The Fourth Watch | Page 5

you nothing. I do feel mighty guilty when I think
about it all."
"You've been good to me, though," and Dan looked inquiringly into his
father's face.
"Yes, in a way. But, then, haven't I been good to our old mare, Queen?
I feed and blanket her. But what more have I done for you--and you are
my own son? Now look here," he added, after a pause, "I'm willing to
teach you at nights how to read, and see if we can't make up for my
past neglect."
"Dad! D'you mean it?"
"There now, that'll do. No more talking. Let's off to bed, and we'll have
the first lesson to-morrow night."

The days that followed were busy ones for Dan. The shooting season
closed, but there was other work to do. The rabbits had to be snared and
his regular rounds made to the traps set for the wiry mink, lumbering
raccoon, and the wily fox. Each night, the animals brought in during
the day had to be skinned, and the pelts carefully stretched. Then when
this had been accomplished to his satisfaction he would turn his
attention to his studies.
His father was cutting cord-wood for a neighbour, and was able to get
home at night. Then the two pored over the mysterious letters and
words in the little cabin, the elder doing his best to impart his scanty
knowledge to the younger. They were happy times for Dan. He had
something to live for now, and throughout the day, as he wandered
from trap to trap, the words he had studied the night before kept ringing
in his ears.
But, alas! such scenes were to be dispelled all too soon. They were too
good to last long. One evening Dan returned home to find an unusual
commotion about the place. Men and women were there who had never
before entered the building. And the doctor, whom he had often met on
the road, what was he doing there? What were they whispering about?
and why did they look at him in that way, when he entered the house?
Where was his father? Who was that lying on the bed so very still?
Could it be dad? He had never seen him like that before. Then the
thought flashed upon him: something was wrong! His father was hurt!
and with a cry he rushed forward, and bent over the prostrate form. But
no word of welcome, no sign of recognition did he receive. Nothing but
that vacant stare met his ardent gaze.
Slowly, very slowly, he grasped the meaning of it all, as the
sympathetic watchers told the brief story. His father had met with a
serious accident. A large birch tree in falling had lodged against
another, a sturdy maple. While cutting at the latter the birch had
suddenly turned over and swooping to the ground with a resounding
crash had buried Mr. Flitter beneath the branches ere he had had time to
escape. He had been carried home bruised, broken, and unconscious.
The doctor had been hurriedly summoned, and had done all in his

power for the injured man. But in vain, for in a short time he had
breathed his last.
Dan uttered not a word when the tale had been told. He asked no
questions, neither did he make any outcry. He stood like one stricken
dumb, dry-eyed and motionless, gazing upon that quiet form lying upon
the bed. Gently they led him away, and tried to speak to him. He did
not heed them. A weight such as he had never known before pressed
upon his heart. He wished to be alone, somewhere in the woods, out
there where no one could gaze upon him. His father was dead! For him
there was no consolation from the words of the Man of Sorrows. The
life beyond had no meaning for him. His mother had taught him to say
the little prayer, "Now I lay me down to sleep," but that seemed so long
ago, and he had not repeated it after her death. He had seen the birds
and animals lying dead, but had thought nothing about it then. Now his
father was just like them, would never look at him again, would never
speak to him any more.
He watched in a dazed manner what took place on the two following
days. Neighbours came, spoke to him, stayed awhile and then departed.
The day of the funeral arrived. He stood with the rest at the graveside.
It was cold, and the wind laden with snow whistled about him. He
heard the grey-headed, white-bearded clergyman read the Burial
Service. The words of hope had no meaning for him. An awful feeling
of desolation filled his heart as he watched the earth thrown into the
grave.