The Beaver herald. [volume] (Beaver, O.T. [Okla.]) 1895-1923, 1920-02-19
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"That's good. It's sweet--its
sweet"
"What is, mother darlingT
ITO feel-my hand on your cheek.
IL can feel IT,"
But this frightened him horribly
that she seemed so glad she could feel
It. like a child proud Of some miracu-
lous seeming thing accomplished. II
frightened him so that he could not
| speak, and he feared that she would
know how he trembled; but she was
unaware, and again was silent Final.
| ly she spoke again:
II wonder if-if Eugene and LUCY
know that we've come-home."
"I'm sure they do"
"Has he-asked about mer
"Yes, he was here"
HAS he-gonef" y
"Yes, mother"
She sighed family. 'Td like
"What, motherT
'Td like to have-seen him." II was
audible, this little regretful murmur
Several minutes passed before there
was another. "Just-just once" she
whispered, and then was still.
She seemed to have fallen asleep
and George moved to go, but faint
pressure upon his fingers detained
him, and he remained, with her hand
still pressed against his cheek. After
a while he made sure she was asleep
and moved again, to let the nurse
come in. and this time there was nc
pressure OF the fingers to keep him
She was not asleep, but, thinking that
II he went he might get some rest, and
be better prepared for what she knew
was coming, she commanded those
| longing fingers of hers-and let him
go.
He found the doctor standing with
the nurse In the hall; and, telling
them that his mother was drowslns
now, George went back to his own
room, whore he was startled to find
his grandfather lying on the bed, and
his uncle leaning against the wall
| They had gone home two hours before,
and he did not know they had return
ed.
''The doctor thought we'd better
come over" ANDERSON said, then was
silent. aud George. shaking violently,
sat down on the edge of the bed. His
shaking continued, and from time to
time he wiped heavy sweat from his
fo -ehead.
The hours passed, and sometimes
the old man upon the bed would snore
a little. stop suddenly. and move as II
to rise, but George Anderson would
| set hand upon his shoulder, and
murmur reassuring word or two.
Once George gasped defantly /,
THAT doctor In New York said she
might get better Don't you know he
didf Don't you know he said she
migbtl"
Anderson made no answer.
Dawn had been murking through
the smoky windows, growing strong
er for half an hour, when both mer
started violently at sound in the
hall; and the Major sat up on the bed
1t was the voice of the nurse speaking
to Fanny Minafer, and the next mo
ment Fanny appeared in the doorway
making contorted efforts to speak.
Anderson said weakly: Does shG
want us-to come inT
But Fanny found her voice, aud ut.
tered a long. loud cry. She threw her
arms about George, and sobbed In an
agony of loss and compassion:
4 .L~
loved you'll She loved you'll oh, how
she did love youl"
Isabel had Just left them.
MAJOR ANDERSON remained dry-eyed
through the time that followed; he
knew that this separation from his
daughter would be short; that the
separation which had preceded II was
the long one. He worked at his
ledgers no more under his old gas
drop-light, but would ait Gil evening
staring into the fire. 10 his bedroom.
and not speaking unless someone ask
ed him question. He seemed almost
unaware OF what went on around him,
and those who were with Am thought
him dazed by Isabel's death. guessing
that he was lost in "reminiscences and
vague dreams. Probably his mind In
full of pictures of his youth, or the
Civil war, and the days when he and
mother were young married people
and all Of us children were jolly little
things-and the city was a small town
with one cobbled street and the others
just dirt roads with board sidewalks.H
This was George Amberson's conjec-
ture, and the others agreed; but they
were mistaken. The Major was en-.
gagged in the profoundest thinking Of
his life. No business plans which hal
ever absorbed him could compare In
momentousness with the plans that
| absorbed him now, for he had to nlsu