Omaha daily bee., 1890-04-06
NUMBERED WITH THY SAINTS.
An EASTER STORY.


sun and shine over the brown tops of the
oaks, whose dry leaves dangle all winter
on their branches, and patter in the
breezes like soft rain.
TO the loving memory of its absent
children the little place returns oftencst,
perhaps, in the light of afternoon, when
long shadows fall across the eastern val
ley, when thin voices come up from the
fields and meadows below, when the
quaint bells ring out every hour in
stately time, and the atmosphere is
frcighted with delicate melancholy.
Dear little Dulwich! One by one your
wandering sons and daughters come
back to you for refuge and peace. In
dying their eyes turn to that quiet spot
where, in your very heart, your dead
rest. Take me back" they say. 'and
lay me there in the solemn shade. Young
voices will sometimes sound above me,
and kind eyes will watch my resting
place in loving remembrance.
With words like these echoing in her
heart, Agatha walked up and down the
veranda with her little brother. 1t was
the evening of rainy Good Friday.
From time to time the two stopped. The
girl, pressing the child's cheek to her
side with one hand, gazed sadly through
the mist toward II tall, white stone in the
distance, which marked the grave Of her
father.
Three long months had passed since
his DEATH and as common duties grew
importunate, Agatha felt more keenly
the meaning of her loss. They stood
there, the young girl and the child,
with the dull red glow of the sunset be-
hind them, their faces turned toward the
dead.
"A picture for the day!" thought the
gentleman who came up the broad gray
el-walk toward the house.
''How long you have been gone, Uncle
Stephen' called the boy.
'Mr. Casson stopped me at the church,
Harry" said his uncle. Agatha, he
will be here soon to see you about the
Easter music"
1T is too late to change the pro
gramme," replied Agatha. Il thought
it had all been arranged three weeks
ago"
Miss Burr has a sore throat, and they
want you to take her place"
Agatha gave slight exclamation OF
dismay.
Anything but to sing" she said.
"Remember that last night sang to
him-to the end.o
"And then Easter comes this year on
his birthday and mine. o, Uncle Stephen,
he was so young! Only forty, and he
had such noble, unseliish plans! SO much
begun that no one else could finish! And
now it is all over!"
"Over!'' said her uncle. 81 trust not. p"
81 know what you mean," she said,
with II sigh, but what is another world
to me when want him here? Then, too,
it would comfort me, | suppose, if | had
faith enough. am afraid do not real
ly believe"
"My dear girl, said her uncle grave
ly, there are many things that our
Heavenly Father has not given us the
power to understand; but we can trust
him."
~ try to trust" said Agatha, ''but
papa has been so much to us since mann
ma went, and Harry and |, we are so
lonely. Then, how can | be sure? |
may never see him again" Her voice
quivered with pain as she added, 1T is
all so darkI'
Trust Him" said her uncle. His
wisdom and goodness are infinite, intn-
lite; we can in no way limit them. Trust;
some day, how or when or where we may
not now know, but some day, all will be
well with us. We may be sure of that. !"
But, Uncle stephen, can you conceive
OF happiness without Aunt Mildred and
the children? You have lost them all.
What do you live for but the hope of
meeting them again?'
Il hope for it, said her uncle. THAT
is my only conception of happiness, but
my conception may be all wrong. OF
only one thing am sure, and that is that
my Heavenly Father knows and will do
what is best for us all.
~ do not think really disbelieve,' y
said Agatha, lit is rather that | do not
understand. | grope for the truth.
cannot see" The note of agony crept
into her voice again.
Her uncle was looking over the tops of
the trees beyond the western valley into
the slowly darkening evening sky.
when will people learn" he said,
sorrowfully, that they do not need to
see?n
"People don't see" said little Harry.
who had been listening all this time with
n puzzled look of half comprehension.
You can't see them at all. But they
will rise again, with great rush of
wings
Agatha's uncle looked at her ques-
tioningly.
He has been talking to Minna in the
kitchen about Easter among the Mora
vians, she said. His head seems full
OF strange notions lulCly."
just then the sound of Il firm step on
the gravel near at hand caused them all
10 turn.
Its Mr.. Casson;' said Agatha.
Her uncle went to meet the rector, and
silently gave him his hand.
You will sing for us, Agatha, ON Sun
day. he said, coming toward her.
She did not answer for n moment, and
then said, with an effort of self-contrOl:
II cannot, cannot. You know how
many associations the day has for me. y
Yes, said the Clergyman, II remem-
Der that you were born on his twenty
third birthday, and that sunday is its
anniversary, He was very proud OF his
little girl
She bent her head, unable to speak.
II should like To think of you, - Mr..
Casson continued, las singing a song of
triumph for him on this Easter day,
when the whole angelic host rejoices
with its risen Lord.
Agatha was crying.
He is not dead, - he added softly
He is dead for met sobbed the girl.
~ cannot feel the other life. / cannot
know it, For me he is lying over there
10y mamma, in the mist and the cold. o