Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 63: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SEVEN FRIDAYS face she had not seen since it lay on her breast in infancy. | “There are stars in yer eyes,” she murmured, “like his.” Then she gave a cry—such as neither of them will ever forget—and drew his head down upon her heart. Bridgit Moreen—Bridgit Moreen, of Kerry, mother of Lord Romney Patrick Farrell, legitimatized grandson of Lord Romney Patrick Dennis O’Sullivan Farrell, went out between her son and the district visitor. Her hands on an arm of each; wearing the rusty, old bonnet which had been turned and turned for ten years, she went out from the tenement on Second Avenue, and it knew her no more. Her footsteps were uncertain on the stairs which she had mounted wearily year after year. She sat between them in the: motor that rolled her away into a new life. “Now where at all, at all, are ye takin’ an old woman?” “To my home, dear,’ said Celia Maitland. “Will you come?” Bridgit Moreen laughed happily. “Will I come, is it—and the boy?” Farrell said: “T will come to see you in the morn- ing, mother, and tell you how I have searched for you on two continents.” The old woman murmured: “It was herself prayin’ that done it,” and Far- rell agreed: “Yes, it was herself.” Across the old woman between them, Lord Farrell looked at Celia. He put his hands over Mrs. Moreen’s. 53 “This is my mother,” he said. “She shall be mine,” said Miss Mait- land. The old lady laughed again. “Isn't it the way with Heaven’s’ blessin’s! Wasn’t I only askin’ for a son, and didn’t the Lord give me bet- ter than I wished—the two of ye!” She joined their hands. “Saints of God, the two of ye!” After a moment she said: “The Lord knows I prayed to see yer face, Romney, and it’s all I prayed for. I niver thought the likes of me could cross yer path. It’s too much—the both of ye!” Bridgit Moreen was very small, and she looked up at the taller people tim- idly. The motor rolled into Fifth Avenue. “Shure, I used to scrub there,’ she said quietly, “Fifth Avenue and Fifty- third Street.” She was holding their hands. “Children, won’t ye be ashamed of the likes of me?” Lord Farrell bent down and kissed her. “Mother!” he said, “mother!” “The way I hear that word at last,” she murmured, “that heavenly word!” Celia bent down and kissed her. “Mother,” she whispered, “mother— _ my mother died when I was born.” Mrs. Moreen gave a sob. “Tl be her, honey, darlint! She hears me sayin’ it where she sits with the saints of God!” ae THE SEEING EYE SMALL things, and humble, greatest lessons hold, Which to the seeing eye they soon unfold— As on some thorny road my way I pass I get new courage from a blade of grass, Which ’mid the turmoil, and the weeds that kill, Holds fearlessly its course appointed still! JoHN KENDRICK BANGS. (C@) o(oyo)|‘< (E@)