The Dickinson press., 1896-08-29
80, Bculah land, sweet Beulah land.'

AS he listened. it all came back to
him-all the memory of his lifetime.
He could see that one short year of
bliss with Rachel. he could see those
other years when he had toilcd for Ra-
chefs child. He remembered his gold
ell dream of happiness; he wondered,
vaguely who was keeping the wooden
box where the price of his happiness
lay. He thought of the fire and Of
his fight with the flames; lie thought
Of his Adah out on Seventh street.
And then, he felt again the thrust of
two light hands upon his breastofid-1
two light hands against his breast,
and the thrust of heavy words against
his heart.
The doctors. making their afternoon
rounds. found him free from fever and
rational. They spoke CHEEKY words Of
encouragement and left him to the
nurses. He lay quite still and pa
tient. He asked no questions of any
one. He remembered nothing that had
followed the thrust of those two white
hands. He did not know that the fall
ing door of his own shop had nearly
crushed out his life; he did not know
he had lain many weeks in the hospi-
tai. Something about him felt like q
weight. He did not know that his
whole right side was paralyzed, and
that, although partial recovery was
now assured to him. he would never
walk again. He did not know that
while he had been unconscious or raw
ing in wild delirium the critical opera
tion he had been dreading for his child
had been performed successfully-that,
tended by her faithful nurse, the sur
geon's instruments had done their fam
GUS work, and now, in that very hos
pital, his Adah was fast learning to
walk. He knew none of these things,
and he asked no questions. 1t seemed
to him that nothing worth knowing
about could follow the thrust of those
little white hands.
The singing in the corridor had
ceased. He lay quite still and watched
the glints of September sunlight as
they glanced in through the shaded
window.
Something brighter than the sun
glints was coming into the room.
Something sweeter than singing was
stealing to his bedside. A low, wheeled
chair, rolled by woman, a fair young
girl. with outstretched arms and plead
ing face.
They had told her to be very calm,
but she fell upon his neck and wept
there long while. Then she raised
her tear-stained face onl yto lay it
close beside his on the pillow.
MY father! My father" she sobbed.
II love you with all my heart. never
used to know you in these other days.
l know you now, and love you. See,
j father! can really walk. am grow
ing stronger every day, and it is my
turn now to take care of sou all your
life"
The white hands that had thrust
bim away from her were reached out
to him plcadingly. He tcuk them in
lis own and kissed them. then laid
them, as balm, on his sore heart.
v,
Many more weeks followed before
the doctors pronounced cid Samuel af
well as he would ever be. Many moro
weeks followed before Adah's cure
was complete. But there came day
when a ship sailed out of q small, sun
lit harbor and steercd straight for {
far-Ecstcrn shore. On the deck sat {
white-haircd man who looked like .
picture of the ratliarchs. BY his sid
stood beautiful, dark-eycd youn.
girl. whose every movement told o
love and tender care for the old man
A gentle faced woman was in the back
ground. They were sailing to the East
The wealth of the wooden box wa
; theirs to command. A mutual low
which knew no concealments an,
dreaded no disclosures was theirs t
make them even richer. Out of .
small harbor, over summer seas, the.
sailed; to the fair land of the Orient
the sunrise land-where there shoul,
dawn new and nobler life for Sam
uers little lass.-Philadelphia In
. quirer.