The daily morning journal and courier., 1905-12-07

child to his mother"
 ''Then that woman will not take mo aWay?' demanded Wala gravely'
 No, dearest, no; and here am for getting tha5 brought you home some new books, some funny ones" Uncle Grigori turned to the door, but a cry from his wife stopped him.
 Wala had faintsd in his big chair. Once more the house was filled with happiness, and now when any one spoke of the strange lady they added the epithet, Poor thing!"
 Wala, too, was no longer haunted by bad dreams, and since he knew he would not have to go away he began to feel very sorry for the strange lady. Probably she lived all alone in dark room, which made her feel afraid and where she cried a greaA deal. And he made up his mind that he was sorry he had told her so badly the story of King Bob.
 Later the court repealed It's decision and ordered that the child should be given to his mother.
 Then the strange lady came to take him away.
 The pretty aunt-mamma stayed, weeping, in the room while the nurse dressed him in his new suit. Under his arm Wala held tightly the big book, which contained the story of the poor loving mermaid.
 The black dressed lady kissed the boy greedily.
 How you have grown, wala!" she cried
 wala put his hat straight again, knocked by her caresses. Then he looked long at his mother,
 Come" she said, Owe live far away from here.''
 Wala kissed his aunt-mamma while a strange feeling seemed to choke in his throat.
 Then he followed the black dressed lady out of the warm house with the pretty flowers, the mysterious fairy tales, where his pretty aunt-mamma and his good uncle-papa Grigori lived.
 It was winter outside and the hand which held the big book grew colder and colder, but Wala did not complain. He would not ask his new mother to carry 1t.
 At last they stopped before a little house and entered room, warm but poorly furnished. Tn one corner was a crib such als Wala had not slept in for many years.
 Are you cold, little son? We will soon have tea. You are at home now with your mother. Are you happy?'' asked the woman, smiling as person does who has smiled all her life be- meath the blows of whip.
 'No," said Wala.
 No? Look, dearest one. I have bought you some playthings; they are there by the window"
 Wala walked over totf1e window and looked critically.
 There were wooden horses, with thick legs, poorly made and ugly; a clown with red cap and stupid, painted face, and lead soldiers that wabbled pitifully on their weak sup ports. It was long since the boy had cared for such toys.
 T did not know, little one" stam- mered the mother, "I bought them so long ago, so long ago."
 And as Wala stood silent, she add ed:
 q am alone, you see. I have no one to ask; I thought they would give you pleasure" ,.,. ..;.s
 Wala was still silent. Suddenly his mothers white face grew whiter, the tears streamed down her cheeks and she leaned heavily back against her chair. ,..-
 'They do not please t1in--they do mol please him. she sobbed.
 Wala turned from the window and approaching her chair, laid his little red hand on his mothers dress saying
 DO not cry, mother. will try tc love you, indeed I will. I--I-I-do mol feel like playing to-day-lbut--I vii love you. Would you like me to read you the story of the poor nernaid?''- From the Russian.