Charlevoix county herald. (East Jordan, Mich.) 189?-1953, 1914-08-08

| soon TO make room for others, but
they are well-nigh of as sunlit a
color as thine own.
"And the little face! In moment
/ will show thee my own baby, who
is also very beautiful, and thou
shalt see how, much lighter is the
skin of this one. The eyes, more
over, as thou shalt &c when he
wakens, are very dark; but they are
not brown, for they show a blue like
the color Of very deep water.
who else could have a child, born
but maybe half a moon ago, with
such hair and eyes? tell thee, yell
low Hair, it must be the child Ameou
was awaiting when last | saw her.
and in whom she had so much hope
and pride. And, also it must be
thine own"
The man stared at her with a Gu
rious sense of happiness that came
to him gradually as his brain began
to work more clearly. Then he fell
on his knees before the woman, who
sat on log close to the fire with the
precious burden in her arms.
my own little son." he said in a
very low voice, as if this also might
have been some wild illusion that
had come to him during the time If
his striving to reach Tshemuak, and
which he could scarcely believe. "My
own baby-the son of Ameou, on
whose breast he should be lying now !!
o woman, hast thou really taken my
own baby to thy heart? But, then,
where is Ameou ?"
He looked at the two Indians with
a pitiful, inquiring expression, and
bitter salt tears began to gather in
his eyes.
why didn't you tell me?" he re-
preached them. "There is some
thing you have been keeping from
me. She must surely have died, for
she was the gentlest soul on earth
and would have chung to her child as
hercely as mother of the whelps of
wolves.
"She must be dead, but | cannot
tell why the baby was all alone in
the woods. Had she been living she
would have fought to get it back and
searched for it day and night. She
must be dead!"
For some time he remained ve,y
still, sitting on the ground with his
head rearly down to his knees, over
come with grief Which in his weak
ness he hac no power TO restrain.
The motherwoman beside him
looked at him pityingly, for she
shared his belief.
But soon he arose and seemed TO
have greater control of his limbs
than before.
81 thank thee for taking care of
my little son." he told the woman
hoarsely. 81 will be able to show
my gratitude for that which thou
didst for him and for me. But now
| must think for time and be alone
with my sorrow, which is more bit
ter than all the pain | endured since
l came out of the White Rapids"
He took big stick, one of several
that were cut handy for hanging
pots and pans, and moved away into
the thick wood. Atuk would have
followed him, but the wife inter
fered
"Let him go for time and stand
face to face with his grief. Perhaps
he will talk to his Manitou, as do
some of the white men, and be COM
forted. He will not go far, and it
will be easy to bring him back after
a time"
Lorimer, indeed, went but a short
distance away. He sat down Imply
on the first convenient fallen tree.
Atuk had promised to take him in
his canoe to Tshemuak-that very
aftern Oh as soon as he had finished
gathering his smoked fish that
could not be left out of doors, for the
weather was becoming squally and
the rain was not far off.
But what cared Lorimer? Tshe-
muak, Many Beaver Lake, or the
peaceful fields and hedgerows of his
own land were all alike to him now.
There was no happiness any
where. The world was altogether
too hard. He remembered an old
Oriental saying-that it was better
to lie than to stand, to sleep than
merely lie, to be dead than sleeping.
He had no other desire than sur
cease from his pain, and he wished
that his brain might become so
dulled as to make thought impossi-
BILE. If only the ability to feel could
leave him now, as it had for a time
in the great White Rapids
"If only my head had remained
under water when / was cast upon
that rock" he told himself. IL had
already met the fear of death, and
that passed away so that all of my
life was blotted out. There never
would have been any more pain"
But as he sat there, hunched up
like a feeble old man, the thought
gradually came to him that his baby
was only a few rods away from him,
living peacefully in the closed tent
while the others had gone to look
after the fish.
That baby was his legacy from the
woman he had so greatly loved.
Since she must be dead it was his
duty to look after it and give it all
care and love, if any love could pos
sibly remain in a breast that now
seemed to be shriveled with suffer
ing and able to bring forth nothing |
but the cruel breath that prolonged
his agony. |
Yet he felt that he must react.
The moment had surely come when
he must resume the fight he had now
waged so long.
He must grit his teeth and stand
the punishment just as he had stood