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

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his wrinkles and to grow young again.
Quickened by the breath of awakened
love, the vague ambition of early life
came back, and in the mirage that
somehow doomed above the blue surface
of the bay he saw his son, and incident
ally himself, crowned with all the hon.
ors that a grateful, respecting local
community could bestow. Unquestion-
ing assumption of the probability, or
even the possibility, of future social or
political prefermeEt for his son, was
proof positive that no such distinction
was likely to be accorded him, the ar
gument in the matter being, in effect,
that nothing bnt the most dishearten-
ing of native plodders could come of
such a combination of dullness and I'M
reasoning hope. Had John Dorn's
ambition taken definite form and sought
by such means as lay within the narrow
circle of the life along shore to carve
out the way to the coming mans en-
noblement, there might have been
strong grounds for hope, and willing
hands from the great city whose duskY
confines lay but little beyond the dis
tant view of earth and sky might have
stretched out to help the inStinctless
wayfarer over unknown paths that lead
to the goal of his ambition; but at its
best John Dorn's ambition was as
formless as the night. and as discourage
ing as his wife's inferiority. In such
a rayless gloom, what hope for light?
Who but purposeless enthusiast would
see the flower of genius in such track
less waste.
All the tendencies of nature were
against John Dorm, but yeC, working
blithely on the wide marshes, he sang
song that filled his soul with Joy. The
chances in life were against John
Dorm ambition, and yet he hoped. In
simple truth it must be said that this
ambition, never wholly stationary or
definite, changed as often as the wind.
| Sometimes his much-loved son guided
stately ship to distant seas; oftener he
sang cheerily in fshing-boat in the
Great South Bay, and once in rare
while he stood within the torchlight's
glare to discuss the burning issues of
the hour. Always it was the goal, and
not the painful, weary means, that this
ambition touched upon; always results,
never the process of attainment. The
vivisectionist is right, though cold and
unsympathetic, there was little hope for
either John Dorm or his son.
CLAIMS were plentiful that day, and
John DOrn's broad, flat 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 boat, piled high. with
captured shells, until, when the tide
ceased to run out and the western sun
dipped 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 90 home with the new tide. To
go home? To whomP To the baby;
to his sonp Perhaps by this time his
wife, remembering previous converse
tions on the subject, had named him.
And would he answer to the plain, old
fashioned name "John?' Perhaps SO.
1t was old-fashioned, no doubt, to have
the paternal name descend through
many generations, but it was 9 good
honest way, and to one honest, plod-
ding woman in the little house among
the trees it would give deep satisfac-
ton.
Waiting for his boat to float, John
Dorm spattered the advancing tide
merrily with his bare feet and played
hide-and- go-seek with his little girl.
All resentment over the birth OF a
daughter had vanished now, and the
father was happy and proud in having
both daughter and son. 1t made
things even, he thought, and who could
tell what the future would bringp
Then, as he stood there aimlessly
swinging his foot to and fro in the cool
water, an idea seemed to enter into 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, for
mulated itself into tangible idea, and
he tried, unsuccessfully for time, to
give it practical form He realized,
awkwardly enough, it must be con-
fessed, that on this day he ought to
carry an offering to the cradle of his
child, an offering from the sea. In
that moment, it is true, his patient,
hard working wife was almost forgot
ten, and his first born son filled his
newly-awakened imagination with a
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 through
the instrumentality of his son, and not
his wife, that his desultory ambition
was to be realized. And besides his
wife has been with him many years.
and had not been accustomed to such
honors at his hands. Would it be reason
able, therefore, to begin now? He
thought not.
An offering from the sea surely was
not hard to find, and yet he hesitated.
Shells were thrown in prodigal profu-
sion, and shells always have been CON
sidered the time-honored trophies of
the sea. phells were good enough in
their way, and suitable for all occasions
of ordinary interest; but as the birth of
the first son seemed 20 be an occurrence
of more than usual Importance John
Dorn's ambition demanded something.
more. just what to select as an addi-
tional offering puzzled John Dorm for
some time. At length his wrinkled
face beamed with satisfaction, He had
it now. 1t was flowers!
''Be good girl, Patty, an keep the
sloop It'll come back said he
Strengthening the kinks out of his body
and turning his face toward the mead
ows. Don't be afraid, Patty; 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, how
ever, and walked on, looking neither to
the right nor to the left. His preoccu-
pied manner, his answering course to-
ward cluster of bright flowers on 8
neighhoring bank told, as plainly as the