"
"Am I dreaming? Oh! cruel dreams! I shall awaken, as often before, and
find how false you are!"
"No, it's no dream, father! Give me your hand. Now, you feel your
erring boy is back beside you, praying your forgiveness for all these
years of silence--causing you so much sorrow!"
The old man was clasped to his son's bosom. Long he held him thus,
while a sob of joy burst from the father's thankful heart.
"Father, speak to my wife; you have another child now. She it was who
brought me back to you this blessed day. This, the anniversary of my
mother's death! also of the day of my greatest peril, is now the
happiest of my life--my wedding day, and restoration to my father's
heart!
"Where is my stepmother? I would see and try to comfort her. Oh! let
this day be one of perfect reconciliation. Let us make it a
thanksgiving from the inmost heart."
And now may we all, who have aught of ill dwelling in our hearts, go
and be of kindly feeling one toward the other again. Let not the
coming Thanksgiving's sun go down on our wrath. Let it not be merely a
thanksgiving in words--a day of feasting--but a heart's feasting on
peace and good will.
THE END.
* * * * *
THE IRISH REFUGEE.
Pages:
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235