Rosas Quest | Page 9

was sure, would take her mother to the
beautiful land.
"Rosa ain't goin' to the burial, I can tell you that," announced Mrs. Gray
to a neighbor, "or she'd be a-hollerin' in her sleep all winter. I've been
broke of my rest so much that I ain't goin' to be bothered with her any
more'n I can help from now on. I didn't promise to keep her only till
spring, but I can make her run errands and sich, so it won't cost me a
great sight. I can't afford it no other way, and Mis' Browning was
unreasonable, anyhow, to ask it of me."
Rosa and grandpa stood hand in hand, watching the small procession
until it disappeared around the corner.
"Grandpa," queried Rosa in a tearful voice, "do you know where that
beautiful land is where folks never cough no more, and where they
don't have to pay rent? That's where mother's going, and she told me to

find out the way, so I could go too."
"'Pears like I'd ought to know, child, fer that's where Tom went. I can't
think much somehow, but, Rosa," he added tenderly, drawing her up
closer to his side, "I don't want you to go and leave me, fer I'm so
lonesome. Sary's a good woman, yes, a very good woman, but it seems
like I need you, too, dearie."
"Grandpa, if we'd start out together, don't you think we could find it?
Folks have all they want to eat there, and I'm hungry now."
"Why, yes, yes, mebbe we could! Some way I'm gittin' homesick. I
don't like it here in the city, and it seems like I used to know more
about that land than I do now. Since poor Tom got killed, I can't
remember no how.
"Sometimes in the night I git that happy, but if I make a little noise,
Sary wakes me up, 'cause it bothers her, then that spoils it all. I think
I'm back in the country ag'in, and the church bell is a-ringin' of a
Sunday mornin'. Tom's mother and me start out from the little cottage,
and I'm a-carryin' Tom. We walk down the cool grassy lane with the
brook a-runnin' on one side, and the trees is a-wavin' in the soft breeze,
and the birds is a-singin', and Tom's mother stops to pick some wild
roses. And the little white meetin' house with the steeple a-p'intin'
straight up. My Rosa, I wish you could see it, and with vines a-growin'
all over it! I can 'most git it, then it slips away ag'in. If I could jest be
inside of that meetin' house once more, it would all come straight, I
know, fer there they used to talk and sing about that land and Jesus."
"Yes, grandpa, you know it was Jesus that paid the fare. Wasn't He
kind to do that? 'cause if He hadn't poor folks couldn't go."
"Yes, mighty kind, mighty kind!
"Rosa," after a pause, "come real close," and the faded eyes sparkled
with a new thought; "I want to whisper somethin' so nobody'll hear.
The very first day Sary's away, let's start out, and mebbe we can find
some one to tell us how to go. Will you, child?"

"Oh, yes, grandpa, good! then we'll find mother."
In her delight she clapped her hands for very joy.
"Sh! sh! child, Sary might hear, and that would spoil it all, though of
course Sary's a good woman, yes, a very good woman. You won't tell,
will you?"
"No, no, grandpa, this'll be our secret. I'm just sure there must be lots of
folks that can tell us, for the fare is paid for everybody, and they're
going all the time. But I do wish we could find that pretty lady again I
saw on the car."
"Yes, dearie, I wish so too, but I think we'll find it anyhow. I'm a-gittin'
so very homesick, we jest must."
"Sing about that land, won't you, grandpa?"
"All right, you git the fiddle. That's the only song I can remember.
They used to sing it in the little white meetin' house with the steeple
a-p'intin' straight up. Wish I could remember more, but I can't."
In a quavery voice he sang many times over the grand old hymn:
"I will sing you a song of that beautiful land, The far away home of the
soul, Where no storms ever beat on that glittering strand, While the
years of eternity roll.
Oh, that home of the soul in my visions and dreams, Its bright, jasper
walls I can see, Till I fancy but thinly the vail intervenes Between that
fair city and me!
That unchangeable home is for you and for me, Where Jesus of
Nazareth stands; The King of all kingdoms