The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1889-04-06


"Dear, dear, did she take on
much ?" said Fidelia, dropping her
knitting in her lap.
"Take on? Well, not like some
folks. She didn't screech nor cry,
bur she jest turned awful white, and
her eyes got big and bad lookin' {; it
was enough to ha'nt you to see 'em,
and she never said nothin' to me |;
Jest moaned, and caught hold of the
deacon's coat sleeve as if she needed
somethin' to comfort her. 1t did
seems if her heart was broken sure.
She never had NO more children"
81 guess that's why they've been
so set on each other." unused Fidelia.
swell, as to that, there amt no
tellin'. Some few folks are so-eon-
siderate and feelin'I-but mighty few.
Most married folk get tired of livin'
together. or, at any rate. they appear
80. to some. The deacon and Mis-
True they's been ffke tncy ssasz
acourtin' all these years. He's done
all the chores for her that mortal
man could do, and she's been as sweet
to him-well, as sweet as one of them
doves a couin' away out there on the
barn."
"Hark! What's that ?" said Eide
liza ; holding up one hand, in warm
ing.
1t was only the sound of weak
voice, above, and a deeper voice try
ing to answer sOothingly.
While the two women had talked
the afternoon had waned. The rain
seemed like fast-faIling tears. The
flowers some of them had closed
drowsily. The shadows We're deep
ening. The light green foliage of a
birch tree near the house looked
grey in the twilight. Through the
open chamber window above sounded
the sleepy trill of bird, safely snug
glad in his nest uuder the young
leaves.
Curiously enough this tender note
alone had the power to rouse the dy-
ing woman. She had always been
in close sympathy with all fair, help
less things. flowers, young birds and
infants. Now, in her eXtremity,t this
weak cry pierced TO her heart and
woke her.
"Where's the baby ?" she whis-
pered. "Why don't they bring it to
me ."
She was living over again her only
sickness. She fancied herself young
once more. young and filled with a
strange great happiness.
The years between had vanished.
They were happy years, too, happier
than most people enjoy, for her de-
sires had easily been gratified, her
ambitions were of the simplest kind.
To live within their small means !;
to lay aside little each year ; to
keep the house immaculate and the
flowers thriving to know peaceful
nights and quiet, uneventful days !;
to help a neighhor in trouble to sit
in the village church regularly on
Sundays. and to be sure that the grass
grew green and the white Yi0lets
florOushed oyer certain small mound
in the graveyard these were the ut
most limits of her hopes.
Her one great grief had grown to
be a tender memory, and all the days
since had been prosperous and serene,
unclouded by one harsh look or
word.
Now, suddenly, she was young
again, young wife in her new home,
with all her humble household treas
ures new about her, and this thrill
of expectation in her breast.
"Where's the baby? Why don't
they bring the baby to me ?" she
repeated eagerly.
Her husband leaned forward, press
ing her hand in both of his. !
1.-The baby? he said. "what
baby ?" For him the sad present
had swallowed up the past.
"Our baby" she whispered. with
a look of rapture in her faded eyes.
"Oh. Lois p
He bent his head still lower. That
shadowy child of their'sseemed hard.
ly more than dream to him. He
had neye rheld it, or played with it.,
or talked to it in Imagination as she
had.
His name is Josiah, for you,"
continued the dying woman, trying
to tighten her clasp of the hand hold
ing hers, and looking earnestly up at
him,
"He will be little 10. Perhaps his
eyes are like yours and he will be
a good man like you, 1 hope. We
will teach him to be good, won't
We?"
UYeS. veg. TIOiS.0