Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1913-10-15
CHAPTER 1.
The Music.
listen, John. hear musicv'
The words came in a gentle

whisper from the wOman's
e. lips. One white, thin hand
lifted itself weakly to the rough face
of the man who was kneeling beside
her bed, and the great dark eyes from
which he had hidden his own grew
LUMINOSITY bright for a moment as she
whispered again:
John, | hear musicp'
A sigh futtered from her lips. The
mans head dropped until it rested very
near to her bosom. He felt the culver
of her hand against his cheek. and in
its touch there was something which
told John Cummins that the end of all
life had come for him and for her in
this world of snow and ice and for
est very near to the dome of the earth.
His heart beat fiercely, and his great
shoulders shook with the agony that
was eating at his soul.
Eyes, it is the pretty music, my Me-
lisse," he murmured softly, choking
back his sobs. cit is the pretty music
in the Skies"
The hand pressed more tightly
against his face.
Its not the music in the skies, John.
1t is real-real music that | hear"
tits the sky music, my sweet Me-
hsse Shall / open the door SO that
we can hear it better?"
When he looked again at the wo-
man her eyes were open, and there
glowed in them still the feeble fire Of
a great love. Her lips, too, pleaded
with him in their old. sweet way.
which always meant that he was to
kiss them and stroke her hair and tell
her again that she was the most beau
tiful thing in the whole world.
"Mv MelisSer'
He crushed his face to her, his sob
bing breath smothering itself in the
soft masses of her hair, while her arms
rose weakly and fell around his neck.
He heard the quick, gasping struggle
for breath within her bosom, and,
family again, the words:
"1t-is-the-music -of-my-peoplew
1T is the music of the angels in the
skies, my sweet Melissa. 1t is our mu-
sic l will open the door,"
The arms had slipped from his
shoulders Gently he ran his rough
fingers through the loose glory of the
woman's hair and stroked her face as
softly as he might have caressed the
cheek Of sleeping child.
81 will open the door, Melissa"
His moccasined feet made no sound
as he moved across the little room
which was their home. At the door
he paused and listened. Then he open
ed it, and the floods of the white night
poured in upon him as he stood with
his eyes turned to where the cold, pale
flashes of the aurora were playing
over the pole.
1t was an hour past midnight at the
post, which had the barren lands at
it's back door. 1t was the hour of deep
slumber for it's people. But tonight
there was no sleep for any of them.
Lights burned dimly in the few rough
log homes. The company's store was
aglow, and the factors Office, haven
Of the men of the wilderness, shot one
cleaning yellow eye out into the white
gloom. The post was awake. 1t was
waiting. 1t was listening. 1t was
watching.
AS the woman's door opened, wide
and brimful of light, door of one Of
the log houses opened and then anoth-
er, and out into the night. like dim
shadows, trod the moccasined men
from the factors Office and stood
there waiting for the word of life or
death from John Cummins. In their
own fashion these men, who without
knowing it lived very near to the
ways OF God, sent mute prayers into
the starry heavens that the most beau
tifuI thing in the world might yet be
spared to them.
1t was just two summers before that
this beautiful thing had come into
Cummins' life and into the life of the
post. Cummins, red headed. 1.-THE as a
cat. big souled as the eternal noun
tain of the Crees and the best of the