The Madison journal. (Tallulah, Madison Parish, La.) 1888-current, 1914-10-24

W
He Felt Her Body ReIax-Her Head
Rested Heavily on His Shoulder.
he could see the beginning Of his
happy city, all ready for the great ex-
pertinent.
Only the eye of hope could have seen
there the thriving community he had
once visualized. 1t was then but an
unimposing village of simple homes
laid out on the southern slope of the
valley and to the windward of the
mills; in the matter of size even the
old Bethel had no room for jealousy.
And only an expert, crossing the new
bridge and studying at close quarters
the compact little plant on the north
ern bank, would have found there a
promise as we'll as the supreme tri-
umph of a man whose constructive
gift had not been unknown.
More than one expert had come to
spy out the land, seeking reasons to
scoff, and had departed shaking their
heads wonderingly. All agreed that,
mad though the builder might be when
he stepped out of his own field, only
genius strangely fired could have de-
vised this mechanical masterpiece.
Some, carried away by their admira-
ton, refused to admit even a partial
insanity.
But the man at the window took no
pride in his achievement. The holy
flame of inspiration, warming genius
to a new life, had brought with 1t none
of the Joy of creation. Toll, tremen-
dous and persistent, though measured
to his carefully boarded strength,
could not kindle ardor. Not as the
crusader fights had he begun to build
his city, but as q sinner whose
humbled soul requires at once tor
turing penance and a refuge.
He saw with fainting hope. with an
eye that beheld only the chances of
failure. In a sense 1t had already
failed for him. Penance could not
tighten penitence. The glamour of his
big idea" conceived in a romantic,
sentimental mood, had departed; moth.
ing, he now believed, could restore It,
He bathed and dressed-in the new
bathroom that was his one concession
| to the luxuriousness Of the old life
and descended to the kitchen. The
pleasant odor of frying ham met his
nostrils; there was a hotel in Bethel
now at which the FRUITS generally
| had their meals, but sometimes. Of q
| leisurely Sabbath morning, Simon still
served as cook.
But the bent old man at the south
window had forgotten breakfast. For
a little Mark watched him without
salutation.
Good morning. father" he said a,
last.
Good morning. Mark" Simon
turned reluctantly from the window
81 was Jest thinkin' it'll be 20 years
tomorrow ye went away-an' now
there's that"
"Yes. Your dream has come true
II you live until tomorrow night you'll
have seen 1t all-steel made in Bethel
I'D like to live that long," Simon
answered simply.
Mark smiled gently. More than
once, lately, he had noted in Simon
signs Of a growing childishness.
Much longer than that, l hope. Are
you content?"
Simon hesitated. I reckon we think
I'd ought to be. It's come easy to me
All | had to do was to think about
1t an wait fur We to build the mills
But l wish could give something te
EN-
You gave the idea. That's some
thing. I suppose good idea ie never
lost. You failed but kept the ides
alive. / caught it from you and bull
the mills. adding my own idea. Thu
mills will 60 on, though may fail. Ant
I suppose some day somebody vii
take up my idea and make something
Of it," He smiled again. "Prettily rea
soned, anyhow"
"Ye say We may fail?"
But Mark had taken Simon's plac,
at the window and did not seem I,
hear the question. Simon did not pres
it then. He resumed his slow, method
ical setting Of the table.
Breakfast ready. they sat down ant
hegan the meal In silence. Mark at
lightly, absently.
Ever since Mark had returned
Simon had been vaguely sensible Of
suffering to which some solacing wor
might be said. But the word would no
come to his unschooled lips.
Il wish" Simon thought. Il coul
give him something"
II was a real suffering Simon senset
no day without its hour Of payment
no hour SO heavy as on that Sabbat
} morning.
u From across the town came q me