Ottumwa semi-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1899-1903, 1900-03-08
CHAPTER III
WAS 1T A GHoST7

"Could ye not watch for me one
sr-?''
With q sense Of fright and recreancy
fmpelling him, Tom Broxton deserted
his bed at . bound, to stand, dazed and
trembling, amid the familiar surround
ings Of his own bedroom.
Had he dreamed the utterance, or
had the reproach been whispered into
his slumber dulled ears by voice of
mortal or spirit7 He passed his hand
rapidly over his bewildered brow and
tried to pierce the encircling gloom
with startled eyes. Was it q part of
his hallucination that the gloom in
creased as he stood and stared?
A dim, faint radiance seemed to re-
cede slowly from him, leaving his cham
Der in the absolute darkness that had
enshrined 1t when he retired. Present
~ everything came back to him-the
utter WEAKNESS that had overtaken
him when the minister's monotonous
droning of his fathers summarized
merits had come to an end; his sicken-
ing sense of the futility of all the
wordy condolences pressed upon his
shrinking ears; his longing to be alone
and in utter darkness, alone with his
grief, yelled by friendly darkness; his
turning away with sense of dismal
relief from the neighbor crowded par
lors and halls, conscious of having paid
the last outward show Of respect to the
only friend the world held for him.
Even Olivia Matthews had been an
nnwelcome intruder upon his solitude
when, with q sweet .womanliness that
quantity crowned her childish head,
she had followed him up stairs with q
motherly Injunction about not sleeping
In draft and had placed on table
by his bedside the cup of tea had
brought him herself. Ollie was not
much given to serving others, and even
In his exquisite anguish Tom realized
this unusual element in her lowering
attitude.
Had he ever shown her the grace Of
word of thanks? He could not recol-
lect. The awful irrevocableness of his
loss, the terrifying stretch Of his COM
panionless future, had swallowed up
IlOuSnC ZOE dnyCnlQ& else.
A portrait Of his father stood on an
easel in one corner of his room. He
had knelt before 1t as soon as Ollie
had left him and communicated the de-
sire of his lonely young heart to the ia
ther who had been father, mother,
sister and brother to him.
Il should like so to carry out your
slightest wishes about everything, ia
ther, IL only you had waited for my
coming. II it is permitted the angels to
stoop to poor mortality, guide me still,
SO that may not miss the turning in
the road that shall finally bring you
and me together again"
That had been his last thought be-
fore falling into q sleep Of utter ex-
haustion. It was his first recurrent
one as he stood bordering his sudden
awakening. The easel that held his IA
theirs portrait was hidden from him by
the tall footboard of his heavy four
posted bedstead. How long he had
slept he could not compute.
On retiring he had topped his bed
room candle with the extinguisher and
had excluded every ray of light from
the moon flooded world by drawing
the heavy brocatelle curtains. His eye
balls were hot and swollen with the
tears that lay too deep to moisten his
dry lids.
7 In the 6rst second of his startled
awakening he did not speculate upon
the dim light that pervaded his large
room briefly nor upon its gradual with
drawal. He was wide awake now and
self reproachful. He had fully meant
only to take short, needful rest be-
fore Joining the watchers down stairs.
He had thrown himself upon his bed
half dressed. He lighted his candle
now and passed beyond the high
carved footboard. He would look once
more upon the dear, familiar face from
which he had drawn strength and in
SEPARATION all the days of his short life.
Conscience smote him for a coward.
He had purposely turned himself on
retiring SO that he should not see even
the pointed tips Of the easel that held
the portrait.
Death is very awe inspiring to the
young and the lusty. The revolt against
1t is natural and strong. 1t is only as
we grow older and the prizes we have
failed to grasp show their tinsel side
that we come to think of the great
Mower and his personal attitude with
a friendly tolerance born of sense of
the inevitable.
The boys at Andover college would
have stared and perhaps protested to
hear Ton Broxton called coward.
Among his fellows he was esteemed
] one who was not a provoker Of quar-
rels. but quite incapable of Quailing in
the face of danger.
And yet with his first glance toward
the easel that Leld his fathers portrait
he recoiled with an audible cry of ter
Tor, but only for a second. Then he
advanced rNsolutely toward it.