The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1916-04-01
And You have given 4ll?" asked

And yon have given 4ll?" asked
Alan.
The girls eyes filed.
mo, you haven't given ALL" went on
Alan quickly. you are still giving.
I must not borrow your last mite.
But-your voice is like nurses hand"
When Alan went to bed he could not
sleep. For while the little mission
airy girl held his thoughts. He was
filed with wonder, not at her, but at
himself. For once in his life he had
not been 1ippant before grave things.
From the girl his thoughts turned to
Alix. He could have cabled to her
about Gerry from Pernambuco, but he
had not done so. The note that he was
carrying for Gerry was light-only a
half-sheet, probably. The lightness Of
It told Alan that the things Gerry had
to say to his wife could not be put on
paper. Alan had almost cabled. Now
he was glad he had not done so.
"Alix," he said to himself, isn't wait.
ing, she's trusting. A cable would
have heightened waiting by a month"
Then. without volition, his mind
wandered from Alix and raced ahead
to the goal Of his journey. What was
the goal Of his Journey? Whittier was
he bound? He reached for Clem's let
ter and held it in folded hands. He
had no need to read 1t again. The
words were nothing; the picture was
all. 1t stretched before his mind. a
living canvas.
Once when Alan was wandering
with an Englishman in the hills above
Granada. faint odor had brought
them to a sudden halt. 1t was the
Englishman who made the surprising
discovery first. "Blackberries,, by
Jove" he had exclaimed. Good old
blackberrtes." And then they two had
stood together, yet half world apart,
and stared at the berry-laden bush.
What vision of a tangled, high-walled
garden burst upon the Englishman
Alan never knew, but to himself had
come memory of East mountain in
autumn, so clear, so poignant, that it
had brought his throbbing heart into
bis throat.
It was SO now with Clem's letter.
The words were but hurried daub,
but they touched his eyes with magic
wand. The daub became a scene. a
picture, a world-his world.
Red Hill was spread out before him.
texture where the threads and colors
Of life were blended into carpet soft
but enduring. Men walked and little
children played on it. Alan closed his
eyes and sighed. What had he been
doing with life? Making sackingl
Sacking was commercial. 1t paid in
cash. 1t was the national industry.
But what could one do with sacking on
Red Hill?
Then, almost suddenly, the full spirit
Of Clem's letter seized him. One did
not take gifts to Red Hill. To every
one of its children Red Hill was the
source of all gifts-the source of life.
On that thought he slept.
When he was back once more in his
rooms, before Swithson had had time
to open bag, Alan re-directed Gerry's
note to Alix to Red Hill and sent
Swithson out to post it. He did not
try to temper the shock Of the note
with a covering letter. He was toe
weak and tired. Besides, he felt that
the note carried it's own antidote tc
Joy.
The next morning a message came
BY hand to Alan's rooms. Alix had
come to town and wished to see him al
once. Would he please come around
He replied that he was too i'll. Halt
an hour later Swithson answered q
ring at the door and Alix slipped
quickly past him into Alan's sitting
room. There was a flush Of anger in
her cheeks, but Alan was pleased to
see no trace Of tears in her eyes. A
woman's crying always touched him
on the raw and seldom awakened his
pity.
At sight of him Alix forgot her con.
Germ for herself. "Why, Alan!" she
cried, what is the matter?"
Alan laughed. There was pleasant
note in his laugh she had never heard