Roanoke Rapids herald. [volume] (Roanoke Rapids, N.C.) 1914-192?, 1914-07-17
CHAPTER |.
Dreams.

He drifted into the delectable land
tasting the feetlng SAVIOR OF his dreams
the epic visions OF full-blooded youth
They had passed just beyond memory,
leaving confused yet glowing sense
Of sharp combats waged, Of victories
won. A golden haze enVeloped him
Through 1t filtered dwtndling reso-
nance, as of some noble professional
sung by departing far-distant choir.
A wave of delight rippled over him
Then the thought that, not sharing his
slumber, had painted his colorful
dreams, worked to the surface.
MY last day here!
He awoke slowly, Before him, seen
through the unshuttered window lay -
world somber enough to one Juggling
against It's restraints, lovely when It
was to be left behind. He saw the
September sun peep over the hills at
the head Of the valley, rise majestic
ally and swing clear a golden disk
hung In the sky. symbol OF the reward
Of mems struggles; its radiance.
streaming into the little room, dis
PEELED shabbiness with a mellow glow
he could almost feel The matin
sounds arose, according finely with the
lingering echoes OF his dream music
He reveled In a new perception.
He was twenty years old
He was not one to lol He sprang
from bed and stood naked; supple
beautiful youth. too slender for great
strength but with the unconscious
grace OF the wild animal.
He dressed and stood by the window
In the attitude of a listener lntently
he sought to define the faint other
world resonance that still seemed to
vibrate about him. But the theme
eluded him.
His Illusion was effectually shat
tered Into the subdued melody of the
Sabbath morning thrust a profane In
truder, the jerky wheeling notes of
cabinet organ in the days hymns,
played by some one who aspired be
yond endowment
He frowned, then threw back his
head and laughed silently-a trick he
had sometimes the absurd anti
climax.
I'm etill in Bethel. It's long way
from here to--thefe." He drew long
deep breath.
A question halted him. There
where?"
He SHOOK HIS head vigorously as
though TO throw off the query, and
went down to the kitchen.
Tho odor of frying ham saluted his
nostrils he shifted 1t hungrily A man.
apparently old, was placing heavy,
Clipped ironware dishes on the table,
He nodded briefly in response to the
youths blithe greeting.
I'll be ready" he said in dull fiat
voice, time ye're back from the
stable" and continued his slow precise
setting of the table.
In few minutes the other returned,
the horses fed and his own hands and
face scrubbed in cold water from tho
cistern. They sat down without speak
ing. The youth ate eagerly, gulptngly
When the first Reenness Of appetite
was gone, burning to talk Of the great
hour at hand, he broke the silence.
well, father. this is my last day in
Bethel"
The old man merely nodded, keeping
his eyes on his plate,
Boyishly the son began to set forth
his plans and hopes and expectations;
they we're not small But the old man
maintained his silence The youth CON
ceived him to be an unsympathetic au-
dience.
Guess you're not Interested" he
said tritie sulkily.
Yes, I'm interested, Mark" the IA
Their answered, but there amt any
thing to say He raised his glance to
the window. Guess | couldn't say
anything that'd help much"
The sweep Of the youths anticipa-
ton faltered before a quality in the
old mans words. Old, old Simon"
so his neighbors called him Yet he
was not really old, but in the MONDAY
of life wore the gray mantle of age.
For he, too, had dreamed his big gold
en- dreams. Below the village stood
dismantled rotting forge, monument
TO their futility. After his failure he
had returned to his shop and trade,
shoeing his neighbors horses, mend
ing their wagons and plows, a dull
eyed taciturn, spiritless plodder.
Simon Truitt rose and began to
clear the table. The son moved toward
the door. There he paused, vaguely
sensible OF sorrow to which some
soothing word was to be said. But
the word would not come to lips I'M
sch0oled in such tender Office. He went
slowly out into the sunshine.
In the stable he curried the horses.
lingering over the pretty brown mare
latest and finest trophy of his horse
trading until her coat shone satiny.
This labor OF love ended, he lighted a
pipe end sat in the stable doorway.
He sat there until from across the
town came fiat unmusical ciamor,
this cracked church bell calling the
faithful that Is to say, all Bethel save
.one--to worship. He rose reluctantly.