The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1908-01-11

! a breath STIRRING the parted lips
PRESENTLY the lids futtered and then slowly I'M
cioSeo' he blue eyes looked up, for the first time
IN many days with perfect recognition into the
scanned, agonized old face bending over them.
Uncle Bob"
What is it, leetle Moss" answered the broken
old voice '-i' u 0A0ii
Uncle Bob. are you crying: Z" touching with his
wan little hand the withered cheek over which the
uncomfortable tears were flowing.
No no! deed I aim leetle Moss surrenti
IlouSy ~iplng them away with his bandana hand
kerchef' deed | aim, darln,;7 what inc Bob
Swlne cry bout!' in futile attempt at loving de-
cePlon, seeing the panied look on the fair little
features
Poor Uncle Bob with plying tenderness.
still softly stroking the withered cheek.
Honey sobbed Uncle Bob, "don' study bout
me Don grebe bout ole Unc' Bob. He glib his
pain"
i am easy, Uncle Bob, and happy"
ON bent over and tenderly wiped the damp
brow and pushed back the fair clustering curIs Of
the child He gave cold little hand to brother
ana SISTER and IN response to the heroism of poor
Lucys brave and loving smile, sighed contentedly.
as ne turned his little head over on the pillow
Jerusalem the Golden''-evening service was
gong on IN the church, and the words we're borne
plainly on the absolute stiffness of the air:
l know not, Oh! l know not
What joys await US there.
What radiancy of glory,
What bliss beyond comnare'
Uncle Bob's tears had ceased to flow. Lucv and
Ion sat motionless, their faces in shadow.
Tell me-about it-Uncle Cob" gasped the
weak little voice as the last strain died awav-"Jc
rusalem-the Golden"
Uncle Bob leaned eagerly forward all traces of
tears carefully wiped away that no selfish DISPLAY
OF grief disturb the serenity of the departing soul
''Leetle Moss he whispered, in his broken.
quaVerng voice. "dar whar you gwine. de streets
IS goien, de flowers bloomin'. an de libin' wa
tiers IS fowin' froo de green fers OBJ Pahdise Oh.
leete Moss, you an me-po' ole inc Bob--hab
talk heap bout dat happy Ian, but inc Bob aim
neber spec dat you gwine go haid OBJ him ter de
sweet an blessed country"
Flowers" murmured the little one. drowsy.
gold flowers. VIII there-be any roses-like
Lucys"
LEX Miss Lucy's!" intender assurance. roses
IN Pahdise es much puttier's Miss Lucys es day is
dan night. Ain dey. Miss Lucy?'
1eS, yes. Uncle Bob. Oh, tell him yesr' wept
the girl
An dey des putties streets YOU cher is see. an
you gwine meet all dc folks done gone befo', hon
ey. An tell 'em Unc' Bob gwine be long soon!
Soon" in ecstasy of longing.
A smile of surprising beauty and full of the
tenderness of heavenly assurance lit up the little
pallid face.
Sing Uncle Bob he said in all the simplicity
of his babyhood, when the melody of that trcmu-
!ous old voice was the sound that nightly rocked
his soul to sleep.
"Yas, leetlc Moss. inc Bob gwinc sing" clear
ing his throat and putting forth every effort Of his
bursting heart.
On the quvering air there fell the strains of
voice, cd cracked, worn. strained with the terri
bic strain o. the coming wrench, yet sweet with all
the memories of his little life to the dying boy:
Il want ter be err an-gul
An wid de an-guls stan.
EF crown ah-pawn my fol-had,
An er harp widin my hand
What dat you ssyin', leetle Moss: Z" bending
down low over the parting lips.
Us | gwine be er white angul? Oh Gawd haD
mussy .'-wringing hia ha@ds in indescribable ag-
ony-"What | gwine saTf Gib de right wohds
to USE Marse Jesus! Lae.a Moss! gwine be er
black Angular jet black soul So dat you DIES
boun reco'nze inc Bob de minute you set eyes OH
him-dat der truf LawdY' raising streaming eyes
of supreme remuneration to heaven.
"Uncle Bob" and the little voice was weak and
far -get-home- Pll-ask Jesus
to let me meet you-at the door-and give you
your white robe mysef-and we viii go-together
and have--your soul-washed white--Uncle Bob.
''Oh, praise Gawd! Praise Gawd Ny eetle
Moss my leetle Moss My leetle white soul an
gull"
Nov lay me- clown ter Sleep walled poor
Uncle Bob)-"I pray the Lord'-over the damp
and paIlid little face Pickering lights arc passing
and the indescrbable majesty of the seal of death
is already on the marble brow-'my soul--to keep"
ooh, leetle Moss, leetle Moss i")-''f should
die-before-I-wake-"
And in the silence a little white soul slipped
away to the shelter of the heavenly nest.!Laura
Fitzhugh Preston in the Richmond Times-Ds-
patch.
LOURDES.