Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1885-01-28
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 unbroken
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 count
less leagues of haze, cast tremulous
shadows toward the cast. and, rising up
with shaded brows to meet its rays,
John Dorm, CHEEKY fisherman, stood
out in silhouette against the sky. Fast
mingling with the purple and gray of
the Ieeward rim of sea and sky, lazy
schooner winged its southwark flight,
and when the dusky distance closed
upon it John Dorm and his weather.
less monotony of marsh and meadow.
Left high and dry by the receding tide.
the old boat lay bolt upright in the soft
mud, as taut and trim as though moored
in her moss-grown berth at Bell
more landing. Her sails hung limp
and motionless against her mast, and
about her shining deck a n-haired
little girl romped and laughed in child
ish glee.
1t was unspeakably lonely out on the
wide-rcaching marshes, but as honest
John Dorm shaded his eyes with his
rough, brown hand and gazed scaward,
he gayly whistled tune that he had
learned up in the little white-steepled
Westinghouse in Bellmore village. 1t
did not seem lonely or drcary out there,
for to him it was home. The blue sky
above him and the dimpling shadows
before him spoke only of home; the
marshes had been his playground in
youth, and the meadows behind him
were aswell known as the little garden
back of his own modest cottage among
q clump of distant trees. Even though
the marshes had not been rs 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 rs
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 garden, but until this day son had
been denied him.
II 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-wse scheme, yet only boy
could stand his trick n. the wheel OF
reef the mainsail in gale Of wind.
John Dorm wanted some one 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 he 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
summer day, when little, mewlinp
red-headcd sor had taken possession Of
the household, John Dorm lifted up his
honest soul in thanksgiving. and went
away to his work in the marshes rs
blithely as though his wedding day wa.
not n score of years behind him In the
dead but unforgotten past.
The world was bright and fair u
John Dorm that day. for in the future
he saw his son, strong. sturdy-limbed
and rudy, steering with heavy hand
the laboring vessel, pulling merrily tn,
weary oar, aud on the Sabbath day
trudging manfully to church with {
swarm OF rosy children. John Dom
smiled and hummcd q solemn hymn
and in the height Of his contcntcdnes.
stopped down and imprinted upon hi
daughters wavy hair forgiving kiss
Henceforth tho innocent little CIR
should not be denied the love which dis
appointment had withheld for SO long {
time. As he guided his sloop through