THE STUDENTS JOURNAL.
7
II.
In a humble, but comfortable room of an unpretentious home, under cover of the same heaven that glows in sympathetic touch with youthful imagination, is an old lady, the victim of a fatal disease, that is surely but slowly eating her life away. She lies upon her sick bed week in and week out. Before her is the prospect of six month's or so of suffering, and at the end—death. But her calm features, though at times stern through the intensity of her suffering, bespeak at once an inward peace. And there is also a gentleness in her eyes, a kindness in her voice that makes the care of her a pleasant task. If the eyes could speak from the depths of her soul, they would tell a beautiful story To face death abruptly is not an easy task, even for the old. To look forward to a definite term of physical pain is harder still. But hardest of, all, perhaps is the knowledge that the care of her last days will not only be wearisome but will affect the material comfort of those she loves. Strangers say she has succumbed to the lethargy of disease. But well has she realized her situation! She knows that the hands that gently smooth her pillow are often wrung in despair of meeting the expenses of the sick room Yet the inevitable is inevitable, and with a sublime faith in the reason of the universe she quietly accepts her lot.
"In good time all will be well "
111.
"In the street two little urchins, unconscious alike of life's weal and woe, are on their way to school. With their tiny hands in their tiny pockets, and caps that cover their ears, they do not think that the chill which shoots through their bodies is any other than a pleasurable sensation.
"D' ye know th' burds 're Gawds? "
"Yep."
"It's wicked t' kill 'em. They're Gawd's. I wouldn't kill'm. Ud you?
A PICTURE OF CONTENTMENT.
"Naw. Th' aint good t'eat, enyway."
In a mountainous district of North Carolina, in the times before the war, there dwelt an old man with his wife and a few of his younger children. He had had a large number of children during his career (the number has been variously estimated), but as soon as they were grown they had gone out into the wide world to seek their fortunes, and the old man had never heard of them again. He owned a piece of land which he had obtained according to the laws of that region by living upon it peaceably for twenty-one years. There he had a log cabin with only one room, without a floor other than mother earth, without chairs, and with long parallel cracks in the sides to admit light and air. In this residence his numerous family was reared.
The old fellow had won the title of "Doctor" from the manner in which he made his living. Not that he ministered to the wants of suffering humanity, but he gathered roots and herbs-ginseng and others of a similar nature—and exchanged them, usually at the offices of the mining companies, for small supplies of meal. This was the Doctor's life work, and meal was his life support. This diet seemed eminently satisfactory to him, and he had thrived upon it to a fine old age. The mining companies, to be sure, never made any use of his roots, and usually they were at once thrown out of the back door; but they continued to give him the meal partly because of his age and partly because he amused them.
But as usually is the case with all men, there came a time of misfortune to the Doctor, and certainly the magnanimous, uncomplaining spirit with he bore it is worthy of imitation in these troubles and complaining times. The war came, and toward its close the mining companies were compelled to shut down and leave. This forced the poor Doctor out of employment, for there was now no one to supply him with meal. Many people of that region were compelled to become what were called "refugees," and the Doctor along with many others "refugeed" across the line
At that time I happened to be traveling through the mountains of that region with a companion who had been in the employ of one of the mining companies and who knew the Doctor well. On our way we passed by the old "refugee" as he was making his journey into another state. The sky was covered with heavy, gray clouds, and it was threatening to snow at any moment; but there the Doctor sat with his family in the sharp angle of a rail fence. Across the top rails were laid several pine branches, and in the corner was a small fire around which cowered the children. But the old man's face wore a very self satisfied expression as