ake him to the city, and how, in what was "Young Men's Hall,"
or something with a similar name, he had seen Laura Keene in "A School
for Scandal." Then she remembered, and was glad. They had seats in a box
at the theater, and from the rising of the curtain till its final drop
the man was in much doubt. The manner in which women were dressed upon
the stage had changed since the last time when his mother had visited
the theater. She was shocked when she saw the forms of women, which, if
at least well covered, were none the less outlined.

There was talking in that box. The son explained. The blessed woman
almost "bolted" once or twice, but finally accepted all that was told
her with the precious though sometimes mistaken confidence a woman has
in the matured judgment of the man-child she has borne. Then, having a
streak of the Viking recklessness in her which she had given to her son,
she enjoyed herself amazingly. It was a glorious outing.

Well, in the way which has been described, the man made love to the
woman for a day or two. Then he took her home, and bade her good-by for
a time, and told her, in an exaggeratedly formal way, which she
understood and smiled at, that he and she must meet each other much
oftener in the future. Then he hugged her and went away. And she, being
a mother whose heart had hungered, watched his figure as it disappeared,
and laughed and cried and was very happy.

"Louisa," said a dignified old lady, "I was mistaken in saying that all
happiness from children comes in their youth. It may come in a greater
way later--if!"

A TRAGEDY OF THE FOREST

It is Christmas eve. A man lies stretched on his blanket in a copse in
the depths of a black pine forest of the Saginaw Valley. He has been
hunting all day, fruitlessly, and is exhausted. So wearied is he with
long hours of walking, that he will not even seek to reach the
lumbermen's camp, half a mile distant, without a few moment's rest. He
has thrown his blanket down on the snow in the bushes, and has thrown
himself upon the blanket, where he lies, half dreaming. No thought of
danger comes to him. There is slight risk, he knows, even were he to
fall asleep, though the deep forests of the Saginaw region are not
untenanted. He is in that unexplainable mental condition which sometimes
comes with extreme exhaustion. His bodily senses are dulled and wearied,
but a phenomenal acuteness has come to those perceptions so hard of
definition--partl