The Mother.

Manawatu Standard, Volume XLI, Issue 8155, 4 April 1906, Page 7

The Mother.

11Y DION CLAYTON CiLTUKOV. The son of tho house lay at the call of Death. I It was the evening of tho fourth day of the sickness, tho room was hot, and Uho watchers Were weary.The boy turned his head from side to side and moaned he had moaned, but had not spoken for theea days. j At last the latner could bear the pain of this eight no longer, so he went out into the garden; to breathe in the fresh air. And Death, who was waiting in. tho 'garden,' ■ " Who are you?'' asked the father, knowing well to whom ho was speaking. " Thoh Death replied., "Art. Thou ready f": " Ready ■" the father asked, tho sweat .breaking out on his forehead. "I must take a life from this house," said Death. " Then take me," the father replied. " and leave my son, for I have watched him grow up straight as an arrow and as true. I have guarded him as the apple of my eye; he is only son. I have set his face in the right way, and ho shall wallf cleanly. Take me, Death." Death stretched out his hand and said, " Come." Then the father felt the surge of lifeblood in his veins and suddenly was conscious of his great strength and his firmness, for he was still a man m the prime of life. He looked about him and saw tho loved sights of his native place, the trees by the chureh, now wrapped m the mystery of twilight; the square tower of the church cutting cleanly against the sky. Below hiin the river rolled, lapEing the banks softly, all grey inttio alf-light, and by the river a fold ot i sheep. All these things stirred his heart; until how he" had not realised so tnuch that ho was; alive as that he was living.. Still Death held out his hand. The father struggled with his thoughts, but as he Hesitated he grew weaker, and the desire for life grew more strong. Here, at his feet, was the garden he had planted; near by, the fie ds in which he had toiled. The flowers were folding themselves to sleep : it was very still, so still that every living sound came the more clearly to him. A long way off the shriek of an engine whistle sounded ; he knew the train it betokened, the town to which it wont—was he never to go there again'? What was he to do? There was no answer to his inward prayer in all Nature. v ' r Birds shifted in the trees and rustled the leaves into life - everything breathed the magic of life to him, the life he was called upon to givo up. One of his horses kicked in the stable, and he made an involuntary movement in that direction —there was so much to do. Then his dog barked, and the sound cut him like a knife. " Art thou ready?" said Death. " No, no, I cannot come," the father' said, in a broken voice. Then lie turaed.and went baek intothe house with a bowed, head. Not daring to go again into the room where his" son lay, he went up to his" own room and sat. with a fierce joy, listening to his heart-beats in the dark. There were left in the sick room the mother and the two sisters of the boy. and as the night crept on the younger I sister, tired with watching, went softly from the room into the garden. There she saw that figure waiting, and knew that she was with Death. " I must take a life from this house," said Death. " Spare my brother," the girl said, in a trembling voice ; "spare him and take me. For he is my second self—we are everything m one another. He will remember me always." "Come, then," said Death, and he held out his hand. Then the young blood raced through the girl, and she fidgeted on her feet with the restless activity of youth, and she looked at tho shrouded figure, with the outstretched hand, in fear. . i She saw the stars above her, alive and blazing, not as on some nights cold, dead fires. She saw the tombs in the churchyard pointing like white fingers. There, like silver in the starlight, lay the river,' the river on whose banks they had so often played, The little path that ran from the garden gate to the dairy showed clear—she knew and loved every ; curve of it. the path she ran j every morning for the cream. Her life seemed very dear to her, and her heart went suddenly cold ; then she | turned quickly and went, sobbing, into I the house. I Later in the night tho elder sister j went into the garden, and there met Death. " I am waiting," he said. . " I will go with you," she said bravely. " I am strong; I can face you, for hie j sake. Together we have played, to- ; gethcr read from the same book. I have taught him all I know out of my small store. I will go." Again Death put out hi 9 hand. Then the girl began to reason hastily with herself. She.was on the brink of life, her life was not her own to givo away. Already her courage oozed at the thought of her sacrifice. What of her lover? The dark mass of trees by the church, all purple black in the gloom of night, called to her of the secrets of their shadow ; here her lover's lips had met her own in that first kiss, the kiss that matle life so prepious., Hero by her side was the rose tree from which she had plucked the red rose which had been her signal to him that she loved him when she dared not speak. - j The boy in there did not know of this ! keen joy of life, so bo would not miss it. l Tho very perfume of the garden spoke to her; sweet clover, mignonette, car- j nations, roses scenting the cool night air, camo to her like little chains binding her to the earth ghe loved so-well. , Without a word she turned away, blinded with sorrowful tears yet strong for her life. ..' . Last, lis tlie early morning istt .dajfc break, came the mcther after calling the others watoh. Tears had iso slung her eyes that she did hot at once see Death. " All," she cried, catching at her breast, " you have come for him." " T have come," said Death " for a life from this house." Then tho mother drew herself ! up, smiling. "I am ready," she said simply. He put out his hand. " May I finish my task before 1 come to you ? " she asked. " I shall be waiting," he said The mother went into the house and looked about it,. seeing that it was in order. Then she put her books and her keys into her elder daughter's room. Last of all, she went into tho room

;» p 'i ""'y T-—r~ 4 where her son. lay and looked long on bis faco Neither her husband nor her daughters dared to speak to her./ As she looked at her boy she saw him an a wee baby when they had first put him into her arms, and, even now, as sho looked, a smile, ever so faint, 'flitted across his face. Then she wont out. Tho flowers wore opening their s'eepy faces, the cold wind of dawn blew stray curls of her hair over her forehead. Sho looked round, once, at the farm, the vilthe chureh, at the house, and she thought of her husband—her daughters would see to; all for her. Then she remembered—where was Death ? ?- No figure watt in the garden, but, as ..she rubbed her eyes, One camo up the path to the gird en gate. " I am ready," she said, holding out ' her hand. v The "figure put out a hand and took hers. " My brother lias gone," he said. "And you?" she whispered. "l am Life." She turned with a quick movement to the house. On the threshold was her husband. " Hush," he said, " he is asleep."