Democratic Sentinel, Volume 2, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 November 1878 — A WONDERFUL STORY. [ARTICLE]

A WONDERFUL STORY.

Told oh Thanksgiving Day. Thanksgiving day was over, and the wild, wet night was closing in. Graqdma Fontaine sat in her great armchair in - the old-fashioned sittingroom at Hickory Hall. A dainty; handsome, high-bred old lady was grandma as one will meet in a lifetime. Her gown of glossiest black satin, the kerchief on her bosom the finest of India muslin, a diamond star in the folds of the crown-like turban above her silken white hair, diamond buckles on her tiny slippers, diamonds and opals and emeralds on her soft, white old fingers. Thanksgiving day w r as over at Hickory Hall. The sumptuous dinner had been eaten by dozens of nephews and nieces and cousins in general, eaten with thanksgiving and grateful rejoicing; the remains of the feast had been gathered up and dispensed to those who lacked life’s comforts; and now, as the rainy twilight fell, grandma sat before the glowing wood fire in her great chair. “ Now for our story, grandma! ” cried Florice, her pet granddaughter, drawing a cushion to the stately old lady’s feet. “ You know you promised us one for Thanksgiving night.” “ And a wonderful one let it be, grandma,” chimed in Rosa, drawing up her chair.

Grandma took off her gold spectacles and put them carefully aside. “ A story! Well, so I did promise you a story,” she said; “ but, my dear girls, I cannot think what it will be.” “ Oh, you must, grandma; and let it be a Thanksgiving story, too.” Grandpa Fontaine, sitting opposite, looked over his paper and laughed. “ There’s one Thanksgiving story you might tell them if you like, grandma,” he said. The old lady nodded, till the diamond in her turban flashed like a star. “So I will,” she assented. “They’ve never had that story—they shall hear it now. “Once upon a time, my dear girls,” she began, “there was a very handsome young lady, whom we shall call Berenice. She was very handsome, to be sure—a perfect blonde, with a complexion like lilies and roses, wonderful blue-gray eyes, and a great profusion of shining red-gold hair.” “Why, she must have been liko you, grandma!” cried Florice and liosa in a breath. “Liko me! Pooh, pooh, you silly things! Don’t interrupt me, or I’ll stop. This Berenice was very beautiful, and, withal, very vain and ambitious. She was not contented with the blessings bestowed upon her, but continually desired wealth and position, and cvstly jewels and fine raiment. “All these things her mother, who was a widow in moderate circumstances, could not afford; but Berenice,vain and conscious of her rare beauty and accomplishments, made up her mind that she would secure them by marriage. “Accordingly, having entered society, she was very choice in regard to her acquaintances ; if a man was poor, he stood no chance of getting into the charmed circle of which she reigned queen. She had a great many fine offers, notwithstanding, and was excessively admired; but she would hear to none of them. Genius and manly nobility stood no, chance with this vain and silly maiden. “At last, however, her Midas came, in the shape of an East India merchant, the owner of a fabulous fortune. Her pretty face charmed him, as it charmed all others, and he made love to her; he, full three-score, wrinkled and yellow as his gold, and she in the primrose freshness of her girlhood. “She accepted him, nevertheless —accepted and promised to become his wedded wife, though she loathed the very sight of him. He put a costly diamond on her finger, made her all manner of wonderful presents, and the wed-ding-day was appointed.

“ Meanwhile Berenice made a summer visit to an aunt, who lived far out in the rural regions, and on her way she met with a terrible accident. The horses took flight, and her carriage was thrown down a frightful precipice, and Berenice was tossed into a ravine, and lay there like one dead. “ A young surgeon, living thereabouts, took her up in his arms and carried her to his mother’s cottage, and dressed her wounds, and set her broken limbs. When she recovered her senses, he was sitting by her pillow holding her hand in his, and then and there, the moment her eyes fell upon his face, Berenice fell in love with him. “ Wasn’t Berenice a foolish lass, girls?” laughed grandpa, looking over his paper again. Grandma echoed his laughter, buther eyes tilled with tears. “ Nay, she was sensible then,” she continued, “ for his face was the noblest face she had ever seen. She fell in love with him, and, after a while, through pity, perhaps, lie got to likelier; and it so turned out that, when she recovered from Tier injuries and returned to her mother’s house, the young surgeon went with her, and she had promised to be his wife. “ And he not worth a shilling, independent of his profession! But so truly did Berenice love him that she was willing to give up all her golden dreams for his sake. “Accordingly, she took the diamond from her pretty finger, and broke faith with her East India Midas, and one bright spring morning she wedded the man she loved.

“A blissful honeymoon follmved, and then the young couple began to cast about for a fair start in life. Berenice had no dowry save her rose-pink face and starry eyes and red-gold hair, and her young husband had only his profession. They determined to try their fortune in a strange land. “One dreary November day—it was the day before Thanksgiving day, and some twelve or fourteen months after their marriage—our pretty Berenice sat in the small parlor of a small Western cottage, with a wicker cradle at her side and in that cradle two babies —a twin boy and girl—her own babies, not quite three months old. “Pretty dimpled little creatures, that any mother should have been proud of; but Madame Berenice looked anything but proud that rainy November morning. “She was rather slovenly dressed in an unbecoming old wrapper. Her redgold hair was all in a mass of tangles, and a cloud of sullen discontent darkened her lavely brow. “ ‘To be tied down in this way, with two brats to nurse! ’ she muttered, rocking her cradle spitefully with one foot. ‘’Tis too bail! I must toil day in and day out like a slave, and never have a week’s pleasure. You knew I had set my heart on going homo foe Thanksgiving day, Frederick.’ “‘ So I did love,’ answered her husband, soothingly, looking up from his desk; * but, as I’ve told you, ’tis quite impossible for me to be away now. , Besides, Berenice, I’m sadly cramped for money.’ “‘Oh, yes, you’re always cramped when I want anything!’ retorted the young wife, her ill-temper getting the better of her good heart. ‘ I hail a little money of my own, that mamma put in the bank for me, and I’m not allowed to touch that. Well, well, I think it is right hard! ’ “ Her husband’s cheek flushed, and he bit his lip, but he kept down his emotion well. “ ‘lt appears hard,dear,’ he answered,

going to her side, and putting his arms round her; ‘but you’ll understand it all by-and-by. You must be content to wait a little, Berry, and to trust in your husbands Meanwhile, cannot you and I and the babies have our own Thanksgiving day all to ourselves? “She burst into a flood of hysterical tears, and drew herself out of his arms. “‘Thanksgiving day, indeed!’ she said, bitterly. ‘ A great deal I’ve got to thank for now, haven’t I?’ “ * Berenice!’ “ ‘ You need not look at me in that way,’ she went on; ‘I mean what I say. You shouldn’t expect a woman raised as I was to be contented in a barbarous place like this, living in a miserable hovel, and toiling like a slave, wearing out my youth and beauty—l, who might have been the richest lady in the land; and two cross brats —two of ’em —to worry me out of my senses day and night! Oh, yes, I’ll give thanks!, I’d give thanks to be well rid of them!’ “Her husband rose to his feet, his face white and stern. Her thoughtless, petulant words had pierced his heart to the core. “ ‘ Perhaps you would give thanks to be rid of me, too, Berenice?’ he said. “She laughed recklessly. “ ‘ I’d give thanks to be free again,’ she replied— ‘ free to make my choice over again. I would never be the fool that I was when I chose penury in preference to wealth.’ “In all her after-life Berenice never forgot the look her husband gave her; he did not utter a single word. He took up his hat and left the room. “In an instant Berenice saw how rashly she had spoken, and bitterly repented her foolish words. She flew out at the door, calling upon her husband’s name. He did not answer, and, catching up a shawl, she threw it over her head, and ran across the yard and down toward the lane. She saw him a few yards distant, and called again, but he did not answer. “Her proud heart rose up in rebellion, and she turned back, blinded by the bitterest tears she had ever shed. “‘ If he won’t speak to me, let him go on,’ she said, and turned into her untidy kitchen. “The ‘help’ was down with a fever, and all the work devolved on Berenice. She did her best to get things straight that afternoon, and to prepare a nice supper against her husband’s return, for she felt anxious to make amends for her unwomanly words. “After working half an hour, she ran into the sitting-room to look after the twins, thinking it was time they were awaking. The wicker crib was in its corner, and there was the pillow still bearing the impress of the little heads, but the twins were <jone. “The young mother dropped into the nearest chair, sis if a bullet had struck her. Her babies gone! Never, until that moment, did she know how she had loved them. “She sat for some minutes stunned and blind, and then she leaped to her feet with a piteous cry: “‘l’ll find my children!’ she cried, and ran all over the cottage, foolishly searching in every nook and corner, but there was, of course, no trace of the twins.

“She left the house, and continued her fruitless search without. The night was near at hand, and the November storm grew wilder with every hour that passed. She ran hither and thither, like a mad creature, wringing her hands in her agony. “ * I said I’d give thanks to be rid of them, and God has taken me at my word! ’ she moaned; ‘He has taken my babies from me! What shall I do ? What will Frederick say when he comes home and finds them gone ? ’ “ But the wild, wet night shut down, and her husband did not return. A terrible fear began to creep into the mother’s heart. Had her husband taken the children from her? “ Crouching down by the liearih, she listened to the wild clamor of the wind and rain, her husband’s empty chair and the little wicker crib before her eyes. “ Oh, God! ’ she prayed, ‘ give me back my husband and my children, and I'll never murmur again! ’ “ But only the wild voice of the storm answered her. “ Hour after hour went by, and at last the village bells began to clash. It was midnight! “ Poor Berenice could endure her suspense and agony no longer. She arose, and, throwing a mantle over her, left the cottage, and took the road leading toward the village. The wild winds beat her back, the rain drenched her, but she struggled on until the village lights flashed on her aching eyes. “Guided by a sort of instinct, she made her Avay to the railway station. A train was just going out, a long train, the glittering carriages filled with busy, happy people. She looked up at it, as the shrill whistle blew, and the snorting engine began to move out, and on the platform a solitary figure caught her eye. It was her husband. “ She uttered a wild cry, but the rush of the wheels drowned her voice. “‘Oh, Frederick, forgive me, and come back!’

“lie did not hear; the train dashed off at lightning speed, and he was gone.” Florice gave a little cry, and grandpa t jok off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “ ‘ He was gone,’ grandma proceeded, ‘ and Berenice stood alone, as the first red glow of the Thanksgiving morning began to dawn in the east. God had taken her at her word! ’ “She toiled back to her desolate home when the train had disappeared; what else could she do? No one in the sleeping village could give her any tidings of her children. “Thanksgiving morning dawned, and the early mail brought her a letter fi’om her husband. It Was very brief: “ My dear Berenice, I see too late what a sad mistake I have made; I should never have married you. You are not suited to he a poor man’s wife. But I loved you so! and I hoped to make you happy. But my dream has ended; I cannot return to you again. lam going God knows where—if I succeed in winning wealth, I may return; if not, you will see me no more. In either case I leave you free, Berenice. Send the twins to my mother; she will take care of them, and you will be free of me and them. “ 1 leave some money subject to your order. I am sorry to tell you that the bank in which your money—the gift from your mother—was deposited, failed six months ago. I hoped to keep it from you until I could replace the amount, but all such dreams are over. “ Berenice, forget me if you will, and forgive me that I loved you—not wisely, but too well. • “Fkedebick. “ This was the letter,” grandma went on, “which came to Berenice that Thanksgiving morning. She read it through with wide, stony eyes. ‘ Send the twins to my mother,’ she repeated, in a husky whisper; *he bids me send them to his mother! He has not taken them, then ? Who has ? Oh, merciful Heaven! where are my children ?’ “She asked the question in vain; she searched in vain through all the weary weeks and months that followed; not a sign, not a clew, not the faintest trace could she find to her lost babes. They had vanished as strangely as if by the agency of some unearthly power; and she did not receive a line to tell her in what stranger land their father wandered.. Poor Berenice, her punishment had followed swift upon her sin! “Five years went by,” continued grandma, setting her dainty feet upon the fender, the diamond buckles blazing in the firelight; “five dreary, endless years, and not one word, in all this time, had Berenice heard of her husband or her children.” “Oh, grandma, sye years?”

“Five years, my dears— a long time; but she lived through it, hoping and waiting and watching in vain. She had returned to her native city; her mother had died, and Berenice lived alone with a single servant. The wealth she had so coveted in her girlhood was at her command now; her uncle had died and .left her a handsome fortune. What, alas! did.it avail her? She would have resigned it all, and toiled for her daily bread, to buy back one hour of the vanished days when she had her husband and her babies. “One wintry afternoon, as she sat alone by her fireside, dreaming of the past, her servant brought up a note and stated that the bearer waited in a carriage below. “Berenice tore it open and found a single line. ‘lf you would hear of your children, come to me at once.’ “She went without an instant’s delay, through the storm, to a distant part of the town, and, when she alighted, up the steps of a large, gloomy dwelling. “In a dimly-lighted room an old man lay dying. One glance at his rigid face, and Berenice knew him; he was her Midas of old, the lover with whom she had broken faith so many years before, when she chose to marry for love rather than wealth. “ He looked up at her as she drew near his pillow, his sunken eyes glittering with wicked triumph. . “ ‘ You know me, beautiful Berenice? Ah, I see you do! But you never dreamed it was my hand that robbed you of your children? I did it. I swore to have my revenge when you played me false and married a beggar, anil I kept my oath—l stole your twin babes!’

“ * Where are they ? Oh, in Heaven’s name I implore you to tell me,’ prayed Berenice. ‘lf you only could know what I have suffered— ’ “ His shrill laughter interrupted her. “ ‘ Suffered! Didn’t I suffer too ? The old may love as well as the young. I loved you, Berenice, and you had no pity for me. Now, I will have none for you. I stole your children, but until your dying day you will never know' what was their fate, whether they lived or died. I tell you you shall never know! I hold the secret, and lam dying ; it shall die w'itli me. Ah! ah! my revenge is sw ; eet! But, my beautiful Berenice,’ he went on, ‘ for the sake of the past and the fond love I bore you, I have made you my heir; when I die, all my wealth is yours. You always coveted gold, you know, Berenice; take it, now, to your heart’s content—hug it to your breast —let it fill the place of your lost, babes! ’ “ It was in vain that Berenice implored and entreated. The old man grew frantic, and in a few hours he died, his lips shut close, the secret of her lost babes untold. “And she was his heir. All his wealth of houses and lands and chinking gold he had willed to Berenice. “Her punishment was truly greater than she could bear. “Two years were added to the five. She had done all that a woman could do, but no tidings had come to her of husband or children. She was alone with her great wealth. “Two years, and Thanksgiving day dawned upon Berenice in the great city of London. Heart-sick and desolate, she wandered out for a walk. “The yellow fog choked her, the winds beat her back, the motley crowd jostled her; but she kept on. Her heart lay like lead in her bosom, a dreary, halfformed idea in her half maddened brain that she would wander on to the yellow river and end her troubles, as so many wretched creatures had done befoie her. “‘ I say, Tom, look at that window! Don’t it make your mouth water? ’ lisped a child’s sweet voice.

“Something in the voice went to Berenice’s heart. She turned and looked at the little pair before the window—two children, a boy and girl, clad in rags, their little faces wan with want and blue with cold. “ ‘ See the jam-tarts,’ said the boy; ‘and oh! Nan, look at them hot cakes! Wouldn’t one of ’em go down nice? ’ “Berenice choked with tears as she drew out her purse. “‘Come, my dears,’ she said, taking a hand of each; ‘ come in with me, and you shall have all you want.’ “They followed her in wide-eyed winder ; but at the counter the boy drew back. “‘Think of granny, Nan,’ he said; then, turning to Berenice, he continued, ‘Please, ma’am, we’ll do without the goodies, if you’ll give us a shilling for granny. She’s dying, granny is, and and there’s no fire, nor a penny to buy her a loaf.’ “‘You shall have the goodies, and then I’ll go with you and see about granny,’ said Berenice, something in the boy’s frank, fearless eyes making her heart thrill with absolute pain. “She bought a great bundle, and filled their eager hands, and then they set out through the yellow fog to see about ‘ granny.’ “They found her in a miserable attic, on a bed of straw; an old, shriveled creature, with a racking cough. “ ‘ That’s granny,’ said Tom, as they entered the room; then he darted to the bed. ‘ I say, granny, we’ve had luck this time; we’ve fetched a fine lady to see you.’ “ ‘Anil she’s brought lots o’ good things, granny,’ chimed in little Nan. “The old woman struggled up to her elbow, looking about her with hungry, eager eyes. “‘I thought you’d never come back!’ i she cried, her voice hoarse and rattling. ‘ Give me a drink, Nan; my tongue’s parched.’ “Nan poured some water from a cracked pitcher, and held it to her lips. “‘l’ll go and get you some wine,’ said Berenice, drawing near and laying her soft hand on the old creature’s head. ‘ The children told me you were ill, and I’ve come to see you. I’ll go for nourishment, and you shall have a doctor.’ “‘No—no, I don’t want no doctor. I’m past help now. Don’t you hear the death-rattle in my throat? I sha’n’t live till sunset. Sit down. I’m glad you’ve come. I sent the children out to fetch some one, and you’ll do as well as any; there’s something on my soul, and I can’t die till it’s told.’ “Berenice sat down, and stroked the sparse white hair from the wrinkled brow. Tell me anything you wish,’ she said, gently; ‘ I am willing to hear and to help you. But you had better let me get you some food; I’ve brought some with me.’ “ ‘ Give it to the children, then; they’re hungry enough, poor little souls! They haven’t had bit or drop to-day. As for me, I want nothing. How cool and soft your hand is! Look at mine. You wouldn’t think that mine was ever like yours. But it was—soft and white, and all covered with shining rings. I was a pretty lass, folks said, and hearing my fine looks talked of so much made me vain. “ ‘ Made me vain and] silly,’ she went on, laughing shrilly; ‘ and I broke my promise, to the lad who was to be my husband. A good, honest lad he was, willing to work for me day in and day out. I broke faith with him, and ran away with a rich man, who gave me fine presents, and promised to make me his wife. “ ‘ He didn’t keep his word, of course. He made me his mistress instead, caressed and flattered, and hung with golden fetters at first; later, his bondslave, glad of a kind word or a glance. “ ‘ Well, well, women are like spaniels

as a rule; the more their master kicks and cuffs ’em, the better they like him. I was like the rest. I loved the man who had deceived and rained me, and lived only to do his bidding. “ ‘ There’s no need of dwelling on all that, however, and breath’s short I did a great many shameful deeds at his bidding. Last of all, I stole a pair of twin babes from their mother’s bosom.’ “‘What!’ “Berenice gave a start, and then controlled herself. “ * Go on,’ she said, gently. “‘ I stole them from the little crib where they lay side by side,’ she went on, ‘ and left the empty pillow for the mother to find. What she must have felt—what she must have suffered! And I’m dying now, and the Bible tells’us that as we have done unto others so shall we receive.’. “‘ Go on,’ urged Berenice, shutting her teeth hard, to keep down the mad throbbing of her heart. “‘ He bade me do the deed, and I obeyed him—the man who was my master. He owed the mother of the babies some sort of revenge. I stole the babes and carried them to New York, and after a few months he sent me with them to London, promising to follow himself soon. “‘He came, and bade me murder them; but I refused. He tried to bribe me with gold; I still refused. Then he said he would do the deed himself, and one dark night he came and took the babes from me. “ ‘ I had grown to love the little creatures, and I followed him. He carried them down to the brink of the black river, but his heart failed him, and he could not throw them in. He laid them down side by side in the cold, black mud, and turned and fled. “ ‘ I gathered them up, and hid them and myself in the great city. That was six years ago. I have done the best I could for them ever since—haven’t I, Tom and Nan? ’ “The two children standing together by the hearth replied with one voice, ‘ Yes, granny! ’ “Berenice looked at them, and again the boy’s fearless eyes thrilled her heart to the core, but, with an effort that was almost superhuman, she kept down her emotion. “ ‘ Why didn’t you make an effort to restore the children to their mother ? ’ she asked. “ ‘Ay, why didn’t I ? ’ repeated the old woman, striking her skinny hands together. ‘ Because I feared him. I had feared bim all my life, and I couldn’t throw the yoke off. I dreaded to go back to America, and I hadn’t money to carry me—and I didn’t care to part with the children. We got on snug enough till I fell ill, and now I’m dying, and they’ll be left alone in this great wicked city. You look like a good Christian woman,’ she added, a Avistful prayer in her eyes. ‘ Will you look after ’em when I’m gone? They’re good children, and maybe you may hear of their mother. If you should ever hear of her, try and find her, and tell her the story I’ve told you; she’ll believe a dying woman’s confession. Howev'er, if she wants proof, I’ve got it. Nan! ’ “ The little graceful girl, her face looking out like a primrose from a wild cloud of unkempt hair, came forward. “ ‘ Go to the little box under the bench yonder, and fetch that bundle.’ “ The child obeyed, while Berenice sat shaking in every limb from repressed emotion. “ ‘ Here’s the clothes the tw ins had on, and a little trinket that Avas round the girl’s neck,’ explained the old Avotnan, as Nan deposited a faded package on the bed. ‘l’ve kept ’em all these years ——’ “ Berenice could contain herself no longer. Blie flew at the bundle with a Avilil cry. “ ‘Oh, they are mine, my oAvn precious children! ’ she cried, as she tore it open, and her eyes recognized the familiar little garments her lost babes had AA-orn —‘ my OAvn children; God has given them back to me at last.’ “ Then the room reeled round, and she fainted quite away. “ The soft touches of a child’s. hand restored her to consciousness some time later. Nan ivas smoothing bqck her hair, sobbing meanAvhile as if her heart Avoulil break, Avhile Tom looked graAely at the bed Avhere ‘ granny ’ lay dead. “‘She’s, dead,’ he said, as Berenice looked up; ‘ granny’s dead.’ “ ‘ But you have found your mother, my children!’ cried Berenice, opening her arms. ‘ Oh, come to me—l’ve Avanted you so long. Oh, Tom! oh, Nan! I am your mother!’ “And they crept into her arms and wept out their childish sorrow on her bosom.

“Twelve months later, a»d, on the night before Thanksgiving day, Berenice sat watching beside her sleeping children. “She had returned to her own country, and to the handsome city residence which had once been her uncle’s home. “Side by side, in their dainty bed the twins slept, and their mother sat and looked at them, and listened to the clamor of the wind and rain. Just such a storm had raged eight years gone by, on that terrible night when her babes were stolen from her. But God had given them back to her; yet, while her bosom swelled with tender gratitude, tears ran from her eyes like rain. Where was the father of her babes? Never, since the hour when she saw him on board the out-moving train, had she heard of him. Was he dead? or had he utterly forgotten her? “Year after year, month after month, day after day, she had watched and waited for his coming. Surely lie will come; and, in her youth and her beauty, she had no thought for other men, no care for anything in all the world but him, the husband she loved. But eight endless years had gone by, and he was still a wanderer. “ Hope died in the bosom of poor Berenice that wild night, as she sat there, ‘ watching her sleeping children and listening to the voice of the storm. “ ‘ God has given me back my children,’ she said, ‘ but I shall never see their father again.’ “ And she bowed down her head and wept in heart-broken despair. “ In the midst of her grief, her wait-ing-woman entered. “ ‘ I beg your parden, madame—l disliked to interrupt you, but there’s a lad below, and he insisted that you must have this to-night.’ “ Berenice held out her hand for the crumpled note. It contained a single line, but at sight of the writing she uttered a piercing cry and leaped to her feet. “ ‘ Come to me, Berenice. lam dying, and would see you once more.’ “ And through the wind and rain she went. Down about the docks, in a wretched apartment, she found him, the father of her babes. “ He raised his heavy eyes as she drew near his bed, and a smile lit his worn, white face. “ ‘ That’s Berry,’ he said, quietly. * I thought you would come, and I couldn’t die until I had seen your dear face again. Come near, and let me look at you.’ “She had him in her arms in an instant, and, despite the cautions the landlady had given her not to excite him, she was weeping over him, and covering his face and lips with kisses. “ ‘ Oh, Frederick, I have found you at last! I have broken my heart with waiting for you, dear; why have you not come sooner?’

“He put her face back from his and looked at her. “ ‘ Why, Berry, did yon really want me so ? I was coming, bnt I tried to get rich first; I knew you wanted wealth. I worked hard, Berenice, and I did get rich, and started on my way. But my riches took wing and flew from me. I lost all I had worked for, and I couldn’t return to you penniless.’ ‘“Oh, my darling, why not? I only wanted youl I shall never care for wealth again—forgive me and love me, my husband.’ “He patted her cheek with his thin hand. “‘ls it so, Berenice? It is sweet to hear such words from your lips. I have loved you all these years, dear, but I couldn’t come back to you penniless.’ “ ‘ You have come back —you are here —I hold you to my heart. What God has joined together, nothing shall ever put asunder again.’ “ ‘ But I am dying, Berry—they tell me my days are numbered.’ “‘Your days of toil and pain, my beloved, yes—your new life of happiness is only about to begin. Come home with me and I will cure you.’ “ And as the morning dawned, and the Thanksgiving bells began to ring from hundreds of belfries, they went home together, after eight years of bitter separation.” “And she did cure him—he surely didn’t die, did he, grandma?” Grandma laughed as'she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “No, my dears, he didn’t die. There he sits. I am Berenice, and grandpa there is Frederick; your father, Florice, is Tom, and Rosa’s mother is Nan.” The two girls clapped their hands with delight. “And is it all true, grandma—every word?” “Every word,” answered grandpa, putting his hand caressingly on grandma’s shoulder, “and as wonderful as it is true.”