The representative. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1893-1901, 1898-02-09
He Is a rock in a weary land.
A weary land.
weary land


Parson Phillips. glancing In at the door
of his little mission house, could not Tor
bear an amused grin across at the LADY
teacher as Kanaka Georges loud wall Of
WEARY land rose high above all other
voices in the glory of a newly discovered
tenor. Mis-. :-.:=., Ill not smile. This work
among the kanakas was intensely
earnest business with her Her eyes shone
proudly out from her thin sun-bleached
face at the two long rows of scholars on
either side of the table. They sat very
close together with their elbows stretched
over the rough pine boards and their black
heads clasped in their hands. AS the hymn
ceased she hurried forward with a pile Of
paper books.
"You must let Mr. Phillips hear how well
you read now she said. "Wjll YOU be-
gin, George?'
But George only subsidized into bashful
giggling and twined distracted fingers in
his black wool. The next boy was more
courageous, and, shutting to his feet,
traced the words slowly with his huge
thumb:
"And-it-came--to-pa
Miss Ross was still alert and interested
when, the class over the kanakas filed out
of the hot murky room, stumbled nervous
ly over the doorstep, and PASSED out Of
sight on the dark road. George was still
airing his tenor, and his mournful, "a
weary land echoed with the departing
footsteps. Then she sank heavily into a
cndH ana the uSnl ulcu out OF nef lace
She looked old and careWorn and unutterly
weary The hot, moist night air filled the
little room: the heat Of the sun still lin
gered On the iron roof and walls. The
mosquitoes buZZed angrily round her hand
it pushed the hair back from her fore
head. The torn thumb-marked books
scattered on the table; there We're
dusty footprints on the floor. 1t all
very sordid and mean, now that the gamor
of zeal had passed away. She tired
of it ALL SO tired but she dared not give
in, for had she not resolved that all her
life now must hr one long act of reparation
She started to her feet and begun hurried
ly to tidy the room, 10 push back the forms
aginst the wall, to collect the untidy books.
She dared net rest, for rest meant time
for Thought, and thought meant On
God! it was hard. Had she not repented,
and was she not giving up her life to 9TH
erS, and yet She could not once forget her
great sin Forget? Were there not even
times when her heart was broken with
the remembrance Of a small grass-grown
mound and her whole being filled with a
passionate longing to mold in her arms d
tiny form that had never rested in them,
and to gaze into d little face here eyes had
never seen. Worse still, were there not
wild moments when she felt she could
abandon all and give uD her soul for the
pressure of one mans lips upon hers and to
see those eyes look love into her own?
Then she would start up and work lever
ishly in her little house, or, if it were night
time she would fall ON her knees and force
her mind to concentrate itself on wild pray
ers, until her tired brain relaxed and she
woke hours later to creep, cramped and
shivering, into her bed.
She was glad, after such a night, to wake
to the knowledge that ii was Sunday morn
ing, and that on that day at least there
was small time for intruding thoughts. In
the morning there was the church service,
and then came exhaustive Sunday school
teaching in the heat of the afternoon. AL
though it was July, the day was sun one,
and the crowded school room was oppres-
sively close. She struggling to make
her story interesting and to keep little
heads from noddlng when she was called
away.
Miss Ross" said the parson, there's q
poor chap got smashed up in dynamite ex-
ploson at the mines in Woody island.
Could YOU go to him? | can't possibly get
away till after evensons, but I'll follow YOU
then"
How soon can 1 go?' said Miss Ross.
putting on her hat.
The boys are getting lugger ready
now. It's long walk when you reach the
island but I'll send George and his wife
with you. She is a Binghi woman and as
good man in a boat. They will carry
my little medicine chest and any comfort
you can think of.
It's a sad story, his he went on, as
they walked down the Mill, and it shows
what vicissitudes men go through in this
country. He was once private secretary to
a governor and a great dandy, as 1 remem-
Der him fresh from home. He went the
pace bit, L fancy. Rutherford his name
is" >
Miss Ross stopped short
WHAT" she gasped as the blood rushed
to her head-what?"
Phillips looked at her
do you know him." he asked, curiousy.
She bit her lip to stay its trembling.
Il used to once" she said.
But you will go to him." said the man
anxiously, as she did not move.
YES" she said, after the least possible
hesitation. Il will co.
And her step never faltered as she walked
down the hill.
1t was midwinter, but the names Of the
seasons are of small account in the lati-
tude Of Woody Island 1t was midwinter,
and the island lay in the dazzling blue
water burned, and parched, and painting
for rain, with the heat dancing above the
red SOIL giving hazy indistinctness to the
brown, coarse grass and the stems of the
screw palm and stunted ti-tree.
The dust and sand rose in cloud before
the womans feet; the heat scorched
through her shoe leather. On all sides
among the scrub rose the gray, rock-like
ant-hills, jagged and solid-looking, like so
many rough hewn tombstones, making it
hard for one to believe them the work Of
SO tiny builder. 1t was dreary, sun
scorched road, with occasional minute
patches of shade from the yellow-blossom-
ing wild cotton tree, where the leaves
were glued together in omnibus green
punches, warning the wary of the swarm
ing green ants on every tWlg.
The familiar old hymn tone was running
in her head and her steps kept time with its
refrain-"a weary land, weary land
as he struggled on, footsore and half-ex-
hausted The kanaka and his wife saunter-
ed easily some dozen yards behind her.
Now and they they said few words, and
once a laugh floated forward to her ears,
and the incongruity made her start Her