90 



THE AMERICAN BEE KEEPER. 



March 



the baby's brow and said to Johanna: 



"I am going to report that case to 

 the police in the morning, and I'll ask 

 them lo let me keep the little one ■antil 

 his relations are heard from. ' ' 



Johanna g»T« me an amazed look. 



"My life is lo lonely," I continued, 

 "he may bring some color into it!" I 

 may have sighed as I walked away. 



""^0^1 haven't forgotten, doctor," an- 

 nvered the good woman, "no matter 

 how hard you've tried!" 



Nest day I went to the chief of po- 

 lice. He recorded the case and had no 

 ibjection to my keeping the baby. This 

 is the way I came into possession of a 

 lovely and beautiful child. Johanna and 

 I decided to call him Robert, but his 

 pet name — Baby Mouse — was older 

 than that, and it clung to him. 



And now you know who Mouse is. 



Nobody e^'cr came to claim him, and 

 my heart opened to the tender waif as 

 it had never opened before. 



Mouse, of course, was treated like a 

 king. Now and then Johanna would 

 ■ay, "You are spoiling the child, doc- 

 tor!" But she was as weak as I with 

 regard to Mouse. 



He grew and prospered like a flower 

 in the sunshine of our love and was the 

 lustiest youngster on the block. 



But there must be rainy days as well. 

 One day Mouse was taken ill, and be- 

 fore night we knew that he had been 

 attacked with diphtheria. With flaming 

 cheeks and trembling hands he lay in 

 his crib, and I bent over him with 

 breaking heart. Long nights of anxious 

 •watching followed. At last care and 

 tender nursing drove death from the 

 door, and the doctor told me that the 

 ianger was passed. But another blow 



came severer even than Mouse's illnesA 

 My old faithful servant had caught the 

 infection and bad to take to her bed. 



There I was. a hclpl'.^ss man, with an 

 ill woman and a convalescent babe on 

 my hands. 



Surely it was a desperate situation. 



I engaged a trained nurse to wait on 

 the sick, but I could not expect her to 

 look after me too. The little comforts 

 towhichlhad been accustomed dropped 

 away one by one. 



"If only my wife was here!" 



My wife! 



Yes, I had been married — in fact, I 



was still ii:;;rried. And this, too, is a 

 Btrange story. 



My wife was an only child, spoiled 

 by rich and indulgent parents. When I 

 took her to n y modest heme, I discov- 

 ered that 8}k' had many little faults — 

 all wom.en have — and I thought I could 

 We«n her away from them. The big 

 faults, of course, I was willing to con- 

 done, for they were part of the bargain. 



My wife was a bit gay, a bit frivolous, 

 a bit stubborn and a bit too fond of 

 dress. But I loved her with all my 

 heart, and she loved me. And because I 

 loved her I endeavored to cure her of 

 the«e little inj perfections. 



It was a difficult piece of work. Sharp 

 words were spoken on one side, tears 

 shed on the other, and the upshot of the 

 matter was that one day my wife left 

 me and returned to her parents. They 

 wrote me a long letter, expressing re- 

 gret that my wife could not live with 

 me and advising that we had better 

 separate. 



I might have applied for a divorce, 

 but could not bring myself to do it, and 

 the other side took no steps for a legal 

 separation. 



My life became dreary and sad, and I 

 believe I was on the short road to hypo- 

 chondria. 



Mouse came just in the nick of time 

 and saved me from that fate. I gave 

 him all my love, and he was all the 

 world to me. 



But my present dilemma was due to 

 the coming of the little castaway. 

 "Mouse, Mouse," I said more than 

 once, "what have you done?" 



There were days when I dreaded to 

 go home — two sickbeds, nothing to eat 

 for myself; forsooth, a cheerless, lonely 

 home. 



When I sat down by Johanna's bed, 

 she tried to console me as beat she could, 

 but her cheerful words fell upon deaf 

 ears. 



One eveninf^ in March I again wend- 

 ed my way homeward. I thought of 

 Mouse, of Johanna, of the trained nurse, 

 and was in tlie worst possible humor. 

 Opening the door with my latchkey, I 

 hung my ovtrc vnt on the rack and mad© 

 more noise than was nec«s8aTy in tak- 

 ing off my rubber shoes. I went into the 

 dining room, and — 



Had Johanna been prowling about in 

 Bpite of the doctor's express orders to 



