The Irish standard., 1915-10-30

4 courage for what l was about to do
And then I prayed, and the words de
whisper in my ears now of how
prayed to our Father in heaven that II
1t was his will for one of our family
to die, that it would be my child he
would take. for my husband and my
self we were young and other children
would not be denied us, but if Jimmie
died my mother would have none she
could call her own all the long years
before her, if so it wouldn't be she
would die along with him.
And it was dark, with never a moon
or a star in the sky to show me the
way home again, but no light did !
need, when from the holy we'll straight
across the snowy fields l flew to my
little Gerald that l thought l could
hear in the dark night calling me; and
there he was that never since the
hour he was born having an ache or a
pain-with eyes weeping up to me
when in my arms had him again, like
child beyond his age, to ask me
what strange thing was it was ailing
him. And there was Jimmie, that had
been rolling in agony, now wide awake
in the sweat of health and saying:
Mother, mother, tbs come like a
prayer within me that I'm to be cured
at last"
All that night crooned little Ger
aid in my bosom, never for a breath
leaving him go of my arms, for the
truth of what was before me was by
then deep in my heart. And the yell
low sun rising up over the hills of
the mainland shone on Jimmie sitting
up and cured of his illness; but that
self-same sun falling down that same
night below the western ocean left
only my dead baby and a great black
ness to me.
And carried him to my own cabin,
and the little face and body of him
once so lovely and white, but now all
black LIKE laid him in among the
snow-white sheets of his own cradle;
and on the low settle before the fire,
keeping my death-watch of him till his
father would come in from the sea,
my thoughts went back to the hour
when l heard his first little cry.
And woman may bear twenty chill
dren again, or she may listen to all
the cries of all the little children born
into the world for as long as her life
shall last, but the first cry of her first
born, she will know that little cry
from out of them all. Sixty years and
more that was, and tits singing again
in my ears. And always it will. And
from that first cry my mind went on
every hour of his growth to the last
day l had nursed him on the cliff in
the sun, he looking up from my breast
to my face and then wisely out over
the sea, as if himself, too, was wait
ing the sight of the brown yawl of
his father sailing in from the west.
And the nights would sit as was
sitting then before the blue smoke
of the fire, planning against the day
he would go out in the world and
make his gallant way! No dragging
and hauling of nets and travis did l
have in mind for him, but captain
to lead great fleets before the kings
of the world he was to be. And now
all my high hopes of him-gone like a
wind in the night they were.
Twas the long, long wait before l
heard his fathers step on the Intel
and his voice from where by the door
he was hanging up his wet sea things.
"And where's me little sailorman at
all?" he asked when he didn't hear
him cooling and toddling from some
corner across the floor to him; and
when he stepped within-his head
lowered and one shoulder before the
other the way he was compelled to, he
was that tall and broad, to let him.
self in through the door-and near to
me saw his face that for two days
had been hard set again the wind and
the spray, but now all soft and bright
like in the way it would be when home
| he would come from the sea-'twas
then for the first time l doubted did l
,, do we'll.
He bent over the cradle and drew
back the coverlet, after the way of
him, to see the face of his boy. And
not for a little time did he have a no.
ton of how it was. When he did he
took him up to see him better, and
then he looked at me, and "'Tis So"
said.
"And for what black sin o. mine did
you 60 and leave me-myself and your
poor mother, acushla?" he said, and
drew him-oh, so close and tender to
him.
And he came and sat by me on the
settle before the fire and held the lit
tie body at arms length before him;
and by and by he spoke.
"'Twill be like beating into harbol
of a wild night and finding no beacon
light before me from now on, Gerald
avick. Twas when l would be to thu
tiller of the yawl, miles before ever
would raise the high cliff itself, coult
see the little cabin and you, the little