The Grenada sentinel. [volume] (Grenada, Miss.) 1868-1955, 1914-09-11
CHAPTER |.


INA lies between sleep and waking,
casting the deeting SAVIOR of his dreams
the epic visions Of full FLOODED youth.
I2ey had passed Just beyond memory
leaving a confused yet glowing sense
OF sharp combats waged. of victories
won A golden haze enveloped him.
Through it filtered a dwindling reso-
nance, as OF some noble professional
auag by a departing far-distant choir.
A wave Of delight rippled over him.
Then he thought that. not sharing his
Alumoer, had painted his oolorful
dreams, worked to the surface.
My last day herei'
He awoke slowly. Before him, seer
through the unshuttered window, lay a
world somber enough to one Juggling
against its restraints, lovely when it
was 10 be left behind. He saw the
september sun peep over the hills at
TIE 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.
lie Was not one to loll. He sprang
nom bed and stood naked; supple
beautiful youth, too slender for great
strength but with the unconscious
grace of the wild animal.
lie dressed and stood by the window
In the attitude of a listener. I~ntently
he sought to define the faint other
world resonance that still seemed to
vibrate about him. But the theme
alluded him.
His illusion was effectually shat
tered. Into the subdued melody OF the
Sabbain morning thrust a profane In
Guder. the lerky Wheeling notes of a
cabine, organ in the days hymns,
played by some one who aspired be-
yond endowment.
He frowned. then threw back his
head and laughed s.lently-a trick he
had sometimes-at the absurd anti
climax.
In still in Bethel. It's z long way
from here to%--there.' He drew a long
deep breath.
A question halted him. There
where"
He shook his head vigorously, as
though to throw of the query, and
went down to the kitchen.
The odor OF frying ham saluted his
nostrils; he shifted it hungrily. A man,
apparently old, was placing heavy,
Clipped ironware dishes on the table.
He nodded briefly in response to the
youths blithe greeting.
III be ready" he said in a dull fiat
voice, time ye're back from the
stable. and continued his slow precise
setting of the table.
In a few minutes the other returned,
the horses fed and his own hands and
face scrubbed In cold water from the
eistern. They sat down without speak.
ing. The youth ate eagerly, guipingly.
When the first keennese of appetite
was gone. burning to talk Of the great
hour at hand, he broke the silence.
We'll, father, this Is my last day in
Bethel"
The old man merel. nodded. keeping
his yes on his plate.
Boyishly the son BEGAN to set forth
his plans and hopes and expectations;
they were not small. But the old man
maintained his silence. the youth con.
caived him to be an unsympathetic au-
disnce.
Guess you're not interested" he
said q trife sulkily.
Yes. I'm interested, Marx, the IA.
Their answered. but there amt any.
thing 10 say" He raised his glance 70
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:
80 his %neighbors called him. Yet he
was not really old, but in the II
Of life wore the gray mantle of age
For he, too. had dreamed his big gold.
en- dreams Below the village stood a
dismantled rotting forge, monument
to their f%utility. After his failure he
had returned to his shop and trade.
shoeing his n%eighbors' 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 a sorrow to which some
soothing word was to be said. But
the word would not come to lips I'M
schopled in such tender office. He went
slowiY on! in.a the sunshine.