The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1909-06-24

been one long story or wrongs anu III
Justice. That January night he was
very weary. Yet, even as he entered
his attic. he became aware, suddenly
and acuteiy, that he could not yield to
his WEAKNESS. He had to brace himself
to meet something unusual. He was
not alone in his own room. The attic
was full of the sound of a mans deep
breathing, the deep, regular, nasal
breathing of sleeping man.
1t was dark. There was, indeed.
very faint light in the window, because
of the glow coming up from the many
lighted windows of the street, but it
served only to show the window very
family. The attic itself was dark.
Schmidt, who knew every inch of his
home, knew where the sleeping man
was. The sound of the breathing came
| from the bed
For a moment he was at loss what to
do. 1t. seemed strange thing to him
that anyone should have come to his
attic. should have stayed in it and should
have fallen asleep. Always ready to
imagine danger, the old man did SO now.
Yet what danger could there be from a
sleeping man?
He went softly to a corner by the
hearth where he kept his candles. He
took one. struck a match. and lighted it.
II was as he thought. A man lay
upon his bed, sleeping.
He stood beside him, holding the can
die so that the light fell upon the bed.
The man was lying prone, his face
resting upon his bent arm. He had
taken off his boots and had loosened his
clothes, which were rough and weather
stained. His head was partially turned,
so that his profile could be seen. But
the growth of black hair upon his face
disguised it. Schmidt was puzzled. He
did not know the man who had made
himself free to the comfort of his bed.
But there was something in the build
of the shoulders which was familiar,
which stirred some memory of the past.
Moreover, though he told himself that
he ought to resent the intrusion, he felt
no anger towards the sleeping man.
He held the candle so that the light
on the half-turned face was stronger,
and suddenly the hand which held the
candle began to tremble. He bent down
and looked keenly at the sharply fea
tured profile.
Then. as he bent down and searched
the face, light came into his eyes
which they had not known for many
years. It was the light OF pure joy.
nicholas Nicholaevitch,' he muir
INJURED twice with a tenderness which
mingled with his amazement till it con-
uuered it, '''you have come to me at last,
to break my loneliness to share my
exile! You have come thus, with no
word of warning, here to me. to this
attic Blessed be the Lord God of
Israel. who has brought you safely to
this refuge! Blessed be God, who has
brought you to mel"
He spoke partly in Hebrew, partly in
Russian, he, Otto Schmidt, who was
known to Paradise street as a German.
For he also was Russian Jew
| And for time he stood there in
silence, looking down at his son, while,
from the house below from the street
and from the great thoroughfare few
streets distant, there stole up to the
attic the seldom silent murmur of the
terrible, overcrowded, struggling life of
the East end of London.
Long after midnight Otto Schmidt
still SAL waiting. He sat beside bright
| fire, his face turned towards the bed. A
kettle was steaming on the hob, and a
candle b'Tnt steadily upon small table
on which cups and food had been placed
ready.
The old man had spread some coats
over his son to protect him from the
cold, but had not broken his sleep.
'When the exhaustion has passed."
he told himself, she will wake"
| Then he sat to wait, great content
filling his thoughts while the mu7murs
and shouting from the hous,, from the
street, and from the neighborirg thor
oughfare grew gradually fewer and
| fewer as the silence of the small hours
approached
| AT length, which the quiet had come,
the sleeping man stirred and woke.
He woke quickly, as one who has
been accustomed to living in danger
learns to wake. Yet, for a moment, he
looked in amazement at the FIRE. Its
comforting glow was something which
had long been foreign to him. Then
he saw his father, grown older winter
and more bent than he remembered him,
but with q look of content and happi-
ness in his face which he had never seen
before, and suddenly he remembered that
what he saw was not a dream, but his
attic of refuge, the reality of the picture
which had been with him all through the
long, dangerous days Of his fight.
welcome, Nicholas Nicholaevitch!"
said the old man simply and fervently.
Nicholas got up from the bed and,
coming to the hearth, kissed his father
OH both cheeks.
There have been days when I lost all
hope of reaching this refuge" he said
But those days are past. God is not
wholly without mercy"
| Then he knelt down to warm himself
at the fire.
| Through the long, silent hours father
and son talked together.
"You have not told me why you have
come," said the old man, when his son
had eaten.
Nicholas laughed.
'You can guess why" he said. II was
drawn to serve in Manchuria, to give
my life, perhaps, to the Gar, the Little
Father. There is something absurd, |
think, in the thought of a Russian Jew
giving his life for the Little Father
Better to be shot into ones open grave
as deserter than to be dragged to
Manchuria to die. But better still to
escape"
He spoke with that bitterness which
nothing can ever soften-a bitterness so
common in Russia that among some men
it is always taken for granted.
$50 you were called out for the war;
said the old man, looking into the fire;
10 - h.