THE OLD MAN’S DREAM.
He knew that he was drousing in his chair and that the light was burning low. He thought that he would arouse himself, presently, before he had quite—ah what was that —did someone knock just then at the door ? He could not be sure; it sounded so far away. He struggled to drag himself back to full consciousness and to listen. He fancied that he had very nearly succeeded ; he felt that he was almost poised, and then, in a twinkling, he had lost his balance and was slipping. He had a vague sense of trying to catch himself, at clutching at threads that snapped before him. Then before he was quite over the border he heard, or rather sensed, once more a rapping—very faint, but very real, and the- realness of it caught and held him there irresistibly. His nerves tingled in response, but it seemed an age before he could speak. Then, naturally euough, he cried, “Come in ! ” But his voice sounded foreign and distant like someone else’s voice, and he found himself wondering dimly whether he had really spoken whether —he really Presently it occurred to him that the door had opened. His voice then —of course. The cloud lifted immediately; it was astonishing how clear everything became. Some one was coming in. He was aware of a strange, battered figure that stepped forward, uncertainly, screening a lighted miner’s candle with one hand. Somehow or other even before the figure spoke, he knew that it was Dickie.
“Dad, I—l’m sorry to bother you once more ” the figure laughed nervously. Yes, it was Dickie, of that much he was certain. But it was perfectly impossible for Dickie to be there, and he was equally certain of that; for his sou had gone away, very far away, and he would never come back—at any' rate never like that, in those outlandish clothes. Spruce, fasti-' dious Dickie ! It was so inconsistent —so utterly absurd that he perceived at once that he was dreaming, and began to admire the logical soundness of his own inference. To know that he was dreaming and yet to dream on! He could scarcely restrain a selfsatisfied smile as he leaned back easily in his chair. “I have come back once more, against your orders,” Dick was saying, “and against my own resolve. I have no right, I know, after ” he paused and clapped his hand to the back of his head in that old, awkward way. “After my folly, and your injustice. I swore, then, it should be the last time—but I was mad when I swore. And so I went off to the mines—”
His voice broke huskily, and his face was so very white. The hand which he dropped from his head was gloved with blood, and his brown hair also was matted with black grime. For the first lime he noticed that there was an ugly gash behind Dickie’s ear. This frightened him until he remembered that it was all a dream. He resolved that he would not forget that and become confused again. But why should Dickie look so terribly serious ? Perhaps he did not know it was a dream. On the whole, the situation was rather amusing, and he was half minded to laugh, but then —he might awaken, and he wanted to see the end.
Dickie who had started again, stopped short and winched just a little at that flicker of a smile. Then he frowned at his candle and continued:
“ To-night I was working in an old shatt. The timbers must have been rotten. All I remember is the crash.”
The other was listening now. The notion to laugh had suddenly left him.
“ When I came to, everything was dark. I lit this candle. It is all I have—when it goes out I will be alone—o'ff there in the darkness.” Oh —he wished Dickie would not look so solemn.
“ To-morrow is Sunday, They will not miss me till the next Sunday. The rocks are all about me—l am hemmed in—walled in —and the air is growing—so—close. ’ ’
There was a fearfulness abou Dick’s voice that made him tremble. He moistened his lips and tried to speak, but the words rattled like parchment in his throat.
“Now,” said Dickie, very softly, “ I have come to say goodbye, and ” —with his face a little whiter—“ to tell you that I am—sorry.” He paused and waited wearily. “My head aches”—the form was growing indistinct—“ I am very tired,” he sighed,” I have come to tell you—l—am—sorry —daddy.” The murmur of his voice dwindled to a whisper. The candle still spluttered softly, but the form that held it was fading away. Only the eyes shone sorrowfully—as through a mist. Then, at last, fear wrenched his naked soul, and the deep-tearing agony wrested loose his tongue. “Dickie,” he whimpered, “Dickie,” and sprang towards those eyes with quivering arms — but they were gone in a mist. . “ Stay ! ” he panted, snatching at the wraith behind the light, while anguish ran wet upon his brow. “ Stay ! ” The flame leaped up from the guttered candle, and touched him lightly for one burning instant upon the wrist, and then candle and flame vanished alike, and there was only he standing with outstretched arms, all forlorn in
the tense silent shadows. He moaned and sank tyack, fighting for breath. And with that he awoke. He was seated in his chair, and the light was burning low. So —he had forgotten after all. Now, of course, he remembered ; yet, as he stared woefully about the vacant room, a sudden terror seized him. He fancied that his wrist tingled—the wrist that he had burned in his dream—and precisely in that small spot where the dream candle had nipped him. He tried to laugh it off, but the silence seemed to get into his throat and strangle him. In a panic, he turned to the light, and thrust his hand full into the glare. And there on his wrist he saw, quite clearly, the livid mark.
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Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXI, Issue 447, 7 January 1909, Page 3
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1,007THE OLD MAN’S DREAM. Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXI, Issue 447, 7 January 1909, Page 3
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