Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1890-04-11
AN EASTER DREAM.
BY VIENNA CALDWELL MELVILLE.

BY VIENNA CALDWELL MELVILLE.
His face was indicative of grief rather
than hardness, certainly he did not look
like a criminal murderer-as he re-
clined on the iron bed-stead, supporting
his head with his hands. His figure
was good even in the hated stripes, >"
and the phenolOgy of the closely shaver
head could hardly have been made to
read, "blOOd-thustyi % "villainous !"
A curling blonde mustache shaded
lips clOsed-a almost herceIy one might
imagine, but his eyes-when occasion
ally Opened-shOwed frank and blue
the bright, dainty blue too that one
sees sometimes in a childs eyes.
He was very pale, with worn look
which comes from sleepless nights full
of tOrturing thought
Gradually the arm supporting the
head relaxed and feeling of drOwsiness
overpowered him. When q little later
a cracked bell changed out somewhere,
he only smiled in his sleep; but quickly
it was followed by shrill voice calling
impatiently outside his grated door.
"No 97!"
Springing up, he brushed his hands
hastily across his eyes, then stared for
a moment in bewilderment at the cheer
less surroundings and the Indifferent
face Of the Keeper" who had unlocked
the door and stepped within the cell
Where am I I thought"
why, my lad, yer in the peniten-
shury sure enough; pears to me you'd
not fergit it so easy" was the coarse,
yet not Intentionally unkind rejOinder.
The vOuth-fOr now that he vas risen
and turned his face more toward the
unsatisfactory light, looked to be still
In the early twenties-utters a bitter
inveetive OF some sort; but deigns no
other reply.
A little latter he is tramping along
with the striped gang" as he men
tally terms them, toward the chapel,
but he pays little heed to the services,
his mind is full of the dream of that
brief sleep. Again and again he lived
it through while the wheezy little or
gan played and q few rough voices
joined in an old Easter hymn, while the
gray-haired chaplain prayed 'fOr the
poor benighted souls" and preached an
Easter presumably sermon one hour
In length.
He had dreamed of seeing a pale, gen
tie woman, with soft curling locks of
silver above her refined brow, standing
out on the bank of a wide,
smooth-fowing river. Above her head,
like a halo, shown a beautiful star
which he sOmeway recognized at once
as the star of hope"
"Mother, " he had tried to say, but
speech seemed denied him and he could
only smile in response to the look of
unutterable tenderness on her face.
A moment only he looked away
but when his gaze returned she
was gone, but the star remained.
Can it mean anything?" he asked
himself continually.
"Some might think it an omen of
good coming ON Easter morn" he
thought, "but there is nothing that can
bring me happiness"
When the chaplain's mOnotOnOus
tones ceased he reused himself a little,
but did not once raise his eyes until the
organ tones fell on his ear.
Gould that music come from the poor,
tuneless little instrument? Surely
none but a master hand could produce
it; and looking up he beheld a vision
that made him start, flush to the
temples and then grow faint and cold.
He must be dreaming againl
But tits surely Pansy Moore" he
whispered, pinching his own arm to see
If he were awake.
It was a beautiful Easter solo that
she played and sang, her sweet rich
voice full of tears;" then at the close
the chaplain said that the young lady
had some papers and cards to distrib-
ute.
TimidIy, and with eyes suffused, she
moved about among them giving tract
and dainty card with Scripture inscrip-
ton to each, leaving the youth, whose
Oyes followed her with burning, wistful
chances, and his companion until the
last.
When she paused there the color had
all vanished from the round cheeks, and
the long lashes persistently yelled the
brown eyes. Her hand trembled as she
handed him his, but she made no other
sign.
The dreary prison dinner followed
the service, but it was almost untasted
by the youth.
Alone once more in his cell, Ralf
Blethen flung himself on the iron bed
stead and drew out his treasures. Oh
how precious they were, for had they
not been touched by her fingers?
Frantically he pressed them to his
lips ere he ever opened them. The
tract was entitled, AN Easter Mes
sage;" the card was of pale olive tint
and on it was a tiny white rObed
y seraph holding a dainty basket Of lilies
from among which peeped three pale
pink eggs. On her forehead she wore g
astar.