Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1886-07-15
When the Day is Conc.

IT, - DuEhttAcs III oIOOhs9 u
How quiet the house is Ut midnight.
The people who talk and laugh and
sing in it every day areasleep, and the
people who fell asleep in it Tong ago
come back into it. Every house has
these two classes OF tenants. Do we
love best those with whom We can
laugh and talk and sing, or the dear
silent ones who come so noiselessly to
our side and whisper 10 us in faint,
sweet, far-away whispersthat haveno
sound, so that we hear only their
very stillness2
lam not tired, but my pen sweary.
It falls from My fingers and | raiser my
mead. Istart to leave the table, and
my eyes fall upon little book lying
on the floor. 1t is little@first Read
err He left it there this after
noon. remember just how Twas
impatient because he could not read
she simple little lesson, such an
easy lesson, and / told him it was q
waste of my tinle to teach him, and
pushed him away from me. lremem-
Der now. / see the flush come into the
little tired face, the brave, cheerful
look in his eyes, his mothers brave,
patient cheeriness, struggling with ms
disappointment and pain. see him
lie down on the floor and the little
face bend over the troublesome little
lesson, such simple easy lesson, any
baby might readit. Then, after little
struggle alone, it has to be given up,
and the baffied little soldier, with
one more appealing look toward me
Tor reiniorcements, signs and goes
away from the lesson he cannot read
to the play that comforts him. And
lhere lies the little book, just as he
eft it. All, me, | could kneel down
and kiss it now as though 1T were
alive and loving.
Why, what was my time worth to
me to-day? What was there in the
book | wanted to read one-halfso pre-
eious to me as one cooling word from
the prattling lips that quivered when
turned away. | hate the book i
read. will never look at it again.
Wereit the last book in the world l
think would burn it. All its gracious
words are lies. say to you, though
all men praise the book, and though
an hour ago Thought it excellent, |
say to you there is poison i'll its hate.
full pages. Why, what can | learn
frombooks that baby lips cannot teach
me? Do you know | want to go to the
door OF his room and listen; the house
Is so still; maybe he is not breathing.
Wny,i between my book and my boy
choose my book, why should not God
leave me with my books? My hateful
books. .He ss
But | was net harsh. Twas only a
little impatient. Because you see his
lesson was so easy, so simple. All,
me, there were two Of us trying to read
this afternoon. They were two easy,
simple lessons. Mine was such very
simple, easy, pleasant, loving one to
learn. Just line, Just u little throb of
patience, OF gentlenes, oflove that would
have made my own heart glow and
laugh and sing. The letters were so large
and plain, the words SO easy and the
sentences so short. And |! Oh, pity
me, missed every word. | did not
read one word Alright. See, here is my
copy now; all blurred and blistered
with tears and heartache, all marred
and mispelled and blotted. / am
ashamed to show it to the Master.
And yet know he will be patient with
me; know how loving and gentle he
viii be. Why, how patiently and low
ing all these years he has been teach
ing me this simple lesson failed upon
to-day. But when my little pupil
stumbled on a single words my time,
then, so much more precious than
the Masters" that ! cannot teach
the little lesson more than once?
An, friend, we do waste time when
we plait scourges for ourselves. These
hurrying days, these busy, anxious,
shrewd, ambitious times OF ours are
wasted wien they take our hearts
away from patient gentleness, and
give us fame for love and gold for
kisses. Some day, then, when our
hungry souls will seek for bread our
selfish god will give us a stone. Life
is not deep, profound, perplexlng
problem--it is simple, easy lesson,
such as any child may read. You
cannot find its solution in the ponder
Gus tones Of the old fathers, the phil.
osophers, the investigators, the theo-
rists. 1t is not on your bookshelves.
But in the warmest corner of the most
unlettered heart it CLOVIS in letters
that the blind may read; sweet,
plain, simple, easy, loving lesson. And
when you have learned it, brother OF
mine, the world will be better and hap
pier.