Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1912-06-07
LAND OF CHILDREN uNFoRoor.
tReprinted by special permission from
McCalrs Magazine,1

known to the reader. 1t had been given
to her by someone with a knack for
hitting off acteristics, in fanciful
nicknames, and IL had stuck-for the
good reason that no one could see her
without realizing its intimate propriety.
Her face, and, indeed her whole sensitive
eager young being, had just the same
delicate immateriality as the flower. She
hardly seemed to be made of the same
opaque flesh and blood as other people.
but to be actually wrought of some finer
material, some fairy porcelain; and her
face, framed in soft gold hair, and set
with eyes blue and pure as some I'M
fathomable depth of dawn, seemed trans
parent and luminous as with soS0e inner
light. Her young soul seemed to shine
through it, just as the morning sun
shines tenderly through the frail vases
Of the morning glory, d~aintily poised to
catch the dews of heaven. 1t seemed to
vibrate with emotion, endlessly changing
like the play of light in ripping water,
with every changing thought. 1t was al
most painfully alive, and made one rath-
er afraid, as one looked at it, for the
fate of so sensitive a creature in this
hard world. And those who knew her
knew that Morning Glory's nature was
even as her face; a nature made all of
wonder and white fire, and uuivering
with the intensity of innocent young life.
Joy and sorrow would be alike terribly
real to Morning Glory, and nothing
could happen to her quite as 1t
happened to other people. Every
thing seemed to mean more to her than
to others, and nothing ever seemed
usual, or matter of course. The mere
fact of being alive seemed to her a
miracle to which she would never grow
accustomed, an everyday sun continue
ally seemed to her to rise for the first
time.
1t will not then be difficult to imagine
.-l--A IT, 5000.
of all experiences, motherhood, would
mean to Morning Glory-the coming of
her little child. Love! How wonderful the
coming of that had been. And now
motherhood!
All young mothers are a sort of priest
esses. They carry with them an air of
initiation into the invisible secrets of the
universe. They hallow the room they
enter. They are strangely wise, and
very sacred. OF all young mothers this
is true, in some degree. Yet, it must be
confessed that this TRANSPORTATION is
often somewhat slight or disappointingly
transient. Too soon the atmosphere of
prosaic domesticity settles about this
miraculous happening. The heavens
opened for a brief moment, but now they
are as fast closed again as though they
had never opened at all.
After all, what was it but a very or
binary event, and nothing to show for
the miracle, but an everyday body in
ar everyday world.
So, or perhaps fortunately, it is in
most cases. One more mouth to feed,
one more body to clothe in a hungry,
Woodworking world. And for a mys-
FERROUS priestess of maternity, one more
commonplace mother.
All! But for Morning Glory, who
couldn't take the simplest flower for
granted, for whom this strange world,
every bit of it was still as strange and
new as 1t was to our first mother in
Eden, for whom fire burned and water
ran, and birds sang, as by some super
natural ~agency-how much more for her
was the mysterious coming of her little
child. that magic creature, that tiny spir-
it, coming to them at the call of their
love out of the deeps of the sky.
Oh, how carefully she must prepare for
his coming-his. Yes! for she had
already seen his face in her dreams,
long before 1t was revealed to others,
already knew his little wants and ways
how ~thoughtfully make the world ready
for him, as one makes ready the room
for some dear expected guest. OF course,
all his little clothes had long been wait
ing for him, everything shaped and
sewn by her own hands, all that fairy
wardrobe every mother knows, folded
and refolded 90 times a day, or still
something new each day to be sewing
at.
But stranger, sweeter thought than
that-was she not, all day and all night
long, magically weaving out of her own
body another vesture, the vesture OF
flesh and blood in which his spirit was
to be clothed? All! how careful must
she be with that, how prayerfully make
sure that Vits texture be of the finest
nothing woven into. it that was moi
strong and beautiful, noble and good
What a watch must she set over hei
aNraC that theV look on nothing foul OF
unclean, over her thoughts that they
are ever high and happy and full o
courage. Think of it! Day by day, a:
she sits dreaming over her stitching, sh'
is making his blood, his brain, his brave
heart, his big brown eyes, his elin hands
and feet with their pearly nails-oh, 1t /
his life she Is making, his strange new
house she is f%ashioning for him da.
after day, wonderful little spirit COMING
nearer every moment out of the sky.
and VIA after all, If he should turf
out to be a girl?" would tease her bil
broad shouldered, brown-eyed husband
whose love for his quaint little solemn
eyed wife was as what one might fame,
the love of some strong protecting tire
for the Morning Glory so tenderly twin
ing about its strength, and lifting up t
1t the flower chalices of It's blue-eye
faith.
How can a boy turn out to be a girl?
she would answer, with ~unshakeable as
surance. Haven't l told you, deal
that l have seen him-seen him as plai
as | see you? I see him every night
lying asleep in a little cloud of light
Sometimes he opens his eyes and smile
the prettiest Of little smiles. And hi
eyes are brown-just your eyes. Surel
; I should know, If anybody"
"Of course you should! you funny littl
wise woman. But I'll bet you a dolla
that it's a girl with big blue eyes,
= IT won't take your money. 1t would
+ mt be fair she would answer with
laugh.
; And wasn't I right?" she laughed
some laws after, when she proud
called him to her to look at a boy wit
big brown eyes hat had strangel
: made himself at home on her bosom.
, To see a young mother with her chill
; is to wonder how human nature, gir
- about as 1t is with chance and dealt
dare venture to be so completely, s
= perilously happy; and as Morning Glory
: husband looked at his wife's lit fac
bent over her child at her breast, h
could almost have found 1t in his heal
to wish her just a little less happy, les
, at the mercy of this terrible joy that ha
come into her life.
What Il! But he dared not phras
: the fear that shot like ice through h
= heart as he looked at her.
? And yet hut six months were to go b
= before thai little brown-eyed boy ha
c gone away as mysteriously as he ha
come, and Morning Glory lay stricke
hapaath the most homeless of all huma