The Monticellonian., 1902-11-27
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for that question. She dfd not dare 10 look across at Phineas. His reply rumbled deeply in his throat, but she could make out all the words. Fifty years she had lived with Phineaa Quimby.
 T said we'd have Jerry's folks here to Thanksgiyin' dinner Ne ain't had 'em for some time, and this k kind ol a extry year, bein' oaI anniversary.
 "I know, father-our fiftieth annl- versary. That's why l wanted 8anted-John's 's-"
 You better write to Jerry right off. Better do it to-day, and Silas BluntA mail 1t for ye tonight. It's Sis nght to go to lodge"
 Nothing more, and when she had said father Amelia Quimby had played her last card-her trump. She had not called him father" since Jerry and John were great brown boys and 1t had happened. Twenty-seven years ago, was that? Ah, the heartbreak a mother can hide in 27 years. When she has had twin sons laid in her arms, and held them one on one side and one on the other, and gazed for long, weak days from one little pink face to the other,-when she has watched them grow out of pinafores into trousers, out of childhood into tall, splendid strength, when she had fed them and patched them and loved them-ah, to lose one of them, then! Mothers know.
 At first she had hoped for recon Niliafi9D Near n after year af Than Db giving time, she had hoped. For, odd ly enough, il was on Thanksgiving day she had married Phineas Quimby, and two years later, on the day after, that they had laid his twin sons in her arms. The day was doubly momentous to her,
 "Only, I'd hoped so much from this Thanksgiving! Amelia Quimby mourned. Why, it's going to be our fftieth anniversary-yo think q father and son would come back to each other on the golden wedding day! It was too soon to hope for it on the silver one; but now, after all these years, you'd think l had a right to hope for it"
 .,Jerry's folks" meant Jerry and his wife and the two grown girls. But Johns folks-the mother smiled wist- fully as she counted up the little names on her fingers. There were so many; it took all her fingers but two! John had not been married as long as Jerry. His folks" were little folks.
 And this year there's the twins. They'd be big enough to come. And to think they're both boys, and their names'-- Suddenly the wistful voice quivered and Johns mother cried over the names of his little twin sons. The pathos of them and of her empty arms that yearned for them broke down her patient endurance.
 ''I want them-oh, I want them! want Johns little baby boys!" she cried out aloud. But there was no one to hear. Phineas had gone away to his work. She sat down, as she had done so many times, to write to John That was her only comfort, and 1t had never been denied her. Two sacred things there were in the life of Phineas Quimby and his wife, Amelia, that had never been violated, even by the quar- Tel that long ago had separated father and son. The father had never denied the mother the solace of her letters to her boy, and never by word or intima- tion had Amelia Qufmby complained of her husband. To-day, as always, she said only kind words of him. There was no mention of Thanksgiving day or of the disappointment that ranked in her breast.
 
 Kiss both tho babies for me-first one and then the other, hundred timesi" she wrote. Tell little Jerry l love him, and tell little John. An tell me about their eyes-you forgot to say the color-and their hair, and their little fists. Does little Jerry keep his thumb between his first and second fingers when his fist is shut up tight? Little John?=then you've named them wrong. You've mixed those children up! Before it is too late, you'd better let them swap names"
 The letter ran on lovingly, with a message in it for one child after an other. And for John himself there was the old message-"Your mother is loving you, John." It was always there
 To Jerry she wrote briefly. Jerry was q busy man, with hundred out side interests-outside of mother His letters to her were wont to be rare and short, but there was always message to father in them. She missed that in Johns long, tender letters.
 Pm half afraid to write" she thought, as she took up her pen; Ser rvs folks have so many rich friends, and so many places to go to-I'm afraid they won't want to come" But she dipped her pen in the ink and began.
 My dear boy'-she always began her letters to both sons that way-"My dear boy, your father says to put on all your bonnets, every one of you, and come to the old home to keep Thanks giving. He's quite set upon it. You know-you haven't forgotten, dear?- that it is our golden wedding Thanks giving. and it's time you camel Think of having father and mother 50 years married and not coming! Your father says to say he has waited as long a. he can-and you must come home or be will disown you! And he is in earnest dear! He is hungry for a sight of your face. And your mother-dear boy, come right home quick! Iwant to kiss you all"
 Both letters were sealed, and then she directed them in her quavery, quaint little hand. But her face was grave enough.