The Cook County herald. [volume] (Grand Marais, Minn.) 1893-1909, 1899-12-16

BY B.L ARJEON.

eo@t LIS really IueTc, anu Win OUT"
stretched hands that seem to have
tongues in them, so eloquent are they.
| Why, mother" say, what are
you looking for? A ghostw
/ She gives me scared look, and lets
me lead her back to her chair, into
which she sinks, still all of tremble,
1T was I who gave you that 'Yo.
heave. ho! mother
Really you, Amos?"
Really me, mother
Your voice was so like your
fathers, my son." says she, almost in
a whisper; "and at that moment was
looking into the fire, and thinking Of
Presently she adds, IT didn't know
but that he might be calling me to
come to him.
1 pass my arm around her neck, and
she takes my hand and holds it in
hers, so that she has necklet OF her
own loving flesh, and blood about her.
! Then my voice is like my father's?"
| Eyes, my son."
"How we'll I remember his 'Yo,
heave, no! It used to make me jump
for JOY"
1T was the first thing you ever
heard from him, Amos. He was in
the Indies when you were born. He
came home in the early morning when
we were abed, not expecting him. All,
deary me! deary me! When heard
his voice gave scream, as I did
just now"
Then comes long silence, during
which we both look into the fire again
Il seeing Mabel, and my mother the
dead, with his "Yo, hea7e, ho!'
Father was fine man, mother?"
Yes, my son; you are like him."
1t is the first time my attention has
ever been called to my personal ap-
pearance. Well, yes, I wasn't Grip
pie, nor wry-faced. I had a fine brown
beard in those days, and I was tall
and STRAIGHTFORWARD.
so am like my father I am glad of
that. It was love-match, mother?"
She knows that I refer to her court
ing days, and she draws deep
| breath.
eyes, my son. We loved each other
true.'
mo happiness without love, mother"
None, my son."
Her voice is broken by the tears
which are running down her old face.
There is no happiness without love,
| and she had tasted it, this little pale
old mother of mine, and she lived now
| on the memory, sucking honey out of
the past.
| And in the midst of these thoughts
comes the remembrance of a frown
on woman's face, and the cold touch
of dead hand. Vainly do I try to
shake it off.
'How old were you, mother, when
| you first saw father?'
II was little girl in pinafores, my
son."
Seven or eight years, maybe?"
about that, my son."
Like Mabel?" say.
intend only to think this, my ques-
| tons being put so as to lead up to
the point; but the words came out
without my having anything to do
with it, as it seems. From this mo-
ment am conscious that my mother is
watching me in secret way. Well.
what have I to conceal?
"Who was at Mabels house to-
night?" she presently asks.
'No one but Mabel and her mother"
I answer.
wasn't any one else expected?"
"Not that 1 know Of"
| It occurs to me that my mother has
purpose in turning my thoughts in
this new direction, and I question her
concerning it. She answers me in
roundabout way.
HE is often at Mabels house, and
thought he would be sure to be there
tonight"
"He! Who?"
"Have you not heard" she says, with
| a Quaver in her voice, that a gentle
man is keeping company with Mabel?"
mo, have not heard. Is it true?"
1T is the common talk. The neigh
| bors say they will soon be married"
So here is an end to my wandering
thoughts, an answer to my uneasy
musings, cutting into me like a sur
geon's knife. This is the meaning of
that woman's coldness to me when I
left the house. I can read the story
now, as she read the story Of my love
for Mabel when she frowned upon me.
She has no mind that shall step in the
way of the richer man.
"A gentleman, you say, mother?''
"One with plenty Of money, any