News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1884-01-03
Queer Shadows.

1t was twilight. The red flashes
thrown on the window panes by the set
ting sun had slowly faded out and given
place to the first soft shadows of night,
which bring the cricket from its hiding
place and send the bee and the butterfly
to sleep. There was feeling of rest in
the room-a feeling of quiet content
ment and perfect satisfaction. The
hum from other rooms lulled instead of
annoyed; the voices of children ON the
street seemed far away and had touch
of pathos.
The old man lay at perfect ease. His
eyes rested on the wall at the foot of
the bed-his thin, wrinkled hands were
folded one over the other-there was no
pain to deepen the lines on his kindly
face. He had seen the sun go down,
and he listened for the voice of the
cricket and the call of the whip-poor-
will.
What was that?
A shadow suddenly fitted across
the wall in front of his eyes. Now
another and another Now the first
| shadows, fit back to head a procession.
Passing from right to left the procession
moves-a procession of queer shadows.
They take on faces as they move along,
and the old mans heart beats faster as
each face comes before him. Here are
the friends of his youth-faces which
grew white in death so long ago that
he had forgotten them. This one was
child-that youth-that a fair young
girl when he stood by and saw the
earth cover them. They smile at him.
and his heart GROWS VOunOer
One procession ends and another be-
gins. These 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 sorrows
all had been his friends. The sea. the
lake and the forest gave their dead to
the procession of shadows, and each face
was recognized and remembered. 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 a father, old and bent and fee
bic; a mother with wrinkled, patient
face; brothers in youth and middle age;
sisters who wept with him over some of
the graves. Every face looks as it did
in life: every eye meets him with a glad
look of recognition. The shadows wave
their hands and move on, and the old
mans heart grows childish and big.
There is another procession. The
first shadow is that of loved wife, who
died while the snow-white locks had
scarcely turned gray. Then came the
children-sons and daughters in
all. One by one they had grown weary
and rested by the wayside, leaving hus-
band 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:
Il see you ALL am coming |"
Back with your light But 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 outstretched - on his
white cheeks are tears-on his wrin-
kled face smile Of JOY and gladness.
His spirit had joined the shadows
NJ. QUAD.