The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1884-10-31
JOHN DORN,S SON.

The tide was out in Great South BAY,
Long island; east and west like wavy
fields of green and brown, the Bellmore
marshes stretched away in unbroken
loneliness to meet the dim beauty of
the horizon. The wind had gone down,
leaving the broad bosom of the water
as still as q mirror upturned on the level
sands. The sun, shining through count
less leagues of haze, cast tremulous
shadows toward the east, and, rising up
with shaded brows to meet its rays,
John Dorm, a CHEEKY fisherman, stood
out in silhouette against the sky. Fast
mingling with the purple and gray of
the leeward rim of sea and sky, lazy
schooner winged its southwark flight,
and when the dusky distance closed
upon it John Dorm and his weather
beaten old boat alone broke the change
less monotony OF marsh and meadow.
Left high and dry by the receding tide,
the old boat lay bolt upright in the soft
mud, as taut and trim as though moored
in her moss-grown berth at Bell
more landing. Her sails hung limp
and motionless against her mast, and
about her shining deck brown haired
little girl romped and laughed in child
lsh glee.
It was unspeakably lonely out on the
. Wde-reaching marshes, but as honest
John Dorm shaded his eyes with his
rough, brown hand and gazed seward,
he gayly whistled tune that he had
learned up in the little white-steepled
Westinghouse in Bellmore village. 1t
did not seem lonely or dreary out there,
for to hinG 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 and 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 as familiar
as the stubby fingers on his weather
beaten hands, and had the sky been
6lack with clouds and driving rain,
lOhn 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 garden, but until this day 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-wise scheme, yet only boy
could stand his trick at the wheel OF
reef the mainsail in a gale of wind
John Dorm wanted some one to bear him
company in his silent pilgrimages tc
the fishing grounds and the oyster beds
and in turn to guide the old sloop ou
to sea when he himself should in the
course of time be kept ashore by the
accumulated rheumatism of many year:
of active life. And so, on this soft
summer day, when little, mewlino
red-headed soE had taken possession o.
the household, John Dorm lifted up his
honest soul in thanksgiving, and went
away to his work in the marshes as
blithely as though his wedding day was
not score of years behind him in the
dead but unforgotten past.
The world was bright and fair tc
John Dorm that day, for in the future
he aw his son, strong, sturdy-limbeG
and ruddy, steering with heavy hanc
the laboring vessel, pulling merrily the
weary oar, and on the Sabbath day
trudging man!ully to church with {
swarm of rosy children. John Dorr
smiled and hummed a solemn hymn
and in the height Of his contentedness
stopped down and imprinted upon his
daughters wayy hair a forgiving kiss
Henceforth the innocent little cir
should not be denied the love which dis
appointment had withheld for so long q
time, As he guided his sloop through