Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1884-07-10

and began to circle around the fire.
uttering deep bowls that bore anguish
and pr In their tones, while under the
magic influence of the burning COM
position his stripes changed first to
glittering gold and next to vivid
green. The shadowy, unreal light
filled every nook and crevice of the
rocky apartment and brought out in
CHASTITY relief the many yawning hall
ways running from the old mans
room away in every direction
Even Fanny's habit took on the glare
from the fire, and she gazed at her
dress-now so strangely colored-with
wonder and awe.
She raised her eyes once more to the
group before her and saw something
that rivited her attention. Stretched
across the entrance of one of the main
passages was large canvas, display
ing to Storm a distinct picture done in
colors. The strange light that filled
the cavern fell upon and seemed to
enter into the characters depicted there
until they appeared imbued with liv-
ing, moving power. yet ghostly and I'M
real-animate yet dead-of state I'M
known to mortals. as living corpse.
1t caught the old mans eye, too, and
he sank upon his knees, took from his
pouch wooden cross which he held
high in the air before him, and casting
his eyes upon it with steadfast gaze, his
lips moved as if in prayer The agi-
tated lion ceased his plaintive bowls
and gyrations around the fire and
crouched beside his master in silence
From the dark hallway through which
Storm had Just passed came the d'smal
voice of the sombre boot owl, and as
its notes died away down the rock cor
ridor they seemed to carry her soul with
them to world peopled with strange,
restless, warning gnomes with Alecto at
their head, or vast professions of I'M
cooth devils with dog-headed Anubis in
commando world of mortal comforts
desolate.
As Storm stands looking, with parted
lips and bated breath, with cheeks
ablaze and eyes sparkling with excite
ment, utterly forgetful of self-as the
old man has dropped his crucitix and
turned his eyes upon the canvas of pic
lures while one hand spasmodically
clutches his aged locks and the other
points now sternly, now wild and be-
seemingly, now with an air of BENSON
upon some event in the dead past rising
before him and with agonizing prayer
bids it stay as if its going would take
| his little remaining life-spark with it,
and now with frantic gestures having
deep execration in them begs some
darker passage to be gone and forever
from the inspired canvas before him
while, TO repeat, all are intent upon the
collective picture before them, we, too,
must examine it. Part of it we have
seen before.
Behold! In the foreground of the
first scene young man seated upon
rustic chair. Before him stands an
easel and at his side upon the soft,
green grass lays palette fresh with
brilliant pigments bearing recent slashes
from the brushes laid about it. Upon
large canvas on the easel before the
young man is a beautiful picture that
fills Storms soul with soft music as she
gazes. 1t is summer scene, and its
lights and shades are dellcately blended
with distant hazy light which trans
formed hillock, stream and wood into
listless, golden dream of eternal rest
for the weary soul and this was the
young mans work of fame, o idle fancy!
Around and above this picture on the
easel-this picture within picture
were many smaller scenes that rose one
upon the other until they grew fainter
and grander and were finally lost amid
bright clouds above the young man on
hn
pictures on the one side seemed to illus
trate life as it should have been, for
all of them bore the figure of the
young man in the act of achieving a
succession of successes. Near the top
was one small scene more beautiful than
those below it--that of the young dream
er leading to the alter girlish bride,
radiant as vision of paradise. Storm
started as she looked, for this bride was
but an exaggerated reflection of her own
image. 1t was portrait of her girl
mother. All the pictures on the other
side, excepting one. were d TX and
realistic-as life had been. The one
bright relief of this dusky aggregation
was child-little Storm.
Then this was Storms father-this
insane old man who had only memories
of the past to keep him company in his
solitude! Storms heart went out to
him, for there was something in COM
mon between them, after all. Both
were solitary enough. But bark! the
hermit speaks.
1.-The years-the eternal years, how
slow they roll | hear them rumble
and roar as they pass me by, and they
nd hos rtfn srI.tS fG of
they knock at my heart that is growing
cold, and they paint my heart with a
killing mould. and curse me because
don't die. Yet my Storm does not
come. l have the gold and it's all for
Storm. Where is my little Storm?
-gone-goner
NO" cried Fanny Dane, running
across the cavern and throwing her
arms around Sammy Grim's neck, mo;
here is your Storm. Father, / have
come to you. | am your Storm
The old man looked into her face
long and curiously; then with sigh he
took her arms from his neck and gently
pushed her away.
81 say no; you are not my Storm. /
buried you in the Atlantic ocean long
time ago. | remember you wanted me
to take good care of Storm if you died,
and here I've gone and lost her. You
won't scream round my ears like them
fellows that lives with old Poverty, will
you. because | lost Storm?'
80 no. Fanny cried in deep distress,
II have come to stay with you always.
will help you find Storm
The old man took both her hands and
looked her over curiously, while rath-
er pleased expression lit his stony fea-
lures.
"How nice and fresh and Young you
look! Do you know that you were old
and faded when we buried you? Let
me kiss your pretty face as | did the
day our wedding bells rang, and I'll
show you the gold found for Storm"
could tell you of the long hours
it took to convince the old man that his
Storm had really come; of how he at
last put his feeble hand trustingly in
hers and was led down through the
years to peaceful death by his loving
child even as he had led her baby foot