The Helena independent. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1875-1943, 1890-12-25
DICK.
A Christmas Story; Reprinted from the
Phi Sigma Rebound.

DICK.
Christmas Story; Reprinted from the
Phi Sigma Rebound.
Christmas day was fast fading into night;
leadcn sky bent low over the city. as if
trying to shut out the little daylight which
remained the streets we're almost deserted,
SO that the wind had his own way, rs he
tore madly round corners, and rushed
shrieking and bowling up and down hither
and thither.
Through the twilight little figure came
up one of the deserted avenues. A little
bunch of animated rags it looked, and the
cruel wind took strange liberties with it,
creeping in through all its tatters, almost
sweeping from off the ground the thin. bare
legs and feet, which supported the rags,
and reddening with cold the tiny hands
that tightly clasped an old violin. Above
the rags appeared head of tangled, dark
hair, framing little pinched, white face,
from which pair OF hungry,
hurt eyes looked out on the
coming night. This was Dick. The
violin was wailing sadly, uttering an almost
human cry Of pain, hunger and loneliness.
1t was telling Dicks life-story to the
world, but the world was very glad that
Christmas night and had no time to listen
to anything so sad aud sorrowful as Dicks
violin song.
Dick, rags. violin and all were hustled
roughly along by the wind, until they cam
| to great, unlighted church. Here Dick
sturdily set his back to the wind, and re-
fused to be carried step further, for the
twilight air was throbbing with music
Out from the church it swept. and Dick,
listening, forgot everything else,-cold,
wind, hunger, oneliness-eyerything. The
music of the organ seemed to draw him
nearer and nearer. He knew what the song
meant 1t was no glad Christmas anthem,
no joyful song of praise that love was born
into the world, but the song the old violin
had tried to sing, the song of pain, hunger
and desolation.
Dick. drawn by the music entered the
church, passed slowly down the broad, dark
aisle, toward the organ, where single
taper threw dim light round the organ
lists head. The ray OF light revealed
worn, haggard faced eep set, intense eyes.
thin. closely compressed lips, on the broad
brow, and round the mouth lines of care,
pride and pain. The face of a man who
could not find God or know mon, who
lived absolutely within himself, preying al
ways on his own heart and life, asking no
sympathy and giving none-a desolate,
hopeless soul.
Dick stood, unnoticed, beside the player.
His unchild-like eyes, that refused always
to weep for his own troubles. because weep
ing was unmanly, were filled with tears, for,
as the mans fingers strayed, sensitively.
ever the keys the organ uttered n throb
bling, sobbing song, that throbbed and
sobbed itself over again and again amid
the dark aisles and lofty rafters of the
church. Finally it sobbed itself into ST.
lence, and the organist's head sank down
on his hands.
Dick stood silent moment, as if SPELL
bound by the passionate burst OF music,
then gently touched the musicians arm,
and whispered in yearIing, sympathetic
little voice. mister, be yer hungry" No
answer. The man had heard the question.
but it seemed almost as if his own heart
were the questioner. Hungry? Had he
always been hungry? No, not always.
Once he had dreamed that he could voice in
music wonderful message for the world,
and with praise for the musician. Not
hungry then. The truth he knew did not
prove great enough to satisfy the worlds
deep heart, so the world needed not his
message, and the dreams were unfulflled.
Yes, he was hungry. Then he had loved,
deeply and truly, and had believed that
he was satisfied. But the loved one
died, and the hunger returned. Yet the
child was left to him, the beautiful boy with
his heart full of unuttered songs. The
father dreamed again for the ohild the
dreams his own life could not bring to pass.
One year ago, at the Christmas tide. the
child's songs ended forever, and the Christ
mas SHOWS silently drifted over little,
newly-made grave. Was he hungry
Again Dick touched the dreamer's arm,
again asked his unanswered question, mis-
ter, be yer hungry?' This time the organ
ist lifted his head from his hands, and,
looking down into the forlorn, little face,
with its wistful, sad eyes raised earnestly
to his. answered quietly and hopslessly,
| "Yes.'
The ohild's lips trembled, he drew nearer
to the lonely man, and said, almost in a
whisper, II wunst hearn tell Nv somebody,
what loves folks, like men you, that be
hungry, an cold an all alone, an all alone.
an what wants to make EN- glad. An I've
bon looken for him, but can't find him
no-whe res.'
~ have heard of Him too, boy, but do
not know where to find him. the man an
swered sadly.
The church was silent. cold and very
dark. the orRanist seemed lost in his own
thoughts. Suddenly he rose, and holding
out his hand to the waiting child, said
gently, boy, if you will come with me, We
will look for him together"
That Christmas night, and for many nights
after, the silence OF the organist's home
was broken by the sweet song of the violin.
that had been hushed for a long year. and
by the prattle 1T childish voice. and the
little white cot. SO long empty, again
Graded weary, childish form.
Day by day the organist became less
hungry.
At the next Christmas tide, in the twi-
} light. the organ in the old church, in re-
spone to the masters TOUCH. pealed forth