Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1912-10-03

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"Ah, the white angel 10 sesk-ver' sssk,"
nurmursd Jan.
ans lips Jan Thoreau played softly
upon bis violin. II was the great.
heartbroken sob Of John Cummins that
cabin their eyes met. 1t was then that
Jan Thoreau knew what had happen
ed. He forgot his starvation. He
crushed his violin closer aud whispered
to himself:
THE white angel ees-gone!'
Cummins rose from the bedside slow
ly. like man who had suddenly grown
he went to the door. They stumbled
when he went out into the pale star
glow Of the night.
Jan followed. swaying weakly. for
the last Of his strength had gone in the
playing of the violin. Midway in the
cabin he paused. and his eyes glowed
with a wild. strange grief as he gazed
down upon the still face Of Cummins'
wife, beautiful in death as 1t had been
In life and with the sweet softness of
life still lingering there Some time.
ages and ages ago, he had known such
a face and had felt the great clutching
love Of it.
Cummins had purity closed the door
after him, but watchers had seen the
opening of 1t. A door opened here and
another there. and paths Of yellow
light flashed over the hard trOdden
snow as shadowy life came forth to
greet what message he brought from
the little cabin When the word came
to them at last and passed from lip to
lip and from one grim. tense face to
another the doors closed again and the
remained only the yellow eye Of the
factors office and the faint glow from
the little cabin in which John Cum
Minis knelt with his sobbing face
crushed close to that of his dead
There was no one who noticed Jan
Thoreau when he came through the
door Of the factors office. His coat Of
caribou skin was In tatters. His feet
thrust themselves from the toes OF his
moccasins His face was so thin and
white that it shone with the pallor of
death from its frame Of straight dark
hair. His eyes cleaned like black dia-
nonds. The madness of hunger was
In him.
An hour before death had been grip
ping at his throat when he stumbled
upon the lights Of the post That
night he would have died 10 the deep
SHOWS. Wrapped In its thick coat of
bear skin he clutched his violin to bis
breast and sank down In ragged
heap beside the hot stove. His eyes
Travelled about him In fierce demand.
TINre Is no beggary among these
strong souled men of the far north.
and JAMS lips did not beg. He un-
wrapped the bear skin and whispered:
For the museek of the violon-some-
ting to eat"
He played even as the words fell
! from him, but only for q moment, for
the bow slipped from his nerveless
grip and his head sank forward upon
his breast
In the la - eyes there was
something OF ~. wild beauty that
cleaned In JAMS. For an instant
those eyes had met In the savage rec
ognition of blood. and when JAMS
head fell weakly and his violin slipped
to the door Mukee lifted him In his
strong arms and carried him to the
shack In the edge Of the spruce and
balsam.
And there was no one who noticed
Jan the next day, except Mukee. He
was fed. His frozen blood grew
warm. AS life returned he felt more
and more the pail Of gloom that had
settled over this spark Of life In the
heart of the wilderness. He had seen
the woman In life and In death, and
he, too, loved her and grievsd that she
was no more. He said nothing; he
asked nothing. But he saw the spirit
OF alteration In the sad, tense faces Of
the men.
1t was not hard for Jan to under.
stand. for he, too. worshiped the men,
DRY Of a white. sweet face like the one
that he had seen In the cabin. He
knew that this worship at Lac Balm
was q pure worship. for tho honor of
the big SHOWS was a part OF his soul
II was bis religion and the religion Of
these others who lived 400 miles O,
more from southern settlement.
1t meant what civilization could not
understa nd-freexing and slow starva-
ton rather than theft and rsspect for