WHICH SHALL IT HE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 10926, 15 November 1913, Page 6

WHICH SHALL IT HE.

Which, shall it be? Which shall it be? I looked at John—John looked at me (Dear patient John, who loves mo yet, As well as when my locks were jet); And when I found that I must speak, My voice seemed strangely low and weak: "Tell me again what Robert said!" - And then I, list'ning, bent my head. "This is his letter: " 'I will give A house and land while you shall live, If, in return, from out your soven, One child to me for " aye is given." ' " I looked at John's old garments worn, I thought of all that John had borne Of poverty, and work and care, Which, I though willing, could not share, I thought of seven mouDhs to feed, Of seven littli children's need, And then of this. "Oome, John," said I, ".We'll choose among them as they lie Asleep;" so, walking hand in hand, Dear John and I surveyed pur band. First to the cradle lightly stepped. Where the new nameless baby slope. "Shall it be Baby?" whispered John, I took his hand and hurried on To Lily's crib, her sleeping grasp Held her old doll'within its clasp; Her fair curls lay like gold' alight, A glory 'gainst the pillow white; Softly the father stooped to lay His rough hand down in loving way, When dream or whisper made her stir, And huskily he said: her —not her." We stopped beside the trundle bed, And one long ray of lamplight 6hcd, Athwart the boyish faces there In sleep so pitiful and fair; I saw on Jamie's roughs red cheek A tear undried. Ere John could speak, " He's but a babj-j too," said I, And kissed him as we hurried by. Pale, patient Robbie's angel face, Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace; " No, for a thousand crowns, not him," He whispered, while our eyes were dim. Poor Dick! bad Diok! our wayward 60n, . Turbulent, reckless, idle one— Could he be spared? Nay, He who \ gave Bids us befriend him to the grave; Only a mother's heart can be Patient enough for such as he; \ "And so," said John, "I would not ; dare To send him from her bedside prayer." Then stole we softly up above. And knelt by Mary, child of Jove. " Perhaps for her 'twould better be," 3 said to John. Quite silently He lifted up a curl that lay Across her cheek in wilful was - , And shook his head. " ' ore not thee;" * Tho while my heart beat audibly Only one more, our eldest lad, Trusty and truthful, good and gladSo like his father. "No, John, no - I cannot, will not, let him go." And so we wroto in courteous way, We could not give one child away; And atterward toil lighter seemed, Thinkiug of that of which we dreamed, Happy in truth that not one face We miEsed from its accustomed place; Thankful to work, for all the seven, Trusting the rest to Ono in heaven! —Ethel Lynn Boers.