Storyteller.

White Ribbon, Volume 25, Issue 292, 19 October 1919, Page 10

Storyteller.

COMRADES EVER,

( HAP TER I. Continued

Never to mortal ear did Gipsy 1-iwis tell the story of that night ot conflict; how, like Noah’s dove, her soul flitted be tween rough seas and stormy sk\ ; how, ,»s it drew towards morning, God sent His strengthening angel into her Gethsemane, and whispered His own peace to her sorely tried heart; and how, then worn out with the struggle, she had fallen

asleep. Awakening when the day was still young, she rose, and with an earnest prayer for strength, passed through the hall and entered the chamber of death. Lifting the blind, that the glorious ra\ s of the sun should flood the room, she turned first to the husband of her youth. A comradeship of over a quarter of a century had been broken bv the rude hand of death. Their love had been so deep, their union so true, their companionship so real, tfiat she shuddered to face the future deprived of his sympathy and help in her home life, and his comprehension and support in her wider sphere of duty. Then her eyes lingered long upon the form of her lovely daughter, th'' bright, merry, fun-loving girl, whose song and laughter had made music in all their lives. She thought of the baby girl, whose <oniing had been so welcome; of the dancing sprite, for seven years her only child ; of the jolly school girl; of the student, brilliant, versatile, and a general favourite; ard as she thought sorrow’s waves rolled over her. For long Mie knelt thinking, praying, suffering. At length she crossed the room, knelt by the window, and raising her eyes to the calm sky above, she breathed, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” Broken petitions crossed her lips at intervals. “Oh! Divine Spirit, lay Thy healing, helping hand on me.” Then calmed by communion with the Divine Spirit, she rose, and with the absolute trust of a complete surrender she murmured, “Not mv will, but Thine be done.” .

CHAPTFR 11. On the following morning, Mrs Lewis paced the verandah, awaiting the arrival of her son. His uncle had gone to meet the ferry steamer, which had just passed up the harbour. F.ven

as she waited a motor drove in the gate, and in a moment she held her boy closely clasped in her arms. How her mother heart ached to see the marks grief had left on his countenance. Will Lewis was a son of whom any mother might have been proud. Though only 19 years of age, he stood six feet high, and was tall and straight as a young pine. He lnokixl what he was, a clean living, clean thinking young athlete, whose even muscle had been hardened by many a well-fought contest in the gym. or on the green. Inis scholastic record was a brilliant one. Dux of his school, he stood first on the Dominion’s li«t of winners of Junior Cniversity schol ar>hips, and was now a third year medical student at the Otago ’Varsity. Like a bolt from the blue had come the news that never again should he see the father he so loved, or the sister whom he idolised Stunned and shaken, lie had started on his long railway journey, his one thought to reach his mother, between whom and himself the bond was peculiarly strong and tender.

“Come in, my hoy, and have some breakfast,” she said, not daring to quit the commonplace.

“I’ve had a hath and breakfast on hoard. 1 had to do something; you know anything was better than sitting still and thinking.”

Ilia lip quiveied, his voice broke, and just then his sister’s cat bounded from the hall to greet him. Instinctively he looked for the mistress behind the Persian, for always before they had greeted him together. He knew his sister was gone; now he realised it, and like a child he wept, while mother and uncle tried in vain to romfoit him.

Slowly the day wore awa>. Like one in a trance. Will had stood beside the silent forms of his dear ones, bidding them a long, last Lirewell. Still unmoved he had stood between his mother and uncle, and had seen them committed to the tomb; had listened as in a dream to ♦he sublime words, “I am the Resurrection and the Life,' and outwardly calm had returned to his lonely home.

That evening found the two seated beside the* dining room fire, which the housekeeper had lit rather for its brightness than because the warmth was needed. F.ach thought of the other, and tried to be brave for another’s sake. Oh, how they missed the lively girl, to whose laughter everv room in the house used to echo.

Joking with father, teasing raoM running races along the garden qI with her brother, chasing pussy -M the lawn. Had she even been J and the grave, quiet father, wb, J so little, and vet whose lightest %l was a law to them all. How m the house seemed lx*reft of the m<i girl and the strong, silent man' “Mother,” Will broke forth. can we hear it? How can we i without them?” Tenderly she bent over him j smoothed his heated brow. “WeJ have to live one day at a time,” J said. “I.ct us try to live every i as it conies bravely anil faithfullv, j be worthv of those who have gone i before us. ’ Then she suggested that he rd and seek rest. “You’re coming up mother?” h. < quired. Sadly she sm*led; her box had nej liked to miss the good-night kj w hich she had given him as lons i he could remember, whenever the <4 roof sheltered them both. When Mrs Lewis went up she tout Will restless, tossing to and fro, “J tired to sleep,” he put it. Sitta beside him, she spoke low and sod ingly, gi .(dually quietening his nrrn Then in a low, sweet tone she bqfl the grand old hymn, “Abide with m? Many a time as a little boy had <1 sung him to sleep with its strain and old impre*. .jons were strong. El she had finished its many verses M was quietly sleeping. As she khw his brow she earnestly prayed iTTat sfc| might never allow her own grin I cloud his bright young life. For a while she stood at the windot following with her eves the moon i it sailed across a cloudless skv. Frd her lips came the words;

“Still shine on in |x*er’ess beauty Queen of the regal night, Teach me to shed o’er life’s path duty. Borrowed, celestial light.” (To he continued.)