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( 2 E t 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