Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, 1914-01-27
f. WOMAN THOU CAVEST ME ~ x t54

, mother, though so little known and
so little loved, was the most beauti-
ful woman in the world.
Even yet can not but wonder that
other people, my father especially
did not see her with my eyes. I think
he was fond of her after his own
fashion, but there was a kind of in
voluntary contempt in his affection,
which could not conceal itself from
my quick little eyes. She was visibly
afraid of him, and was always ner-
vous and timid when he came into
our room with his customary salu-
tation.
How now, Isabel? And how's this
child of yours?"
From my earliest childhood | no.
ticed that he always spoke of me as
If ] had been my mothers child, not
his, and perhaps this affected my
feeling for him from the first.
I was in terror of his loud voice
and rough manner, the big bearded
man with the iron gray head and the
smell of the fresh air about his thick
serge clothes. It was almost as If l
had conceived this fear before my
birth, and had brought 1t out of the
tremulous silence of my mothers
womb.
NV earliest recollections are of his
muffled shout from the room below,
Keep your child quiet, will you?
when I was disturbing him over his
papers by leaping and skipping about
the floor. If he came upstairs when
was in bed I would dive under the
bedclothes, as a duck dives under
water, and only come to the surface
when he was gone. l am sure never
kissed my father or climbed on to his
knee. and that during his short visits
to our room used to hold my breath
and hide my head behind my moth
er's gown
A Mothers Efforts
I think my mother must have suf-
fered both from my fear OF my father
and from my fathers indifference to
me, for she made many efforts to rec
oncile him to my existence. Some of
her innocent schemes as | recall them
now. seem very sweet, but very pitt
ful. She took pride, for instance, in
my hair, which was Jet black even
when I was a child, and she used 70
part it in the middle and brush 1t
smooth over my forehead in the man
ner of the Madonna. and one day,
when my father was with us, she
drew me forward and said;
Don't you think our Mary is going
70 be very pretty? A little like the
pictures of Our Lady. perhaps
YOU think so, Daniel?"
/ Whereupon my father laughed
rather derisively and answered;
Pretty, is she? Like the Virgin,
Ell? Well, Welt"
| was always fond OF music, and
my mother used to teach me to sing
to a little upright plano which she
was allowed to keep in her room, and
on another Cay she said
DO you know our Mary has such a
! beautiful voice, dear? So sweet and
pure that when I close my eyes I
could almost think 1t is an angel
singing"
| Whereupon my father laughed as
| before. and answered:
~ voice, has she? Like an angels,
is it? What next, l wonder!"
My mother made most of my
| clothes. There was no need for her
to do so, but in the absence of house.
| hold duties I suppose 1t stimulated
| the tenderness which all mothers feel
in covering the little limbs they love,
and one day, having made a velvet
frock for me. from a design in an old
! pattern book of colored prints, which
| left the legs and neck and arms very
| bare she said:
Isn't our Mary little lady? But
| she will always look like a lady,
| whatever she is dressed in
! And then my father laughed still
more contemporary and replied:
| Her grandmother weeded turnips
! in the fields, though-ninepencs day
| dry days, and siXpence all weathers.
| My mother was deeply religious
/ never allowing a day to pass without
! kneeling on her prayer stool before
| the image of the Virgin, and one day
| heard her tell my father that when
| was little mite, scarcely able to
speak. she found me kneeling in my
! cot with my doll perched up before
me. moving my lips as If saying my
| prayers and looking up at the ceiling
with a rapt expression
But she has always had such big
religious eyes, and | shouldn't wonder
if she becomes a nun some day."
"A nun, Ell? Maybe so. But take
no stock in the nun business, any
| way" said my father.
Whereupon my mothers lips moved
as if she were saving. mo, dearest. -
| but her dear sweet pride was crushed
and she could go no farther
FOURTH CHAPTER.
4 L.