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CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
THE STORK HOVERS OVER THE SYMONE HOME
(Copyright, 1915, by the Newspaper Enterprise Association)
I slept at Eliene's in the room just
across from the nursery. After I was
all ready to get into bed T-put on one
of Eliene's gorgeous kimonas, which
she had laid across the bed, and
slipped across the hall to take one
last look at the kiddies.
A strange picture met my sight
Eliene in her nightgown had clasped
each of the sleeping cherubs to her
breast and was sitting on the rug,
rocking to and fro, crying as though
her heart was breaking.
"Why, Eliene, what is the matter?
Are the children sick?"
For answer she put them back in
their little beds, covering each little
sleepy head with kisses as she did so.
Then she turned to me, the very pic
ture of tragedy.
"Margie, I'm going to have a baby."
No wonder she said: "I am the
happiest woman in the world, but "
There was the "but" with a ven
geance. "Of course, I never dreamed that
such a thing could happen to me,"
she continued, "and, Margie, I am
afraid afraid."
"Millions and millions of women
have helped to populate the earth
since the world began," I said. "They
lived through it and you probably
will."
"Oh, it isn't the physical pain.
Every woman is given strength for
that, but, Margie, look at the terrible
position I am in. I think I love these
children quite as well as though I
were their own mother. But I don't
khow. Surely at the time they came
to me I suffered as few women in
the pangs of childbirth do, and my
egotistic heart did not react for over
a year. Margie, I have not yet for
gotten the agony of that awful day
when I looked upon the dead face of
the mother of my husband's children.
"But, Margie, they say there is
something different about a mother's
love. Suppose my child brings with
it a greater love than I have for these
babies? Suppose I cannot help but
show that I love my own child better
than I do them. Think what it will
mean to these innocent children who
un,til then had found their whole
world in me?
"Margie, I'm afraid to have this
child, for I don't want to love it more
than I do these children who made
me want to live when I thought it
would be best for me to die. What
shall I do, Margie? What shall I do?"
"Have you told Harry yet?" '
A wave of color dyed Eliene's pale
face pink. "Not yet. I am afraid. '
that he, too, will love my little child
better than these poor, little nameless
ones.
"Margie, I am jealous of my un
born child, jealous of these darling
boys who have made me so happy."
Eliene was becoming hysterical.
She was shivering.
"Here, here, my dear girl, you must
not do this. Between you and me I
don't take much stock in that mother
love being so entirely different from
any other kind of unselfish love. I'll
wager that you won't be able to tell
the difference between the children
in a year."
Eliene looked at me in surprise.
"And then you know you are likely
to have a girl."
"Oh, do you think so, Margie?
That would be too good."
"Nothing is too good for you,
Eliene," said Harry's voice at the
door. "What in the world are you
two girls talking about this time of
the night?"
"We are trying to define mother
love, Harry."
"You don't have to define it; you
only have to look at Eliene to see it
and realize it. Come along, dear;
you will take cold," and he gently
lead her out of the room.
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