Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1901-07-03

fOhGlNE MEL YOU MADE ME THINK OF
MY MOTHER"
old country. We called them dark that
might have their feclin's hurted if they
were spoke of as blind"
"BlindY she cried sharply. as my
mother blind?"
'She can see n trihe yet" he answered,
''but less each day"
And you never let me know"
"She wouldn't have you grieyed," he
said.
The woman turned, with moan. She
flung her crossed arms against the tent
pole and bowed her face upon them.
Let me see my mother! Let me speak
with her, She need not know it is I.'
"She would know your voice.
"Ah, no." The tone was full of bit
terness ''She would never know my
voice now" she said. Come"
She argued, promised, pleaded. At last
they went together across the stretches of
velvet sward TO where on a seat near
the lagoon a little bent form was black
ly outlined against the fire lit sky.
"There!' he whispered. He stood still
"Dont-don't hurt her." he said.
The woman went forward
MAY | sit here-near YOU" she asked
The little woman gave n quavcring
cry, and then in a moment she uttered n
gentle apology.
"Hou must excuse me, Your voice
sounded like-lke my daughters. Ger
tainly, sit down. You nre II lady. She is
only little girl. Butt forgot! She
must be Il woman now"
"Yes."
And they both sat silent. listening to
the music which came bilowing out
from a vast white temple to their right.
at is beautiful-this scene" said Mile
Cecilc
Il am sure it is. | can see the lights.
but not much more. My sight is failin.
When my husband is with me. he tells
me about everything, an | do not seem
to miss my sight"
''Will you let me tell you now?"
IF it will not trouble you too much"
How strange your voice soundsw ex-
claimed Mrs. Kennedy after Cccile had
been talking a few minutes. you have
taken cold" She put her hand ont (she
had risen also) and touched the others
bosom. why, your neck is bare. No
wonder you have taken cold. Go now,
my dear! You've been kind to me. | feel
1 think | should like toto kiss you
goodby if it wouldn't he takin too much
of liberty. What-what are you doin
Oh, don't, dear child, don't"
For, with a sudden choking sob, the wo-
man had slipped to her knees. She had
caught the work worn old fingers in her
own white hands. On them her kisses
We're pressed-long. burning kisses On
them fell. too, rain of tears.
'Forgiye me. You made me think of
my mother"
Poor child You are away from her
as my little girl is from me. Your mother
is blessed woman if she has as good a
daughter as | have. An know you are
good. See how happy you have made
me-" The shaking hands were lifted and
rested lightly on the bent fragrant head.
"God bless you" she said.
The woman stumbled to her feet.
"Goodbyw
"Goodby! An il you should meet Ce-
relia again just tell her that we don't
want her to come home. I'd rather die
than let her know how her father an me
miss her an long for her. But you may
tell her that one of these days when she's
married a fine man an is as happy in his
love as | am in her father's-that maybe,
If little children are born to them, she
will let them come out on the farm to
stay the summers with us. Will you tell
her that?"
There was no answer-only the sound
Sf trailing garments, the presence of a
fast fading perfume.
"Now we'll CO." said Mrs. Kennedy.
"We've had a beautiful Fourth of July,
haven't WEI"
Beautiful" responded old mas Ken.
nedy.-Chicago Tribune.