The Grenada gazette. (Grenada, Miss.) 1885-18??, 1886-05-08

P"N'5i"PhS Sie" larger anu Wluer
longer and thicker through, until h,
saw at once that Ire could never ge
them back into the box, and so with
out even trying, he gave it up and lie
the rain and the pictures carry hin
back years and years ago, to thost
days in a mans life never forgotten.
yet hardest to recall to those days
when school was his most terrible bug.
bear, work his sworn and bitter en-.
envy; when play was his only object il
life; when his mother was his one ad
wiser, his counsellor in and the sharel
OF his joys and his sole comfort in hi
woes. For he had been left fatherles.
when he was very young. While ht
was bordering over the past, one o.
the photographs spoke to the other.
He was not surprised, though. He
would not have been ont bit amazed
had the originals stepped out of their
cards in their forms of long ago, so en-
tirely wrapped up was he in what they
were speaking of, and thus it happened
that they talked to each other before
his face for a full half hour or more as
free from interruption as if he himself
had been the photograph of a deaf
mute.
Mother" observed the boy. Strange
how little his voice had changed in all
these years! There il was the same
pure, childish treble as when it
chanted the psalms in the surpliced
choir in the village church.
Yes, my son." replied the ether.
With all his composure the man was
startled. Was it a voice from the
grave, or was he merely dreaming?
Had the sight of those old photographs
put him to sleep: No; he was awake,
and the conversation was real, as real
as that dear, patient, tender, sweet
toned voice itself, which had now been
stilled in death almost Il score of years.
1t was better than q dream, thought he.
''Mothcr,' continued the child, at
rains today Here a tear Of petu-
lance came into the voice-of that old
familiar petulance which the mar now
remembered, to his shame, land | cant
60 out and play, Amt it u shame,
mother, and this is Saturday, too? 1t
always rains on Saturday,
No, my boy, not always replied
the other, mildly. She never spoke
other than mildly, he remembered now.
yes, ii does. Especially when l
want to 90 out and play. We were
going to have Il circus to-day at Willie
ScottS.' Willie Scott, another MEN,
ory from the storehouse of the past.
Poor Will Scott. Shot by the Indians
on the plains the year after he left
West Point.
''Well, my dear, l think we can
arrange for 4 circus here in the house "
This, with n smile, tender as only a
mothers smile can be. ''DOn't YOU
think we can:?'
''Of course we cant! Who ever heard
of a circus in 4 house? Where can we
have our tent
''Well, my son. YOU needn't have a
circu, if You don't want to. If YOU
don't want to play that way get your
books and | will read to YOU"
Read to me on Saturday" replied
the boy. hi, eye filled with tears of dis
appointment. II always play on Sat
urday and YOU read to neon Sunday"
"WrII, answered the patient voice
of the mother, IF my little boy does
not want NE to read to him he can
amuse himself any way he wants to.
don care only so he is happy And
she didn't. But he didn't realize it
then. Didn't realize it for years after
wards-mtil it was too late to apprcci-
ate it as he should have dOne-the way
We never realize the blessings we had
the asking.
Thus the morning passed. A little
unhappy boy who wandered aimlessly
about the house, discontinued with him
self ana all the world besides. What
he give to be there again only
for one mornings: What? There isn't
money enough in the world to half pay
the amount. Then came dinner, and
dinner another period of loncli-
hess, of sorrow, disappointment and
yretchednesS. 1t all came back to the
nan as plainly as though it were but
yesterday. At length the boy spoke
again, this time pleadingly. ,
Mother, you said this morning that
,ou would read to me-"
80 | did, my boy she answered, ,
but | am tired now and my head
My eyes pain me and l thought
would lie down on the sofa and ,
AXE a nap. Can't you take your
and play quietly on the ~loor?'
THAT is just the way you always
exclaimed the boy, impatiently. =,
When | want you to do any thingyou g
ever want to do it." :.
my SON. answered the mother, sad -
=, chow can you say SOP ~
"Well,' replied the boy, untouched
y the mild reproach, you know it is
D. Strange, thought the man, that II
G ever could have been so unjust.
md yet that was his photograph; those a
'ere his very tones, and, too, his very q
lords. Would he say them now if he Z