New Britain herald., 1917-02-21
Weu1s for 7heater G0ers 4and Women Readers
REVELATIONS OF A WIFE
By ADELE GARRISON

You shouldn't have done that katie,' said, I'm. afraid MT. Gra- hams mother will not like it.
 Il no care vot she likes'
 katie's tone was solemn and re- bellious.
 "She not my missis: I not stay two hours if she my missis: you my missis I bring you tings nice and hot. You eat dem queeck, to plees Katie"
 "Tll try my best, Katie, I returned, and thank you very much"
 I knew I was being lamentably deficient in discipline, but the thought had come to me that it was the height of folly for me to antagonize Katie, who was so devoted to me, for the sake of my mother-in-law. who lost no opportunity of making me uncomfor- table.
 Dots right!'' Katie returned, hear tily, and placing the tray upon my sewing table she drew up a chair, ar ranged my place and uncovered the steaming dishes for me.
 'Now I must run queeck,' she said, hurrying to the door. Eat dot up, every bit. I coon back for tray"
 ''I will set the tray on the stand in the hall,' I said, quietly, "so you will not need to knock again"
 ''All right, I feex,'' she answered, and then, with her hand on the door, she said, pleadingly, "Promise me, plees, you no cry no more.'
 ''Ill try not to, Katie,' l said, quiet ly. and she went out, smilingly re- assured.
 I ate as much of the delicious luncheaon she had prepared as I could force down, for I feared to hurt her feelings, but I had little appetite, and it was not long before had set the tray in the hall and was back in my room with the door locked and my mothers letter again in my hands.
 Remember, it is my last wish, the letter went on, that if your father be living, sometime YOU may be reconciled to him. I have been weak and bitter enough during all these years to be meanly com forted by your staunch championship of me, and your detestation of the wrong your father did me. But death brings clearer vision, my child, and I cannot wish that your fathers last years-if, indeed, he be living-should be desolated by not knowing you. I want you to know that there were things which, while they did not ex- tenuate your father. yeet might in some measure explain his action.
 Certain of Ono Thing.
 "I was much to blame-I can see it now, for not being able to hold his love- You were so much like me, my darling, that l tremble for your hap piness if you should happen to marry the wrong kind of man. I have won dered often if the story of my tragedy, terrible as it is for me to think of it, might not help you. And yet-it might do more harm than good. At any rate, have written it all out, and nut it with the other things in the box. l feel a curious sort of fatalism con- corning me. It is borne in upon me that if you ever need to read it you will read it. It will help you to under- stand your husband; although, God grant knowledge like mine may never come to yoA :
 "Of one thing I am certain, you will never have anything to do With the woman who abused my friendship and took your father from me. cannot carry my forgiveness far enough, even in the presence of death. to o1d you go to him if she be still part Of ms life.
 CT can. write no more, my darling. T want you to know that you nave heen the dearest child a mother could have and that you have never gwen me a, moments uneasiness in my Ile. Sod blass and keep you.
 -'o" ANOTHER"
 did not weep when l had hnlsheo the letter There was that Tn lts dosing words that dried my tears. put the pages reverently in the en- velope. laid it in the old box, closed and locked the lid, and replaced 1t m the trunk. For my mothers bitter mention of the woman who had stolen my father from her had brought back the old, wild hatred I had felt for so many years.
 Whatever Robert Gordon can tell me of you, mother darling, I will gladly hear,' I whispered, as I locked her old trunk. "but I never want to hear him speak of the man who so cruelty ruined your life"
 It seems to be certain that all the