Year: 1877




stood watching it, too idgety to settle to her sew
ing again. The wood famed noisily, then glove
a silent red, then crumbled and fell, an untidy
dreary mass of whitened ashes and dying embers
and still her husband did not come.


The clock struck nine, and Mrs. Cuthbert look
ed at it reproachfuy, if it was the time-piece'
fault that il was so late. Where was her husband
Perhaps he was wandering about in the dark, un
able to find the house. Why hadn't she though
of that before? She would put lamp in every
room.


And in a few minutes lights were twinklinl
from all the windows, giving the little cOttag'
quite gay and festive air. Who could have
guessed that lonely woman and sleeping child
were its sole occupants! Not the dark figure
with the ugly face, doubled up under the lilac
bushes that bordered the gravel path.


AS the hours wore on, another dark figure join
ed the one of the ugly face, and was greeted with
an oath upon his laziness, and the information
that something was up," that the first chance
was "spiled," and they would have to clay to
awhile;' and then both the dark figures, with
many curse and shiver, crouched together, bid
ing their time.


Poor Mrs. Cuthbert, as the night crept on, wan
dered from window to window, with the vague
feeling that if she could not see her husband from
one she might from another. Sometimes she
stood at the door, listening intently, and conjur-
ing every breath of wind into the longed- foot
steps, her heart dying within her at each fresh dis
appointment. She must have walked miles in
that small house the baby waxed restless, and
she was up many times to replace the coverings
that the sturdy little legs had thrown off in climb
ing the invisible mountain that child is always
ascending in his sleep.
The clock struck one. How like the voice of
fate it sounded 1t was not at all the cheerful
thing that, when the shining, had an
nounced the dinner hour that day.
A distant dog barked, and Mrs. Cuthbert rush
ed to the door; she had resumed her sewing to
keep herself from going distracted, and she still
clasped it in her hand. What black, black
night and how cold the wind was! Hark she
was certain she heard voices by the gate. Yes;
she did. Just then the baby began to cry, and
only stopping to call back: ain a moment, dar-
ling" she plunged down the walk.


All was silent; there was no one there. She
stood with her hand upon the gate few seconds,
looking eagerly up the road, and then walked
slowly back to the house.


As the front door closed, the lilac bush by the
gate quivered, and two dark figures crawled from
under it.


When Mrs. Cuthbert laid the baby in his cradle,
after singing him back to the invisible mountains,
the clock struck two, and Mrs. Cuthbert looked
hopelessness in the face.


George was never coming home she decided.
1t was no use watching; he was never coming
home any more. Then, as the next gust of wind
sent a twig rattling on the gravel she was at the
window straining her eyes as she had been doing
all the evening.


How strange every familiar object in the house
seemed the light burned so whitley, and the sit
ting-room looked so uncanny, with the tea-table
spread, and the hands of the clock marking the
small hours. An unreasonable moth went bang
ing about the ceiling with what sounded tre-
mendous noise in that dead silence, and the fire
refused point blank to be cheerful, despite the
armfuls of wood piled on it.


How the hours dragged! She seemed to have
lived years since she heard those footsteps on the
porch. Why had she been such fool?


1t was five o'clock now, and the roosters far and
near began to herald the approach of dawn. The
sky turned from black to gray, and whitish
smudge in the east announced the rising of the
glorious sun.


Mrs. inf rnufo ork fho E0bf 10
the front door. A drizzling rain had set in, and
the damp raw air made her shudder. She went
back to the stting-room, and, in dreary, me-
chancal kind of way, lit the fire there and in the
little kitchen; then brought baby down stairs,
washed and dressed him as usual, and put him
on the floor to play while she prepared his bread
and milk.


But baby was not destined to get his breakfast
just yet, for at that moment light step heard
in the entry, and tall young man walked into
the room. The bread and milk were dropped
anywhere, and Mrs. Cuthbert flung herself into
his arms, sObbing, crying and begging his pardon
all in a breath.


"IIl never do it again. Won't you forgive me,
George"


Forgive what! Haven't anything to forgive"
said the astonishcd George.


"0h, yes, you have. know it was dreadfully
wicked of me; but I'll never do it again."


"What on earth is the matter?"


"Won't you forgive me?" was all Mrs. Cuth-
bert's answer.


"Eleanor, what is the matter1" demanded the
distracted young man, all kinds of awful visions
flying through his brain. "What have you done ?"


"Why, didn't let you in when you came home
last night. only meant to keep you waiting q
little WHILE"


'When came home last night? Why, have
not been within fifteen miles of the house since
seven o'clock yesterday morning. I've just come
down on the 4:30 train.


"Didn't you come home last night?" gasped
Mrs. Cuthbcrt.


"Come home? No, of course l didn't; I've
been working at the Office half the night. Didn't
you receive my telegram saying that should be
detained in the city all nighty"


"No; haven't received any. What does it all
meanT


And then she told him all about it-in rather
an incoherent style to be sure; but she made him
understand, and he was greatly puzzled as to who
it could have been.


Mrs. Cuthbert, now that her mind was relieved,
began to remember that she had eaten nothing
since dinner the day before and was soon flying