The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-06-13

ing 1t Httle-just Iittle-too low down l Of course you mean well, and all that but come, now say-couldnt you just lei up on him theref Why, she"-Hamlin softly closed the door" she's got no character"
 "The more reason he should give Aes oae."
 A cynical knowledge of matrimony i'm. parted to him by the wives of others evi- dently colored Mir. HamGn's views, "Well, perhaps it's all the same if he's going to die. But isn't it rather rough on herr l don't know," he added rehec- lively !" she was sniveling round here a little while ago until sent her away"
 "You sent her awayp echoed Gideon.
 @idid."
 "Why P'
 Because you were here"
 Nevertheless Mr. HAmlin departed, and in half an hour reappeaIed with two brilliantly dressed women. Oae. hyster- ical, fearful, frightened and pallid, vas the destined bride; the other, highly colored, excited and pleasedly observant, was her friend. Two men hastily sum. moned from the ante-room as witnesses completed the group that moved into the bedroom and gathered round the bed.
 The ceremony was simple and brief It was well, for of all who took part in 1t none was more shaken by emotion than thes officiating priest. The brilliant dresses of the women the contrast of their painted faces with the waxen pallor of the dying man the terrible incongru- ity of their voices, infections, expressions and familiarity; the mingled perfume of cosmetics ana the faint odor of wine the eyes of the younger woman following his movements with strange absorption, So af. fected him that he was glad when he could fall on his knees at last and bury his face in the pillow of the sufferer. The hand that had been placed in the brides cold fingers slipped from them and mechanic ally sought Gideon's again. The signi6- canoe of the unconscious act brought the first spontaneous tears into the woman's eyes. It was his last act, for when Cid eon's voice was again lifted in prayer, the spirit for whom 1t was offered had risen with it, as 1t was still lovingly hand in hand, from the earth forever.
 The funeral was arranged for two days later, and Gideon found that his services had been SO seriously yet so humbly counted upon by the friends of the dead man that he could scarce find it in his heart to tell that it was the function of the local preacher-an older and more experienced man than himself. "lf it is" said lack Hamlin coolly, "l'm afraid he won't get. yaller dog to come to his church l; but if you say you'll preach at the grave, there ain't man, woman or child that will be kep. away. Don't you go back on your luck now it's something awful and nigger-like. Talk of revivals 1! You could give that one-horse show in Tasajara a hundred points, and skunk them easily" Indeed, had Gideon been accessible to vanity, the spontaneous homage he met with everywhere would have touched him more sympathetically and kindly than it did but in the utter unConsciousness of his own power and the quality they worshiped in him, he felt alarmed and impatient of what he be- lieved to be their weak sympathy with his own human weakness. In the depth of his unsel6sh heart, lit, it must be con- fessed, only by the scant, inefficient lamp of his youthful experience, he really be- lieved he had failed in his apostolic mis- sion because he had been unable to touch the hearts of the vigilantes by oral appeal and argument. Feeling thus, the rever- ence of these irreligious people that sur rounded him, the facile yielding of their habits and prejudices to his half uttered wish, appeared to him only temptation of the flesh. No one had sought him after the manner of the camp meeting he had converted the wounded man through common weakness of their hu- manity. More than that, he was con- scious of growing fascination for the truthfulness and sincerity of that class, particularly of Mir. Jack Hamlin, whose conversion he felt he could never attempt. yet whose strange friendship alternately thrilled and frightened him.
 It was the evening before the funeral. The coffin, half smothered in wreaths and flowers, stood upon trestles in the ante-room large silver plate bearing an inscription on which for the second time Gideon read the name of the man he had converted. It was a name asso- ciated on the frontier so often with reck- less hardihood, dissipation, and blood, that even now Gideon trembled at his presumption, and was chilled by a mo- mentary doubt of the efficiency of his labor. Drawing uncon:c;cu.ly nearer :o the mute subject of his thoughts, he threw his arms across the coffin and buried his face between them.
 A stream of soft music, the echo of some forgotten song, seemed to Gideon to suddenly fill and possess the darkened room, and then to slowly die away, like the opening and shutting of door upon flood of golden radiance. He listened with hushed breath and beating heart. He had never heard anything like it be- fore. Again the strain arose, the chords swelled round him, until from their mids, . tenor voice broke high and steadfast, like a star in troubled skies. Gideon scarcely breathed. It was a hymn. He had never conceived there could be such beautiful words, joined to such exquisite melody, and sung with grace 90 tender and evxH NM ,sh~ h. A