The Abbeville messenger. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1884-1887, 1886-03-02
The Pretty Baby.

isn't he a pretty baby, Johnf See,
just look ut him" and the mother holds
up the tiny creature to papa. who kisses
and fondles him lovingly.
"ies, Kate, he is a pretty baby, but
Tom was a pretty baby, too, you remem-
bcr.u
eyes, Tom was a pretty baby-evcry-
body said So" and she chances across
the room at n sunny-faccd 4-year old,
but Willie Is not like Tom. Willie's
hair is light and his eyes" looking visit
fully into the baby's face, ''arc dark and
so deep that, when l look in them | am
almost afraid, they have such n far
away light, they seem to sec something
We cannot"
sob, nonsense! Don't think that.
He'll grow up to be a fine fellow. But,
Kate, | wouldn't think so much about
him. He's a dear, good, little fellow,
but wouldn't worship him; it isn't
right"
''As if could help it," the mother
says, r~eproachfully, pressing the slight
form closer and looking into the dark
eyes ycarningly.
a month passes away, and one day
they stand beside a small, white casket,
within which the pretty baby is sleep
ing. All, the mothers eyes were sharp,
and when friends said, "what beautiful
bright eyes he has, " she saw the far away
look and knew it as the light that never
was on land or sea.
"Oh, John, john" she moancd, "I
knew he wasn't long for this world. I
could sec it in his eyes. Oh, my pretty
baby2"
eyes, dear. you were right" says
papa, and there is a culver in the firm
voice; eff it had pleased God to have
left him with us We would have cared
for him the best we could; but we must
give him up, for it is His will, and He
knows what is best for u.s."
eyes, l know it," and she stoops and
cuts a tiny wisp of hair from the baby's
head. "Oh, John. you said 1 wor-
shipped him. I did, oh. | did, and,
God forgive me, 1 can't be sorry for it
now, it was such a dear, pretty baby"
Years pass on. Other babies arc born.
They are all pretty babies, every one
n no sees them say that, but nonc arc like
the baby with the far away look. AS they
grow up they love to gather around
mothers chair, and she never tires tell
ing of the dark-cycd baby who went to
live with God. And when, with child
ISL curiosity they open the Bible to look
Mt the pictures, they find between the
leaves Il tiny wisp of hair tied with a
white satin ribbon, they touch it revcr-
emily and whisper beneath their breath:
"Thc pretty baby"
Years still pass on. The children
grow to be sturdy men and women, and
rs the mother watches them she M
times thinks, eff he had lived he would
have been such a beautiful man," and
then she smiles and is glad that in
Heaven there is no time, and no matter
how the others may change he is still
the pretty baby.
One day they gather around her bed,
and looking in each others face mourn
fully whisper:
"Shc is dying"
She stretches her thin hand toward
the table on which the old Bible rest,
and they say:
"The baby's hair"
They place it in her hand. She kisses
it tendcrly and a bright light comes
into the dim old eyes, and they say:
"What does she see 2"
She smiles and whispers: "Thc pretty
baby"
They place the wisp of hair ON her
breast and fold the wrinklcd hands
upon it, and tenderly lay her beside the
pretty baby.