The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1893-12-21
her little one softly the while as If she


to whom the child was only dear
little baby who would be better off in
Heaven" as the phrase goes, crept
about the room weeping softly with
aching hearts, while she to whom she
was all of earth was dry-eyed. After
time Margaret looked up.
Doctor, she asked, chow long?"
81 can hardly tell" he answered,
"but only few hours at best, / think"
She turned to the women.
s'Send for her father" she said,
briefly.
There was slight stir of surprise.
Significant glances passed from one to
another behind her bowed head. Then
they went out to do her bidding.
And do you ask why the father must
be sent for? why husband and wife
had stood alone on this long, long day,
when of all days they should have
leaned upon each other? / cannot tell.
I only know that one year ago to-day,
in an unguarded hour, a word born Of
a throbbing brain, or quivering nerve,
or an aching tooth, perhaps had
wounded heart; that other words,
sharper and more singing, had fol-
lowed; that the imprisoned demons of
misunderstanding and pride and OBJ
stinacy had been let loose, and that
these two who had vowed 'sto love and
to cherish" had stood and cruelty thrust
each other through until their hearts
were torn and bleeding.
And the sun went down on a blasted
home. And a man tossed on sleepless
bed that night, saying over and over:
eff could only take it back!" And
woman knelt in her lonely house and
sobbed: 20, God! o, God! If I hadn't
said it!' And Memory wrung her
hands and wept over them both and
moaned: cit was just a word-just
a word-but they can't get it back!"
The message was quickly sent and
as quickly answered. The case brooked
no delay. Margaret Thorne heard the
familiar step in the hall, then in the
room below. She knew what he was
doing. How often she had seen him
stoop over the CRATE, with outspread
hands, saying cheerily, as Beth
crowed and held out her hands: s.Just
a minute, little Beth. Papa mustn't
chill the baby!" The memory of the
old-time tenderness, the old-time hap
piness struck her with sudden pang.
"Never again; never again. she whis-
pered, as she bent over the child.
A moment later he came in. The
women spoke to him in the sympa-
thetic key of the sick room, and the
doctor silently wrung his hand. Mar
garet looked up with a slight move
ment of the head, but did not offer
him her hand. He stood irresolute a
moment, then took the chair facing
her, the baby between them.
Margaret" he said, sit was very
good of you to send for me.''
cit was only right" she said, her
voice hardening in her efforts to steady
it; ''she is your child, too.''
She had not meant to be harsh, but
she knew it sounded so. Why must
she always be misunderstood? He half
sighed. The message had come, then,
from no lingering tenderness or re-
turning softness, but from a stern
sense of right. Well, so be it.
He made no effort at conversation,
and SO they sat, the silence of death
upon them. 1t grew oppressive. The
women, one by one, stole out of the
room, and the doctor finally, with the
feeling that even he intruded here,
muttered something about going into
the library to lie down, telling them to
call him if there should be any change.
He went heavily down the stairs, and
the two were left alone with the dying
child.
1t was a strange scene. Each held
baby hand; each with burden of grief
unutterable bent over the little form
and watched the Pickering life go out;
and each shut up and double-locked
and bolted the heart that the other
should not know what was therein
They were but a hands breadth apart,
but between them was great gulf
fixed.
John Thorne had not seen his child
since that never-to-be-forgotten day
when he gave her and his home into
Margaret's hands and went forth alone
How he had longed for a sight of the
baby face, for a touch of the baby
hands, none but himself would ever
know. But he had been too proud to
ask to see her, and Margaret had said,
in bitter scorn: sit is the way of the sex.
A woman would never have forgotten
her own child" And she had clasped
Beth passionately to her heart and
cried out: II aoiU be father and mother
both to you, my baby, my poor, forsaken
baby!"
And she had steeled her heart against
her husband for Beth's sake and had
kept her proudly out of his way, never
doubling for a moment that his had
been a shallow pretense of love COM
pared with her own.
AS he bent over her now. all his heart
in his eyes, a strange feeling of doubt
began Juggling at her heart. Had he
really loved the child like this? I'm
comfortable regrets took possession of
her COu16 che have ,,,;ei,,doo1 l:...O