The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-07-27
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matters of true intellectual culture.
After this came a discussion based
on the following paragraph from
"Felix Holt"
cit is fact perhaps kept little
too much in the background, that
mothers have self larger than their
maternity, and that when their sons
have become taller than themselves
and have gone from them to college
or into the world, there are wide
spaces of time which are not filled
with praying for their boys, reading
old letters, and envying yet blessing
those who are attending to their shirt
bosoms." And the general sentiment
of the meeting seemed to agree with
the author that these "adoring and
gently fearful mothers are out of
date. So Mrs. Dewberry came out
silently into the rain when the meet
ing was over and the ache in her heart
seemed worse than ever.
"Of course" she thought sadly,
"they couldn't suppose any one would
be as ignorant as I am. Iwish John
ny had better motherw And then,
as the hot tears blurred her old cot
ton veil, Mrs. Dewberry whispered a
little prayer: "Oh, dear Father, do
show me very soon what to do about
Johnny" Everything went on just
the same that evening. The children
had reached home from school before
her and found their way into the
house through the wood-shed win
dow. The little kitchen was all
tracked over with boisterous, muddy
feet. Supper was late, and her hus-
band cross, and Johnny did not come
home to supper at all. He came in
about eleven o'clock and went sullen-
ly to the pantry for the luncheon his
mother had kept for him, then silent
ly upstairs to bed. Next morning
the large family washing was on
hand, and the bread baking, too.
Mrs. Dewberry hardly had tirue to
think any definite thoughts, but
worked on, mechanically, always con-
scious of that vague, aching dread.
In the afternoon she had time to
think. The children were at school,
her husband at work. The kitchen,
her usual sitting-room, was bright
and clean. Her bread rose to perfec-
ton and when it was baked filed the
air with it's sweet, nut-like fragrance.
Nobody ever baked better bread than
Mrs. Dewberry's. The six golden
brown loaves were beautiful sight
as she laid them out steaming hot on
a snowy cloth upon the table. Just
as she did so the back gate banged,
and she heard Johnny's step, with
mingled joy and dread. 1t was sell
dom Johnny came home now, except
to sleep, and to-day, as usual, he had
not been home at dinner time.
''Halloo, motherw he said roughly
as he came in. "Now what makes
you stare SO? Oh, say, gi' me some
hot bread, will you!"
"Td do most anything for you,
Johnny" said his mother, rather
TREMENDOUSLY. "Just get the thin
knife out of the table drawer, and
cut you good piece right off the
end. It's nice and tender and I
know you always did like the hot
crust, Johnny. And there's butter in
the jar in the pantry" 1t would
waste the bread, cutting into the hot
loaf in this way, but she did not care.
JOHNNY was hungry, and it seemed SO
good to have her boy at home, to be
alone with him, to have him safe even
for one blessed moment. Her heart
was yelling with yearning love.
Johnny buttered his hot bread lib
orally and sat down beside the fire to
enjoy it.
"This is mighty good" he said, and
more than one hot end of loaf went
the same way, till what had been
row of lovely loaves lay in torn frag-
ments and tie fair cloth was Uttered
with crumbs. By and by, having fin
ished his feast, Johnny stamped
about the room in an undecided way,
drummed on the windowpanes,
picked up his hat once and put it
down again, and finally stood mo-
ment gazing rather wistfully through
the open door of his mothers bed
room at the soft white bed which was
her pride, with its Marseilles counter
pane and embroidered "shams." He
was very tired. There wasn't any
lounge except the stiff uncomfortable
sofa in the best room. His clothes
were damp and muddy, but in min
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