Aunt Ella, though naturally optimistic, did not, in her own heart, share Alice's hopeful anticipations. Perhaps Florence's somewhat extravagant account of the collision and the events which followed it led her to form the opinion that her nephew's escape from death was impossible.
Hope takes good root, but it is a flower that, too often, has no blossom. A month passed--two--three--four--five--six--and then despair filled the young wife's heart. She could bear up no longer, and Dr. Parshefield made frequent visits.
Aunt Ella pressed the fatherless infant to her breast.
“There can be but one name for him. God sent us two little girls, but took them back again. We both wished for a son, and Heaven has sent one, but has taken the father from us.”
“Quincy Adams Sawyer, Junior,” was the answer. “It is his birthright.”
“But,” said Aunt Ella, “they never add Junior to a boy's name unless his father is living.”
Alice sat up in bed, and her eyes flashed as she said,
“My heart has renewed its hope with this young life. I believe my husband still lives, and, until I have conclusive proofs of his death, our son's name will be Quincy Adams Sawyer, Junior.”
Time, it is said, will dull the deepest sorrow. There are some who put out of sight everything to remind them of the lost one, while others treasure every memento, and never tire of recalling the virtues of the departed.
In Alice's case the presence of her little boy was a constant reminder of her husband. In Aunt Ella she found a willing listener, and talking of her past happy married life aided greatly in restoring her nerve power and improving her general health.
She said one day, “Aunt Ella, don't you think it better to face your troubles bravely than to fly away from them?”
“I certainly do. You are following the right course, Alice; the same as I did when Robert died. Your parting with Quincy was sad, inexpressibly so, but imagine my feelings to awake and find my husband dead in the bed beside me. Did I try to forget him? You remember his rooms in the Mount Vernon Street house. They became my Mecca--the place to which I went when I had a 'blue fit,' or was depressed in any way. God has sent you a child to keep your husband's memory fresh. I repeat, Alice, you are doing the right thing.”