Evening star., 1902-08-23

| dued joy with which she heard the news,
with which she looked forward to the pros
pect Of a speedy meeting, was quite evil
dent. One phrase struck me on that page.
THE work of years is over. l lay down
the pen" she had written. " Sonny
Boy she never failed to use that title;
she clung to 1t the more tenacfously as he
grew older. 1t seemed very sweet to me
lis gone, and am going, thank God. In
death as in life we will be together. The
book may close over and be opened no
more. He cannot return to me, but l shall
go to him. I shall write no more. l have
left directions that this story of life-or
two lives-hfs and mine-shall be burned
when 1 am gone to meet Sonny Boy.
But on the next page the entries began
again. She had taken up her wonted life
long task once more when she found that
he was living. Curiously enough, whlle
there was joy in the pages now, L seemed
TO read in them more of regret-ln spite OF
herself. The doom written against her
could not be revoked. Yet the conditions
were changed. She had to look forward TO
long parting instead Of an eternal mee., EEL
ing, and 1t hurt her. Yet she must 1--we
until he came back. / saw it was her Will
power alone that kept her up. she must
see him again before she swent out 1nto the
dark, or the light rather, to walt Tor hlIn
So, in a hand that grew more feeble from
day to day she jotted down her hopes anu
longings for her son. How much the treIn-
bling letters told of her growing weakness,
bold, flowing, graceful writing OF the oe-
ginning.
Finally I came to the entry-the last-on
the day she had received the news OF his
approaching marriage Oh, the anguish
that ran through the written words! lney
seemed to gasp out her grief from the
page; sometimes I could scarcely oecipher
them. l turned back to the entry following
the report of his death, and L declare 1t was
no more heartbroken.
Another woman had come between
them! With unconscious cruelty. IN thaI
ia tai letter, George had told her over ana
over again how he loved the woman ne
was about to marry. She could not get
away from it, InnOcently enough, ne had
given her to understand that he ioVed the
girl more than all the world. Ihousht-
leSsly he plunged this dagger INTO his gen
tie mothers heart.
| didn't blame him for his feelings. he
could not help them. and, as l SAID, II was
human nature, anyway. Inc experience -
common to every mother in greater OF iess
degree. She had to expect it. or she ousht
to have done So Still | did wish ne mad
not been quite so enthusiastic. Not that II
would have made much difference, for 1t
was the fact that killed. His mother had
intuition enough. she loved him enough TO
divine the truth through any reticence.
Il can't bear it," | read, ITO know that L
have 10 longer the first place-that another
woman is nearer to him than /! 10 feel
that the first of his love is given to
VINO is she? What right had she to come
between us? What has she done for him
compared to me? Ever since he was hrst
put in my arms, ever since heard MN cry
the first time after the awful pain and an
guish of deiverance, he has been mine.
Mine, Mine, And she has taken MIN! On,
God, pity me- | cannot give him up and
live! He must not bring hef mere. snail
never like her. l hate her! 90 not pc
lIeve she is-oh, how wicked l am! And he
will be 50 happy, while | suffer! I'm glad
he will be happy, but 1t kills me. Thank
God it will not be long! l don't want to see
her Pity me- my Savior! You had
mother, / am an old, lonely, dying woman.
Mercy! mercy L don't want to see him.
either-that 1 should write Tiny son!
With light in his eyes and love IN MS
voice for another woman! l shall die now.
Perhaps l may find comfort then. But l
shall never forget. He wrote about her
on seven pages of his letter! And one was
enough for me! oh, Sonny Boy! to lose
you, to-your old mother Is breaking her
hearti Be assured of one Ting, my son;
I love YOU and have loved you better than
any one in the world will ever love you
these were the words she had whispered to
me on her deathbed-"no matter now much
10y you may have, how much happiness,
no matter where you may go, Whom you
may meet, what they may say, no one IN
this world will ever love you a s nave. NO
one will ever think of you as your mother.
That was all. And I'm afraid it was
true.
l sat there in the gray of the morning
with the open book in my hand. she had
told me to give the volume to George
when he returned, and l could Motif
desired to do so-disregard her wish; yet
10 Law before him the sorrow, the regret,
the sadness of that last entry, to leave
him with that final thought of his mother
to cloud his welded life with suspicion,
which l knew he could never dispel that
his JOY had been her death, his marriage
had broken her heart-I could not do 1t!
Still to withhold from that boy the last
words of his mother-it did not seem right
What did l do? you ask. Well with
horribly guilty feeling 1 cut the, last leaf
containing those terribly piteous words out
of the diary. l did it carefully, so that he
would never know that anything had been
taken away. l felt like a thief all the
time, somehow.
I did not destroy the leaf. l could not
do so. / put it away carefully with my
other treasures, and when George came
home with his sweet, beautiful young
wfe-and l thanked God he had her to
help him bear his deep, unfeigned sorrow
a the loss of his mother-I gave him the
diary without the missing leaf, and her
last message to him, as l delivered 1t, was
simply of love and blessing And L almost
felt as If his mother thanked me for it.
l hope so.
I take out that missing leaf sometimes
when ] am alone in my study. and read it
over and wonder whether after all, l did
right or no.