The Scranton chronicle. (Scranton, Miss.) 1897-19??, 1901-04-13

toward the thin, low moon. After
walking long in silence
You are not fit for work." he
said. "You should
Sit on a cushion and sew fine seam.
And feast upon strawberries -
MY sentimental giantw Laura in
terrupted the classic rhyme. "You
know don't care for that. You
know | would gladly work my hands
to the bone if"
Here it was, then, the speech which
would be better than silence. Yet
he found himself writhing under it.
"Out with it, little girl" he urged
her to finish.
q would starve, dear, if you would
only take up your modelling. l would
die for that
Hush; | know" said Eliot, fright
ened by her zeal.
She had felt it longago This stren-
uous ambition, from the DAYS when
he used to make soldiers with his ia
theirs clay.
And he had always Jagged behind
her ardor, apprehend it vaguely as
the shadow on his vision of the beau
ty of life. She believed in his power,
she was goading him on to a great
career, and he-with every urgent
touch he felt less inclined to hasten.
Some day-tke purpose lay deep
and silent in his soul-some day he
would take up his fathers tools and
light the fires in that kiln he bad built
for experiments of his own. lie was
dreaming of it all the time. Spasmod-
ically he had worked at it, astonishing
those artistic friends of his in town
with bits of sculpture and pottery;
yes, and kindling fire in his wife's
eyes, winging her heart like a birds.
But the kiln had been cold for
months, and the tools untouched.
And her eyes had been dull, too,
though she had said not word un-
til now.
Mature battles us So" he pleaded.
"How can we hope to match the love-
illness OF that?' and he pointed west
ward over the mist-shadowed mead
ow toward the dim green of thesky.
You will waste your life in dream
ing" she sighed, 'and the world will
be no richer for your genius. Oh, my
husband, how can you be happy soFD
So he neryed himself for another
spurt of artistic energy, and this time
his friends in city studios gathered
about the strange glazes and plaster
studies he sent them, and thumbed
them affectionately, and covered
them with the slang of praise, and
wrote back that he was an original
of the first water and must keep right
on. But the fires went out as before,
and again the months rolled On and
found him content with the pillow and
the reaper, with the changing splen-
dors Of the spacious world, with the
quiet happiness of his life.
1t was then that his great trouble
came upon him.
He scarcely discovered Laura's
cough and her increasing weakness
before the physicians plunged him
suddenly into black terror.
He scraped and borrowed money
and took her south with the boy, and
nursed her through weeks of swift
ly waning strength.
Gradually the world faded from
her eyes, and her will cast off its eager
energy, and the new life seemed to
commence before thesveil was drawn
over the old. How strange, how beau
tiful it was, that gradual exaltation
of the soul. Eliot Morse walked
through wonderland days, through
vague, supernal lights and shadows
filled with splendid color And the
sorrow at his heart was but keener
JOY.
One day she awoke from a fitful
sleep. and neryed herself to speak.
at doesn't make any difference
all that / used to long for" she whis-
pered, huskily. "You-you forgive
me:D
He bowed over her with sweet, soft
words of protest.
"No matter" she said; nothing
matters. That is all.v
And for hours they clasped each
other, motionless.
A few days afterward she died.
Eliot Morse took the faded flower
back home and gave it to the earth.
While the vision of her passing soul
was still an ecstasy within him, he
lit the fires in the kiln and took out
his tools. 1t did not matters she was
right; she had OWNED the truth at
last. All he might do was but a
L.IL1o -, 4haroa a uord in a ubi~Itnu