Doctor Luke of the Labrador Part 46

"Ecod!" he cried, impatiently, his hand moving feebly to tweak his nose, but failing by the way. "There I been an' gone an' made another mistake!

Sure, 'tis awful! Will you tell me, Davy Roth, an you can," he demanded, now possessed of the last flicker of strength, "how I could be wicked without hurtin' some poor man? Ecod! I'm woeful blind."

He dropped my hand--suddenly: forgetting me utterly. His hands sought the twins--waving helplessly: and were caught. Whereupon the father sighed and smiled.

"Dear lads!" he whispered.

The sun rose--a burst of glory--and struck into the room--and blinded the old eyes.

"I wonder----" the old man gasped, looking once more to the glowing sky.

"I wonder...."

Then he knew.

How unmomentous is the death we die! This pa.s.sing--this gentle change from place to place! What was it he said? "'Tis but like wakin' from a troubled dream. 'Tis like wakin' t' the sunlight of a new, clear day. He takes our hand. 'The day is broke,' says He. 'Dream no more, but rise, child o' Mine, an' come into the suns.h.i.+ne with Me.' 'Tis only that that's comin' t' you--only His gentle touch--an' the waking. Hus.h.!.+ Don't you go gettin' scared. 'Tis a lovely thing--that's comin' t' you!" ...

And I fancy that the dead pity the living--that they look upon us, in the shadows of the world, and pity us ... And I know that my mother waits for me at the gate--that her arms will be the first to enfold me, her lips the first to touch my cheek. "Davy, dear, my little son," she will whisper in my ear, "aren't you glad that you, too, are dead?" And I shall be glad.

Ha! but here's a cheery little gale of wind blowing up the path. 'Tis my nephew--coming from my father's wharf. Davy, they call him. The st.u.r.dy, curly-pated, blue-eyed lad--Labradorman, every luscious inch of him: without a drop of weakling blood in his stout little body! There's jolly purpose in his stride--in his glance at my window. 'Tis a walk on the Watchman, I'll be bound! The wind's in the west, the sun unclouded, the sea in a ripple. The day invites us. Why not? The day does not know that an old man lies dead.... He's at the door. He calls my name. "Uncle Davy! Hi, b'y! Where is you?" Ecod! but the Heavenly choir will never thrill me so.... He's on the stair. I must make haste. In a moment his arms will be round my neck. And----

Here's a large period to my story! The little rascal has upset my bottle of ink!

THE END

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