Pullman herald. [volume] (Pullman, W.T. [Wash.]) 1888-1989, 1909-01-29
In AN HOUR
By WARWICK JAMES PRICE
Copyright by shortsIory Pub. Coz

wonld allow play. 1t was yet well
above the trees; II he hurried he
might have an hour.
The sunshine flooded the little land.
scape with that mellow radiance It
squanders only in the first most glori-
Gus days of Indian summer 1t famed
along The hills in purple, and crimson.
and gold it painted a more brilliant
green the long, soping sward about
the chapel, and then, climbing up the
great dormitory, filled the under.mas,
ter's room with warmth and cheerful,
ness
The undermaster looked mp from
his sck-bed and for long minute
gaZed thoughtfully out into the great
blue vault, scarcely broken by a few
thin. mOtionless cloud arabesques 1t
seemed so Infinitely far away-and yet
so terribly near, Then he came back
again to the page in his hand
1T isn't what one hasn't got
That ought to quench the light of life
It's what one loses is it not
It's death, or treason in a wife;
It's finding ones unhappy lot
prom what you haven't gayly turn
To what you have, the worlds alive
There's still to work, there's stIll to
strive;
The cure is easy to discern
$50 don't be gloomy. don't he glum,
Nor give a thought to what you lack;
Take what you have, no longer dumb
Nor idle, hit misfortune back,
And own that | have reason, GOMEZ"
Again the inyaids eyes wandered
out into the narrow glimpse of Gods
good world that his little window gave.
Good advice Mr. Stephen, and I've
tried to follow it; but ! guess It's Just
a trife late now | don't think I've
been glum very often-and no one
has known it when | have been.
don't believe I've often dwelt on all
| hadn't. And | do think I've hit as
often and as hard at Milady Misfor.
tune as ! could. But she's won at last"
Then he added: Perhaps she hasn't,
but it's hard, hard not to believe So
Absent-mindedly he closed the book
and lay looking at it. 1t was a thin
little volume of verse by Cambridge
man. Quo Musa Tends" he read on
the little signboard title.
Il hope the muse has Travelled pleas
anter roads for Stephen than for me
I'd be thankful if even so small a
book as this might carry my name
on, though for only one short genera.
ton"
There was a Water-color painted on
the cover a sea-view done in dark blue
on the light cloth ground He remem-
bored so plainly the afternoon when
that had been done. 1t was the moth
er's work, and he had been sitting by,
writing. 1t was August, and the dusty
roads and fields made the shaded room
acceptable. He had found vacation
work up among the foothills, and she
had come to the little farmhouse to be
near him. There had been worries for
both, but now he only recalled the
deep pleasures of that loving compan-
iOnship and wondered if he had half
appreciated It,
He put down the book and lay back
upon his pillow, but with wide eyes
and the sick brain so busy Nothing
about him but had some story to tell,
some scene to repaint for him. Nor
would one have guessed the young
masters empty pocket from seeing the
room. But the pretty furniture and
the rugs, with all their warmth of col
or, had been in the old home before
the fathers failure; the pictures were
the accumulation of college years,
when a generous allowance was
monthly surety; the books-he had al
ways bought books, from the days Of
the worn and loved Boys of '7G" to
that latest and handsomest "Anacre-
on" OF Bullen's. Perhaps it was his
extravaganza; if so, it was his only
one, and in the long separation from
all those he most loved, he had these
true friends at least always by him
The sun fell asIant the long shelves
opposite him 1t almost seemed the
books were smiling, so cheerfully did
the gildings glance back his light.
There was dear old Ella, two volumes
of him, in gray boards as prim as his
own Quaker folk. and type as clear
as his own laugh The invalid had
found him in a Broadway basement
shop during one of those flying trips
down from Yale. Cheap at seven dol
lars" and the hotel bill was sent after
him to New Haven. And there was
the Bachelor with his Revenes beside
a sea-coal fire Ills life had had sad
ness in It, too but now he only sug-
gested those long, lazy afternoons on
the lake, the little boat drifting on in
to the sunset, and just those two,
Bachelor aud student, aboard. That
delightful dreamer of "Prue and L"
was there, the old bookkeeper in the
white cravat, with Prue sweetly smil-
ing on one arm, and Aurelia proudly
glancing on the other; and Adam
Moss, his Kentucky cousin, with a lit.
tie basket Of heart-shaped strawber-
ries. Both had much to say of those
all too short rainy afternoons, and
cups of Her fragrant tea, and the
coy. confidential chats between chap
l. 1