The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1914-11-13

rested HeaVaIy on HIS Shouloor.
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 well 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
scott, 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 q partial
insanity.
But the man at the window took no
pride in his achievement. The holy
fame of inspiration. warming genius
to a new life, had brought with it 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 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
failed for him. Penance could not
tighten penitence. The glamour of his
big idea" conceived in 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 hotel in Bethel
now at which the FRUITS generally
had their meals, but sometimes, of a
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 at
last.
Good morning, Merk." Simon
turned reluctantly from the window.
Il was Jest thinkin' it'll be 20 years
tomorrow ye went away-an' now
there's that"
Yes. Your dream has come true.
If you live until tomorrow night you'll
have seen it 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, hope Are
you content?"
Simon hesitated 4 reckon We think
I'd ought to be. It's come easy to me.
All / had to do was to think about
it an wait fur We to build the mills.
But wish / could give something to
EN-"
You gave the idea. That's some
thing. l suppose good idea is never
lost. You failed but kept the idea
alive. l caught it from you and built
the mills, adding my own idea. The
mills will go on, though may fail. And
1 suppose some day somebody will
take up my idea and make something
of it." He smiled again. "Prettily rea-
soned, anyhow"
Eye say We may fail?"
But Mark had taken Simon's place
at the window and did not seem to
hear the question. Simon did not press
it then He resumed his slow, method
ical setting OF the table.
Breakfast ready, they sat down and
began the meal in silence. Mark ate
lightly, absently.
Ever since Mark had returned,
Simon had been vaguely sensible of a
suffering to which some solacing word
might be said. But the word would not
come to his unschooled lips.
Il wish,' Simon thought, II could
give him something"
1t was real suffering Simon sensed.
no day without its hour Of payment,
no hour SO heavy rs on that Sabbath
morning.
From across the towu came a mai