McCook weekly tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 188?-1886, 1883-12-27
Queer Shadows.

Il was twilight The red flashes
thrown on the window-paues by the
setting sun had slowly faded out and
given place to the first soft shadows of
night, which bring the cricket from his
hiding place and send the bee and but
tertly to sleep. There was feeling of
rest in the room-a feeling of quiet con-
tentment and perfect satisfaction. The
hum of voices from other rooms lulled
instead of annoyed; the voices of chill
dren on the street seemed far away and
had a touch of pathos.
The old man lay ut perfect ease. His
eyes rested on the wall ut Il c foot of
the bed-his, thin, wrinkled hands were
folded one over the other-there was
no pain TO deepen the lines on his kind
ly face He had seen the sun 90 down,
and ne had listened for the voice of the
cricket and the call of the whip-poor-
will.
What was that?
A shadow suddenly lifted across the
wall in front of his eyes. Now anoth
er and another. Now the first shadows
fit back to head Il procession. Passing
rom right to left the procession moves
"a procession of queer shadows. They
take on faces rs they move along, and
the old mans heart beats faster III each
face comes before him. Here are the
friends OF his youth-faces which grew
white III death SO long ago that he had
forgotten them. This one was Il child
that youth that Il fair young girl
when ne stood by and saw the earth
cover them. They smile ut him, and
his heart grows young
One procession ends and another be-
gins. There are the faces of men and
women stricken down in the MONDAY
OF life. Some of them had shared his
hopes and sympathized with his sor-
rOws-all had been his friends. The
sea, the lake and the forest gave up
their dead to the procession of shad-
ows, each face was recognized and re-
memDered. The procession moves on
and on. He is shocked TO realize that
SO many of his friends fell in the battle
of life while he was spared to grow
old and rest in peace.
Now comes the third procession.
There is father, old and bent and
| feeble; mother with wrinkled, pa
tient face; brothers III youth and mid
| die age; sisters who wept with him
over some of the graves. Every face
looks Us it did in life; every eye meets
his with Il glad look of recognition.
| The shadows wave their hands and
move on, and the old mans heart
| crows childish and big.
There is another procession. The
first shadow il that OF a loved wife,
who died while the snow-white locks
had scarcely turned gray. Then came
the children-sons and daughters
III all. One by one they had grown
weary and rested by the wayside, leav
ing husband and father to pursue the
journey alone. The procession halts,
and every shadow holds out its hands to
the poor old man as if in supplicatiOn.
| His heart swells-tears fill his eyes,
and he cries out to them:
81 see you ALL am cOning!"
Back with your light! Gut it is too
late. The glare of the lamp filings the
twilight out of the room with hasty
hand, and the shadows which crept
along the wall are gone forever. No
one saw them but the old man, and yet
there is proof of their presence. His
poor old hands are outst retched-on his
white checks are tears-on his wrinkled
face smile of joy and gladness.
His spirit had Joined the shadows!