The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1906-01-26
The Baby-Book.
ny SHEII,A MACDOUG All,

BY SHEILA MACDoUGALL.
In large comfortable bedroom stood
an only daughter, alone. 1t was her
wedding eve, and although the hands OF
the clock on the mantel pointed to mid
| night her mother had but that moment
left her toget some sleep for the morrow.
But the girl still stood in front of the
fireplace, and looked thoughtfully into
it; her mothers parting words echoed in
doubt:
"Are you really happy, darling?"
Perfectly, little mother" she had an
swered, readily enough, but now the
words confronted her in the silence and
she knew they were untrue. She was not
as happy as a girl should be on the eve of
her marriage. She was willing to marry
the man to whom she was pledged, and
was fond of him in way, but he was
neither her first nor her greatest love.
Rouald Freeman she had loved passion
ately. Their last quarrel was due to
Frceman's jealousy of John Benson,
which she had bitterly resented. There
had followed three days of silence, and
then she had sent him back his ring, in
spite of her mothers pleading and warn
ing. Ronald came once to the house, but
with fear that he would take her seri-
ously gripping her heart she perversely
refused to see him, and he did not come
again. That was all. Her love story
ended there, and she feverishly sought
distraction in society, and found it, for
she soon grew used to meeting Ronald
with as much indifference as he showed
toward her. And now, tomorrow, she
was to be married to Benson.
She drew herlight kimono closer round
her, and ran for moment into the next
room, which was filled with beautiful
wedding presents. Il will be happy"
she told herself, with proud courage, as
she gazed on the lovely things. Suddenly
her eye lighted on a box on a little old
writing desk Of her mothers, forgotten
in a corner amid all the silver and bric-a-
brac. Here she had often found her
mother writing early and late, but had
never known what she wrote there
Once she had asked for the key of its
drawer, and had been surprised by re-
fusal.
you have your own desk, dear, and
we have our desk in the library; this is
my DESK" said Mrs. Hastings, with gen.
tie decision.
Il believe you keep your heart locked
in there" Constance had cried, half in
jest.
Perhaps do. Some day you may un-
lock it, but not until l am gone" the
widow had replied, and the daughter
had not vertured further.
She thought of this conversation as she
took up the box on it, thinking it con-
tanned some undiscovered wedding gift.
She raised the cover and removed the It's
sue paper that encircled a pretty, white
kid book, on whose surface she read her
own full name and the date of her birth,
in gold letters. CHANGING into it she
found it filled with writing in her moth
er's hand and thinking she had found
last loving wedding present, which her
mother had chosen to offer her in this
delicate way, she returned with it to the
fire. There she sat down to spend an
other hour beside it in reading this odd
gift.
She soon realized that the book con-
tanned the mothers history of her child's
life from her birth to the present day,
told with all mothers loving diffuse-
ness and care. The first entry read:
Last month my wee daughter came
into the world. Harold and cannot be-
ieve our happiness. She is as good as
gold, and pretty as picture of Raph-
ael's. l am going to chronicle all her life,
what she eats, what she wears, when she
first speaks and walks. and gets her first
tooth, and all the events of her baby life.
And, perhaps, if do not grow too diff
fuse, the book may last until can tell of
her first days at school, when she falls in
love, and even when she marries, as l
suppose she must. But she was only
chrstened today, so the possibilityis not
very Imminent She cried SO heartily at
the baptism, that am sure the old man
has left her forever"
And here followed list OF guests and
presents at the christening.
Too interested to hesitate longer over
the ethical right or wrong of reading
what might not, after all, have been in
tended for her eye, the girl read on the
history of her baby years, simple and
touching records of the joys and sor-
rows, the satisfaction and anxiety of the
young mother with her first and only
child. Through it all the devoted love of
the mother made itself evident, the NOV
ing spirit of the journal.
My darling Connie is two years old
today" one entry began. "She is so
pretty now that have just had her pho
tographed. Harold is crazy about her,
and prefers to play with her all Sunday
rather than go out with her. Today she
fell on the fender and hurt her forehead
quite badly. feel it will leave scar"
Constance unconsciously fingered tiny
| ridge under her hair.
Two O'Clock rang from the little clock
on the mantel when Constance reached
the last third of the book. She had
passed through the periods of baby hood,
childhood, and girlhood; the great sor.
row of their lives had been gently alluded
to, for very little was written p all at
| that time of loss, but Harold" appeared