The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 20, 1903, Page 4

ITHE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL—CHRISTMAS NUMBER. - r was called an “open winter” in Western lowa, in a year late in the "70s. Up to the Christmas holi- days there had been no freezing l weather. The swamps and marshes were brimming full from late rains and the roads were aimost bot- tomless mud in many places. Rank, decaying vegetation was every- where. As & consequence, diph- R ruit Htour storiewe==WHERE THE LOVE VINE GROWS--2- os w. menes (Copyright, 1908, by Ina Wright-Eanson.) BELIEVE in some signs,” said Phyllis, speaking for the first time during the oon- versation. We turned to her inquiringly. “What ones?’ ask- ed Aunt Myra, sug- gestively. Phyllis held up her embroidery frame (I suppose that's what it was) and locked critically at her work. She pulled the linen & little; she frowned s little. Phyllis is charming when she smiles, and just then I discovered that she is delightful when she frowns— that is, when she does not frown at me. “I have done that stitch very well,” she remarked complacently. “I win show my work to Juanita, daughter of Juan,” and she left the veranda. “That child!™ scolded Aunt Myrs, “instead of sitting quietly here in the shade, she must toil through the heat to learn drawn work of that old Mex- fcan. She has forgotten her sunshade, too!” “I will take it to her,” I sald, run- ning down the steps. It behooved me to be helpful to Aunt Myra, for it was only after much cajolery that she had taken me as & summer boarder on her ranch, bordering on the desert, and bounded on three sides by foothills. Half way to the cabin of Juanita are & Jog and a sycamore tres. We sat down. “Is there anything more beautiful than this dear old desert, with its sage- brush and cact!?” she began. “Look! Bee that dear, cunning lNttle lsard! Oh, he has lost his tall!” “He will grow another,” I answered cheerfully. “Yes, there is something more beautiful then the desert. You are.” “How amusing your ocomparisons are” bantered Phyllls, turning her brown eyes sideways on me. “That's like your saying that you admire that Japanese death urn more than the In- dian bowl when I asked you if you Wwere interested in Indlan pottery.” “Well, you can’t deny that it was far bandsomer,” I persisted. “Of course,” impatiently. “But there is no comparison. It's like comparing & plano and & cook stove.” w. Heve iIn? You forget te tell us.” “In the love vine.” I hated to shew my ignorance after her rather severe criticlem en my comparisons, se I folded my hands and waited. In s moment she con- tinued: “You know if you put a little scrap of love vine en & bush and yeu name it for somebody you care fer and it lives, why, it's & sign that he loves you; and If it doesn’t live, he doesn't love you.” “Ah!” I breathed responsively. “I tried it once. Teddy and I each got a plece—"" ‘““Who's Teddy 1" I growled. “Oh, & man. We each got a plece and ptut them on a nice, green bush. We named them each other’s names and if they grew we were te marry.” A pause, while I dug my heel sav- agely inte the sand. ““Well, why don't you ask if they grew?” “Of course they grew!” I muttered. “They 4id not grow,” she said firm- ly, “and se I aid not marry Teddy. He was very handsome,” she sighed. WwWhirte “T wish I were,” I remarked tenta- tively. “You do well enough as you are. It isn’t always the handsomest men that are the best. I remember that I admired most about Teddy was that he could wiggle his ears and move his scalp.” A suspicien came to me. “How long age was that?” I asked sternly. “Oh, I don’t know. It was the sum- mer I was 10.” Another pause while I meditated and stole glances at Phyllis. How lovely she was—brown hair, inclined to curl; brown eyes with a little glint of gold in them, brown skin with a tinge of heal- thy red; small, slender, captivating. “Phyllis,” I said suddenly, “I have been wanting to ask you for & long time. I—I—what's the use of putting me off? I—I—" Bhe rose hastily. “I had nearly for- gotten Juanita, daughter ef Juan. ) = “Hang the daughter of Juan!” I ex- claimed. “I want an answer. You don't need a lifetime to consider. FPhyllis, dear, don't you know what I am trying to say? Can't you help & fellow out a theria, that dread scourge of a wet win- ter, was epidemic. Mapy, many chil- dren, both In the town of M- and in the country adjacent, had died from its ravages, for it was before the days of anti-toxin treatment. A pall seemed to hang over the whole country, deepened by the dreary weather. The mournful winds sighed among the leafless trees, and the gloomy skies almost continual- ly dripped their molsture, as though Wweeping over the misery which their tears augmented. As Christmas approached, the people were 80 depressed over their broken family circles that they had no heart for festivities. There were so many vacant chairs and empty cradles that the thoug'.t of seeing the empty stock- ings hung up with many missing was more than they could bear. Bo but lit- tle preparation was made to celebrate the day. In the town, the only unmarried min- ister was the young Methodist preach- er, Mr. Taylor. It was his first charge and was an old-fashioned circuit, con- sisting of the little church in the town and several preaching places in the oountry, some of them quite distant, as the region was but sparsely settled. Because he had no family to be en- dangered, all the burials of the diph- theria cases fell to this young pastor. Being thus made partaker of the grief of the stricken homes his own heart ‘Was sorely distressed. He hpd never seen such a harvest of death, and knowing that nothing but the coming of cold weather could stay its progreas, he prayed dally for ice and snow as the greatest boon heaven could send. Christmas, that year, came on Tues- day and on the Bunday preceding, find- ing the people too sorrowful to engage in the usual commemoration of the oc- casion, the preacher asked thém at each service to unite with him In pray- ing God to send & winter storm as their Christmas xift. The last service of that day was at & point twenty-five miles southeast from the town. On Monday morning the young preacher, wearied from the hard labor of the day previous, and with a heart heavy at thought of the misery he had seen among his people, mounted his horse to ride back to the town. The dim road lay in a northwest direction over unfenced prairies, with only a few scattered cabins, miles apart. Bhortly after he started a driving mist rolled in from the northwest; this soon changed to sleet and then to snow, ‘while the foroe of the wind constantly increased. All signs pointed to the approach of & genuine Iowa blizsard. As thestorm thickened, the heart of the man beat higher, for it seemed to promise the answer to his prayers, and that the people were to have the Christmas gift they had asked. He was warmly clad, and though compelled to face the storm, had no thought of personal dan- ger, for his had been a life of much exposurs. But, as though hastening to make up for the long delay in its coming, the storm gathered fury with great rapld- ity. The road w: joon obliterated, the snow took on an lcy character and was driven like fine shot into the faces of the preacher and his faithful beast. The animal continually strove to avold the blast by turning from it, and as the eye could plerce the sheets of whirling ‘white for a few rods only, the way was lost and the general directions were dis- cernible only by the known direction of the storm. The cold increased in a short time to an intense degree, so that by ncon the situation was desperate. The preacher had been compelled to dismount and walk in order to avold freezing; the anow was nearly knee deep and blowing in blinding billows, the horse could only be pulled along with diffi- culty against the roaring blizzard, now fully developed. They had wandered far out of their course and knew not which way to go. Hungry, chilled ttle? I halted and wiped my per- spiring brow. “I think you are trying to ask me if I won't try the sign of the love vine with you,” she answered sweetly. “Why, of course I will.” Bo, ® trifie sulkily, I went across the hot, white sand, and Phyllis went with me, picking her way daintily ever the rocks, avolding the cactus plants, which, though engaging enough to call forth rare adjectives from Phyllls, ‘were not desirable at close quarters. Here, luxuriantly grew the dodder, a parasite, clinging and golden; s thief and a murderer of the plant on which it feeds. We each tore off & plece and went back to the sycamore. “We will put it right here on this bush,” she said. “You see there is none for yards around, so we can't make any mistake. We won’t come here for & week, and then we will come togeth- er and see if it has lived.” “And if it has?” “If it has,” she sald shyly, and if Phyllls i{s charming when she smiles, and delightful when she frowns, she is altogether irresistible when she is shy. “If it has, why we love each other truly, and—and—" through, wearled and buffeted by the storm almost to exhaustion, and con- fused as to his bearings. at last Mr. Taylor realized his peril. Would he ever reach shelter or would that whirl- ing tempest wrap him In its white winding sheet? How long could he fight it and what avall would the strug- gle be if he were beating in the wrong direction? How about that Christmas gift now, for which he had so fervently prayed? Was he rejoiced that it had come—hurled right across his path and dashed In his face, unto the jeopardy of his life? He thought of the old home, where parents, brothers and sisters were even then making happy prepara- tion for the Christmas-tide, doubtless having sent him some loving tokens to cheer him id his hard Western fleld. He wondered how long it would be before they would know his fate, i he failed to fight his way to shelter. He drew closer around his head a broad knit scarf, and then came a vision of the fair hands which had made it. He saw the soft-eyed malden who had wrought her love into it and given it to him for just such a time as this, when he rt- ed for his distant circuit. How would she feel if he should fall, never to rise again, In that wild waste of wintry fury. For a time thess homesick thoughts unsettled his mind and made him doubt the goodness of God. Then came back to him recollections of the many heart-rending scenes he had wit- nessed in the last few months—children stricken down {n their Innocence; mothers with agonized faces; fathers stunned by their grief; homes darkened and desolate. Could he wish all this horror to continue merely. because his own life was imperiled by the coming of the only possible remedy? Then, with faculties rendered dreamy by the chilling of the blood, he seemed to see & picture of One hanging on a cross, and heard the mocking cry: “He saved others; himself he cannot save.” After that he was content to let the storm rage. If he survived it he would be thankful, if not, he would be glad to think that what was death to him ‘would be life to many others. After all, it was the best Christmas gift which heaven could send. But he was young and life was sweet. He had no disposition for mock hercics or needless martyrdom, so he resolutsly summoned his courage for the supreme battle of his life. He had lived on the broad prairies long enough to know their treachery in winter. He knew how many strong men had been caught ke himself in the clutch of the blis- zards on those vast treeless expanses and buffeted to slow death. He knew all the symptoms of increasing numb- ness; the passing of pain, the feeling of lethargy, the creeping sense of ease, the drowsy weighting of the eyes, the almost irresistible wish to lis down and gleep and the deadly delusions, which foretell the approach of the fatal end. So, during the dragging hours of that long, desolate afternoon, while he blind. 1y staggered against the fearful aval- anche of snow, hoping against hope that by some lucky chance he might stumble upon some cabin, pulling his benumbed horse along by main strength, he fought every succeeding symptom of freezing. He pounded his arms and stamped his feet, rapped his head when inclined to doze, held his eyelids up with his gloved hands, at times talked to himself and his horse to keep his mind aroused; priyed to God and struggled on. But there is & limit to what even the stoutest heart and the stromgest will can do, under such circumstances, against such fearful odds. When the day had passed away in the unequal contest between the man and the ele- ments the coming down of darkness proved to be the additional measure of horror, which was more than the preacher, worn out in mind and bedy. could withstand. Shortly after the night united its gloom to the fury of the storm, those fitful hallucinations which so frequently precede death by freezing seized him. Who was that calling him? Surely home is near. Yes, there stands mother on the steps, beckoning to him. Where has he been all this time? There is no storm. The sun is shining. He is driving the cows home from the prairis. He 15 & bare- “And we will marry”’ I eried, trying to catch her in my arms; but she ran swiftly toward the cabin of the daugh- ter of Juan, calling back over her shoulder: “But it may not lMve, you know.” “To-day we visit the sycamore” I whispered to Phyllls when the week had gone. “At 4 o'clock,” she whispered back. “It's too warm now.” As though the heat had ever before mattered to the little witch. BShe had disappeared, and my book was dull. It was only 8. I might as well take a walk till she was ready. Strangely, I soon found myself at the sycamore tree, looking around for our love vine. It had not Hved! I looked across the gleaming, white sand, and up into the cloudless sky. It had to be done, of course. I took off my coat, and sighed; then out into the Telentless sunshine I walked—out where luxuriantly grew the dodder, clinging and golden; a thief, and a murderer. Yes, and a lar, too, but I would soon remedy that. In & few moments every bush near the sycamore was resplendent with love vine, looking as though it had footed boy, and is singing a merry lay which wells up from a happy heart But what s it stings his brain so? O, yes! the storm Is back again; the eyes partly unclose; he struggles to his feet. staggers a few steps; stops, listens Surely some ome is singing. It is the time of service in a little country church. The people have gathered for worship and he is about to enter the pulpit to preach, when he falls against his horse and the shock partia arouses him. He strives to collect shattered wits, fights again the oft-re- peated battle against overpowering drowsiness, half realizes that the effort is absclutely futile and is slowly kick- ing a place in the snow to lie down in, under a growing impression that he is turning down the covers of a bed, when a light feebly shoots through the al- most impenetrable curtain of snowy darknesd. At first he thought It & part of his dream, but slowly it brought him back to reality. He began to think about it, and at last was roused enough to know that he must be near a dwe ing. The blood was quickened enough by the fact to permit of slow move ment. He started toward the light each step awakening him still until he was again pretty of his dazed faculties. Hope sprang up in his heart and quickened bvery pulsa Then the light disappeared. The horror of black night, lightened only by flerca- 1y driven snow, settled over him A sickening sense of de: him down. For a little whila he was tempted to believe that the another {llusion and that he well give up agaln, but he stu summoned his little remaining s for one final effort to find the house from which the light must have come If there was but one chance for life he would take that chance. The thought that he was near to safety and yet might miss it served a whip to his benumbed faculties. But so dazed was he, 8o nearly exhausted and so confus ing was the flerce storm that it seemed an age to him befors he finally stum bled mgalnst the house without being able to see it. Blowly he felt his way along the sides until he came to a door then struck it with the handle of his riding-whip, which in some manner ha had managed to keep hold of. The door was opened cautlously by a burly whiskered man who peered out and asked who was there. The preacher's tongue was too thick for speech, so he stood In silence, but the man, opening the door wide enough for the light to shine out recognized the colored scarf “My God! it is Brother Taylor, our pastor!” he gald. Then calling hastily to a grown son, they came out and helped him in. The son took the horse to the stable, while the father, a man of long experience in prairie life, took the preacher to a bedroom away from the fire, removed his garments, sent for a pail of snow, lald him on the bed and with his own strong hands chafed the chilled body. applying a little snow occasionally, until the sluggish circu- lation was al y quickened. Then tepid water was ed and finally warm water and last of all, coplous drinks of hot milk were given. After that he was placed under warm covers and left to sleep as long as he would. » It was § o'clock when the faithful work of the strong man was ended The patient sank at once Into the sleep of complete exhaustion. hours the family, who were mem of one of the country churches s by the young preacher at a point ten miles out of his right course toward town, that day watched over him to note any signs of fever or delirtfum. But #0 well had the wise treatment be. given that he slept as sweetly as a babe. As they anxiously watched him, the wife and mother, with tear-dimmed eves, sald: “Poor man! the Christmas gift for which he prayed so earnestly yesterday in our church, in order that we might be spared further loss amony our little ones”—here she looked sad- 1y at an empty crib against the wal “was sent, but it came near to being the mieans of his own death.” “Yes,” sald her husband, “when we ‘were rejoicing to-night over the coming of the storm as we sat around our warm hearth making this our Christ- mas celebration, little 414 we think that We were rejoicing over our pastor's more master ght was peril. I have rarely seen so bad a case of freesin where the victim Nved through it.” But the preacher slept on. The next morning he still slept. At noon he had not awakened. It was about the middle of the afterncon when he opened his eyes. It was several moments befors he realised whaere he ‘was and what had happened. Outside, the sun was shining. but the snew- drifts lay against the window. BSlowly it all came back to him. It seemed years since he had started for town the morning befors. How much he bhad lived in that long day of battle against slow death. And this was Christmas day. The people had recefved the Christmas gift they asked and his own life had been spared. Surely, God was good. He rallled In a few hours from his exhaustion and suffered no permanent injury. He learned from the family that the reason of the sudden &lsap- pearance of the light, which so nearly cost his life, was the thoughtless pull- ing down of a window shade. He has Dever since seen a window curtain drawn down without & shudder. STown there for years. As I picked up & telltale thread from the road, and straightened up to admire my handi- work, I nearly fell flat upon 1t! Under the sycamore tree stood Phyllls, a covered basket upon her arm and a cold, cold look on her lovely face! ‘I am glad I found you out,” she sald witheringly, sitting down upen the extreme end of the log, “before it was forever too late.” I sat down om the other extreme end. “Phyllls,” I said, solemnly, “have you not yet learned that a man would commit any crime for a beautiful woman? And surely what I did it not 80 bad as murder, or—-or—arson, is 1t?"” “Not quite so bad, pesrhaps,” she sighed. I moved nearer. She set the basket between us. As I scowled at it I saw bhanging from it a yellow thread. I pulled at it stealthily. It was dodder! That creation of willow waa full of dodder! ‘ Then I set the basket deliberately upon the ground and took Phyllis into my arms. “There may have been axtenuating etrcumstances,” she murmured.