Hot Springs weekly star. (Hot Springs, S.D.) 1892-1917, 1894-07-06

luster of patience and fortitude which
all-destrOying Time had been power
less to dim. He sat there in silent
musing, while his hands called forth
the harmonious strains as by their
own volition, and in his mind he pic
tured that son who had gone away and
left him childless and lonely-a brave,
strapping, lusty, handsome lad, brown
as a berry with health and youthful
strength. with his glossy, curly hair,
and his eyes like a pair OF black gems.
How proud he had been of that boy!
With what a heavy heart he had con-
sented to his wandering forth into the
Businesses Of the far-off new world,
there to seek his fortune! Fortune!
A treacherous, murderous ruffian's bull
meath the brown sward of the foothills
of the Rockies, or merciless disease,
gaunt famine = who knew? - had
snatched that young. rosy life from its
path of hope and had not even left the
trace Of,its previous suffering.
AS the old mans waking dreams be-
came more palpable to his mental Wis
ion, his fingers strayed, and from the
majestic peals of a Gregorian anthem
he subsidized into the mellifuous. sooth.
ing strains of "Old Hundred" An i'm
pulse unaccountable and u%naccounted
made him turn his head while his
hands still rested upon the keyboard,
and there. at the other end of the aisle,
framed by the gray stonework of the
porch, the figure Of a tall man stood
in the open door of the church, as in q
panel of gray evening light. For a
mere heartbeat's space the musician
imagined that he saw two figures there,
but one vanished as by witchcraft into
the mellow darkness of the vaulted
columns, or, SO he thought, his weak
ened sight had played tricks with him.
His fingers still went over the keys as
he looked, and "Old Hundred" swelled
out in it's harmony; but on a sudden he
stopped, wondering who it might be
whom he knew not and who paid q visit
the church at that hour, for the fig
are was strange to him.
AS the melody ceased, the voice OF
door.
Will you please play that again,
sir. love odd Hundred and / have
not listened to it for a long time.r
The organist had never before heard
the voice. The speech had the barely
dtftinguishable accent of an educated,
well-spoken Western American. The
thought of it caused the musicians
heart to beat in q tumultuous riot and
tremor. His son, his lad, had gone to
America. and in memory Of the lost one
and for the sake of that memory he
turned to This former position, and
never had the organ entuned sOld
Hundred" with greater stateliness or
sweetness.
When the last notes had died away
in a harmonious whisper, the old man
wiped q tear from his eye.
sThank you, sir, said the man at the
door. Il am downright obliged to you.
And If you will be so good as to come
down when you are quite done, and
when you have time, I shall be glad to
thank you more closely"
Again the sound of the voice touched
q chord of remembrance in the organ
lists breast. That man was an Ameri-
can. Perhaps he could describe the
spot to him, the country. and the peo.
pie who lived there. Perhaps he knew
something Of the scenes through
which the dead Lad had passed. Per.
haps-and that soothing hope IVES there
in that thought-ho had known the boy
himself.