The Chickasha daily express. (Chickasha, Indian Territory [Okla.]) 1899-current, 1905-01-26


to brow as Ino mechanically held out
her hand for the telegram. I'VE must
take the next train, and there is much
to do"
Despite the carefully-worded mes
sage and her sisters hopeful words
an awful tightening came about her
heart.
IF / had only gone home with him."
said she, with infinite pathos
Three days weary travel brought
them to the end of their journey--at
an unexpected hour. No one awaited
them. Taking a carriage, they soon
pulled up in front Of the old home
and there was crepe on the door.
what do we do in the great crises Of
our life? Nothing. We stind with
silent lips and fearless eyes. In a few
moments Ino knelt by the silent form
or her father. She saw with lmpati-
ent pain the closely-folded lips and
white carved face Of death. When
before had he ever failed in happy
greeting, were she gone but an hour?
She touched the still, cold hands that
had always caressed her, and softly
spoke to him. Don, the greyhound,
stole to her side and thrust his cold
nose in her hand and looked ineuir-
ingly, eagerly into her face. Her sis
ter spoke-they led her away 1t did
not matter-he was not there, but
where was he? Where now should
she look for him, her chum from child
hood? The loneliness of her life in
the days to come appalled, her.
One evening, q week later, Ino
crossed the garden to her fathers Of
fee, unopened since the funeral There
in the uncertain light she saw Don.
his nose close pressed to the thres-
hold, his body rigid from hours Of
patient waiting.
Don. you torture me" she cried,
kneeling down by him. You'll have
to give it up. Poor old Donl" plac-
ing hand on either side Of his slim,
brown head and gently drawing him
away "You can't find him. Yet
what do know about it? Sometimes
think these dumb creatures look in
to shadow impenetrable to us; and
only poor humanity is helpless in the
grip Of mystery and silence-a victim
OF the unsolved problem of death"
She opened the door and entered,
closely followed by the expectant
greyhound. Drawing her fathers
chair to the desk, she turned on the
light and sat down. After few mo
ments quiet thought, she took up a
pen and wrote;
Dear Sister I am trying to ad-
just my life to meet this loss. can
not think of papa as having gone
away. | cannot associate him with
death. l must make him live. The
day we left him sleeping on the hill
side they told us, you remember, dear,
that he was called to fill vacancy
in heaven; his life work was ended.
Who shall say that heaven is not here
and his life work just begun? It is
a simpler, happier theory. The loved
voice that was to me both sound and
sweetness, suddenly failed, it is true
but what is there that does not speak
for him?
Tonight | gathered some jasmine
his fayorite flower as you know. The
perfume rose like a low appeal-to
find him, not in a remote heaven, but
here, in the flowers he loved; in the
sunshine lying about the dear old
home; in sweet bird melody ct twi
light; in the drifting cloudshadow and
better still and dearer, to find him in
doing the simple, kindly deeds to those
about me that he once did. No other
can miss his actual presence as | do
You understand, dear. was always
with him-his little chum he called
me, and truly the silence aches round
me like a strong disease and new.
Except to bring him back into my
everyday life, into conversation and
commonplace duty, how else can
make this loss endurable? It is the
hope, the help. the means that will
undo to your sense, the silence Of the
beyond. Miss F. Wilkins in Los
angeles Times.