Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1893-12-28

liz Ai1l VIZ t1AbA Va oaO
other night when they had sat like this
and watched Beth through the Group,
and how they had felt that IL God
would only spare her they would have
nothing in life to trouble them again
How gentle and tender John had beef
that night.
And then there was the time that
Beth was burned and John had walked
with her the whole night long and
would not even let the mother rest him
because ''she was weak and he was
strong" he had said. How the mem
cries came thronging upon her! oh, IL
she could only wake and find that this
veal had been a dream-a horribls
dream-and there had been no quarrel!
She threw her head back and closed her
eyes, with a sick feeling that h had
dug her own grave. !.
1t would never be! She would find
herself here tomorrow, but Beth would
be gone-down stairs would be a baby
that would look like her. but it would
not be Beth. And then there would be
the funeral. And then the empty
house, the house that John had said
he should never take from her N
Beth. And then-oh. what would she
do then? Why, she was only twenty
three, and most people didn't die till
they were old. How could she live
forty years-fifty, maybe, without Beth
-or-yes-or John.
The clock licked on, the fire sputtered
itfully, but the silence of the vigil was
unbroken. John Thorne raised his head
and looked at Margaret as she lay with
closed eyes. Her white, suffering face
touched his heart. How much older
she looked! 1t was only four years
since she had stood a bride Of nineteen
and given herself to him. Why, could
it be only four years! 1t seemed like
an eternity. And yet the scene rose be-
fore him with the vividness Of yester-
day-the organs tone, the brilliant pro-
cession, the subdued hush of the church
and her the rector's solemn words.
He wondered if he could remember any
of them.
For better, for worse"-how they
had TESTED beforehand over that. They
were so sure 1t could never be "for
worse" For better, for worse"-"FOr
better, for worse"-the words said
themselves v e and ver I'm sickness
aud in health"-it was all coming back
to him-'to love and cherish" To cher.
ish! that meant to protect, to care for
he had not done that-but he had
meant to-as God was his Judge he had
meant to-he had made those vows in
good faith, meaning to keep them all,
but somehow it had all been a misera-
bic failure. He could see the mistakes
now. IL he could only blot it all out
and begin again!
'To love and to cherish" He did, for
a time, he told himself. Their early
married life had been as happy as that
of most people, he could honestly say.
IT'LL death us do part" sounded the
preachers voice, as if it were now; It'll
death us do part"
John Thorne wiped the sweat from
his forehead. He had never felt those
marriage VOW so imperative, so un-
yielding, so for eternity as now-now
that 1t was too late.
Was II too late? A thrill passed
through him. They were young, after
all. They had their lives before them.
| Why not begin again? Then he remem-
bered, with sinking heart, the bitter,
bitter things they had each said. They
were not true; he had felt that at the
time; but they were spoken and could
not be recalled. All, no! 1t was too
late. They could w undo it.
He glanced around the room. How
natural it seemed. only the crib was
gone--Beth had outgrown that he sup
posed. How they had laughed and
| joked over that crib and his blunders
in selecting it! And how sweet Mar.
garet had looked TO him as she lay with
the tiny mite on her arm and called
! him Papa for the first time! And
they had called her their New Years
gift and said that she was to bring new
love into their lives! And in that night
of anguish, just before, when Margaret
lay lowering between life and death,
how he had prayed in an agony of fear
that she might not die, that he might
show his love by a life of devotion to
her! And hOw-ah, how he had broken
those vows!
The breath comes slowly. The little
hands are very still; and yet, oh, baby
fingers, through the solemn watches of
this night. thou'rt gathering the
tangled. broken threads of these two
lives. and with a touch no other hand
might use, art weaving them together,
deity, surely, with h~eaven-sent skill!
There was a slight stir. The mother
and father felt a culver pass through
the little form. With startled faces
they bent over her. There was a gasp,
a sudden throwing up of the little
hands-then all was still.
In an instant his arms were around
her, her head on his breast.
Margaret, my wife,
'Oh, John, john she said.
The clock struck twelve. A New
Year had dawned.
In the twilight of a summer day a
man and woman stand beside a little
grave. There Is an air Of subdued sad.
ness about them that tells to whom the
little mound belongs, and yet when
they speak 1t Is hopefully and cheer
fully. 1t Is a tiny grave, "only a baby"
a stranger would say. but we who have
stood beside such know that love and
grief are not measured by feet and
inches.
The glory OF the setting sun fills the
place. 1t lights up the faces Of father
and mother as they lay. with loving