Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1896-03-29

effort Bourgurii, suddenly reznember~ ing that he was a Roman had again roslred forth male5ictions and his for. rsidabIe never
 And on this lovely Easter morning he is more than usually sad and ill-teni- nered-tlais strong minded old mason. He feels very nervous; he has cut his chin twice in sbasing. Oh, no; he will not be weak enough to pay an income to his undutiful son. A Roman. tell vau. Would old Brutus have relented2 CT course not. And yet last night he was on the point of yieldingi That ia whateornes christening to women. They haven't energy for two sous. The wom- en haven't. Bourgueilis firlner than ever in his resolutions as he puts on white shirt and a gray holiday suit. He goes into the parlor, that cozy, pretty little parlor. he was so proud of when things had still some interest for him, and looks at the clock. It is only Il o'clock. and Bourgueil. who has fine appetite this morning. feels cross at the thought of eating only at 12. Soon Mother Bour- puefl returns from church with a large bunch of box plant. She places it on 2 little side table. and suddenly the whole room is filed with the strong. fresh odor. BoureHeil is no poet: he has not Q very refined nature. Yet he IS i,l1pressionable for all that-hke you or ITle-and the sight Of the green branches recalls far-oE memories. While theold woman is busy taking apart the tfvigs to decorate the rooms with them, the penetrating perfume affects his old heart. He remembers certain Easter morning-ah, so long, long ago-when he was still q workman, and his young wife q dressmaker's apprentice. Itwas their honeymoon, for they had married a few days before Lent. Then, too, she had returned from church with frag= rant burden and made their only room bright and festive. How pretty she looked. and how he loved her. And by q rapid effort of imagination he recalls in an instant their long years of mar ried life; she has ever been so indus trious. so thrifty, so devoted. And now he tortures ker-this good, brave wom- an: be mal.es her suffer on account of his wicked son,
 But is Edward really so wicked as all that2 Of course, a fellow ought to honor his father and mother, and obey them: but then are not youth and love sufficient excuse for many a fault? He watched Mother Bourgueil with moist eyes. as she goes to place spray of box above Edwards picture on the wall-a picture Of their boy in his col lege suit, when they felt so proud of him and his studies.
 What is the matter? The old mason hardly knows what he is about. His head swims; it is that strong odor of the paint, doubtless. But his heart fills with something that seems very much like mercy and pardon. He goes up to his wife. takes her hands, and, looking at the picture, mutters. his rough voice growing strangely soft: Say. .Gfemence. shall we-forgive him 2e Ah. the cry of joy that bursts from the
 mothers lips! And he has called her "Gfemenee. just as in their younger days. He has not given her that name for more than 15 years. And she un= derstands that he loves her stiIl-her husband. her old companion.
 She throws herself in his arms and kisses him franticaily, all over his face. takes bis head in both her hands. and whispers in his ear. The other day she couidn't help il realiy-she went to see their boy. He is so unhappy to have offended them. And fl he has not come hundred times to beg their forgive ness, is it simply because he did not dare You know" she adds-and her voice becomes soft and earessing- know I have seen his wife, and you real ly cannot blame him for loving her. she is so sweet, and as fresh as a rose. She just worships our Edward-one can see that at once; and she keeps their little home in such apple pie order. Yes, yes, I know; her past. But if Edward loves her as she is?-And after all, we are not of the fashionable world, and in our class one is not so particular"
 Rourgueil feels oppressed-he is chok- ing. Putting a trembling finger on his wife's lips; That will dol" he says. Send fer cab. Let LIS take some of these sprays to them in sign of peace. and bring them home with us!"
 And while the old mother, stunned with joy, falls sobbing on her husbands shoulder, Bourgueil-th Roman. the old Brutus-begins to cry softly, like child.