The Birmingham age-herald., 1909-04-11


 and the voices were loudest and gladdes,. Patrasche glided out when the door was opened by a visitor. With his weak, starved old limbs he hurried into the bio ter, black night
 It took the old dog a long while te discover any scent in that deep snow He lost it over and over again, even aftei he found it: but he sought and trailed and searched all alone through the storm and the pain of hunger and cold, poor, desolate old dog seeking the one he loved
 It was nearly midnight when Patrasche at last traced Nello's footsteps over the boundaries of the village and into the road toward Antwerp. Once on the high way, he could follow faster. but when he reached the town so many divers paths crossed each other that the old dog had hard task. But he held grimly to his task, though the jagged ice of the arm ored streets cut his frozen paws and the hunger within him began to gnaw like a rats tooth. At last the gaunt, shiv- ering brute traced the steps he loved to the great cathedral.
 By some heeedlessness one of the doors had been left unclosed after the great md- night mass. The dog crept softly, slowly in, snuffed along the stone floor, found the trail at last and followed it through the immensity of the black vaufted place to the gates of the chancel.
 There he found Hello, stretched on the stones.
 As soon as his nose touched the boys face he started up and clasped the dog close with a low cry. Let us lie down and die together,' said he. "Men have no need of us and we are all alone"
 Patrasche crept closer still and laid his head on the boys breast His brown. sad eyes were sd moist with affection that they seemed full of tears.
 They lay together in the piercing cold. The blasts that blew over the Flemish dikes from the northern seas were like waves of ice which froze every living thing they touched. The interior of the dark cathedral was even more bitterly chilled than plain outside. Under ths Rubens they lay together, quite still. soothed almost into dreaming slumber by the numbing narcotic of the cold.
 Suddenly great Wnlte raoldnce streamed through the vast aisles. The snow had ceased to fall and at the mo- ment the moon broke through the clouds. Clear as the light of splendid dawn shone the light of the winter night.
 It touched the boy and woke him. He opened his eyes and saw, over his head, the two great pictures from which the veil had been withdrawn on Christmas Eve-the Elevation and the Descent of the Cross.
 Full on them fell the pure, unearthly light He arose and stretched his arms toward them. An ecstasy of passion shone on his white face. q have seen themi have seen them!" cried he. 70 God, it is enoughP' His limbs failed under him. He sank to his knees, but still he gazed upward at the majesty displayed for him. As if in pity the strong, clear, white light lin- sered on the divine visions, Illuminating them as they might be illuminated by light from the great Throne itself. Then suddenly 1t passed away. Once more & great darkness covered the face of Christ.
 The arms of the boy drew close again to the body of the dog. We shall see His face-there," he murmured," and He will not part us, I think"
 On Christmas morning the people of Antwerp found them both by the gate of the chancel. They were dead. The cold of the night had frozen the young life and the old. Above them the fresh, sweet rays of the sun touched the thorn-crowned head of the Christ.
 Many came and looked at them-a stern old man, who sobbed and grieved that he could not right his wrong; girl with fair hair who cried bitterly, and a painter who had been looking for the boy who drew the picture of the old wood cutter that he might teach him art and make him great. TO all these the young face, turned upward to the light of the great Rubens with smile upon it's mouth, an swered: "It is too late'
 Death had been more pitiful to the two than life had been. It took the one in the loyalty of love and the other in the inno- cence of faith from a world which for love has no recompense and for faith no fulfillment.
 And they were laid to rest side by side | Next Sundays one page classic will be ''The Cavern of Steenfoll," by Wilhelm | Hauff.