The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1885-10-02


is kept darkened. and the whole atmos--
phere is heavy and actually chilly in this
glorious summer weather. Susy nurses
her sorsow till it is becoming a monoma-
nia." ~
Cannot you coax her ont?"
''She will go nowhere but to Green
wood. and the last time we were there
she tainted on Willie's grave"
"She is not strong"
Because she shuts herself up closely
in the house. dark and gloomy as vault,
destroys her appetite and weakens her
whole system. I cannot use any stern
ness. exercise any strong authority, for
it seems like actual brutality and want
of feeling for her sorrow. But must
escape am becoming unfit for bust
ness, and Mother, l have actually
been tempted to join bachelor parties to
get rid of the necessity of returning
home, to meet only darkness, tears and
repining =
"Oh, Fred, you frighten me r.
II frig htep myself It is because
am losing Lly strength to resist such
temptations that am considering this
California offer. Susy will then have no
one to consider, and will have at least
air and light out of business hours.
Mother advise me-! What can / do? If
it is cowardly to run away, shirk my
duties as husband and father, I will
stay but I tell you frankly I am afraid
I shall be driven to neglect home, wife
and children if find nothing there but
gloom and darkness.
There was rustling noise in the sleep
ing room as Fred ceased speaking, and
the door, which had stood ajar, was
pushed open. Susy stood upon the
threshold, her heavy black draperies still
clinging around her. but her face lifted
with look upon it, that went to Freds
heart.
1t was the expression of SO much pen
itence, suoh heurt- stricken remorse, that
he held out both hands, to gather her
closely in his arms. There she spoke:
Forgive me, Fred, and stay with mel
did not mean to be an eavesdropper.
but heard all you said, and seq how
wickedly selfish have been. You were
SO kind, SO tender, that did not realize
what I was doing in my neglect of you
and our boys. Do not go away Fred?"
"Never, Susy, if you bid me stay"
II do Mother, you will help me to
keep him."
"Not now I must give my answer
this morning. am off now, but will
be home to dinner"
1t was still daylight on the summer
afternoon, when Fred Aiken came home.
Before he entered the house, he drew
deep sigh of relief, seeing the shutters
of every window opened, and the light
shaded only by inner curtains. In the
sitting-room, Eddie and Charlie, long
banished because they were noisy, were
building block houses. Their dress
showed plainly that Mamie had no
longer sole control of their appearance,
and ON each little face was serene hap
piness, as if some long felt restraint was
gone.
Susy, in dress of black, thin goods,
had put snowy ruffles at wrists and
throat, and, for the first time since her
baby died, had arranged her hair fash
ionably and becomingly. Upon her
face, still pale and thin, was smile of
welcome for Fred, and the kiss of greet
ing he gave her was cordially returned.
"Papa" the boys shouted, "see lis
tumble down tn tower mamma built"
And down came the rafting blocks,
without any quick cry of restraint for
their noise OF the gleeful shouts of the
little ones.
1t is nearly seven years now since
baby Willie was laid to sleep in Green
wood. Two little girls are playmates
for Eddie and Charlie in Mrs. Aiken's
nursery, and another little grave marks
a second bereavement. But the mother
has learned well the lesson impressed
upon her heart when the selfish sorrow
SO nearly blighted her home.
The little ones God has taken can
never be forgotten. Tears still fall over
their pictures, the silent souvenirs of
their brief lives, but the duties to the
living are never forgotten in sorrowing
for the dead. What God has taken to