A Fair Mystery — Bertha M. Clay

Hush For the love of mercy, hush, I cannot bear it But that which called forth this protest was only the lisping prayer of a little child at its mother's knee. Patty Brace lifted the white-robed figure to her lap, and rested the brown head on her bosom. Mark she said, in mild remonstrance, looking at her husband. I say I cannot bear it. You have her pray, 'God bless my home.' It is too much. But why not? On this wild, stormy night, when other little ones may be out in the dashing rain and moaning wind, is it not right to pray, 'God bless our home?' But how long will we have a home, Patty? Think of to-morrow oh, Heaven help me to-morrow Ruined, disgraced, going out from the home where I was born, and forced into exile. I cannot bear it. We shall never have a home again, and our child will grow up homeless