The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1884-11-01
JOHN DHRN'S son.

The tide was out in Great SoutI
Bay, Long Island. East and west, like
wavy fields of green and brown, the
Bellmore marshes stretched away IN un
broken loneliness to meet the din
beauty of the horizon. The wind had
gone down, leaving the broad bosom O
the water as still as mirror upturneC
on the level sands. The sun, shining
through countless leagues Of haze, cas-
tremendous shadows toward the east
and, rising up with Shaded brows tc
meet its rays, John Dorm, CHEEKY fish
erman, stood out in silhouette against
the sky. Fast mingling with the pur
pie and gray of the leeward rim of sea
aud sky, lazy schooner winged its
southwark fight, and when the dusky
distance closed upon it John Dorm and
his weather beaten old boat alone broke
the changeless mOGotOny of marsh and
meadow. Left high and dry by the re-
cedipg tide the old boat lay bolt up,
right IN the soft mud as taut and trim
as though noOred IN her moss grown
berth at Bellmore landing. Her sails
hung limp and mOtionless against he1
mast, and about her shining deck 6
prown-haired little girl romped and
laughed in childish glee
1t was unspeakably lonely out on the
vide reaching marshes, but as honest
John Dorm shaded his eyes with MS
rough brown hand and gazed seaward
he gayly whistled a tune that he had
learned up in the little white steepled
meeting house in Bellmore village. 1t
did not seem lonely or dreary out there,
for to him it was home. The blue sky
above him and the dimpling shadows
before him spoke Only of home: the
marshes had been his playground in
youth, aud the meadows behind him
were as well known as the little garden
back of his own modest cottage among
clump of distant trees. Even though
the marshes had not been so familiar as
the stubby fingers on his waather-beaten
hands, and had the sky been black with
clouds and driving rain, John Dorm
would have been just as happy and free
from care, for Up in the little house
among the trees a son had been born to
bless his approaching old age. A
daughter he had already, and another
slept beneath the sea grass in his gar.
den, but until this day a son had been
denied him.
1t would not be fair to say that John
Dorm had grumbled at fate when grave
middle life came and saw no sons in
his family, but somewhere down in the
depths OF his stout heart he argued that
although girls were good enough in
their way, and perhaps were necessities
OF an all-w1se scheme yet only boy
could stand his trick at the wheel or reel
the malnsall IN gale of wind. Johr
Dorm wanted someone to bear hin
company in his silent pilgrimages tc
the fishing grounds and the oyster beds
and IN turn to guide the old sloop on,
to sea when ne himself should in the
course OF time, be kept ashore by the
accumulated rheumatism Of many years
OF active life. And so on this soft sum
mer day, when a little mewline red
headed son had taken possession of the
household, John Dorm lifted ND his hon
est soul IN thanksgiving, and went away
10 ms work III the marshes as biithely
as though his wedding day was not
score OF years behindhim in the dead
but untorgotten past
The world was bright and fair to John
Dorm that day, for in the future he saw
his son, strong, sturdy-limbed and rud
dy, steering, with heavy hand the labor
ing vessel, pulling merrily the wear
oar, and on the Sabbath Dav trudpints
manfully to church with swarm n
rosy children. John Dorm smiled an,
hummed solemn hymn, and in tn,
helght of his conten edness stoopeC
down and imprinted on his daughter
wavy hair torgiving kiss. Hencefortl
the innocent little girl should not b.
denied the love which disappointment
had held for so long time.
As he guided his sloop through tn
serpentlne channel leading out to th,
bay his heart became as water. and il
the ennobllng influence of that feelin!
he seemed to lose his sunbeam and hi
wrinkles and to grow young again.
Quckened by the breath of awakened
love, the vague ambition of early Iif
came back, and in the mirage that some
how doomed up above the blue surfac
OF the bay he saw his son. and inciden
tally himself crowned with all I'll,
honors that grateful, respecting, loca
community could bestow. Unauestion
ing assumption of the probability, O.
even the possibility of future social n
pohtcal preferment for his son wa
proof positive that no such distinction
was nkely TO be accorded him, the argu
ment IN the matter being, in effect. tina
nothing but the most disheartening o
native pIodders could come to such ,
computation OF dulluess and unreason
ing nope Had John Dorn's ambition
taken DEFINITE form and sought by suci
means as lay within the narrow circle q
the HE along shore to carve ont the wa,
10 the coming mans ennobIement there
might have been strong ground fo]
nope, and willing hands from the prear
city, whose dusky confines Law but ,
AttIe beyond the distant view of earth
ana SKY might have been stretched ont
10 help the lnstinctless wayfarer owe,
unknown paths that led to the goal o.
ms ambition; but, at its best, John
Dorn's ambition was as formIess as tbe
niS ht' ana as dIscouraging as his wife's
InieIiorlty. In such rayless gloom
what nope Tor hight? Who but a pur.
poseiess enthusiast would see the hove,
OF genus IN such trackless waste?
All the tendencies of nature were
against John Dorm, but vet. WORKING
phthely on the wild marshes, he sane 3
song that filled his soul with joy. The
changes III life were against John
Dom ambition, and yet he hoped. In
simple truth it must be said that his
ambition, never wholly stationary or
definite, changed as often as the wind