Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1895-03-14

HaNen Gurus Sometimes, In
/ the dimness of a great church. Mar
vel found himself wondering how he
could YER have thought that her
beauty lacked fiber. Under the purple
and crimson tints of the stained glass,
there WAS something almost mystical
in her fairness. The hardness of her
lot had wrought little holIows In her
pink cheeks, and left shadows about
her eyes; but the curls made her hook
wonderfully like a child, and big.
bright smiles kept slipping over her
delicate mouth.
At last the train rolled away that
carried her beyond the mountains.
Bobby consoled himself with the
thought that winter would soon he
over, n he and Marvel would go
out to the farm for the summer. At
Christmas, he sent his mother a laven-
der shawl, to wear to church. with
the hope that her cold was well. He
told her the pretty things people said
of her, finishing with the warm as
surance, Il love you. And [ am not
the only one Mr.. Marvel loves YOU
too"
1t was the coolest Christmas Bobby
had ever known. The mails were late.
and the wires were frozen. Among
Marvel's belated letters. there came q
note to Bobby:
MY dear son:
Your mother died last Thursday.
"TWant no use to telegraph. We
buried her Saturday. Don't come
home; there lis nothing you can do.
Bobby. Your father,
Dick Cranberry"
Marvel was at the window, looking
out into the street, as Bobby read his
letter.
"Some little boys are s~nowba1lfng>
each other on Maryland avenue" he
observed, turning around. "In the
Name of God, Bobby, what is the mat
ter?'
My mother is dead, Mr.. MARVEL
he said softly. "She has been dead 4
long time. She died Thursday-Thurs-
day, Friday, Saturday. Sunday, Mon
day, TueSday'1he counted on mis- fin
gers-"Mr. Marvel, my mother has been
dead six days"
Marvel took his pipe from his Lips.
and the sparks in it rolled out and
burned his scarlet dressing gown. He
sat down quietly in his big arm chair.
Come here, Bobby"
Bobby rose and walked to him.
Your mother is dead, Bobby" he
began, with a deep tremor in hin
tones. MY mother lis dead too, and
| know what you feel. / know all
the things which you cannot possibly
tell me-" He ran his fingers through
Bobby's hair, and played with one of
his curtis. my mother was not SO
young as your mother, when she died.
l was not as young as you, either, but
| needed her then as much as YOU
need your beautiful mother now. L
WAS not good like you, Bobby. I was
a man of the world. | cost my mother
h~eal'taches. 1t seems that she died
that | might learn to Live. At her
grave, [ gave my energies to my liv-
ing, in remembrance of the dead. She
loved churches, like your mother, and
[ built a church to her memory-a
little chapel where the ragtags and
bObtails COULD come in their torn
trousers and pinafores.
"You are goingto build a church like
that now, Bobby will write the
check in "a moment-a little gray stone
church among the hills. The doors will
be wide enough to let tn the biggest
simmer. and the windows will be open,
that the birds may flash in if they
Will. The bell in the steeple will offer
Its Dlithe Invitation, and the gold cross
will lift its arms bravely to heaven
Your little sisters shall trim the marble
altar with flowers, and in summer
Mrs. Cherrington and Mrs. Earle win
sing there. Who knows?' he murmur-
ed, dreamily. '"The organs soft tones
may break UP the storm in some for
lOrn heart"
AS Marvel talked, tears came to
Bobby's eyes. His w tears trickled
down and were salt i'm his mouth.
"You made your mothers death easy
and sweet, Bobby. Isn't it something
for you to feel that from the first
breath you drew you were a pleasant
thought in her young life? And when
you begin to bear it, and to live
again, you will feel that it is better
to have her up there"
Bobby's eyes closed. Marvel laid
him down, and pulling his scarlet
dressing gown together, dropped on
his knees.