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


nd by his side star-eyed maid
One soul were they and that was truth.
| But what they said it could not tell,
| And would not with its dying breath,
only this: "Full soon wedding bell
| VIII peal of love that knows no DEATH
And then it said: "My work is done;
No more for me the birds will sing
No more for me will shine the sun,
For w1thered leaves there comes no spring
"NoW lay me down and let me sleep
With the dead grass upon the mold;
ger me the autumn rains will weep
And winds will sigh in winter cold.'
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 un-
broken loneliness to meet the dim
beauty of the horizon. The wind had
gone down, leaving the broad bosom of
the water as still as mirror upturned
on the level sands. The sun, shining
through countless leagues of haze, cast
tremendous shadows toward the east,
and, rising up with shaded brows to
meet its rays, John Dorm, a CHEEKY fish
erman, stood out in silhouette against
the sky. Fast mingling with the pur-
pie and gray of the leeward rim of sea
and sky, lazy schooner winged it's
southwark flight, and when the dusky
distance closed upon it John Dorm and
his weather-beaten old boat alone broke
the changeless monotony of marsh and
meadow: Left high and dry by the re-
ceding tide the old boat lay bolt up
right in the soft mud as taut and trim
as though moored in her moss-grown
berth at Bellmore landing. Her sails
hung limp and motionless against her
mast, and about her shining deck a
prown-h haired little girl romped and
laughed in childish glee.
1t was unspeakably lonely out on the
wide reaching marshes, but as honest
John Dorm shaded his eyes with his
rough brown hand and gazed seaward
he gayly whistled tune that he had
learned up in the little white steepled
meeting house in Bellmore village. It
did not seem lonely or dreary out there,
for to him it was home. The blue sky
above him and the dimpling shadows
before him spoke only of home; tho
marshes had been his playground in
youth, aud the meadows behind him
we're as we'll known as the little garden
back of his own modest cottage among
a clump of distant trees. Even though
the marshes had not been so familiar as
the stubby fingers on his weather-beaten
hands, and had the sky been black with
clouds and driving rain, John Dorm
would have been just as happy and free
from care, for Up in the little house
among the trees son had been born to
bless his approaching old age. A
daughter he had already, and another
slept beneath the sea grass in his gar
den, 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 or reef
the mainsal in gale of wind. John
Dorm wanted someone to bear him
company in his silent pilgrimages to
the fishing grounds and the oyster beds,
and in turn to guide the old sloop out
to sea when ne himself should in the
course of time, be kept ashore by the
accumulated rheumatism of many years
OF active life. And SO on this soft sum-
mer day, when a little mewling red
headed son had taken possession of the
household, John Dorm lifted up his hon
est soul In Thanksgiving, and went away
! to his work in the marshes as bithely
as though his wedding day was not a
! score OF years behindhim in the dea d
but unforgotten past.
| The world was bright and fair to John
Dorm that day, for in the future he saw
his son, strong, turdy-limbed and rud-
| dy, steering, with heavy hand the labor
ing vessel, pulling merrily the weary
oar, and on the Sabbath Day trudging
manfully to church with q swarm OF
rosy children. John Dorm smiled and
hummed solemn hymn, and in the
height of his conten edness stopped
down and imprinted on his DAUGHTERS
wavy hair forgiving kiss. Henceforth
the innocent little girl should not be
denied the love which disappointment
had held for so long time.
As he guided his sloop through the
serpentine channel leading out to the
bay his heart became as water, and in
the ennoblng influence of that feeling
he seemed to lose his sunbeam and 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 some
how loomed up above the blue surface
of the bay he saw his son, and inciden
tally himself crowned with all thu
honors that a grateful, respecting, loca
community could bestow. Unquestion
ing assumption of the probability, O,
even the possibility of future social O.
political preferment for his son wa
proof positive that no such distinctio,
was likely to be accorded him, the argu
ment in the matter being, in effect, tina
nothing but the most disheartening O
native plodders could come to such
combination of dullness and unreason
ing hope. Had John Dorn's ambition
taken definite form and sought by suol
means as lay within the narrow circle o
the life along shore to carve out the wa.
to the coming mans ennoblement, Their
might have been strong ground TO
hope, and willing hands from the grea
city, whose dusky confines lay but
little beyond the distant view of cart
and sky might have been stretched on
to help the instinctless wayfarer owe
unknown paths that led to the goal q
his ambition; but, at its best, job
Dorn's ambition was as formless as th
night, and as Encouraging as his wife
inferiority. In such rayless gloo1
what hope for light? Who but q pun
poseless enthusiast would see the aowe
of genius in such trackless waste?
All the tendencies of nature wer
against John Dorm, but yet, workin
blithely on the wild marshes, he sang
song that filed his soul with joy. TIL
changes in life were against job
Dorn's ambition, and yet he hoped. 1