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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
daughter had committed the unpardonable sin. This was clearly demonstrated one brown October afternoon, when, thru some message that binds the mother-heart to her child, Helen and her mother again sat together under one roof.
For two whole hours the happy child had poured into the mother's hungry soul the glad tidings, and all the while she sat working away with tender, loving hands on the tiny garments of the coming generation.
Suddenly the Rabbi, who was supposed to be far away out of town, entered the room. His daughter, rising in dismay, dropped the wee garments to the floor. Then she started forward impulsively. But the Rabbi as suddenly shoved the clamoring father-spirit to the background.
"No," he said coldly, "you are
not my ." He
would not even permit the word to pass his lips. "Return to your Gentile husband."
The mother, who had stood in breathless suspense, attempted to speak, but was silenced by the Rabbi.
But when the two had left the room, the cold eyes softened. The sternness melted. The father returned. His eyes fell upon the baby's dress, and the light of this knowledge opened unguessed depths in them. For a moment it seemed that he would go after his child and bring her back. Then he sat down de
THE STERNNESS MELTED
terminedly. "My child! my child! You are lost to me forever!" he said brokenly.
And then, after making sure that he was alone, he did a strange thing. He lifted the tiny dress and pressed it tenderly to his lips, his long beard gently trembling with emotion. But no nearer tribute could he give — above all he was a Rabbi.
When the baby came, two grandmothers managed to be present. There the matter seemed to rest. For when the maternal grandmother told the Rabbi he had a grandson — supposedly the happiest moment in the ripening years of a Hebrew 's life — h e expressed only the mildest sort of interest. Then, motherlike, she appealed to him in behalf of her daughter. Without a reply he left her, a stoical expression on his face.
The news was broken to the elder Mahoney in quite a different manner. That gentleman sat moodily in his living-room puffwhen his wife and pirouetting again. She shook his face, knocking
ing a dead cigar entered, skipping about like a' girl a baby rattle in the cigar to the floor. Then without a word of explanation, she stopped for a moment, throwing a kiss to her amazed husband, and rushed out.
"What the devil V9 he asked,
standing for a moment in a deep study. "Well, by Jove, it must