Tazewell Republican. [volume] (Tazewell, Va.) 1892-1919, 1898-02-24
A FATHER AND MOTHER.
BY GnDie Flint.
7HE sun-a July sun, blazing hot

THE SUM July sun, blazing hot
beat down upon the river and shone
vertically along the palisades, throwing
its binding glare over the hills of the
east shore and on the rails of the Hud-
son River road In the distance sound
cd the whistle of train that had just
passed The man at the switch lifted
his head to listen. One of the group by
the rivers edge came forward hastily.
Look a-here, Willet, what did you
90 back there for? That train amt
comm this way. You're off duty; do
you understand? It's my time now.
That's all right, old Teller; gimme here"
Tears streamed down the speakers
face. The man at the switch turned
to him inquiringly, then stared beyond
at the others who drew together as if to
screen something that he must not see.
There was a fogginess in his head,
which made understanding difficult. Of
course, Mitchell could take the switch;
it was NIitchelps time. He had 4 feeling
that he would never be clear-headed
again, never be worth anything more to
the road. He took an unsteady step in
the direction of the men, and two of
them sprang to his side in an instant,
while one hung back before the some
thing that he must not be allowed to see.
Their features worked and their voices
trembled in explaining how, at the little
railway station and at the boathouse
few rods off, they, too, had heard the
boys cry. had seen his struggle in the
water. Run as they would, they had
not been in time to save him. Then
they broke down utterly and sobbed,
and the fog lifted somewhat from Will
let's brain so that he could hear their
voices. while his hand was wrung Wig
orously many times. The fog shut down
again, and he was puzzled. What was
ii they kept saying had happened?
What had they tried to do? Day in and
day out the boy had duclIed and
splashed in the few feet OF water near
the bridge where his father had his
post. There'd never any harm come
to him. But now he'd cried aloud for
help, and his father'd had to hear him,
had TO see him die! The horror of the
thing, the terrible shock to the mans
nervous system, isolated him for the
time being from any appreciation Of
human sympathy. He attempted to
walk and staggered, shivering under
the intense heat of the sun. He had
the instinct of 4 wounded animal to go
home. On the brow of the hill above
stood his neat frame cottage with path
roughly worn between the bridge and
his own door, The high road, much
the longer way, wound leisurely down
the hill. Willet shambled in the direc-
ton of the road; he and the boy always
went by the path.
With a sensation of the greatest re-
lief. the men followed, one carrying the
little drowned body, and two others so
moving that they could still manage TO
shield it from. its fathers eyes.
Mitchell stayed behind on duty at the
switch. The air was full Of the happy
twitter of birds, the hum of insects,
the distant rumble Of wagon wheels
and the lazy padding OF river craft,
which make up the thousand and one
sounds along the Hudson in summer
time. The sad little procession had
gone two-thrds of their way, when
suddenly other music burst upon their
ears. A woman's voice, round and
comfortable, with q touch of the brogue
in it, was singing cheerily:
"Oh whin will my'lo-ove come ba-ack to
Some bright summer day in the morning,
Some bright summer day In the mor-orn-
ing!"
1t was Hannah Willet-HannaR 60
ing about her household duties, and,
perhaps, ready to step to the kitchen
porch and signal her man jim and her
boy, as she usually did at the hour
when Mitchell or Dougherty took Will
let's place at the switch. If she came
on the porch now she would see them.
Dougherty. numbering along at Willets
heels, turned sick at the thought
For the love O the Lord, Connolly
bhoy," he whispered thiclily over his
shoulder, run up to the house, Will ye
an sthop the singin'. Do it widout
KILN her. She's got TO have the news
broke before her heart is"
Connolly handed the dead child to
the man nearest him and nodded. Then
came fresh burst of song, louder than
the first, clearer, nearer, which seemed
to swing down the hillside and strike
the men full across their faces:
"Oh! whin viii my lo-ove come back to
me?
The voice stopped. 1t neither broke
into q Shrek nor a moan. 1t simply
stopped short, as If ruthless fingers had
seized the poor singer by the throatan
held her. Hannah Willet stood on her
kitchen porch.