Dakota farmers' leader. (Canton, S.D.) 1890-19??, 1909-10-08

80 ~'N- NiSNh't - NhNr
eager glance she cast at the farm
house, followed her until they arrived
at the bridge, beheld her disappOInt-
ment. raved at his own weakness,
rushed to the door, halted, returned,
rushed back again, returned, threw
himself upon the sweet smelling hay,
cursed his and indecision
and finally surrendered himself to mis-
cry.
From the utter w~retchedness of that
bitter hour, he was reused by the ring
ing of the breakfast bell. Springtng
to his feet, he fastened to the spring,
bathed has face, assumed a cheerful
look and entered the house.
For the first time in his life he at
temple h practice of deception, and
experienced the bitterness of carving
a guilty secret in his bosom. How he
worried through the morning meal and
the prayer at the family altar, he never
knew, and he escaped with inexprcssi-
bic relief to the stable and the field to
take up the duties of his daily life. He
found 1t %plodding work, for the old in
SEPARATIONS to endeavor had utterly van
lshed. He who had hitherto found toll
a peatltude now moved behind the
ploW like a common drudge.
Tired OF the pain which he endured,
ne tried again and again to forget the
whole experience and to persuade him
SELF that he was glad the adventure
mad ended; but he knew in his heart
OIL hearts that he had failed to follow
the gypsy, not because he did moi real
~ wish to, but because he did not
wholly dare. The consciousness that
ne was not only a bad man but a cow
ard, added g new element to the bit
terness OF the cup he was drinking.
Each succeeding day was a repeti-
tlon or the first, and became a painful
unrest. The very world In which he
ilved seemed to have undergone a
transformation. The sunlight had lost
Its glory. the flowers had become pale
ana odorless. the songs Of the birds
dull and dispiriting.
some men pass their lives in the
ihldst OF where %insincer-
lCy would not have been so painful:
put In a home and a community where
shan ana hypocrisy were almost un-
known these perpetual receptions be-
came more and more 1ntolerable with
every passing hour. Nothing could
DE more certain than hat in a short
time, like some foreign substance in a
healthy body, his nature would force
him out Of this uncongenial environ
1nent. With some natures the expert
ence would have been a slow and pro-
tracted one, but with him the termina-
ton could not be long delayed.
1t came in a tragedy at the close of
the next Sabbath. The day had been
dreary, painful and exasperating be-
yond all endurance. and he felt that he
Corl1 rayar toad tl~ .<--.-f.,
er. And so, having detained his moth
er In the sitting room after the rest Of
the family had retired. he paced the
floor for a few moments, and after
several unsuccessful attempts to intro
duce the subject gently, III bluntly:
Mother, l am chaAns myself to
death against the limitations of this
narrow life"
MY son." she said, calmly, this has
not come to me as a surprise"
He moved uneasily and looked as 81
he would ask her WHY"
Because" she said, as If he had
really spoken, "a mother possesses the
power Of %divination, and can discern
the sorrows OF her children, by a SUI
fering in her W BOSOM"
The consciousness thai he had
caused her pain rendered him ncapa-
BILE of speech, n for a momen they
sat in silence.
VIVA is thy wish and my
son7" she asked at last, with an effort
which seemed to exhaust her strength.
II wish to see the world" he an
swered. his eye kindlinE as he spoke.
Il have seen it in my dreams. L have
heard its distant voices calling to me.
NV onfrit 0hofoo RI oruvpAr tha{r c,,~o
mons. I strain at my anchor like a
great ship caught by the tide"
Shall / tell thee what this world of
which thee has dreamed such dreams
is really like, my son? I WILL" she
said. regarding him with a look which
seemed to devour him with yearnins
love. This world whose voices thee
hears calling is a fiction OF thine own
brain. That which thee thinks thee
beholds Of glory and beauty thee hast
conjured up from the depths Of q
youthful and disordered fancy, and
projected into an unreal realm. That
world which thee has thus beheld in
thy dreams will burst like a pln-prick-
ed bubble when thee tries to enter 1t.
1t Is not the e world. my son. How
shall I tell thee what that real world
is? 1t is a mare. q pit-fall. It is a
flame into which young moths are ever
plunging. It promises. only to de-
ceive; 1t beckons. only to betray: its
smiles are ambushes; it 10 sunlight on
the surface, but ice at the heart; it
offers life. but 1t confers death. I bid
thee e 1t, shun it. hate I'll"
Mother" he exclaimed, what does
thee know Of this world. thee who has
passed thy life in lonely places and
amongst a quiet people?"
She rose and paced the floor as If to
permit some OF her excitement to es-
cape in physical activity, and pausing
before him. said: MY only and we'll
beloved son, thee does not know thy
mother. A veil has been drawn over
that portion OF her life which preceded
thy birth, and it's secrets are hidden in
her own heart. She has prayed God
that she might never have to bring
them into the light: but he a i'm
posed upon her the necessity of open
ing the grave In which they are buried,
in order, that, seeing them, thee may
abandon thy desires to taste those
pleasures which once lured thy mother
along the flower-strewn pathway to
her sin and sorrow"
Her solemnity and her suffering pro-
duced in the bosom of her son a name
less fear. He could not speak. He
could only look and listen.
Thee sees before thee" she contin-