Deseret evening news. [volume] (Great Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1867-1920, 1908-12-19

bearing a welded thought that was IL
be brought to golden fruit in the ,nids,
or December's snow and frost IN
JOY seemed not of earth, but ncesprlf,.
ablc-a spirit floating out from l,cr.'
T It's New Years in tho PersIan
land. my mother dear she dGgres "a
after telling OF that precious secret .tl,s',
had sent us fairly mad with ioy. =
falls not In January as does ours hf,,
in the advent of the spring. Tho por,
slams celebrate this festival In the SUM
way as we observe our Christmas. n,Iv
1t continues for Two whole happy ,ycaEs
when the earth is all a-bloom vim
flowers. City. town, village, ana ham.
let rejoice in holiday attire, and with
interchange Of gifts and sood wishes
and the welcoming Of callers With largo
trays of sweetmcats,'
You'll not have tflnc for leoisi9n
history, by and by. ciafed her"
1.-The voice of my Christmas grnst,
las she called the rug-is never ST.
lent, mother dear. I don't haze In
hunt in books for information'
THE force of this speech dil not
dawn upon me at the time. Again,
one evening in the soft May dusk. Elsie
said dreamily, this Is the hour when
the Persian sreets you With Pence be
unto thee.
And did your Christmas guest t. II
you that, my dear?"
Yes: he frequently greets me al
this sweet hour.
''He!' exclaimed in amusement,
"And has the old rug assumed tho form
Of SEX"
Not only sex, but soul' she an
swored solemnly. 1t is a presence MAT
is not to be put by she quoted aud
FOR some unaccountablc reason ut the
time | felt troubled.
t.e.'Fhp roses are Incoming In hat fafr
land of IRAN she mused, and soon will
the fields be a waving mass of White
poppies.'
I'm October, when my Elsie was a
picture of beautiful maternity aud
completeness, came the shocking tid-
ings of Stanton's sudden death. We
had been looking for him every day.
/. seems, he had but started homeward
when pneumonia claimed him for a
fatal victim. Naturally, / trcmbed at
the dire effect of such a bow to my
delicate Elsie. But mine WAS the pain
when found that 1t fell as lightly
upon her as the leaves of the autumn;
for not only sensed the sad truth that
Stanton had killed all her love for him
In hours OF his brutal torment, but
was also possessed of q cruel fear that
g shadow lurked in the brightness Of
my darling's mentality.
At this revelation John, the young
husband, mOancu ana pesdi 10 pace
the floor.
.'Sit down, John, will your" said
Grandma, land remember l am living
1t over again; it Is harder on mo than
on you"
John obeyed.
"'Stanton was never my soul COM
panlon, mother dear Elsie reasoned In
her sweet effort to calm me, nor was
she deceived in the real cause of my
alarm. Don't trenble So she soothed,
and remember. I am perfectly sound |
and sane ! was comforted somehow, |
and felt that my Elsie was not only
strong and brave, but mentally above
inc.
leone, mother dear, she said one
evening as we sat in the gloatnlns
awaiting the coming of1Christmas. and
the holy hour OF her conservation. i |
want to tell you sad though beautiful
story Upon the floor within her
south bay window, reposed the Christ
mas guest. A thing of beauty, but as
to q joy forever-well, there it was,
anyway, a creation of splendor, master
ly weaving, and dignity.
"'You know, dearie, there is an orl-
entail custom, best known in Persia, OF
spreading rug over q grave as we
would strew flowers. Beautiful idea,
Isn't It? For the flowers in rug
never fade. Every member of tho
household works upon it-even the
children tie knots in it--that it may be
expressive of the sorrow of all. Now,
one dark afternoon, Immediately toll
lowing our last Christmas, while was
down upon my knees studying my rug
found q perfect cross woven in rose
and strange thing happened. 1t was
impossible, alone with 1t, not to talk
and to 1t. From the first 1t was q pres
ence breathing soace to my outraged
heart. In my attitude OF prayer be-
fore 1t, 1t seemed to shield and encom.
pass mo just like the soft folds Of your
skirt, mother dear, when at your kna9
used to pray.
"'What of you. little WEBB muir
INJURED softly. more like g. smiling
guest you seem than mere property
Were you born In hamlet among the
hills Of Persia, with the snow whistling
about door, and the sheep huddled
without? Or in the garden among the
roses? Did you journey by camel back
to the sea swept by the sands of the
desert? Did you change hands In the
market place. or did you pass over the
dead body OF your rightful owner, into
the keeping of some swarthy and sac
religious priest, who sold you to foreign
dealers? And from whose grave were
you taken? And, mother dear, be-
)ieva me. in answer to my question
came a subtle fragrance Of roses;
patter rs OF SanQalleQ Ioet uiong the
rugs border; a filmy mist, and then
form. a beautiful, graceful form IN
flowing white yestment, and a face no.
bic and smiling beneath its snowy
turban; and in q language strange u
my outward ear, yet by me understood:
he, my Christmas guest, answered al
my questions. Ali the information
but limited at before, which greatly
troubled you, he told me. He Is tho
weaver OF this wondrous fabric, upon
which he worked alone the last one OF
his family. A priest, whom he calls
Mullah, made not infrequent visits to
his hamlet, whom he had intrusted
with the holy preparation of his passing
soul. Hour after hour, day after day,
and far into the night he sat patiently
working. weaving his threads into nlys-
teal forms and shapes until the whole
shone forth like a sunrise upon world
strewn with blossoms. The rug, as you
see. is funereaL with its willow ana
cyprus and myrtle. and It's bits of col
or bespeaklng q blissful hereafter. But
there Is still more than this. He wan
dered away from the beaten path, into
the garden of roses and love. And why
not? His was an early grave. He had
not known love in his young and tender
life. Then why not weave into his rug,
roses, white. blushing and golden, elo-