The Holbrook news., 1922-06-16


 place to say.
 But again she kept right on talking. and l was silenced before 1 had even begun.
 She said how she knew 1t could never be-On account of Eunce. That I would never subject my little girl to the sort of wretchedly divided life that had to live when I was child.
 GAS she spoke I was suddenly back in the cobwebby attic with little Mafy's diary, and l thought-what if it were Eunice-writing that )
 She said l was the most devoted mother she had ever known; that Was too devoted, she feared sometimes, for made Eunice all my world, to the exclusion of Jerry and everything and everybody else. But that she was very sure because l was so devoted. and loved Eunice so dearly, that would never deprive her of a fathers love and care.
 l shivered a little, and looked quick iy into Mothers face. But she was not looking at me. l was thinking of how Jerry had kissed and kissed Eunice q month ago, when we came away, as if he just couldn't let her go. Jerry is fond of Eunice. now that shes old enough to know something and Eunice adores her father. l knew that part was going to be hard. And now to have Mother put 1t like that
 l began to talk then of Jerry. I just felt that I'd got to say something That Mother must listen. That she didn't understand. l told her how Jerry loved lights and music and dancing, and crowds lowing down and worship ing him all the time. And she said yes, she remembered; that he'd been that way when l married him.
 She spoke so sort of queerly that again l glanced at her; but she still was looking down at the hem she was turning
 l went on then to explain that didn't like such things; that I be- Heved that there were deeper and higher things, and things more worth while And she said yes, she was glad, and that that was going to be my say ing grace; for. of course, I realized that there couldn't be anything deeper or higher or more worth while than keeping the home together and put ting up with annoyances, for the ulti- mate good of all, especially of Eunice.
 She went right on then quickly, be- fore l could say anything. She said that, of course, I understood that I was still Mary and Marie, even if Jerry did call me Molie; and if Marie had married a man that wasn't always con- genial with Mary, she was very sure Mary had enough stamina and good sense to make the best of it and she was very sure, also. that if Mary would only make Il little effort to he once in q while the Marie he had married, things might be a lot easler-for Mary.
 Of course, l laughed at that. l had to. And Mother laughed, too. But we understood. We both understood. I had never thought of 1t before, but had been Marie when I married Jerry. I loved lights and music and dancing and gay crowds just exactly as well as he did. And it wasn't his fault that suddenly turned into Mary when the baby came, and wanted him to stay at home before the fire every evening with his dreSsing-gown and slippers. No wonder he was surprised. He hadn't married Mary-he never knew Mary at all. But, do you know? I'd never thought of that before-until; Mother said what she did. Why. prOb- ably Jerry was just as much disap- pointed to find his Marie turned into Mary as r.
 But Mother was talking again.
 She said that she thought Jerry was wonderful man, in some ways; that sine never saw man with such charm and magnetism, or one who could so readily adapt himself to different per sons and circumstances. And she said she was very sure if Mary could only show a little more interest in pictures tespecially portraits), and learn to dis cuss lights and shadows and perspec- tives, that nothing would be lost, and that something might be gained; that there was nothing. anyway, like com munity of interest or of hobbies to bring two people together; and that it was safer, to say the least, when it was the wife that shared the commu- nifty of interest than when it was some other woman, though of course, she
  never would She didn't finish her sentence, and because she didn't finish it, it made me think all the more.
 Then, in minute, she was talking again.
 She was speaking of Eunice. She said once more that because of her, she knew that she need never fear any serious trouble between Jerry and me, for, after all, it's the child that always pays for the mothers mistakes and shOrt-sightedness, just as it is the sol dier that pays for his commanding off cer's blunderS. That's why she felt that had had to pay for her mistakes, and why she knew that I'd never com pei my little girl to pay for mine. She said that the mother lives in the heart of the child long after the mother is gone, and that was why the mother always had to he-sO careful,
 Then, before knew it, she was talk ing briskly and brightly about some thing entirely different; and two min utes later l found myself alone out side of her room. And l hadn't told her
 But l wasn't even thinking of that. was thinking of Eunice, and of that