The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1889-12-12


first; but gradually my fears dimin-
ished, my hopes became stronger,
and | said to myself: HE will doubt
less be better when | get there"
Still | could not sleep. | was so
anxious to learn what the telegram
had not told me, that it seemed as
though the night express moved only
at snaiPs pace. My eyes were
closed but not with sleep. / longed
for the speed of the lightning, and
dreaded to learn the facts, fearing
that my hopes might prove vain.
Gradually, however, the long night
wore away. AS the cold gray morn
ing began to dawn, the car rolled in
to the depot of my native village. I
stepped out. No one was there but
the sleepy station master who did
not seem to recognize me- I hur-
ried toward my home, not very far
distant, hoping and fearing at the
same time to know the exact truth.
AS | turned the corner which brought
my home into view, involuntarily I
glanced toward my fathers chamber,
and the zOInd1ozOs zOere 0ben. It was
a cold winter morning, and there
could be only one Interpretation.
I stopped as if stunned. There
could be no mistake. My hopes
fed, nv worst fears had proved too
true. 1t was evident that was too
late. When the shock had passed SO
that I could control myself, I moved
on. | was not expected till the next
the next train. and SO no one met
me at the station. [ reached the
house, opened the door, entered the
sitting room, and met my mother
with tears streaming down her
cheeks.
She grasped my hand convulsive-
ly, and sobbed in broken words, at
is all over-he did not speak-he
did not suffer-he did not recognize
any of us )" Falling tears were my
only answer. This was my first,
great, crushing sorrow, for when my
mother died | was too young to I'M
derstand fully its meaning. But now
I felt that death had launched a
thunderbolt at the main pillar of our
house, and | was almost bewildered
by the terrible shock.
At that moment my little sister
came in. Her own father died be-
fore she could remember, and she
had known no other papa except the
good man who had so suddenly fall
en-. Her 0zOn father could not have
been more kind to her, and she
could not have loved him better. AS
she entered the door and saw me
there weeping beside my mother,
she exclaimed, 90 Johnny, Johnny"
and rushed into my arms
She could say no more. | took
her in my arms, sat down on the
sofa beside my mother, and our tears
mingled together. But tears are the
safety-valve of the heart. They are
relief. They serve to remove the
pressure from the overburdened soul
1t was so in this case. Gradually
we became calm. But my head was
still bowed, my eyes still closed,
when | felt the touch of soft lips
upon my forehead, and heard we'll
known voice, in low, sweet, sub
dued, sorrowful tune, say, "Johnny,
do you wish to see him." It was
Mary; I was glad that she had come
to be with mother during this terri
Bile trial. She led the way to the
chamber of death, my
mother, my little sister and l fol-
lowed Mary turned to leave us
there alone. My mother took her
by the hand and detained her.
She had been my playmate, my
schoolmate, my companion, and had
promised to be my wife 1t was nat
ural that she should come to us in
this hour of distress. The cloth had
been carefully removed, and we
looked upon that calm dead face;
and strange though it be, it seemed
to quiet our troubled spirits. We
stood there silent, sad, reverent;
and looked upon that form which
seemed only asleep. My mother fell
on her knees beside that dead body
Instinctively, with one impulse, we
all bowed with her.
I knew that she was praying for
herself and us with the same faith as
she prayed ten years before when |
heard her voice, and saw her face
through that half open door. was
no Christian, but I could not help
praying. No words were spoken,
but we all prayed. We arose from
that bedside, Gained, quoted, sooth-
ed, comforted. The Lord was there.
We went out Gods spirit went with
us. 0 how I wished for my moth
er's faith. Two days after, we
placed the body of my father in the
narrow house. His spirit had gone
up to the God who gave it being.
We came back to our desolate home.