Further Chronicles of Avonlea

at the gates of its tomb. It stirs in human hearts, and makes them glad with the old primal gladness they felt in childhood. It quickens human souls, and brings them, if so they will, so clo

ys had been with me until the spring when

in the spring that Josephine and I had first loved each other, or, at least, had first come into the full knowledge that we loved. I think that we must have loved each other all our lives, and that e

and lithe as a young, white-stemmed birch tree; her hair was like a soft, dusky cloud; and her eyes were as blue as Avonlea harbor on a fair twilight, when all the sky is abloom over it. She had dark lashes, a

ed the great, restless harbor and the vast, misty sea beyond; she loved the tides, keeping their world-old tryst with the shore, and the gulls, and the croon of the waves, and the call of the winds in the fir woods at noon and even; s

t we had loved each other before; now, as I looked into my wife's pale face, blanched with its baptism of pain, and met the uplifted gaze of her blue eyes, aglow with the holy passion of motherhood, I kn

ry since baby came," my w

that, when he died, one day, after the illness of an hour, it seemed a most absurd thing that he should be

t the heart of the father is not as the heart of the mother. Time brought no healing to Josephine;

ls came back to the gray harbor, whose very grayness grew golden and mellow, I thought I should see her smile again. But, when t

e. I listened to hear whether my wife were moving about the house. I heard nothing bu

in it. I did not know where to seek her; bu

s as still and cold and calm as the face of a dead man. At last I saw my wife coming to me

d her dark hair hung loose over her shoulders in little, glossy ringlets like a child

met me, but only held out her

y best-I hurried so; but he was always a little way ahead. And then I lost h

have you been?" I said, drawing her close to

d at me w

it, David? He call

calle

not find him. I could only hear the call, and I followed it on and on, far down the shore. Oh, I tried so hard to overtake it, but I could not. Once I saw a little white hand beckoning to me far ahead in the moonlight. But still I could not go fast enough. And then the cr

ally; but it is hard for a man to speak naturally when he feels a

ld I do but go to him? You cannot understand-you are only his father. It was not you who gave him birth. I

ntly enough, and soon fell into the sleep of exhaustion. But there

insane all the latter part of her life. She had grieved over the death of a favorite child until she lost her mind, and, as the first indicatio

now, hand in hand with my fear. Was this fate coming on my dear wife? It was too horrible for belief. She was so young, so fair,

ul that day than she had been, and went about her household duties briskly and skillfully. My fear lifted. I was sure

d to her again. I wakened from a troubled doze

ar him? Listen-listen-the little, lonely cry! Yes, yes, my precious,

louded moonlight. Ever, she said, the little cry sounded before her. She entreated the dream-child to wait for her; she cried and implor

cacy of young leaves; of blossom on the land and blossom in the sunset. The whole world bloomed in a flush and tremor of maiden loveliness, instinct with all the evasive, fleet

she said, that the cry sounded loudest and nearest, as if her pretty boy were frightened by the tempest. What wild, terrible rovings we had, she straining forward, eager to overt

dition so long as I could keep it from becoming known. We had no near relatives-none with any

heard my story. I did not like his expression nor his few guarded remarks. He said he thought human aid would avail little;

new that suspicions were being whispered from lip to lip. We had been seen on ou

mother's case sixty years before when the dream-child called in the day. The doctor looked graver than ever when I told him, and said t

as determined-they should never take my wife from me. No restraint sterner than

e said, only serve to deepen the delusion. When he hinted at an asylum I gave him a

on the harbor shore below the house until dark. The evening bells were ringing faintly and mournfully in a church across the harbor. Behind me, in the kitchen, I heard my wife singing. Sometimes now her spirits were f

here was no wind or sound in the air-only that dismal stillness, as

out and listening. I tried to induce her

," she said. "I am always afraid to sleep now, for f

tried to read. Three hours passed on. When the clock struck mid

cried, "calling out

sweet, I a

darkness of death. The rain fell thickly and heavily. I overtook Josie, caught her hand, and stumbled along in her wake, for she went with the speed and recklessness of a distraught w

gainst my aching heart. This pain, that never leaves me, would leave me than. Oh, my pretty boy, wait f

superstitious man; but my nerve had been shaken by my long trial, and I was weaker than I thought. Terror took possession of me-terror unnameable. I trembled in every limb; clammy perspiration oozed from my forehead; I was possessed by a wild impulse to turn and flee-anywhere, away f

in it-a boy, of perhaps two years old, who crouched in the bottom of the dory in water to his waist, his big, blue eyes w

he had come there, whence and why, I did not know and, in my state of mind, did

r darling!"

ms. His long, fair curls fell on her shoulder; she laid

" I said. "He is very we

pain at my heart has gone. He has come to me to take the place of my own. God has sent h

and, but we reached shelter before it broke. Just as I shut our door behind us it smote the house wi

e," I said. "Go and put

ee how chilled and exhausted he is, the pretty dear. Lig

rn and dressed the waif in them, rubbing his chilled limbs, brushing his

not asked before came crowding to my mind how. Whose child

him long enough to change her wet clothes. She never asked whose he might be or from where he might have come. He had been sent to her from the sea; the dream-child had led her to him; that was w

" across the harbor, where the fishing hamlet was; and all day, while Josie laughed and played with him, I waited and listened

m the dark borderland, where her feet had strayed to walk again with me in our own homely paths. Day and night she was her old, bright self, happy and serene in the new motherhood that had come to her. The o

d passed, I went, in my bewi

I advise you to go over to the Cove and inquire. When you find the parents or guardians of the child, ask them to allow you to keep it for a time. It may prove your wife's salvation. I have known such cases. Evidently on that night the crisis of her mental disorder was rea

air. I asked him if any child were missing from the Cove or along shore. He looked at me in surprise, shook his head, and said he had not heard of any. I told hi

ssing for a week, but it was so rotten and leaky he didn't bother loo

child as close

I'm sorry to say, sir, she hadn't too good a name. She didn't want to be bothered with the baby, and folks say she neglected him scandalous. Well, last spring she begun talking of going away to the States. She said a friend of hers had got her a good place in Boston, and she was going to go and take little Harry. We supposed it was all right. Last Saturday

aid. "If he is Harry Martin I shall keep him. My wife has been very lon

ome old Abel recogni

rt

the boy who bears her dead son's name is to her-aye, and to me-as dear as if she had given him birth. He came from the sea, and at his coming th