The Bottineau courant. (Bottineau, Bottineau County, N.D.) 1895-1929, 1915-04-23

Joy. The Lord speaks to Job out OF
the whirlwtnd and says. Hast thou
entered into the treasures of the snow,
hail?' Sit neal ME. Wnitstill. and look
out on the hills. Hast thou entered
into the treasures Of the snOwT No.
not yet. but please God ! shall, and
into many other treasures soon.'' and
she closed her eyes.
All day long the air ways were filed
with the glittering army Of the snow
fakes. all day long the snow grew
deeper and deeper on the ground, and
on the breath Of some white winged
wonder that passed Lois B~oynton's
window her white soul forsook its
"earth lot and took flight Mt last.
They watched beside her. but never
knew the moment Of her going. Her
face was so like an angels in it's shin
ing serenity that the few who loved
her best could not look upon her with
anything but reverent joy. On earth
she had known nothing but the "bro.
ken arcs" but in heaven she would
find the 'perfect round" There at last.
on the other side Of the stars, she could
remember right. poor Lois Boynton!
For weeks afterward the village was
shrouded in snow rs 1t had eve been
before within memory. but In every
happy household the home life deepen
ed day by day. The books came out in
the long evenings: the grandsires told
old tales under the inspiration Of the
hearth fire: the children gathered on
their wooden stools to roast apples and
pop corn. and hearts am closer to-
gether than when summer called the
hOusemateS to wander here and there
in fields and woods and beside the
river.
Over at BoyntOns'. when the snow
was whirling and the wind bowling
round the chinneys of the high gabled
old farmhouse. when every window
had it's frame Of ermine and fringe of
icicles and the SIcet ratified %furiously
against the glass. then Ivory would
throw a great back log ON the bank Of
Goals between the tiredogS. the kettle
would begin to sing and the cat come
from some snug corner to curl and
purr on the braided hearth rug.
School was in session. and Ivory and
Rod had their textbooks of an evening.
but, oh. what Il new and strange JOY to
study when there was Il sweet woman
sitting near with her wOrkbaSket-a
woman wearing a shining braid of hair
as if it were a %cOrOnet; a woman Of
clear eyes and tender lips. one who
could feel as we'll as think. n who
could be n mans cOmrade as we'll as
his dear love: Truly the second heav-
en the one on this side Of the stars,
by men called home" was very present
over at BOyntOns'.
Sometimes the broad seated old hair
cloth sofa would be drawn in front of
the fire. and Ivory. laying his pipe and
his Greek grammar on the table. would
take some lighter book and open it ID
his knee. Waitstill would lift her eyes
from her sewing to meet her husbands
glance that spoke longing for her closer
companionship and. gladly leaving her
work and slipping into the place by his
side. she would put her elbow on his
shoulder and read with him.
Once Rod from his place at a table
O the other side Of the room looked
and looked at them with 4 kind Of in
stinct beyond his years and finally
crept up to Waitstill and. putting an
arm through hers. nestled his curly
head on her shoulder with the quaint
charm and grace that belonged to him.
1t was a young and beautiful shouI.
der. Waitstill's. and there had always
been and would always be a gracious
curve In it where Il child's head might
lie in comfort. Presently with Il shy
pressure. Rod whispered: Shall | sit
Am | in the way?'
Ivory looked up from his book
quietly shaking his head, while Wait
still put her arm around the boy and
drew him closer
Our little brother is never in the
way" she said. as she kissed him.
On midsummer evenings the win
dows of the old farmhouse over at
Boynton's CLEAN with unaccustomed
lights and voices break the stiffness.
%lessening the gloom of the long grass
grown lane of Lois Roynton's watch
ing in days gone by. On sunny morn
ings there is a merry babel Of chill
dren's chatter, mingled with gentle
maternal warnings. for this is a new
brood of young things. and the river
is calling them as it has called all the
others who ever came within. the cir
Gle of it's magic. The fragile hare
bells hanging their blue heads from
the crevices Of the rocks: the brilliant
columbines swaying to and fro on
their tall stalks; the patches of CLEAN
ing sand in shallow places b%eckoning
little bare feet to come and tread
them: the CLINT Of silver minnOws dart
ing hither and thither in some still
pool: the tempestuous journey Of some
weather beaten log. fighting its way
downstream here is life in abundance