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TTEARST’S SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, GA., SUNDAY, AUGUST 17, 1013.
The Woman Who Never Had the Kind of Baby She Wanted
The Remarkable Picture of Mother
Love in “The Long Desire,” One
of a New “ Comedie Humaine ”
Series by James Hopper Now Be
ing Published in Hearst’s Magazine
“It was here at last. * ’ ’ But the proud baughter-in-law stood there. ‘You must put him down,’she
VOlir SOH. (Mn. „ f 11.1 rk.twll.r rhriatv’e Pmnicit. tllnetpatinns n f “Thp l.ntiff Dpcirp 1 ’ in HPAC
said, ‘hp is nnt
M OTHER lore 1* fh* greatest of all loves.
In “The 1-ong Desire," a story by the
famous Amerlran author, .lames Hop
per, published In the August number of
Hearst's Magazine, the passion of mother love
Is reflected in a manner unique In fiction, and
in the Story of the woman who never had
(he kind of baby she wanted. Mr Hopper has
gone past hls finest efforts, and has taken
laurels from the crowns of Balzac and de Mau
passant. "
So remarkable Is the story that the follow
ing excerpts from it are published by permis
sion of the editors of Hearst's Magazine ’The
bong Desire” Is the fourth or a series by Mr.
Hopper now being published In Hearst s Maga
zine, and forms what one might call “a new
domed!? Humaine.”
(Published by Permission of, and Copyrighted
1913 by HEARST’S MAGAZINE)
By JAMES HOPPER.
T HE little girl dragged a round table Into
thp closet.. Upon the round table, with
much effort, she placed a chair. She
climbed up on the round (able, climbed up
on the chair, and poised high, steadied by one
chubby finger hooked to the corner of the shelf
above her, she stood a long moment Immobile.
listening Intently.
• • • •
The small heels tapped hack upon the cane;
the round arms lowered; she held against her
heart an oblong box. Cradling It (m a bent
elbow, with her free hand she undl^ the string
and wrapping, took off Hie cover, and. her
lashes a shadow on her cheeks, looked within,
atientlvely.
In the box, filling It wholly, a big doll lay.
She lay there like a princess long under en
chantment. instantly and charmingly alive to
the return of ligiht and day and deliverance.
Her silken gown, of tender pink, stood out on
the sides, crinkly. In Invitation to the first
7,ephvr: her square little feet, encased In white
openwork hose and satin slippers, loes to the
sky. seemed eager for adventure; her lips were
parted in a half-smile; and with her right hand,
smallest finger out and up. held daintily hv
this flower of a mouth, she seemed about to
break Info a lively speecih
The little girl looked long at the doll, and
with singular gravity. Once she raised dell-
cately the nem of the skirt and sew, as if she
had expected If, the light white foam ooneath.
Her head went slowly from side to side. she
replaced the cover of the box; .he wrapping:
reslung about It the twine; placed It ouek upon
the shelf. She climbed down from the chnir
to the table, from the table to Ihe door, ri»
stroyed the Improvised pyramid, and slid out of
the closet; a new languor had come Into her
movements.
She went across the w’ide hall, through the
solemn vibrations of the clock as If aimless; she
sauntered Into a dark big room full of books,
plunged Into Its depths, and curled within a
leather arm-chair, In a sombre corner beneath
a rose window. *
After a while her feet drew upward to the
edge of the chair; her bare knees drew up
to her face; her head lowered, and against
the palpitant whiteness of a diminutive hand
kerchief, she wept silently In the gloom.
* * • •
Then It was Christmas Day. A tree glowed
in the hall; many children surrounded it:
they found toys; with other rich toys, the little
girl obtained a doll—the doll which already she
knew.
Before all these eves, all this good will, she
feigned surprise and great pleasure. She played
with her doll all day, and all the next day;
for a week, as long as people still watched, she
fondled her and loved her, anil whispered to
her.
Then on one of the empty afternoons she
went up to her blue room, opened her trunk,
and laid fhe doll quietly In the top fray. She
placed It by the little Parisian beauty of the
Christmas before, near the stiff cuirassier of
two Winters ago. Rising, she stood before the
open trunk and looked at the whole line of them
there, so colored and bo gay—and yet so inert.
She say fhe zouave, the Bailor, the nurse, the
Dutch girl and the Bretonne maid. She remem
bered every one: some could talk and some
could walk and some cofllrt swim. She looked
at them with some love, j’et with a weight at
her heart; a dew-drop pearled at the end of a
long lash.
With a listless yet certatn gesture, she closed
the trunk; closed It heavily upon them all;
upon all her grievous disappointments.
Every Christmas time, It was the same
For the doll was never, never, never the doll
for which she yearned.
• V • •
The years passed, falling one by one like
great drops from a huge reservoir.
And now, she ceased to get dolls at ail.
Her gown was lowered to her shoe tops;
that period of her life was gone, forever gone,
leaving her unappeased.
Years passed by; she began to love babies.
She would find them everywhere. It was as
If a new epoch had come Into the world, as If
some mysterious and prodigious sowing of the
past were coming to a sudden and simulta
neous flowering of small red faces and pudgy
hands and very pure eyes. She would find
them everywhoj-e, these babies. When she
called, they would he brought out of cradles
for her, hot and soft and odorous in depths of
warm wool and starchy lace, with fragile
skulls against which her lips pressed half in
passion, half In fear; an older girl friend had
one of her own; grandmothers, aunts, proud
and officious, brought others to the house; In
the parks, on the walkB, beneath the trees, In
rare of nurseB, were hundreds, cooing and
gurgling In the depths of small buggies And
the girl, before each, felt the same strange
ness happen to her: taking it in her arms, or
simply standing before it, she felt the little
being leap toward her—though the body re
mained motionless leap toward her, enter
within her. and curl itself about her heart,
contentedly, as If with a sigh.
At times she remembered the doll for which
she had yearned and which she had never
obtained, and remained looking at the vision,
vagilely troubled.
There was something about her, gentle,
tender and wistful, w'htch drew the hearts of
men. One night, between dances, on a ver-
Bnda In the moon, one kissed her, passionate
ly, on the lips.
She felt a great bound within her, then a
stillness. In the moonlight, she was regarding
him. He had golden, curly hair, and hls eyes
were blue. And his face, just in that position,
with just that sheen upon tt, showed, beneath
Its heavy carving, gone now, here again, faint,
elusive, but always returning, a promise which
answered to the profound nostalgia within
her. He was silent, panting; she looked at
him; the light was right; she was sure now.
Beneath his strength, a mese hint, a ripple,
a dim opalescence It lay--the curve, the sweet,
sw eet curve of cheek of which she had dreamed
for her doll.
She rose to him and kissed him, passion
ately, on the Ups
They were married. The girl was happy
now. She no longer dwelled In large empty
houses full of the ticking of a clock. Her
nest was small. He strove hard on the out
side. and she called him her Bay. When he
worked In the evening, she would spend hours
watching him hungrily, till to a crumbling of
the coals in the grate, or a flicker of the lamp,
she caught beneath his stern features the ,
hint, the promise, the vague shadow of that
for which she had always longed in her dolls.
She wanted a child now.
She would say; “O Boy, 1 want a little
babe, a little babe all my own.”
In her bed, by her side, she would lay a
pillow, and would hollow it with tender tap
pings of her hand. “To lie right here. Boy, by
my side, my own sweet little babe."
And her arms would curve so beautifully
and so eloquently about the empty pillow that
one almost saw a child there, in the jiollow,
like the .tesus tn the manger.
As for her, she could sep It clearly, and feel
it poignantly, the babe she desired, it was a
boy-child, with soft grave male coo; it had
curls of gold and azure eyes; but the won
drous thing about it, that for which all her
being yearned with surety, was a something
about its cheek. A line simply, a curve. A
curve made for her lips, fitted to the ache of
her heart. That same curve of which she had
dreamed for her dolls.
She became heavy and listless; her eyes
widened and widened; she would sit long hours
very still, her gray eyes full of light. She saw
him clearly before her, with curls of gold and
azure eyes and the sweet curve of cheek; she
felt Its soft male coo vibrating against her
breast; she felt him curl around her heart.
Then came a night of pain; pain doubled
and redoubled upon pain; weary stragglings
In a hot delirium; moments when one let life
slip away, then fastened upon It again and
strove and suffered—and finally a blessed
peace like Death.
“I have my boy,” she thought with closed
eyes, “I have my darling boy." And she could
see its golden curls, its blue eyes, and the
sweet, sweet curve of cheek for which she
had always longed.
But when she was allowed to see In reality
the child—it was a girl. A wistful slip of a
baby girl; its hair was brown and its eyes
were gray. And it had not the right curve of
cheek, not the right curve of cheek at all I
When the little mother was strong enough
to rise, she went to the old trank and opened
It. On the top tray, all In order, lay the two
Parlsiennes, the Dutch girl, the Bretonne
maid, the cuirassier, the soldier, the zouave,
and the others.
She was carrying her baby in her arms.
Whimsically she laid it in the tray, next to
the sad-faced clown.
But she took it up again, and fondled it and
loved it, just as years ago she had loved the
dolls In spite of the heavy disappointment
they were—loved it all the more so that it
might never know.
Her soul again turned its light ahead, hope
returned to her, she held to her dream. Sit
ting by the fire in the evenings, she would
look long at her husband. His hair was just
a little less bright than of yore, hfs eyes just
a little less blue; the task of making gold was
taking him more and more. But at Units, to
a new flicker of the fire, to the strange pass
ing of a light, beneath the growing heaviness
of the mask she caught the promise of the
sweet curve; and sitting there so still she
yearned so achingly that it seemed impossible
the yearning should not come true.
Again she grew listless with a burden like
a "solemn ecstasy. Then came the night of
pain.
But this time—ah, it was worse than ever.
A fat, round, Jovial girl baby with straight
hair!
Once more the little mother went to her
trank, opened it, and laid the new babe on the
tray, near the sad-faced clown. But as before,
she xdrew it back to her breast and loved it—
so that it might not know. She wept this time,
though, a few secret tears.
• • , •
To a gentle stirring within her, all at once
all her weet hope returned.
She remained very quiet, long weeks, her
eyes luminous; she could see him, there before
her eyes, the boy-child with the grave voice,
the curling hair, the blue eyes, and the in
effable curve of cheek.
But this time she was long ill, desperately.
And when she awoke from the sore fight, no
one. would answer her questions. When at
last she rose, it was to go to a little mound cov
ered with dowers.
* • * *
She had one more child—a boy. It had black
hair, an amiable smile, and brown eyes.
And she ceased to have children, to have
children at all. That period of her life was
closed, locked, unappeased as had been the
first, its yearning memory hazed in gray
melancholies.
Her daughters grew'. One married; then
the other.
She was by now a little faded, frail, silvery
lady. No one, from the outside, could have
known the richness, the mellowness within
that bosom, now so narrow and so fragile—-
nor the pain.
Her daughters began to have children.
She would be about, small, hovering like
a will-o'-the-wisp, during the agony; then she
would come running when the birth had take"
place, and she was given permission. Every
one laughed at the eagerness with which she
came running, the panting scrutiny with which
she examined the newborn; laughed and was
vexed a little.
No one knew what a tremendous adventure
it was each time.
Finally it was her son who married.
There was a great wedding. The little gray
grandmother hung upon the lips, the eyes, the
movements of her new daughter her tall,
proud new daughter. Her glance followed her
son as he departed.
From a far country, two years later, she
heard that she was once more a grandmother
—grandmother to a little boy.
She could hear even across the wide dis
tance its grave gentle cooing. She could
hardly wait to see—she who knew so well how
to w ait.
At last they were coming back. The house
on the other knoll was all animated with ser
vants preparing. At night all the lights shone.
Even then she was not allowed to come: they
had just arrived. And in the morning they
were resting. It was late afternoon of the
next day before permission was given; with
out waiting for her carriage, the little frail
lady went racing absurdly across the lawns.
She entered the nursery, took three steps,
looked, stopped, and almost swooned.
For It was here at last, her longing, her long
yearning, here at last, vouchsafed her. It
slept peacefully there, and one finger was In
Its mouth. Its hair was curly and gold, and
the sweet cheek, tow'ard her, realized the In
effable curve. With a small cry almost as of
hunger, she placed her lips upon it and kissed
and kissed and kissed. He opened his eyes
upon her—and they were blue. She drew him
up and strained him to her heart. She was
weeping now, free happy tears leaving her so
easily, so abundantly that It w'as like a warm
draining of her blood from her veins, her life
flowing away, exquisitely.
But a hand was upon her. It was the proud
daughter-in-law. She stood there, jealous.
"You must put him down. He must not be
disturbed this wav. He is not your son."
For a moment the faded little lady, who ha 1
been the little mother, who had been the little
girl, held her doll, her babe, her dream tight
there against her narrow flattened chest, be
neath flashing, defiant eyes. Then to a harsh
remembrance of Things-as-they-are, she handed
the child to Its mother, and turned away.
She turned away .and w'ent back across the
lawns, languidly, to the big house, across the
hall with its ticking clock, and far upstairs to
a blue room, the room, restored, of her child
hood. She opened an old, old trunk, and sat
down before it, looking.
They were all ranged here in a row on the
topmost, tray, the Zouave, the sad-faced clown
—the Parisiennes, the Dutch girl, the cuiras
sier all her disappointments. She gazed at
them: she did not weep; but a hard grip was
at her throat.
After a while she got up, took from the
dresser photographs of her babies and laid
these pictures in the tray in line with the dolls.
Again she sat down, and remained very still,
looking at all her disappointments, her griev
ous disappointments.
The room was becoming dusky, and was
very silent; the ticking of the clock rose from
below; the grip at her throat was tighter.
But someone in the dimness stood by her
side and said: "Why are you so sad?"
Without turning her eyes from the dol’s,
from the babes, she said; “Because I have
never had the doll I wanted, never had the
babe I wanted, and now I am too old.”
"I will take you to the doll you wanted, to
the babe you wanted,” said the vague presence
in the blue twilight. "Will you come with me?”
"Yes,” said the little old lady, springing to
her feet. “Oh, yes, I will go with you!”
A slow, vast movement in the darkness
seemed to be his arms spreading out to hpr.
But when she had neared, feverish and frail,
she saw that these were not arms, but two
white wings, unfurled.
This charming story can be read in full in the
August number of HEARST’S MAGAZINE,
Evidence—A Near-Tragedy of Atlanta
I
© «
0 0
Ann Teek
YIDKNCE is eviden<*e.” said Jasper John-
H sun to his wife, Willie Boh, “ami when
you get into trouble \uu never eun tell
what evidence is going to lx* sprung in court
against you. Therefore, I say never have any
thing that has possibilities of evident around
you.”
“Why, Jasj>er. I declare.” exclaimed Willie
Bob. “How crazy you talk. Who is going to
get into trouble, anyway?”
“Well, this man Leo Frank maybe didn’t think
la* was going to get into trouble until the trou
ble was surging around him,” answered Jas
per, “and then there came the evidence to show
that he had made the trouble—heaps of it.
"Take that bloody bludgeon, as the papers
called it. l’robahly it had been seen lying
mound the factory a Hundred times, but don’t
\ mi know that if it had ever lx*en thought that
i would some day in* used as evidence in a niur-
; r trial it would have l*x*n thrown so far away
that it never would have been anywhere near
the scene of the murder, and so couldn’t have
been mixed up as evidence against anyone.
“Then, too.” continued Jasjier, waxing en
thusiastic over his own deductions, “then' was
that time clock. Do you think Frank would
ever have touched a time clock if he itad
it was ever going to ap|H»ar iu court
a gainst him!
“No, sir; he wouldn’t; and there are a lot of
•ther tilings he wouldn’t have done or said if
he had known what was coming. That is why
1 say be forewarned and likewise forearmed,
and not take any chances on haviug things
around you that might be used against you.”
As Jasper finished speaking he walked across
Ihe room to the oorner iu which stood a broom
used by Willie Bob to sweep with.
“You see that broom. Willie Bob?” he asked.
“Well those blood s|»ots on the end of its han
dle come from where you cut your linger the
other day, don’t they ?”
“Yes." answered the lx»wildered Willie Boh.
"Well, don’t you know.” said her husband
^^aking au accusing finger at her. “that if
was a murder in this house to-night # iuat
that broom would be introduced as evidence to
‘■diow how the victim was killed and tlie blood
spots on it would uphold that theory?
“Throw that broom away," the husband com
inanded. "It Is dangerous to have around.”
Turning to the center of the floor, Jasper pick-
* ed up a sjieckled feather which had become
dislodged from his wife’s feather duster.
“And if the victim was a woman.” the hus
band continued, “couldn't it lx* claimed as easy
as not that this feather had fallen from her
hat. or something like that?”
Willie Boh laughed at her overcautious hus
band, and lie picked up a toothpick and left,
to resume his accustomed seat in the court
room where the trial of Frank was being held,
and in which the evidence which had so
wrought upon him was being displayed.
Willie Bob, without a glance at the accusing
feather and broom handle, took up the cares
of tin* afternoon.
When JasjH'r Johnson returned to his home
that night, lie was met with considerable com
motion and tlie accusing Anger of his irate
neighbor. Henry Jones, who was accompanied
by a deputy. *
Jas]K*r was forthwith served with a warrant
• to appear in court the following day to answer
the charge of having willfully and maliciously
murdered, killed and beaten to death Jones'
prize Dominicker rooster.
It was with some difficulty that Jasper was
restrained from attacking ills neighbor when
tin* warrant was served, so great was his in
dignation. However, the pleas of his wife
saved the da\. With loud denunciations, the
husband and wife prepared to go into otnirt the
following morning.
The case was brought before Judge Broyles
in due course of time. Arraigned on one side
was Henry Jones, his wife and Mrs. Sprat ling,
who lives adjoining the disputants. On the
other side was JasjH'r and Willie Bob. Dagger
like glances flashed Ijetween the two parties.
On the witness stand. Heur.v Jones told of
having missed his prize rooster the afternoon
before. Mrs. Sprat ling followed to swear that
she was tin* last person known to have seen
the rooster and that the fowl was then wan
dering about in Johnson’s back yard.
Then the evidence was produced. It consist
ini of the broom belonging to the Johnson men
age. Exhibited on the handle of it were the
bloody spots. There was also a feather which
had been found in the dining room of the John
son home. It corresponded in coloring to the
handsome suit worn by the missing rooster.
The trial judge looked accusingly at Jasper
Johnson and asked him what he had to say
before sentence was pronounced. Jasper, en
raged, looked at his wife.
“What did 1 tell you,” he shouted. “Didn’t
I say throw those tilings away."
His remarks were misconstrued by the judge.
“The evidence is against you. Mr. Johnson,”
tin* Jurist said slowly, and shook his head. "I
am afraid l will have to tine you.
There was a commotion in the courtroom
near the door. Willie Simpson, a small boy
neighbor of the Jones, rushed in Jugging a
heavy Dominicker rooster.
Triumphantly tlie small boy held the fowl
up at arm’s length and shouted, despite the dig
nity of the court:
“Here’s your rooster, Mr. Jones. He was
caught under Mr. Johnson’s house in a steel
trap which was set for rats. I found him
when I crawled under the house to get a base
ball.”
More evidence then introduced court
showed that the unfortunate fowl had sauntered
under the Johnson house in search of /pud and
laid made the vital mistake of peckinjAit some
bait set in the trap for rodents. The steel
claws of the instrument had became loosened
ami closed over bis neck, strangling him to
death.
Profuse were the apologies offered Mr. John
son by his accuser.
“I don’t blame you at all.” returned Jasper.
"If the evidence hadn't been there, you wouiun’t
have accused me. That’s what 1 get for hav
ing such things around.”
P OLICE" was her name. She was a beau
tiful black cat with a black mask out
lined with a slender white fringe of
-oft fur, and she was born in the police bar
racks. That is why she received the name she
bore through an eventful life.
Drowsily her great amber-colored eyes gazed
out upon the world, and seldom did they take
on that tire-glow that belongs to the wary
mouse hunter. “Police” did not care for rnfee,
nor did she care for tlie unthinking ducks and
chickens that made tracks in the big road.
Her one delight was flowers. The sight of
flowers, the fragrance of them, sent her into
a hypnotic trance, and if by any chance a j»er-
fumed handkerchief was waved her way, “Po
lice” was overcome with ecstasy.
if by another chance, someone placed a vase
of flowers on the table or on the piano, or eyen
on the mantel, in a very few minutes you would
And this princess of the cat world quietly lying
under the flowers, her little black paws crossed,
her tiny pink nose upturned to the flowers and
her amber-colored eyes blinking contentedly as
she purred and purred in happy abandon.
"Police” was the pet of the late Clarence
Moore, clerk to the Recorder, and was noted for
her esthetic taste.
One morning, when-the honeysuckles were in
bloom and the soft June air stirred the fra
grant blossoms. “Police” was found dead with
her neck wreathed about with a friendly cor
don of vine, and in her softly cushioned paws
lay a few of the honeyscckle flowers. In life
she had loved flowers; in death she was laid
away with them as a winding sheet.
‘‘Bijou Judy” belonged to a member of the
family of Mrs. Bolmefeld. at the police bar
racks. She was a diminutive pocket terrier,
with glossy coat of black and markings of deli
cate tan that ran down her feet to long highly
polished nails that were the surest badge of
“Bijou’s” aristocracy.
When “Bijou" was about a year old. a chick
en thief was caught with the goods, which in
cluded a nice fat lien. The hen was taken to
the station house and there she remained until
early spring, when she brought fortli a happy
little family of five downy chicks. The close
confinement of prison life, the excitement that
necessarily environed her, or something that
was never diagnosed got upon the hen-moth
er’s nerves, and one morning she died.
What to do with the live little biddies be
came a question of vital import in the station
house, and linallv it was decided that they be
given to a bachelor member of the court, who
carried them home and gave them into the
keeping of “Bijou Judy,” and as faithfully as
a mother the little dog cared for her charges.
She would sit for hours on one side of the
lawn watching them, and if they happened to
get in the walk she would drive them back.
Sometimes “Bijou” would cross the walk and
drive the chickens over to the side where she
had been and where she knew the bugs were
in greatest numbers. Time passed and “Bijou”
became trained to catch the chickens desired
for the table, but never under any circum
stances could she lx* induced to run or catch
the chickens she had brought up.
Over at Athens there is an unusual pet, a
rooster, who was originally named “May.” In
t^me “May’s” name was changed to Mabie. He
belongs to Miss Annie Carlton, one of the pret
tiest and most charming of the society girls of
Athens, and the accomplishment that Mabie is
noted for is untying the shoe strings of his mis
tress and taking walks with her. He follows
Miss Carlton about like a dog, and is entirely
devoted to her.
“Pete” was the name of a mongrel dog that
lx'Hiijp-d to Mrs. C. I. Peck. “I’etc” was a
descendant of a beautiful little Italian grey*
hound, and he retained until his death the beau
tiful instincts of a true aristocrat, else lie hail
never done the thing lie did. It was this; Ai
the end of the block, with a vacant lot between
the Peck home and the next neighbor, stood a
barn.
“The first time I noticed Pete’s mysterious
conduct,” said Mrs. Peck, “was one day when
he trotted through the hall with his dinner
bone in his mouth, lie went out to the front
gate, and the gate being shut, sat down with
his bone and waited until the gate was ojx»ned.
“Out ran Pete, with the lame, and every suc
ceeding day the same thing happened. I de
termined to watch and Ami out what he was
doing, so one day followed him. He ran to the
barn, and under the side, vdiere lie left his
bone. Later <%scrvutions disclosed the fact
that there was a sick dog under the barn, whose
back had been hurt, and Pete was feeding his
unfortunate friend with the same constancy
as the cook was ‘panning’ her friends out the
hack gate.”
Mrs. J. Frank Meador used to have a little
singing mouse that she watched with great in
terest. Every night the mouse would come out
of the closet in her room and sing with all the
abandon of a Farrar, or a Fremstad, or any
of the great operatic stars. After a time the
little mouse disappeared, and what was its fate
no one ever knew.
“I had a trained butterfly,” said a well-
known Atlanta woman, “and you would be sur
prised to know bow attached one can get to a
pet of that kind. I found the cocoon out in
Oakland Cemetery, and seeing that it was a
perfect one, carried it home and set the branch
on which it hung in tlie vase on tlie mantel
in my room. One night I heard a queer flut
tering sound and located it as the opening of
the cocoon.
“Presently the butterfly emerged soft and
downy with its crimson unci’black plumes heavy
with moisture. I laid the helpless thing in a
box of cotton, and in a few days it began to
take notice. I fed it with sugar, which I placed
on my finger. It became a splendid specimen
of butterfly and would light on my hand and
feed on the sweets it held.
“When the butterfly grew strong, was fluffy
and its tentacles’were uncurled and long, I
carried him to the window and let him fly off
in the sunshine. I have often wondered if his
butterfly mind ever grasped the scheme of
things during the few days I made of him a
pet.”
Another strange pet that I have known was
an educated turtle that belonged to Steve
(irady, a well-known Atlantan. The trained
turtle lived many years, perhaps it was tlie
only pet of its kind in the world. T never
heard of another. The turtle’s name was
“Pete.” and "Pete” would come to the edge of
the bow! in which he lived whenever the mas
ter would tap upon it. He would feud from his
owner’s hand and often he would make a queer
little setund as if he were talking. “Pete” had
a companion, hut the companion seemed not.
to have any intellect. At least he never talked
or came at the sound of the tap on the bowL