Mower County transcript. [volume] (Lansing, Minn.) 1868-1915, 1884-10-29

athetlc-there was little hope
for either John Dorm or his son.
CLANS were plentiful that day, and
John Dorn's broad, fiat feet churned
them out Of the thick mud with more
than usual rapidity and ease. Again
and again the wicker basket returned
to the waiting pile, piled high with capt
ured shells, until, when the tide ceased
to run out and the westering sunIdipped
angrily toward the hazy west, John Dorm
drew his brown arm across his heated
brow and said that he had done enough.
Smiling contentedly at the sleepy little
girl, he said that he would go home
with the new tide. To go home? To
whom? To the baby; to his son! Per-
haps by this time his wife, remember
ing previous conversations on the sub
ject, had named him. And would he
answer to the plain, old fashioned name,
"John?" Perhaps so. It was old.fash-
toned, no doubt, to have the paternal
name descend through many genera
tons, but it wax , good honest way, and
to one honest, .,lodding woman in the
little house among the trees it would
give deep satisfaction,
Waiting for his boat to float, John
Dorm spattered the advancing tide mer-
rily with his bare feet and played hide
and-go.seek with his little girl. All
resentment over the birth of daughter
had vanished now, and the father was
happy and proud in having both daugh-
ter and son. It made things even, he
thought, and who could tell what the
future would bring? Then as ne stood
there aimlessly swinging his foot to and
| fro in the cool water, an idea seemed to
enter and take possession of his mind.
A vague desire to do something for the
young son who was to bless his life had,
in some unaccountable way, formulated
itself into tangible idea, and he tried,
unsuccessfully for a time, to give it
practical form. He realized, awkwardly
enough, it must be confessed, that on
this day be ought to carry an offering to
the cradle of his child-an Offering from
the sea. In that moment, it is true,
his patient. Woodworking wife was al
most forgotten, and his first born son
filled his newly awakened imagination
with radiance like the glow in the
western sky. This seeming neglect of
his wife appeared to him excusable, for
the hard-headed reason that it was
thought the fundamentally of his son,
and not of his wife that his desultory am
bition to be realized. And, besides, his
wife had been with him many years
and had not been accustomed to such
honors at his hands. Would it be rea-
sonable, therefore, to begin now? He
thought not.
An Offering from the sea surely was
not hard to find, and yet he hesitated.
Shells there we're in prodigal profusion,
and shells always have been considered
the time.honored trophies of the sea.
Shells were good enough in their way,
and suitable for all occas ions of ordinary
interest, but as the birth of the first son
seemed to be an occurrence of more
than usual importance, John Dorn's
ambition demanded something more.
Just what to select as an additional
offering puzzled John Dorm for some
time. At length his wrinkled face
beamed with satisfaction. He had it
now. It was flowers.
"Be good girl, Patty, an keep the
sloop till come back" said he straight
ening the kinks out of his body and
turning his face towards the meadows
"Don't be afraid, Patty; I won't be
long"
Then he went across the marshes
alone, turning back his head from time
to time to see that little
Patty came to no harm. Soon,
he forgot Patty, however, aad walked
on, looking neither to the right nor to
the left. His preoccupied manner, his
answering course toward cluster of
bright flowers on neighboring bank,
told as plainly as the day his sudden
and narrow devotion to one all absorbing
object. Under ordinary conditions of
mind he would have zigzagged from
bank to bank, avoiding the rough places,
and following, as closely as possible,
the paths laid out by nature. AS it was,
he kept straight course, in utter dis
regard of pools of water, bitches of
mud or punches of seaweed. Between
him and the cluster of flowers wss
Dead Mans Greek. At low tide it was
cozy bed of soft mud, with tiny
stream Of water trickling down it's cen
ter; at high tide a schooner might have
foated in it with perfect safety It got
it's name from the fact that man was
drowned there several years before.
Upon the shiny bank of Dead Mans
Creek John Dorm neither stopped nor
stayed. With his eyes fixed conf
dently upon the cluster of gay bloom
ing flowers he strobe down through the
eel grass and out into the mud. Had
he been less occupied with thoughts of
his frst-born son and vague specula-
tons concerning the career likely to
open up before him, he would have no.
ticed at once, with the experience of an
old fisherman, that the mud was soft
and heavy. Almost at a run he pushed
forward.
In the middle of Dead Mans Greek
he stopped. A shade of vexation
crossed his face, for he found it impossi-
BILE to cross the mud so near the main
channel. He stood still moment try
ing to think of better crossing farther
up the brook. He turned to retrace his
steps. What was this? The heavy mud
held him fast! With mighty effort he
wrenched free one of his legs and tried
to struggle out to frmer ground. It
was impossible. He but sank the deeper.
Then like tidal wave the blood rushed
back upon his heart, leaving his cheeks
and lips like ashes. It was fear. Then
he laughed aloud, hard, hollow laugh.
Why should he fear? Did he not know
every foot of sea and shore along the
Great South Bay, and was it likely that
any harm should come to him in
sight of his own home: It was weak
ness to think of such a thing. The
long-delayed arrival of his son had un-
nerved him for moment-that was all
Would he not put forth his strength
and wrench himself free? With the
energy of desperation he tried it-once
|-twice-three times-and stood still
exhausted. Fear shone in his eyes, and
the lines of unexpressed anxiety deep
ened across his pale face, yet he would
not cry out. People might laugh tc
know that he was stuck in the mud, and
ho wan ,,ron6 IN his wov- r,ron1 ~ ~.