GRAY.

Phoebe Carroll was singing; while I
was so taken out of myself by the
thrilling, appealing tones of her pathet-
ic voice, that | had forgotten my boy.
AS the song ended, turned to look for
him with pang of self-reproach, but
he was still sitting where | had left him,
his broad back toward me.
An underlined something in his atti-
tude seemed to tell me that he was
troubled or i'll at ease, so threaded
my way through the little knots of
people--slowly, so as not to attract
attention. Standing close to him were
young man and girl, neither Of
whom / knew. / paused when within
u few feet of my boys chair, and list
ened to their conversation, turning over
the leaves of an album.
''Yes," the girl was saying; "there
is nothing on earth more sad. would
rather be deformed-a cripple, deaf or
dpmb--than blind. Oh, / think |
would rather die than lose my sight!"
Il almost think. l would too, y an
swered her companion. What would
there be to live for, shut out from work
and pleasure alike! And the bitterest
pain of all would be, not only TO know
you were of no use in the world, but to
feel that. however they might attempt
to disguise it, you were u burden and a
continual anxiety to those you"
He had caught my eye and broke off
abruptly his face assuming an express
sion of establishment rs he realized that
was signing to him to follow me. He
came, however, and led the way until
was sure that words could not reach
my boys sharp ears; then said.--
II am sure you cannot be aware that
gentleman near whom you were stand
ing is blind?"
He gave hasty glance in that di-
rcction, then turned dismaycd look
on me.
mot really, is hep May you not be
Mistaken
Mistaken! He is my sonr'
''By Jove! am sorry! How could
l ream-here-what brute you must
think me! would not have said what I
did for worlds"'
He was so thoroughly in earnest, and
looked so penitent, that l held out my
hand to him.
hiu oulC NOu WOulu HUI. uulbc
acquit you of any desire TO wound. In
return you must pardon me for inter-
rupting your conversation.
Here / bowed and half turned away,
while he taking the hint, returned the
inclination and withdrew. But before
had moved step from the spot he
was back again with our hostess, Mrs.
Duke who performed the ceremony of
introduction.
Directly after we were exchanging
commonplace; and before long / had
introduced him TO Philip, who L saw
plainly recognized his voice in an in
slant.
The young man was evidently anxious
to efface the recollection of his unfort-
innate words from my sons mind, and
he strove so eflectually that the poor
boys face cleared up as he listened.
He described or quizzed almost every
one in the room.
81 seem to see them ALL" said
Philip, presently; ''but l think there
is one you have not mentioned-M
Carroll, who was singing little while
ago"
''Miss Carroll!' he repeated, with a
slight hesitancy. 'It is difficult to say
anything good enough of her. She is
fair, and very sweet-looking; her face,
figure, and her expression are all
$50 is her voice, said Philip, and
became silent.
''Talk of the angels" said Mr..
Vores; and turning, / found Phoebe
Carroll ut my elbow.
81 am going" she said, giving her
hand first to me and then to each of |
the young men. mamma is tired. |
It has been delightful evening to
me-"
"And to me-" said Philip, quietly. |
That song of yours alone would have
made il SOL
/. 81 thought you knew l disliked pretty |
speeches, Mr.. Muller" she said, color
ng family. "But mamma is looking |
'or me; goodnight"
1--WE, too, must go, Philip" / said,
as 1 did that this sort of
evening was very apt to weary him.
Goodnight, he said, shaking hands
With our new acquaintance, cordially.
Il wish you would come in and see
ne some day, when you are in our