The Bottineau courant. (Bottineau, Bottineau County, N.D.) 1895-1929, 1922-08-03
p |.

~ "d5 OFCls LIZ IdI1DIluR house,
with Its rckety, old-fashioned furni-
ture-and Its memories-was now de-
serted, except for Robert Fairchild,
and he was deserted within 1t, wan
dering from room to room staring at
familiar objects with the unfamiliar
gaze of one whose vision suddenly
has been warped by the visitation of
death and the sense Of loneliness that
1t brings.
Loneliness, rather than grief, for it
had been Robert Fairchild's promise
that he would not suffer in heart for
one who had longed to go into a peace
for which he had waited, seemingly in
vain. Year after year, Thornton Fair
child had sat In the big armchair by
the windows, watching the days grow
old and fade into night, studying sun
set after sunset, voicing the vain hope
that the cleaning might bring the twi-
light Of his wv existence-a silent
man except for this, rarely speaking of
the past, never giving to the son who
worked TOR him, cared for him, wor-
SHIPPED him, the slightest inkling of
what might have happened in the dim
days Of the long ago to transform him
into a beaten thing, longing for the
final s%urcease. And when the end
came, it found him In readiness, wait
ing in the big armchair by the win
dows. Even now, a book lay on the
frayed carpeting of the old room.
where 1t had fallen from relaxing fin
gers. Robert Fairchild picked it up,
and with a sigh restored it to the
grim, fumed oak case. His days of
petty sacrifices that his father might
while away the weary hours with
reading were e
What had been the past? Why the
silence? Why the patient, yet impa-
know. In all his memories was only
faint picture, painted years be-
fore In babyhood: the return of his
father from some place, he knew not
where, a long conference with his
mother behind closed doors, while he
In childlike curiosity, waited without
seeking In vain to catch some expla
nation. Then a sad-faced woman wht
cried at night when the house wa:
still, who faded and who died. That
was all. The picture carried no ex
PLANTATION.
And now Robert Fairchild stood OF
the threshold of something he almos
feared to learn. Once, on a black
stormy night, they had sat together
father and son before the fire. silen
for hours. Then the hand Of thu
white-haired man had reached out
ward and rested for a moment on thu
young mans knee.
Il wrote something to you, Boy, .
day or 50 ago." he had said. "Tha
little illness I had prompted me t.
do II. II thought 1t was only fai
to you. After I'm gone, look in tn,
safe. You'll find the combination Of
q piece OF paper hidden In q hole Gu
In that old European history in tn
bookcase. / have your promise, =
knoW--that you'll not do It until afte
Tn gone"
Now Thornton Fairchild was gone
But Il message had remained behind
f%LE@
one which the patient lips evfdentl
had feared to inter during life. Tn
heart of the son began to pound. slo,
and hard, M, with the memory OF tina
conversation, he turned toward til
bookcase md unattached the paneIe
door. Al moment more and the no
lowed history had given up Its trus
4 I'LL of paper scratched with number
Robert FaIrchid turned toward th
stairs ANA the small room on the ses
ord floor which had served as his Il
ther's bedroom.
There he hesitated before the Iittl
IRON safe III the corner, s~IiI1nonin
the courage % unlock the doors of
dead uhnns's part
Tse safe had mt been opened 1
years; thaf Nas eyidents from "a
~ creakinS At IN ~1lunesrs - thsy ~