The Tupelo journal., 1902-11-21

the last syllable.
She had gathered all her strength
for that question. She did not dare to
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 Phineas
Quimby.
II said we'd have Jerry's folks here
to Thanksgivin' dinner. We amt had
'em for some time, and this is a kind of
a extry year, bein' our anniversary"
Il know, father-our fiftieth ami
versary. That's why L wanted
wanted-John's-"
You better write to Jerry right off.
Better do it to-day, and Silas Bluntu
mail it for we tonight. It's Sis night
to go to lodge
Nothing more, and when she had said
"~father," Amelia Quimby had played
her last Gardner trump. She had not
called him father" since Jerry and
John were great brown boys and it had
happened. Twenty-seven years ago,
was that? All, the h~eartbreak a
mother can hide in 81 years! When
she has had twin sons laid in her arms,
and held them n on n side and n
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 a eco
citation. Year after year, at Thanks
giving time, she had hoped. For, odd
ly enough, it was On Thanksgiving day
she had married Phineas Quimby, and
two years later, Oh the day after, that
they had laid his twin sons in her arms.
The day was doubly momentous to her.
But year had added itself to year. and
the wound was unhealed yet. Phineas
Quimby was Phineas Quimby still, and
John was still his son. How could they
change? How could one ever say the
her heart the wife and mother knew
was all that would be needed?
only, I'd hoped so much from
this Thanksgiving" Amelia Quimby
mourned. why, it's going to be our
tiftieth anniversary-you'd think a
father and son would come back to
each other on the golden wedding day!
1T 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'll"
"Jerry's folks" meant Jerry and his
wife and the two grown girls. But
Johns folks-the mother smiled visit
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.
II want them-oh, / 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 it had
never been denied her. Two sacred
things there were in the life of Phineas
Ouimby and his wife. Amelia, that had
never been violated, even by the quar-
rel 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-
ton had Amelia Quimby 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 the babies for me-first
one and then the other, a hundred
times!' she wrote. Tell little Jerry
/ 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.o
The letter ran on lovingly, with a
message in it for nj child after an