Omaha daily bee., 1902-09-13
Hand of a Child
By MA s. R~ICHARDsON

ceded him grouped about the door-all but
the man who .Yhistled. In their silent,
awkward pose something suggested death
worse. They stood aside while he
entered the house and closed the door be-
him. On the table lay q note which
none Of them had dared to touch. Then,
with unseeing eyes. they looked at each
other. waiting for the outburst tina never
came. The only sound in the room was
the gurgle-gurgle Of the liquor as, with
unsteady hand. he tilted the flask.
Just across the range. on the XIV
ranch, the man who whistIed might have
been found, had the husband sought to
satisfy his honor. He whistled no longer
and hard-eyed surprise and dlsappolnt-
ment we're stamped on his face. The wife
with the child had turned to the east.
But the husband never crossed the range.
He was too near the end, even for that.
Davis. the musical critic. sat in the
gallery of st. Agnes church. watching with
cold, cynical eyes the influx Of the fashion
able congregation. Millionaires, their
wives and their daughters. the latter
gorgeous in Easter raiment, filled the pews
below him. To his right lay the great
white and gold altar, guarded by clergy
and servers in flowing vestments OF lace.
On his left rose the organ loft, where the
finest singers OF the metropolis sat walt
ing to chant the Easter music at exorbi-
tant salaries.
Davis stole an impatient look at his
watch. He cared for neither fashionable
throngs nor floral decorations. He had
come only to hear the mysterious con-
tralto. whom Gale, the choir director, had
discovered in some obscure inland town.
Davis was always skeptical when It came
to new stars in the musical world, par
ticularly those who rose suddenly, appar-
emily from nowhere, and he was curious to
learn whether this was a meteor or a
Slanet.
When thou tookest upon thee to deliver
man.
With the first rich note a strange peace
seemed to settle upon the congregation.
Davis smiled. II was better aAan he had
dared to hope. Then he leaned forward to
catch a better view OF the contralto. The
color left his face. He gasped and his PEN
Gil dropped to the floor with a metallic
click. The woman on his right frowned
upon him.
Thou didst humble myself to be born of
a virgin.
A sheet of paper followed the pencil and
Davis chung to the brass railing. his ears
strained to catch every exquisitely shaded
tone.
The tenor was singing now
When thou hadst overcome the sharpness
of death.
Aye, the sharpness OF death! Like white
irons those words struck into the soul of
Davis. THE sharpness of DEATH Had he
not felt it-once?
The entire choir caught up the tri-
umphant refrain
1nou uidst open tine kingdom uf heaven
to all believers.
Higher and higher rose the mighty wave
Of song till 1t seemed to sweep through the
vaulted ceiling. but Davis, with hands
tightly clenched, saw only the contralto,
who, with head uplifted, poured forth her
soul In melody.
Again the clergy intoned and the choir
chanted, the people knelt In prayer and
the preacher pleaded. But Davis neither
saw nor heard. Sentences, FIRE laden and
relentless, were forming in his mind. The
art Of the critic was lost in the passion OF
the man. And on the morrow his paper
should have a story OF which this self
satisfied congregation little dreamed. Yet
he was thinking not OF the sensational CUP
In store for his chief, but only Of the ter
rible journey he had once made toward the
setting sun. Again he saw the gaunt form
of his elder brother, the protector and Idol
Of his boyhood. stretched upon the
wretched bed. Then he looked once more
at the woman In the choir left, whose glti
Of song was Turing those around him tc
a sense Of heavenly peace. His arms were
folded across his chest, his fingers dig
ging into the cloth Of his coat.
He is risen. He is not here!
Why had such a gift been granted to Z
vlpaa uukn ,VnAaa 1890 - Al.AN oA1Vf
steal from her husbands home and love
Why had the features OF a madonna and
the voice Of an angel been bestowed oil
one whose feet were OF clay? A Thousand
devils dashed him on. He must get L
his rooms and pen the fierce words. Yes
he should cast the first stone at this Mag
dalen with the sanity face. There would
be a new contralto in the choir OF st
Agnes next Sunday. The sharpness o
DEATH" Yes, yes, she should feel It.
Torn by the bitter memory Of that seen,
In the far west, Davis did not see a small
figure steal from the ranks Of the chorus
massed behind the soloist. A little child
brave in scarlet cap and jacket, crept close
and closer to the singer. Silently, breath
lessly, he slipped onward, even as on tina
other day his mother had crept round tn
rough ranch house. drawn by a clear, com
Polling melody. But the hands of the DO
were not outstretched. and In his Tight
clasped fingers lay an Eas,er lily, crushe
and broken.
The child stood at the woman's side
Davis started and the color rushed into hi
face. The blood bounded from his hea
with a mighty throb. For the face uplifte
/ to meet the glorious harmony OF sound wa
, the face OF his brother in miniature. Blu
l the soul behind the quivering lips and tn
2 moist eyes was the soul Of the woman. TIL
last sweet, comforting note died away int
. intense silence, and a great sigh rose froI
the listening people. And the child sti
e gazed into his mothers face with the en-
a raptured faith of innocent childhood. Tn
4 mute alteration OF motherhood sweI
= through the soul OF Davis like a cleansir
Q fire. His face softened. and when the pc,
= pie rose for the blessing of the aims h
eyes rested tenderly on the face OF the DO,
9 The last singer had departed when Dav
sought the choir loft. The director turne
to look for his hat aud Davis crosse
= quickly to the brass railing where mothi
u and child had knelt together. He picks
9 up a bruised lily and gently laid II aw;
$ in his card case. Then facing the musiclI
d he said quietly:
Fine music you gave US this mornin
Mr.. Gale. BY the way. your contralto is
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