The Birmingham age-herald., 1907-05-12
ALI w THE FAMILY


1 ward, he had enough of misery in the
 one reflection that he was not allowed to | keep rabbits. Big Dan prohibited them | on the ground that a rabbit and a lie
 were alike-you could not stop at one. l Not that the rabbit question was really | so important now There was something 1 worse. He, a man, had been spanked. | What was the cure for that?? He would have to think one out. But the worst thing-oh, yes, there was no use denying it any longer-the worst thing was his feeling of arrangement from his father. Little Dan knew that while that lasted all his chance of happiness was forever shat l tered Little Dams whole world was that big father of his. His mother was dead. He could not even remember her. Really,
 he practically had never had a mother.
 Sometimes he and Big Dan would walk
 to the village church yard and
 there stand a while before grave which was "sacred to the memory of Theodora, aged 19, beloved wife of Daniel Ransom"
 "So young oh, so youngP Big Dan had
 one time said his hand gripping the gravestone, his face turned to a brilliant l spot in the sky where clouds had parted | to show a radiance that was celestial. | Always after that Little Dan could . never see a certain vivid light come into | the sky without remembering that 1t must 1 be heaven and that his mother was there
 and was so young, oh so young.
 l Youth was what was the matter with | Big Dan Ransom, too, otherwise the vil- 1 lagers would have distinguished father | and son as Young Dan and Old. But age
 was the last word in the language to be l associated with Big Dams appearance, which, but for the seriousness left by sor-
 row, was that of lad of 20.
 This word path was well travelled, and 1 he might as well acknowledge it-in all probability his father would stroll that | way. Dan hoped so He wanted to show
 Big Dan that no one was avoiding any one. Somebody would just as soon face anybody as not. Nobody was running away and hiding Everybody was well come. Let his father come.
 | And now about that wretched conversa- | tion last night? Glancing up, Little Dan 1 could see between the trees to the sky,
 and there was a break in the clouds with 1 glory shining through. A subtle senti-
 ment of real sorrow foated down to him. | But it was only sentiment: for he had l never known his mother, and had never suffered a sense of loss. Big Dan was | all in all to him.
 1 Still other boys had mothers-here Little | Dan poked moodily at a bunch of moss | on the end of a together boys were not I spanked; other boys could keep rabbits; other boys did not overbear horrible con versations between-
 l Was that step approaching? It was | Little Dan raised his eyes trihe and en- | deavored to look politely naughty. But 1t was not his father. The person was in a l lovely white and pink, lacy kind of dress. l Dan knew 1t would smell faintly and | sweetly of violets. He knew that If she | shook hands with him his palm would be | faintly violety for an hour after; that ii l she hugged him he would have sense | of tumbling into delicious haymow made 1 of violets and sweet clover in equal pro portions. and that he would be delighted over nothing for oh hours and hours after For the lady was Miss Aimee Nevis. She was the bishops daughter. She was | always spoken of as that pretty girl. l Dan felt none too sure about the girl part, for never to his knowledge had sht
 gone around In curls, short skirts. ant ! jumping rope. He had never seen he but as now, in lovely trailing gowns anc 1 big, grown-up hats. But pretty" ah | yes, that was beyond doubt On the whole l there was no one of his acquaintance whom Dan more longed to love. Yet, un der the circumstances, how could he Hate was his bounden duty.
 Very hard was that duty. too, especi ally when she was a straightforwardlS and miraculously sympathetic as she wa: now.
 | "Why, what is the trouble, Dan?" she ! asked, stopping in front of him.
 There was no banter about her, no be- ] Hitting of his melancholy. no calling him