The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1914-08-28
CHAPTER {.
Dreams.


He drifted into the delectable land
that lies between sleep and waking
tasting the feeting SAVIOR of his dreams
the epic visions of full-blooded youth
They 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
sung by departing far-distant choir
A wave OF delight rippled over him.
Then the thought that, not sharing his
siumber. had painted his colorful
dreams. worked to the surface.
My last day here!"
He awoke slowly. Before him, seen
through the unshuttered window, lay a
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. golden disk
hung in the sky. symbol of the reward
of mems struggles; it's 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.
lie reVeled in new perception.
He was twenty years old.
He was not one to loll. 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 listener. Intently
he sought to define the faint other
world resonance that still seemed to
yibrate about him. But the theme
eluded him.
His illusion was effectually shat
tered. Into the subdued melody of the
Sabbath morning thrust profane in
truder, the jerky wheeling notes of a
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-at the absurd anti
climax.
I'm still in Bethel. It's 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 off 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.
IN 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 the
cistern. They sat down without speak
ing. The youth ate eagerly, gulpingly.
When the first keenness 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 were 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 trifle 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 l couldn't say
anything that'd help much"
The sweep of the youths anticipa.
ton faltered before quality In the
old mans words. Old, "old Simon I"
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 a
,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 a sorrow to which some
soothing word was to be said. But
the word would not come to lips un.
schooled 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
itrading-until her coat shone satiny.
This labor OF love ended. he lighted q
pipe and sat in the stable doorway.
He sat there until from across the
town came a fat unmusical clamor,
the cracked church bell calling the
faithful-that is to say. all Bethel save
@one-to worship. He rose reluctantly.
Soon he emerged from the little house.
shaved to the blood and clad In the dis.
comfort Of Sunday clothes.
Always on warm Sabbath mornings
Simon Truitt was to be found sitting
on the stoop. and always facing the