He must have kept some
reckoning
of the time, for the next
day he varied his question.
day he varied his question.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v25 - Tas to Tur
He is doing well, and sends his
love. Hoping, my dear madam, to be able to see you and thank you
personally for your very kind and welcome gift, I am, with respect,
Very Truly Yours.
AMOS T. WICKLIFF.
## p. 14750 (#324) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14750
Paisley read the letter soberly. In fact, another feeling de-
stroyed any inclination to smile over the unusual pomp of Wick-
liff's style. That's out of sight! " he declared. "It will please
the old lady to the ground. Say, I take it very kindly of you,
Mr. Wickliff, to write about me that way. "
"I had a book to help me," confessed the flattered sheriff.
"And say, Paisley, when you are writing about me to your ma,
you better say Wickliff, or Amos. Mr. Wickliff sounds kinder
stiff. I'll understand. "
The letter that the sheriff received in return, he did not show
to Paisley. He read it with a knitted brow; and more than once
he brushed his hand across his eyes. When he finished it he
drew a long sigh, and walked up to his mother's portrait. "She
says she prays for me every night, ma," he spoke under his
breath, and reverently. "Ma, I simply have got to save that boy
―――――
for her, haven't I? "
That evening Paisley rather timidly approached a subject
which he had tried twice before to broach, but his courage had
failed him. "You said something, Mr. Wickliff, of paying me
a little extra for what I do,- keeping the books, and so forth.
Would you mind telling me what it will be? I- I'd like to
send a Christmas present to my mother. "
"That's right," said the sheriff heartily. "I was thinking
what would suit her. How's a nice black dress, and a bill pinned
to it to pay for making it up? "
"But I never — "
"You can pay me when you get out. "
"Do you think I'll ever get out? " Paisley's fine eyes were
fixed on Wickliff as he spoke, with a sudden wistful eagerness.
He had never alluded to his health before; yet it had steadily
failed. Now he would not let Amos answer: he may have flinched
from any confirmation of his own fears; he took the word hast-
ily. "Anyhow, you'll risk my turning out a bad investment. But
you'll do a damned kind action to my mother; and if I'm a rip,
she's a saint. "
"Sure," said the sheriff. "Say, do you think she'd mind my
sending her a hymn-book and a few flowers? "
Thus it came to pass that the tiny bakery window, one Christ-
mas day, showed such a crimson glory of roses as the village had
never seen; and the widow Smith, bowing her shabby black bon-
net on the pew rail, gave thanks and tears for a happy Christmas,
and prayed for her son's friend. She prayed for her son also,
## p. 14751 (#325) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14751
that he might "be kept good. " She felt that her prayer would
be answered. God knows; perhaps it was. That night before she
went to bed she wrote to Edgar and to Amos. "I am writing
to both my boys," she said to Amos, "for I feel like you were my
dear son too. "
When Amos answered this letter he did not consult the 'Man-
ual. ' It was one day in January, early in the month, that he
received the first bit of encouragement for his missionary work
palpable enough to display to the scoffer Raker. Yet it was not
a great thing either; only this: Paisley (already half an hour at
work in the sheriff's room) stopped, fished from his sleeve a piece
of note-paper folded into the measure of a knife-blade, and offered
it to the sheriff.
"See what Mame sent me," said he; "just read it. "
There was a page of it, the purport being that the writer had
done what she had through jealousy, which she knew now was
unfounded; she was suffering indescribable agonies from remorse:
and to prove she meant what she said, if her darling Ned would
forgive her, she would get him out before a week was over.
If
he agreed he was to be at his window at six o'clock Wednesday
night. The day was Thursday.
"Do you mind tell-
"How did you get this? " asked Amos.
ing? »
"Not the least. It came in a coat. From Barber & Glas-
son's. The one Mrs. Raker picked out for me, and it was sent
up from the store. She got at it somehow, I suppose. "
"But how did you get word where to look? "
Paisley grinned. "Mame was here, visiting that fellow who
was taken up for smashing a window, and pretended he was so
hungry he had to have a meal in jail. Mame put him up to it,
so she could come. She gave me the tip where to look then. "
"I see. I got on to some of those signals once. Well, did
you show yourself Wednesday? "
"Not much! " He hesitated, and did not look at the sheriff,
scrawling initials on the blotting-pad with his pen. "Did you
really think, Mr. Wickliff, after all you've done for me and my
mother-I would go back on you and get you into trouble for
that_»
"'S-sh! Don't call names! "
at the picture of his mother.
before ? »
Wickliff looked apprehensively
"Why didn't you give me this
## p. 14752 (#326) ##########################################
14752
OCTAVE THANET
"Because you weren't here till this morning. I wasn't going
to give it to Raker. "
"What do you suppose she's after? "
"Oh, she's got some big scheme on foot, and she needs me
to work it. I'm sick of her. I'm sick of the whole thing. I
want to run straight. I want to be the man my poor mother
thinks I am. "
"And I want to help you, Ned," cried the sheriff. For the
first time he caught the other's hand and wrung it.
"I guess the Lord wants to help me too," said Paisley in a
queer dry tone.
"Why — yes—of course he wants to help all of us," said the
sheriff, embarrassed. Then he frowned, and his voice roughened
as he asked, "What do you mean by that? "
"Oh, you know what I mean," said Paisley smiling; "you've
always known it. It's been getting worse lately. I guess I
caught cold. Some mornings I have to stop two or three times
when I dress myself, I have such fits of coughing. "
"Why didn't you tell, and go to the hospital? »
"I wanted to come down here. It's so pleasant down here. "
"Good The sheriff reined his tongue in time, and only
said, "Look here: you've got to see a doctor! "
Therefore the encouragement to the missionary work was
embittered by divers conflicting feelings. Even Raker was dis-
turbed when the doctor announced that Paisley had pneumonia.
"Double pneumonia and a slim chance, of course," gloomed
Raker. "Always so. Can't have a man git useful and be a lit-
tle decent, but he's got to die! Why couldn't it 'a' been that
tramp tried to set the jail afire? "
"What I'm a-thinking of is his poor ma, who used to write
him such beautiful letters," said Mrs. Raker, wiping her kind
eyes. They was so attached. Never a week he didn't write
her. "
«<
"It's his mother I'm thinking of, too," said the sheriff with
a groan: "she'll be wanting to come and see him, and how in-"
He swallowed an agitated oath, and paced the floor, his hands
clasped behind him, his lip under his teeth, and his blackest In-
dian scowl on his brow,- plain signs to all who knew him that
he was fighting his way through some mental thicket.
But he had never looked gentler than he looked an hour later,
as he stepped softly into Paisley's cell. Mrs. Raker was holding
## p. 14753 (#327) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14753
a foaming glass to the sick man's lips. "There; take another
sup of the good nog," she said coaxingly, as one talks to a child.
"No, thank you, ma'am," said Paisley. "Queer how I've
thought so often how I'd like the taste of whisky again on my
tongue, and now I can have all I want, I don't care a hooter! "
His voice was rasped in the chords, and he caught his
breath between his sentences. Forty-eight hours had made an
ugly alteration in his face: the eyes were glassy, the features had
shrunken in an indescribable, ghastly way, and the fair skin was
of a yellowish pallor, with livid circles about the eyes and the
open mouth.
Wickliff greeted him, assuming his ordinary manner. They
shook hands.
"There's one thing, Mr. Wickliff," said Paisley: "you'll keep
this from my mother. She'd worry like blazes, and want to come
here. "
There was a photograph on the table, propped up by books;
the sheriff's hand was on it, and he moved it unconsciously: "To
Eddy, from Mother. The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The
Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto
thee >> Wickliff cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know,
Ned," he said cheerfully: "maybe that would be a good thing;
- kind of brace you up and make you get well quicker. "
Mrs. Raker noticed nothing in his voice; but Paisley rolled
his eyes on the impassive face in a strange, quivering, searching
look; then he closed them and feebly turned his head.
"Don't you want me to telegraph? Don't you want to see
her? "
Some throb of excitement gave Paisley the strength to lift
himself up on the pillows. "What do you want to rile me all
up for? »
His voice was almost a scream. "Want to see her?
It's the only thing in this damned fool world I do want! But I
can't have her know: it would kill her to know. You must make
up some lie about its being diphtheria and awful sudden, and no
time for her to come, and have me all out of the way before she
gets here.
You've been awful good to me, and you can do any-
thing you like: it's the last I'll bother you don't let her find
out! "
"For the land's sake! " sniffed Mrs. Raker, in tears
she know? »
XXV-923
-
"don't
## p. 14754 (#328) ##########################################
14754
OCTAVE THANET
"No, ma'am, she don't; and she never will, either," said the
sheriff. "There, Ned, boy, you lay right down. I'll fix it. And
you shall see her too. I'll fix it. "
"Yes, he'll fix it. Amos will fix it. Don't you worry," sobbed
Mrs. Raker, who had not the least idea how the sheriff could
arrange matters, but was just as confident that he would as if
the future were unrolled before her gaze.
The prisoner breathed a long deep sigh of relief, and patted
the strong hand at his shoulder. And Amos gently laid him
back on the pillows.
Before nightfall Paisley was lying in Amos Wickliff's own
bed, while Amos, at his side, was critically surveying both cham-
ber and parlor under half-closed eyelids. He was trying to see
them with the eyes of the elderly widow of a Methodist minister.
"Hum-yes! " The result of the survey was, on the whole,
satisfactory. "All nice, high-toned, first-class pictures. Nothing
to shock a lady. Liquors all put away, 'cept what's needed for
him. Pops all put away, so she won't be finding one and be
killing herself, thinking it's not loaded. My bed moved in here
comfortable for him, because he thought it was such a pleasant
room, poor boy. Another bed in my room for her. Bath-room
next door, hot and cold water. Little gas stove. Trained nurse
who doesn't know anything, and so can't tell. Thinks it's my
friend Smith. Is there anything else? "
At this moment the white counterpane on the bed stirred.
"Well, Ned? " said Wickliff.
"It's nice! " said Paisley.
"That's right. Now you get a firm grip on what I'm going
to say,- such a grip you won't lose it, even if you get out of
your head a little. "
―――――――
-
"I won't," said Paisley.
"All right. You're not Paisley any more. You're Ned Smith.
I've had you moved here into my rooms because your boarding-
place wasn't so good. Everybody here understands, and has got
their story ready. The nurse thinks you're my friend Smith. You
are, too, and you are to call me Amos. The telegram's gone.
'S-sh! what a way to do! " - for Paisley was crying. "Ain't I
her boy too? "
One weak place remained in the fortress that Amos had
builded against prying eyes and chattering tongues. He had
## p. 14755 (#329) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14755
searched in vain for "Mame. " There was no especial reason,
except pure hatred and malice, to dread her going to Paisley's
mother; but the sheriff had enough knowledge of Mame's kind
to take these qualities into account.
From the time that Wickliff promised him that he should
have his mother, Paisley seemed to be freed from every misgiv
ing. He was too ill to talk much, and much of the time he was
miserably occupied with his own suffering; yet often during the
night and day before she came he would lift his still beautiful
eyes to Mrs. Raker's, and say, "It's to-morrow night ma comes,
isn't it? " To which the soft-hearted woman would sometimes
answer, "Yes, son," and sometimes only work her chin, and put
her handkerchief to her eyes. Once she so far forgot the pres-
ence of the gifted professional nurse that she sniffed aloud;
whereupon that personage administered a scorching tonic, in the
guise of a glance, and poor Mrs. Raker went out of the room
and cried.
He must have kept some reckoning of the time, for the next
day he varied his question. He said, "It's to-day she's coming,
isn't it? " As the day wore on, the customary change of his
disease came: he was relieved of his worst pain; he thought
that he was better. So thought Mrs. Raker and the sheriff. The
doctor and the nurse maintained their inscrutable professional
calm. At ten o'clock the sheriff (who had been gone for a half-
hour) softly opened the door. The sick man instantly roused.
He half sat up. "I know," he exclaimed: "it's ma. Ma's
come! "
The nurse rose, ready to protect her patient.
There entered a little, black-robed, gray-haired woman, who
glided swift as a thought to the bedside, and gathered the worn
young head to her breast. "My boy, my dear, good boy! " she
said under her breath, so low the nurse did not hear her; she
only heard her say, "Now you must get well. "
"Oh, I am glad, ma! " said the sick man.
After that the nurse was well content with them all. They
obeyed her implicitly. It was she rather than Mrs. Raker who
observed that Mr. Smith's mother was not alone, but accompa-
nied by a slim, fair, brown-eyed young woman, who lingered in
the background, and would fain have not spoken to the invalid
at all had she not been gently pushed forward by the mother,
with the words, "And Ruth came too, Eddy! "
## p. 14756 (#330) ##########################################
14756
OCTAVE THANET
"Thank you, Ruth: I knew that you wouldn't let ma come
alone," said Ned feebly.
The young woman had opened her lips. Now they closed.
She looked at him compassionately. "Surely not, Ned," she said.
But why, wondered the nurse, who was observant,—it was
her trade to observe,- why did she look at him so intently, and
with such a shocked pity?
Ned did not express much,- the sick, especially the very sick,
cannot; but whenever he waked in the night, and saw his mother
bending over him, he smiled happily, and she would answer his
thought. "Yes, my boy; my dear, good boy," she would say.
And the sheriff in his dim corner thought sadly that the
ruined life would always be saved for her now, and her son
would be her good boy forever. Yet he muttered to himself, “I
suppose the Lord is helping me out, and I ought to feel obliged,
but I'm hanged if I wouldn't rather take the chances and have
the boy get well! "
But he knew all the time that there was no hope for Ned's
life. He lived three days after his mother came. The day be-
fore his death, he was alone for a short time with the sheriff,
and asked him to be good to his mother. "Ruth will be good
to her too," he said; "but last night I dreamed Mame was chas-
ing mother, and it scared me. You won't let her get at mother,
will you? "
"Of course I won't," said the sheriff: "we're watching your
mother every minute; and if that woman comes here, Raker has
orders to clap her in jail. And I will always look out for your
ma, Ned, and she never shall know. "
"That's good," said Ned, in his feeble voice.
"I'll tell you
something. I always wanted to be good, but I was always bad;
but I believe I would have been decent if I'd lived, because I'd
have kept close to you. You'll be good to ma- and to Ruth! "
The sheriff thought that he had drifted away and did not
hear the answer, but in a few moments he opened his eyes and
said brightly, "Thank you, Amos. " It was the first time that
he had used the other man's Christian name.
"Yes, Ned," said the sheriff.
him.
Next morning at daybreak he died. His mother was with
Just before he went to sleep his mind wandered a little.
He fancied that he was a little boy, and that he was sick, and
wanted to say his prayers to his mother. "But I'm so sick I
## p. 14757 (#331) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14757
can't get out of bed," said he. "God won't mind my saying
them in bed, will he? " Then he folded his hands, and reverently
repeated the childish rhyme; and so fell into a peaceful sleep,
which deepened into peace. In this wise, perhaps, were answered
many prayers.
Amos made all the arrangements the next day. He said that
they were going home from Fairport on the day following, but he
managed to conclude all the necessary legal formalities in time to
take the evening train. Once on the train, and his companions
in their sections, he drew a long breath.
"It may not have been Mame that I saw," he said, taking
out his cigar-case on the way to the smoking-room: "it was
merely a glimpse - she in a buggy, me on foot; and it may
be she wouldn't do a thing, or think the game worth blackmail:
but I don't propose to run any chances in this deal. Hullo-
excuse me, miss! "
The last words were uttered aloud to Ruth Graves, who
had touched him on the arm. He had a distinct admiration for
this young woman, founded on the grounds that she cried very
quietly, that she never was underfoot, and that she was so un-
obtrusively kind to Mrs. Smith.
"Anything I can do? " he began with genuine willingness.
She motioned him to take a seat. " Mrs. Smith is safe in her
section," she said: "it isn't that. I wanted to speak to you. Mr.
Wickliff, Ned told me how it was. He said he couldn't die lying
to everybody, and he wanted me to know how good you were.
I am perfectly safe, Mr. Wickliff," as a look of annoyance puck-
ered the sheriff's brow. "He told me there was a woman who
might some time try to make money out of his mother if she
could find her, and I was to watch. Mr. Wickliff, was she rather
tall and slim, with a fine figure? "
"Yes-dark-complected rather, and has a thin face and a
largish nose. "
"And one of her eyes is a little droopy, and she has a gold
filling in her front tooth? Mr. Wickliff, that woman got on this
train. "
――
"She did, did she? " said the sheriff, showing no surprise.
"Well, my dear young lady, I'm very much obliged to you. I
will attend to the matter. Mrs. Smith shan't be disturbed. "
<< Thank you," " said the young woman: "that's all. Good-
night! "
## p. 14758 (#332) ##########################################
14758
OCTAVE THANET
"You might know that girl had had a business education,"
the sheriff mused: "says what she's got to say, and moves on.
Poor Ned! Poor Ned! "
Ruth went to her section, but she did not undress. She sat
behind the curtains, peering through the opening at Mrs. Smith's
section opposite, or at the lower berth next hers, which was
occupied by the sheriff. The curtains were drawn there also,
and presently she saw him disappear by sections into their shel-
ter. Then his shoes were pushed partially into the aisle. Empty
shoes. She waited: it could not be that he was really going to
sleep. But the minutes crept by; a half-hour passed: no sign of
life behind his curtains. An hour passed. At the farther end
of the car the curtains parted, and a young woman slipped out
of her berth. She was dark and not handsome; but an elegant
shape and a modish gown made her attractive-looking. One of
her eyelids drooped a little.
She walked down the aisle and paused before Mrs. Smith's
section, Ruth holding her breath. She looked at the big shoes
on the floor, her lip curling. Then she took the curtains of Mrs.
Smith's section in both hands and put her head in.
"I must stop her! " thought Ruth. But she did not spring
out. The sheriff, fully dressed, was beside the woman, and an
arm of iron deliberately turned her round.
"The game's up, Mamie," said Wickliff.
She made no noise, only looked at him.
"What are you going to do? " said she, with perfect com-
posure.
"Arrest you if you make a racket, talk to you if you don't.
Go into that seat. >>> He indicated a seat in the rear, and she
took it without a word. He sat near the aisle; she was by the
window.
"I suppose you mean to sit here all night," she remarked
scornfully.
"Not at all," said he; "just to the next place. Then you'll
get out. "
"Oh, will I? "
"You will. Either you will get out and go about your busi-
ness, or you will get out and be taken to jail. "
"We're smart. What for? »
"For inciting prisoners to escape. "
"Ned's dead," with a sneer.
## p. 14759 (#333) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14759
"Yes, he's dead, and "- he watched her narrowly, although he
seemed absorbed in buttoning his coat-"they say he haunts
his old cell, as if he'd lost something. Maybe it's the letter you.
folded up small enough to go in the seam of a coat.
I've got
that. "
He saw that she was watching him in turn, and that she
was nervous. "Ned's dead, poor fellow, true enough; but-the
girl at Barber & Glasson's ain't dead. "
She began to fumble with her gloves, peeling them off and
rolling them into balls. He thought to himself that the chances
were that she was superstitious.
"Look here," he said, sharply: "have an end of this nonsense.
You get off at the next place, and never bother that old lady
again, or—I will have you arrested, and you can try for yourself
whether Ned's cell is haunted. "
For a brief space they eyed each other, she in an access of
impotent rage, he stolid as the carving of the seat. The car
shivered; the great wheels moved more slowly. "Decide,” said
he: not imperatively-dryly; without emotion of any sort. He
kept his mild eyes on her.
"It wasn't his mother I meant to tell; it was that girl— that
nice girl he wanted to marry —”
"You make me tired," said the sheriff. "Are you going, or
am I to make a scene and take you? I don't care much. "
She slipped her hand behind her into her pocket.
The sheriff laughed and grasped one wrist.
"I don't want to talk to the country fools," she snapped.
"This way," said the sheriff, guiding her. The train had
stopped. She laughed as he politely handed her off the plat-
form; the next moment the wheels were turning again and she
was gone. He never saw her again.
The porter came out to stand by his side in the vestibule,
watching the lights of the station race away and the darkling
winter fields fly past. The sheriff was well known to him; he
nodded an eager acquiescence to the officer's request: "If those
ladies in 8 and 9 ask you any questions, just tell them it was a
crazy woman getting the wrong section, and I took care of her. "
Within the car a desolate mother wept the long night through,
yet thanked God amid her tears for her son's last good days;
and did not dream of the blacker sorrow that had menaced her
and had been hurled aside.
## p. 14760 (#334) ##########################################
14760
CELIA THAXTER
(1836-1894)
T
HE poetry of Celia Thaxter suggests the happy results for
literature when a poetic nature draws inspiration from some
imaginative stimulus, and lets that inspiration dominate
without confusing or weakening it with others. With Mrs. Thaxter
such a stimulus was the sea. It was on the northern sea-coast of
New England that she lived, knew joy and sorrow, and wrote out
of her heart experiences. Her verse reflects the impressions upon a
sensitive soul of the sea-birds and the island blooms, of the glory and
tragedy of the illimitable ocean, and the
overarch of the more illimitable sky; while
the drama of human existence, interwoven
of good and ill, is always present, lending
pathos to the beauty of nature, and imbu-
ing with a tender melancholy the tonic of
sea air and free communion with fair cre-
ated things.
CELIA THAXTER
Celia Leighton was born June 29th, 1836,
at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Her father
was a disappointed politician who became
keeper of the White Island Light, Isles of
Shoals; SO that Celia grew up compan-
ioned by sea and sky. In her maturity she
established her residence upon Appledore
Island, one of the Isles of Shoals. There she married Levi Lincoln
Thaxter in 1851; and for many years she wrote poetry, painted,
enjoyed music, tended her garden; and at last, on August 26th, 1894.
passed away, having won a distinct reputation as a singer of sin-
cerity, charm, and power. When Lowell, as editor of the Atlantic,
printed her first poem, 'Landlocked,' he recognized hers as a new
voice, not an echo. The Sandpiper is as well known and loved
as any verse written by an American woman. In the finest of Mrs.
Thaxter's lyrics, felicitous description, a deep human sympathy, and
sense of the dramatic are to be noted. Her verse is strong as
well as sweet; it can be objective and have narrative interest, as
well as be purely lyrical. Its movement and vigor preserve it from
weakness or sentimentality. The didactic and moral creep in at
## p. 14761 (#335) ##########################################
CELIA THAXTER
14761
times to the injury of the work as art, but this is only occasionally
a defect. There is in much of Mrs. Thaxter's poetry an undertone
of sadness,— easily explained by events in the poet's life, for she was
not unacquainted with grief. In poems like The Watch of Boon
Island' or 'The Tryst,' her sense of the gloom and doom of life
comes boldly out. She was naturally, however, of a buoyant, san-
guine temperament, and the mood of faith and hope prevails in her
verse. The love of the sea and the love of flowers were passions
with her; music was dear to her heart, and as a motive it is found
in some of her loveliest poems,-Beethoven,' 'Schumann's Sonata
in A Minor,' and others. She was widely receptive to the arts. She
wrote charming prose, but it is as a singer that she will survive in
American literature.
Mrs. Thaxter's first volume of poems appeared in 1872; the next
year, 'Among the Isles of Shoals,' a prose history with autobiographic
touches, was published. 'Driftweed' (1879), 'Poems for Children'
(1884), The Cruise of The Mystery, and Other Poems' (1886), and
'An Island Garden,' a prose diary of her Appledore life, printed in
a beautiful illustrated edition in the year of her death, complete the
list of this genuine singer's works.
[The following poems of Celia Thaxter are copyrighted, and are reprinted
here by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. , publishers. ]
SORROW
PON my lips she laid her touch divine,
And merry speech and careless laughter died;
She fixed her melancholy eyes on mine,
And would not be denied.
UPON
I saw the West Wind loose his cloudlets white
In flocks, careering through the April sky;
I could not sing, though joy was at its height,
For she stood silent by.
I watched the lovely evening fade away;
A mist was lightly drawn across the stars:
She broke my quiet dream,-I heard her say,
"Behold your prison bars!
"Earth's gladness shall not satisfy your soul;
This beauty of the world in which you live,
The crowning grace that sanctifies the whole,-
That, I alone can give. "
## p. 14762 (#336) ##########################################
14762
CELIA THAXTER
I heard, and shrank away from her afraid:
But still she held me, and would still abide;
Youth's bounding pulses slackened and obeyed,
With slowly ebbing tide.
"Look thou beyond the evening star," she said,
"Beyond the changing splendors of the day;
Accept the pain, the weariness, the dread,—
Accept, and bid me stay! "
I turned and clasped her close with sudden strength;
And slowly, sweetly, I became aware
Within my arms God's angel stood at length,
White-robed and calm and fair.
And now I look beyond the evening star,
Beyond the changing splendors of the day,—
Knowing the pain He sends more precious far,
More beautiful than they.
love. Hoping, my dear madam, to be able to see you and thank you
personally for your very kind and welcome gift, I am, with respect,
Very Truly Yours.
AMOS T. WICKLIFF.
## p. 14750 (#324) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14750
Paisley read the letter soberly. In fact, another feeling de-
stroyed any inclination to smile over the unusual pomp of Wick-
liff's style. That's out of sight! " he declared. "It will please
the old lady to the ground. Say, I take it very kindly of you,
Mr. Wickliff, to write about me that way. "
"I had a book to help me," confessed the flattered sheriff.
"And say, Paisley, when you are writing about me to your ma,
you better say Wickliff, or Amos. Mr. Wickliff sounds kinder
stiff. I'll understand. "
The letter that the sheriff received in return, he did not show
to Paisley. He read it with a knitted brow; and more than once
he brushed his hand across his eyes. When he finished it he
drew a long sigh, and walked up to his mother's portrait. "She
says she prays for me every night, ma," he spoke under his
breath, and reverently. "Ma, I simply have got to save that boy
―――――
for her, haven't I? "
That evening Paisley rather timidly approached a subject
which he had tried twice before to broach, but his courage had
failed him. "You said something, Mr. Wickliff, of paying me
a little extra for what I do,- keeping the books, and so forth.
Would you mind telling me what it will be? I- I'd like to
send a Christmas present to my mother. "
"That's right," said the sheriff heartily. "I was thinking
what would suit her. How's a nice black dress, and a bill pinned
to it to pay for making it up? "
"But I never — "
"You can pay me when you get out. "
"Do you think I'll ever get out? " Paisley's fine eyes were
fixed on Wickliff as he spoke, with a sudden wistful eagerness.
He had never alluded to his health before; yet it had steadily
failed. Now he would not let Amos answer: he may have flinched
from any confirmation of his own fears; he took the word hast-
ily. "Anyhow, you'll risk my turning out a bad investment. But
you'll do a damned kind action to my mother; and if I'm a rip,
she's a saint. "
"Sure," said the sheriff. "Say, do you think she'd mind my
sending her a hymn-book and a few flowers? "
Thus it came to pass that the tiny bakery window, one Christ-
mas day, showed such a crimson glory of roses as the village had
never seen; and the widow Smith, bowing her shabby black bon-
net on the pew rail, gave thanks and tears for a happy Christmas,
and prayed for her son's friend. She prayed for her son also,
## p. 14751 (#325) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14751
that he might "be kept good. " She felt that her prayer would
be answered. God knows; perhaps it was. That night before she
went to bed she wrote to Edgar and to Amos. "I am writing
to both my boys," she said to Amos, "for I feel like you were my
dear son too. "
When Amos answered this letter he did not consult the 'Man-
ual. ' It was one day in January, early in the month, that he
received the first bit of encouragement for his missionary work
palpable enough to display to the scoffer Raker. Yet it was not
a great thing either; only this: Paisley (already half an hour at
work in the sheriff's room) stopped, fished from his sleeve a piece
of note-paper folded into the measure of a knife-blade, and offered
it to the sheriff.
"See what Mame sent me," said he; "just read it. "
There was a page of it, the purport being that the writer had
done what she had through jealousy, which she knew now was
unfounded; she was suffering indescribable agonies from remorse:
and to prove she meant what she said, if her darling Ned would
forgive her, she would get him out before a week was over.
If
he agreed he was to be at his window at six o'clock Wednesday
night. The day was Thursday.
"Do you mind tell-
"How did you get this? " asked Amos.
ing? »
"Not the least. It came in a coat. From Barber & Glas-
son's. The one Mrs. Raker picked out for me, and it was sent
up from the store. She got at it somehow, I suppose. "
"But how did you get word where to look? "
Paisley grinned. "Mame was here, visiting that fellow who
was taken up for smashing a window, and pretended he was so
hungry he had to have a meal in jail. Mame put him up to it,
so she could come. She gave me the tip where to look then. "
"I see. I got on to some of those signals once. Well, did
you show yourself Wednesday? "
"Not much! " He hesitated, and did not look at the sheriff,
scrawling initials on the blotting-pad with his pen. "Did you
really think, Mr. Wickliff, after all you've done for me and my
mother-I would go back on you and get you into trouble for
that_»
"'S-sh! Don't call names! "
at the picture of his mother.
before ? »
Wickliff looked apprehensively
"Why didn't you give me this
## p. 14752 (#326) ##########################################
14752
OCTAVE THANET
"Because you weren't here till this morning. I wasn't going
to give it to Raker. "
"What do you suppose she's after? "
"Oh, she's got some big scheme on foot, and she needs me
to work it. I'm sick of her. I'm sick of the whole thing. I
want to run straight. I want to be the man my poor mother
thinks I am. "
"And I want to help you, Ned," cried the sheriff. For the
first time he caught the other's hand and wrung it.
"I guess the Lord wants to help me too," said Paisley in a
queer dry tone.
"Why — yes—of course he wants to help all of us," said the
sheriff, embarrassed. Then he frowned, and his voice roughened
as he asked, "What do you mean by that? "
"Oh, you know what I mean," said Paisley smiling; "you've
always known it. It's been getting worse lately. I guess I
caught cold. Some mornings I have to stop two or three times
when I dress myself, I have such fits of coughing. "
"Why didn't you tell, and go to the hospital? »
"I wanted to come down here. It's so pleasant down here. "
"Good The sheriff reined his tongue in time, and only
said, "Look here: you've got to see a doctor! "
Therefore the encouragement to the missionary work was
embittered by divers conflicting feelings. Even Raker was dis-
turbed when the doctor announced that Paisley had pneumonia.
"Double pneumonia and a slim chance, of course," gloomed
Raker. "Always so. Can't have a man git useful and be a lit-
tle decent, but he's got to die! Why couldn't it 'a' been that
tramp tried to set the jail afire? "
"What I'm a-thinking of is his poor ma, who used to write
him such beautiful letters," said Mrs. Raker, wiping her kind
eyes. They was so attached. Never a week he didn't write
her. "
«<
"It's his mother I'm thinking of, too," said the sheriff with
a groan: "she'll be wanting to come and see him, and how in-"
He swallowed an agitated oath, and paced the floor, his hands
clasped behind him, his lip under his teeth, and his blackest In-
dian scowl on his brow,- plain signs to all who knew him that
he was fighting his way through some mental thicket.
But he had never looked gentler than he looked an hour later,
as he stepped softly into Paisley's cell. Mrs. Raker was holding
## p. 14753 (#327) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14753
a foaming glass to the sick man's lips. "There; take another
sup of the good nog," she said coaxingly, as one talks to a child.
"No, thank you, ma'am," said Paisley. "Queer how I've
thought so often how I'd like the taste of whisky again on my
tongue, and now I can have all I want, I don't care a hooter! "
His voice was rasped in the chords, and he caught his
breath between his sentences. Forty-eight hours had made an
ugly alteration in his face: the eyes were glassy, the features had
shrunken in an indescribable, ghastly way, and the fair skin was
of a yellowish pallor, with livid circles about the eyes and the
open mouth.
Wickliff greeted him, assuming his ordinary manner. They
shook hands.
"There's one thing, Mr. Wickliff," said Paisley: "you'll keep
this from my mother. She'd worry like blazes, and want to come
here. "
There was a photograph on the table, propped up by books;
the sheriff's hand was on it, and he moved it unconsciously: "To
Eddy, from Mother. The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The
Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto
thee >> Wickliff cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know,
Ned," he said cheerfully: "maybe that would be a good thing;
- kind of brace you up and make you get well quicker. "
Mrs. Raker noticed nothing in his voice; but Paisley rolled
his eyes on the impassive face in a strange, quivering, searching
look; then he closed them and feebly turned his head.
"Don't you want me to telegraph? Don't you want to see
her? "
Some throb of excitement gave Paisley the strength to lift
himself up on the pillows. "What do you want to rile me all
up for? »
His voice was almost a scream. "Want to see her?
It's the only thing in this damned fool world I do want! But I
can't have her know: it would kill her to know. You must make
up some lie about its being diphtheria and awful sudden, and no
time for her to come, and have me all out of the way before she
gets here.
You've been awful good to me, and you can do any-
thing you like: it's the last I'll bother you don't let her find
out! "
"For the land's sake! " sniffed Mrs. Raker, in tears
she know? »
XXV-923
-
"don't
## p. 14754 (#328) ##########################################
14754
OCTAVE THANET
"No, ma'am, she don't; and she never will, either," said the
sheriff. "There, Ned, boy, you lay right down. I'll fix it. And
you shall see her too. I'll fix it. "
"Yes, he'll fix it. Amos will fix it. Don't you worry," sobbed
Mrs. Raker, who had not the least idea how the sheriff could
arrange matters, but was just as confident that he would as if
the future were unrolled before her gaze.
The prisoner breathed a long deep sigh of relief, and patted
the strong hand at his shoulder. And Amos gently laid him
back on the pillows.
Before nightfall Paisley was lying in Amos Wickliff's own
bed, while Amos, at his side, was critically surveying both cham-
ber and parlor under half-closed eyelids. He was trying to see
them with the eyes of the elderly widow of a Methodist minister.
"Hum-yes! " The result of the survey was, on the whole,
satisfactory. "All nice, high-toned, first-class pictures. Nothing
to shock a lady. Liquors all put away, 'cept what's needed for
him. Pops all put away, so she won't be finding one and be
killing herself, thinking it's not loaded. My bed moved in here
comfortable for him, because he thought it was such a pleasant
room, poor boy. Another bed in my room for her. Bath-room
next door, hot and cold water. Little gas stove. Trained nurse
who doesn't know anything, and so can't tell. Thinks it's my
friend Smith. Is there anything else? "
At this moment the white counterpane on the bed stirred.
"Well, Ned? " said Wickliff.
"It's nice! " said Paisley.
"That's right. Now you get a firm grip on what I'm going
to say,- such a grip you won't lose it, even if you get out of
your head a little. "
―――――――
-
"I won't," said Paisley.
"All right. You're not Paisley any more. You're Ned Smith.
I've had you moved here into my rooms because your boarding-
place wasn't so good. Everybody here understands, and has got
their story ready. The nurse thinks you're my friend Smith. You
are, too, and you are to call me Amos. The telegram's gone.
'S-sh! what a way to do! " - for Paisley was crying. "Ain't I
her boy too? "
One weak place remained in the fortress that Amos had
builded against prying eyes and chattering tongues. He had
## p. 14755 (#329) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14755
searched in vain for "Mame. " There was no especial reason,
except pure hatred and malice, to dread her going to Paisley's
mother; but the sheriff had enough knowledge of Mame's kind
to take these qualities into account.
From the time that Wickliff promised him that he should
have his mother, Paisley seemed to be freed from every misgiv
ing. He was too ill to talk much, and much of the time he was
miserably occupied with his own suffering; yet often during the
night and day before she came he would lift his still beautiful
eyes to Mrs. Raker's, and say, "It's to-morrow night ma comes,
isn't it? " To which the soft-hearted woman would sometimes
answer, "Yes, son," and sometimes only work her chin, and put
her handkerchief to her eyes. Once she so far forgot the pres-
ence of the gifted professional nurse that she sniffed aloud;
whereupon that personage administered a scorching tonic, in the
guise of a glance, and poor Mrs. Raker went out of the room
and cried.
He must have kept some reckoning of the time, for the next
day he varied his question. He said, "It's to-day she's coming,
isn't it? " As the day wore on, the customary change of his
disease came: he was relieved of his worst pain; he thought
that he was better. So thought Mrs. Raker and the sheriff. The
doctor and the nurse maintained their inscrutable professional
calm. At ten o'clock the sheriff (who had been gone for a half-
hour) softly opened the door. The sick man instantly roused.
He half sat up. "I know," he exclaimed: "it's ma. Ma's
come! "
The nurse rose, ready to protect her patient.
There entered a little, black-robed, gray-haired woman, who
glided swift as a thought to the bedside, and gathered the worn
young head to her breast. "My boy, my dear, good boy! " she
said under her breath, so low the nurse did not hear her; she
only heard her say, "Now you must get well. "
"Oh, I am glad, ma! " said the sick man.
After that the nurse was well content with them all. They
obeyed her implicitly. It was she rather than Mrs. Raker who
observed that Mr. Smith's mother was not alone, but accompa-
nied by a slim, fair, brown-eyed young woman, who lingered in
the background, and would fain have not spoken to the invalid
at all had she not been gently pushed forward by the mother,
with the words, "And Ruth came too, Eddy! "
## p. 14756 (#330) ##########################################
14756
OCTAVE THANET
"Thank you, Ruth: I knew that you wouldn't let ma come
alone," said Ned feebly.
The young woman had opened her lips. Now they closed.
She looked at him compassionately. "Surely not, Ned," she said.
But why, wondered the nurse, who was observant,—it was
her trade to observe,- why did she look at him so intently, and
with such a shocked pity?
Ned did not express much,- the sick, especially the very sick,
cannot; but whenever he waked in the night, and saw his mother
bending over him, he smiled happily, and she would answer his
thought. "Yes, my boy; my dear, good boy," she would say.
And the sheriff in his dim corner thought sadly that the
ruined life would always be saved for her now, and her son
would be her good boy forever. Yet he muttered to himself, “I
suppose the Lord is helping me out, and I ought to feel obliged,
but I'm hanged if I wouldn't rather take the chances and have
the boy get well! "
But he knew all the time that there was no hope for Ned's
life. He lived three days after his mother came. The day be-
fore his death, he was alone for a short time with the sheriff,
and asked him to be good to his mother. "Ruth will be good
to her too," he said; "but last night I dreamed Mame was chas-
ing mother, and it scared me. You won't let her get at mother,
will you? "
"Of course I won't," said the sheriff: "we're watching your
mother every minute; and if that woman comes here, Raker has
orders to clap her in jail. And I will always look out for your
ma, Ned, and she never shall know. "
"That's good," said Ned, in his feeble voice.
"I'll tell you
something. I always wanted to be good, but I was always bad;
but I believe I would have been decent if I'd lived, because I'd
have kept close to you. You'll be good to ma- and to Ruth! "
The sheriff thought that he had drifted away and did not
hear the answer, but in a few moments he opened his eyes and
said brightly, "Thank you, Amos. " It was the first time that
he had used the other man's Christian name.
"Yes, Ned," said the sheriff.
him.
Next morning at daybreak he died. His mother was with
Just before he went to sleep his mind wandered a little.
He fancied that he was a little boy, and that he was sick, and
wanted to say his prayers to his mother. "But I'm so sick I
## p. 14757 (#331) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14757
can't get out of bed," said he. "God won't mind my saying
them in bed, will he? " Then he folded his hands, and reverently
repeated the childish rhyme; and so fell into a peaceful sleep,
which deepened into peace. In this wise, perhaps, were answered
many prayers.
Amos made all the arrangements the next day. He said that
they were going home from Fairport on the day following, but he
managed to conclude all the necessary legal formalities in time to
take the evening train. Once on the train, and his companions
in their sections, he drew a long breath.
"It may not have been Mame that I saw," he said, taking
out his cigar-case on the way to the smoking-room: "it was
merely a glimpse - she in a buggy, me on foot; and it may
be she wouldn't do a thing, or think the game worth blackmail:
but I don't propose to run any chances in this deal. Hullo-
excuse me, miss! "
The last words were uttered aloud to Ruth Graves, who
had touched him on the arm. He had a distinct admiration for
this young woman, founded on the grounds that she cried very
quietly, that she never was underfoot, and that she was so un-
obtrusively kind to Mrs. Smith.
"Anything I can do? " he began with genuine willingness.
She motioned him to take a seat. " Mrs. Smith is safe in her
section," she said: "it isn't that. I wanted to speak to you. Mr.
Wickliff, Ned told me how it was. He said he couldn't die lying
to everybody, and he wanted me to know how good you were.
I am perfectly safe, Mr. Wickliff," as a look of annoyance puck-
ered the sheriff's brow. "He told me there was a woman who
might some time try to make money out of his mother if she
could find her, and I was to watch. Mr. Wickliff, was she rather
tall and slim, with a fine figure? "
"Yes-dark-complected rather, and has a thin face and a
largish nose. "
"And one of her eyes is a little droopy, and she has a gold
filling in her front tooth? Mr. Wickliff, that woman got on this
train. "
――
"She did, did she? " said the sheriff, showing no surprise.
"Well, my dear young lady, I'm very much obliged to you. I
will attend to the matter. Mrs. Smith shan't be disturbed. "
<< Thank you," " said the young woman: "that's all. Good-
night! "
## p. 14758 (#332) ##########################################
14758
OCTAVE THANET
"You might know that girl had had a business education,"
the sheriff mused: "says what she's got to say, and moves on.
Poor Ned! Poor Ned! "
Ruth went to her section, but she did not undress. She sat
behind the curtains, peering through the opening at Mrs. Smith's
section opposite, or at the lower berth next hers, which was
occupied by the sheriff. The curtains were drawn there also,
and presently she saw him disappear by sections into their shel-
ter. Then his shoes were pushed partially into the aisle. Empty
shoes. She waited: it could not be that he was really going to
sleep. But the minutes crept by; a half-hour passed: no sign of
life behind his curtains. An hour passed. At the farther end
of the car the curtains parted, and a young woman slipped out
of her berth. She was dark and not handsome; but an elegant
shape and a modish gown made her attractive-looking. One of
her eyelids drooped a little.
She walked down the aisle and paused before Mrs. Smith's
section, Ruth holding her breath. She looked at the big shoes
on the floor, her lip curling. Then she took the curtains of Mrs.
Smith's section in both hands and put her head in.
"I must stop her! " thought Ruth. But she did not spring
out. The sheriff, fully dressed, was beside the woman, and an
arm of iron deliberately turned her round.
"The game's up, Mamie," said Wickliff.
She made no noise, only looked at him.
"What are you going to do? " said she, with perfect com-
posure.
"Arrest you if you make a racket, talk to you if you don't.
Go into that seat. >>> He indicated a seat in the rear, and she
took it without a word. He sat near the aisle; she was by the
window.
"I suppose you mean to sit here all night," she remarked
scornfully.
"Not at all," said he; "just to the next place. Then you'll
get out. "
"Oh, will I? "
"You will. Either you will get out and go about your busi-
ness, or you will get out and be taken to jail. "
"We're smart. What for? »
"For inciting prisoners to escape. "
"Ned's dead," with a sneer.
## p. 14759 (#333) ##########################################
OCTAVE THANET
14759
"Yes, he's dead, and "- he watched her narrowly, although he
seemed absorbed in buttoning his coat-"they say he haunts
his old cell, as if he'd lost something. Maybe it's the letter you.
folded up small enough to go in the seam of a coat.
I've got
that. "
He saw that she was watching him in turn, and that she
was nervous. "Ned's dead, poor fellow, true enough; but-the
girl at Barber & Glasson's ain't dead. "
She began to fumble with her gloves, peeling them off and
rolling them into balls. He thought to himself that the chances
were that she was superstitious.
"Look here," he said, sharply: "have an end of this nonsense.
You get off at the next place, and never bother that old lady
again, or—I will have you arrested, and you can try for yourself
whether Ned's cell is haunted. "
For a brief space they eyed each other, she in an access of
impotent rage, he stolid as the carving of the seat. The car
shivered; the great wheels moved more slowly. "Decide,” said
he: not imperatively-dryly; without emotion of any sort. He
kept his mild eyes on her.
"It wasn't his mother I meant to tell; it was that girl— that
nice girl he wanted to marry —”
"You make me tired," said the sheriff. "Are you going, or
am I to make a scene and take you? I don't care much. "
She slipped her hand behind her into her pocket.
The sheriff laughed and grasped one wrist.
"I don't want to talk to the country fools," she snapped.
"This way," said the sheriff, guiding her. The train had
stopped. She laughed as he politely handed her off the plat-
form; the next moment the wheels were turning again and she
was gone. He never saw her again.
The porter came out to stand by his side in the vestibule,
watching the lights of the station race away and the darkling
winter fields fly past. The sheriff was well known to him; he
nodded an eager acquiescence to the officer's request: "If those
ladies in 8 and 9 ask you any questions, just tell them it was a
crazy woman getting the wrong section, and I took care of her. "
Within the car a desolate mother wept the long night through,
yet thanked God amid her tears for her son's last good days;
and did not dream of the blacker sorrow that had menaced her
and had been hurled aside.
## p. 14760 (#334) ##########################################
14760
CELIA THAXTER
(1836-1894)
T
HE poetry of Celia Thaxter suggests the happy results for
literature when a poetic nature draws inspiration from some
imaginative stimulus, and lets that inspiration dominate
without confusing or weakening it with others. With Mrs. Thaxter
such a stimulus was the sea. It was on the northern sea-coast of
New England that she lived, knew joy and sorrow, and wrote out
of her heart experiences. Her verse reflects the impressions upon a
sensitive soul of the sea-birds and the island blooms, of the glory and
tragedy of the illimitable ocean, and the
overarch of the more illimitable sky; while
the drama of human existence, interwoven
of good and ill, is always present, lending
pathos to the beauty of nature, and imbu-
ing with a tender melancholy the tonic of
sea air and free communion with fair cre-
ated things.
CELIA THAXTER
Celia Leighton was born June 29th, 1836,
at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Her father
was a disappointed politician who became
keeper of the White Island Light, Isles of
Shoals; SO that Celia grew up compan-
ioned by sea and sky. In her maturity she
established her residence upon Appledore
Island, one of the Isles of Shoals. There she married Levi Lincoln
Thaxter in 1851; and for many years she wrote poetry, painted,
enjoyed music, tended her garden; and at last, on August 26th, 1894.
passed away, having won a distinct reputation as a singer of sin-
cerity, charm, and power. When Lowell, as editor of the Atlantic,
printed her first poem, 'Landlocked,' he recognized hers as a new
voice, not an echo. The Sandpiper is as well known and loved
as any verse written by an American woman. In the finest of Mrs.
Thaxter's lyrics, felicitous description, a deep human sympathy, and
sense of the dramatic are to be noted. Her verse is strong as
well as sweet; it can be objective and have narrative interest, as
well as be purely lyrical. Its movement and vigor preserve it from
weakness or sentimentality. The didactic and moral creep in at
## p. 14761 (#335) ##########################################
CELIA THAXTER
14761
times to the injury of the work as art, but this is only occasionally
a defect. There is in much of Mrs. Thaxter's poetry an undertone
of sadness,— easily explained by events in the poet's life, for she was
not unacquainted with grief. In poems like The Watch of Boon
Island' or 'The Tryst,' her sense of the gloom and doom of life
comes boldly out. She was naturally, however, of a buoyant, san-
guine temperament, and the mood of faith and hope prevails in her
verse. The love of the sea and the love of flowers were passions
with her; music was dear to her heart, and as a motive it is found
in some of her loveliest poems,-Beethoven,' 'Schumann's Sonata
in A Minor,' and others. She was widely receptive to the arts. She
wrote charming prose, but it is as a singer that she will survive in
American literature.
Mrs. Thaxter's first volume of poems appeared in 1872; the next
year, 'Among the Isles of Shoals,' a prose history with autobiographic
touches, was published. 'Driftweed' (1879), 'Poems for Children'
(1884), The Cruise of The Mystery, and Other Poems' (1886), and
'An Island Garden,' a prose diary of her Appledore life, printed in
a beautiful illustrated edition in the year of her death, complete the
list of this genuine singer's works.
[The following poems of Celia Thaxter are copyrighted, and are reprinted
here by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. , publishers. ]
SORROW
PON my lips she laid her touch divine,
And merry speech and careless laughter died;
She fixed her melancholy eyes on mine,
And would not be denied.
UPON
I saw the West Wind loose his cloudlets white
In flocks, careering through the April sky;
I could not sing, though joy was at its height,
For she stood silent by.
I watched the lovely evening fade away;
A mist was lightly drawn across the stars:
She broke my quiet dream,-I heard her say,
"Behold your prison bars!
"Earth's gladness shall not satisfy your soul;
This beauty of the world in which you live,
The crowning grace that sanctifies the whole,-
That, I alone can give. "
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14762
CELIA THAXTER
I heard, and shrank away from her afraid:
But still she held me, and would still abide;
Youth's bounding pulses slackened and obeyed,
With slowly ebbing tide.
"Look thou beyond the evening star," she said,
"Beyond the changing splendors of the day;
Accept the pain, the weariness, the dread,—
Accept, and bid me stay! "
I turned and clasped her close with sudden strength;
And slowly, sweetly, I became aware
Within my arms God's angel stood at length,
White-robed and calm and fair.
And now I look beyond the evening star,
Beyond the changing splendors of the day,—
Knowing the pain He sends more precious far,
More beautiful than they.
