The Angel of Lonesome Hill | Page 2

toward Mrs. Rome Lukens
and rendered the following upon her favorite instrument:
"Well! if that woman ever gits the fever an' gits deliriums, I want to be
round, handy like. I'll swan there'll be more interestin' things told than
we've heerd in our born days--that woman is allus thinkin'!"
In this final respect, the judgment of the Lady of the House of
Fivecoats was sound.
How gallant the mind is! If the past be sad, it mingles with Diversion's
multitude till Sadness is lost; if the present be unhappy, it has a magic
thrift of joys, and Unhappiness is hushed by Memory's laughter; if both
past and present have a grief, it seeks amid its scanty store for some

event, for instance, whose recurrence brings some brightness; to greet
this it sends affectionate anticipations--and were its quiver empty, it
would battle still some way!
So the wife of Dale looked forward to Doctor Johnston's visits, yet
there were so many doors between her silence and the world, she did
not turn as he entered one eventful day.
Doctors are Nature's confessors, and down the memory of this one
wandered a camel of sympathy upon which the sick had heaped their
secret woes for years, though one added naught to the burden.
It was the tale he wished to hear, and when some fugitive phrase
promised revelation, he folded the powders slowly; but when it ended
in a sigh, he strapped up bottles and expectations and went away,
reflecting how poor the world where one might hear all things save
those which interested.
But Time is a patient locksmith to whom all doors swing open.
"I always sit by this window," she began as he removed the fever
thermometer; "I've looked so long, I see nothing in a way--and at night
I always put the light here. If he should come in the dark I want him to
see--here is a letter."
The Doctor read and returned it with a look of infinite pity.
"I had a dream last night; I may be superstitious or it may be the fever--
but it was so real. I saw it all; it was just like my prayer. I believe in
God, you know." She smiled in half reproach. "Yes, in spite of all.
"In that dream something touched my hand and a voice whispered the
word, 'Now.' Oh, how anxious it was! I awoke, sitting up; the lamp had
gone out, yet it was not empty--and there was no wind."
John Dale stumbled into the room, his arms full of wood, and an old
dog, lying before the fireplace, thumped his tail against the floor with
diminishing vigor.
She arose. "I'll get you a bite to eat, Doctor."
"Never mind! I must be going." He made a sign to Dale, who followed
to the gate.
"John, I've been calling here a long time--"
"I know I ought to pay somethin'," Dale started to say.
"It isn't that--I've just diagnosed the case; only one man can cure it."
"Would he--on credit?" Dale anxiously inquired.
"He never charges." Johnston smiled sorrowfully at the old man's

despair.
"Who is he?"
"The President; the President of the United States," he added as Dale's
eyes filled with questions. "I came out of college a sceptic, John, and
I'd be an infidel outright but for that wife of yours--she's nearer the sky,
somehow, than any other mortal I've seen. I don't believe in anything,
of course--but that dream--if I were you I'd trust it--I'd follow where it
led."
With his foot on the hub, the farmer slowly whetted his knife on his
boot. "I'll go with you, Doctor."
* * * * *
"I called at the office, but it was locked, and so I'm here," apologized
Dale as Judge Long opened the door of his old-fashioned stone house
in Point Elizabeth, the county seat.
"Glad to see you--had your supper?"
Hearing voices in the dining-room, he answered in the affirmative.
"Then have a cigar and wait in the library; the folks are having a little
company."
The old man surveyed the room; the books alone were worth more than
his earthly possessions. From a desk loomed a bust of Webster.
Shadows seemed to leap from it; the sombre lips bespoke the futility of
striving against stern realities.
There was gayety in the dining-room; Judge Long was a fountain of
mirth, a favorite at taverns, while riding the circuit--before
juries--wherever people gathered.
A gale of laughter greeted his last anecdote and the diners protested as
he arose.
Dale told his story excitedly, and at the conclusion Judge Long slowly
brushed away the tobacco smoke.
"I'm sorry, John, but we did all we could last month--and we failed;
there's just one thing to do--face the matter. It's hard, but this world is