Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 61, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 March 1910 — Sore Hearts, and a Song [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Sore Hearts, and a Song

Mrs. Ayre woke on New Year’s day with a groan. It was a dark, driz■Hng morning. She had neuralgia in her right eye. Baby had screamed with colic half the night. Her husband had not given her a word o r sympathy or kindness, though she knew he was awake. He had been moody and ill-tempered for days. Jane, the girl of all work, had given warning the night before. Worst of all, Robert, her eldest son, had not come home until midnight. He had fallen in with nun idle fellows of late and it was, she thought, owing ot this companionship that his standing at College was so low. She went downstairs, her soul feebly staggering under this burden of woes, mid opened the windows. - “In my affliction, I called unto the Lord,” Bhe repeated, looking into the marky sky. Suddenly a gust of sense and courage swept through her like a fresh wind. Afflicted? Why, God was behthd all these petty worries, just as the sun was back of this drenching rain. Had she no faith at all? Was she to go with a whine and lamentation to meet the new year? God was in It, also. She stiffened herself, body and soul. With the tears still on her cheeks, and the choking in her throat, she began to sing a gay little catch of which she was fond, ran to her room again to put on a fresh collar and a pretty cravat. She had plenty things to do before breakfast, but she sang on while she was about them. It was a foolish little song, yet out of it a singular courage and life stole'into her heart. “With prayer and thanksgiving—and thanksgiving—make known your requests unto God,” she remembered. She passed through the kitchen, stopping to wish Jane a happy New Year, with a joke. The wish and the song and the joke fell into Jane’s Irish heart, like a blazing rocket into a dark place. She chuckled as she stirred the potatoes. The work at the Ayres wasn’t so heavy', after all, and herself had a pleasant way with her. and there was the “prisints” now and then. In two -months she would have enough past her to send to her sister, an’—an’ it’s likely Tom Flaherty would be crossin’ about that time.” Jane brought in the breakfast with red cheeks and a broad smile. There was no more talk of warning from her.

Mr. Ayre, lying awake in bed, was tempted to wish the morning would never dawn. He was a close-mouthed, undemonstrative man, who shut his troubles down out of sight. But the weight of them just now was more than he could bear. Things were go lng wrong at the works; every day he discovered mistakes and petty frauds. He was growing old; he was behind the times. Younger manufacturers were supplanting him in the market Sharper eyes than his were needed to watch the men and the hooks. As far as his business was concerned he was In a miserable alley, from which he saw no exit. But the hurt which was sorest was no matter of business. Robert was low in his Greek class, and still lower in Latin. He was growing reckless, running with low companions. What he had hoped from that boy! For himaelf he had no ambition—but for Robart. He was to be a great lawyer like bis grandfather. But here he was going to the dogs—at nineteen! For days Mr. Ayre had borne his misery in grim, ill-humored silence. But now, in his stern despair, he had been silent too long. He would speak In a way which Robert would remember to his dying day. ■ He got up, resolved, as he pulled on his boots, that he should either turn over a new leaf that day or leave the house. “If he is set on going to ruin, it shall not be under my roof! I’ll not palter with him!” he thought, bis jaws sat and pale. “I’ll disown him.” Just then a cheery song rang out through the house. It was the very spirit of good sense and courage. Poor Hetty! She had been sick all night, and worried with that crying child, and there she was facing the new year with a song! "And I behaved like a brute to her,” thought Mr. Ayre. He was very fond of his wife. As be stood shaving himself, he listened to her song, and his lips trembled a little. Hetty used to sing Bob to sleep frith that ditty when he was a baby. What a big fellow he was! Big in every way. There never was anything ■seen or sneaking about Bob—a headlong, affectionate, foolish lad. He listened as he brandished the raaor, holding counsel with himself in the glass. There cou|d be no doubt that Hetty had twice bis courage to

face disaster. It was her faith, perhaps. As he laid down the razor, he nodded to himself, almost with a smile. “I reckon I was too hard on the boy. I’ll give him another chance.” He heard Bob’s step on the-stairs and opened the door, waiting. Bob had awakened with an aching head. Defeat at school, and foul talk of his last night's comrades, his first drink of whisky, all tore at the poor boy’s brain. He rose sullen and ready for fight. His father and mother would both attack him, no doubt. He was tired of lecturing. He would cut loose and earn his own bread like a free man. Just then his mother’s voice reached his ears. It was full of tenderness and cheerful hope. It was that old song she used to be always singing. He listened pith a forced scrowl. But presently his face softened. Things insensibly began to look brighter. It was impossible that life had reached so terrible a crisis. There was the savory small of breakfast coming up, and the children laughing and his mother singing gayly. He came down the stairs with a sudden throbbing of his heart His father looked out of the door. “Rob, my son,” he called pleasantly, "Yes, dad,” the boy answered, stopping eagerly. 'Come in; I want to have a minute's talk with you. You were out late last night. You are often out late.” Robert looked him straight in the eyes. “Yes, father; I've been in bad company, I know it. I’m ashamed of myself.” “Your mother does not give you up,” said Mr. Ayre, irritably. “She has

faith I don’t see how she can begin the new year with a song. Between you and the trouble at the works, I feel as if my reason was going.” ‘ What is wrong at the works?” said Bob, anxiously. “Sit down, father. Don’t give me up. Have a little faith in me. With God’s help I’ll start afresh. Don’t give me up.” Mr. Ayre looked sharply into the boy’s face. It was honest; it bore the mark of no bad passion. Perhaps he had not understood Rob —perhaps he had made some mistake in managing him. ‘'Why do you waste your time, and my money, Robert? You are doing no good in your studies r-” "Father,” Bald Bob. boldly, “I’ll tell you the truth. I hate books. I never shall be a scholar. Let me go to work. Put me In the factory to learn the business. That is what I have wanted to do all my life. I don’t care how hard the work is ” Mr. Avre's countenance changed as if a cloud had vanished and the whole face of the earth was lightened. Here was the answer to the riddle! Of course the boy was meant tor business! Cool, shrewd, honest, wide-awake. Why had he been so blind? “We must talk it over, Robert. We must talk it over.” His voice fairly trembled with excitement." He shut the door. Mr. Ayre was called half a dozen times, in vain, to breakfast. He came at last with Robert. The two men had bright, pleased faces. ‘ Well, mother,” cried Mr. Ayre, “Rob and I have a grand scheme. He Is to be my right-hand man in the works. Confidential clerk until he learns the business, and then junior partner. What do you say to that? I declare, I feel as if a mountain had been lifted from my back/' Rob was standing benlnd his mother. He pulled back her head, and kissed her. She said nothing, but the happy tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m going to begin all over again,” he whispered. “Thank God,” I knew It would all come right.” “Breakfast, breakfast!" cried Mr.

Ayre. setting to work vigorously, while the children drummed on the plates, but Rob stood by his mother, gently stroking her hand. "Dear old mammy,” he said; “that was a good song of yours (his morning!” "Yes, Hetty," said her husband. "Your voice Is as sweet as ever. But your heart seemed to be singing today, and to good purpose.”—Congregational Ist.

IT WAS A FOOLISH LITTLE SONG.