Chapter 4
Sweet music could not drown it, although his wife played the piano for him as he reclined in his dressing robe. The fairest pictures that made sunshine on the wall, could not shut them out. O! that he could say ‘Jesus’! The word was so strange to him; to him a man of ease, of wealth, of fashion. Almost any other name would seem less out of place on his lips. He who had thought of nothing but the world, till within a few short months, to whom life before that, had seemed eternal; he, who had tasted of pleasures of every kind in almost every land; he, to say Jesus—O no! it was impossible! But O! that haunting—that terrible haunting!
Again and again as he tossed on his couch through the long night watches, he wished he had not stopped before that little red cottage. He could so distinctly see it, and the pale face at that can window. He could see the child of his adoration, running down the walk, her cheeks pink tinted, her golden hair tossed by the wind in clouds and curls; he could hear, O yes, too plainly the childish voice saying to him,
“Just say ‘Jesus’.”
The next day, and the next, as the sun peeped in, before the dew was gone, as it streamed over the carpet at noon, as it crept paler and paler over the painted orchards and skies of his beautiful pictures while the day waned, so did the words still visit him.
The kind mother in the little red cottage sat busily at work on sonie shirts she was making for a neighbor. There had been a shower, but now the sky sparkled with sunlight, and there was no dust on the flowers that lined the path. At the window where the fair invalid used to sit, and where for years he had watched the sight along the road, there stood his chair —his chair—the patient little Daniel’s, who through all his sufferings had so lightened her labors. Now he was beside her in a low bed, quite still, but his bright sparkling eyes watched her needle as it flew in and out of the white seam. Yes, Daniel grew weaker every day, and it made the poor widow weep to think that he must go, he was so dear to her.
“Mother,” he said, and his voice was as full, clear and musical as ever, “what makes that white light all around you? I’ve been looking at it, and it grows so I right.”
“Almost anything will, dear, that you look at for a long time,” replied his mher. “I can’t explain it, I haven’t learning enough for that.”
“I will learn about it in heaven, won’t I?” he said, with a sweet smile.
“Yes, dear, you will learn a great many things in heaven.”
“I shall learn what this beautiful feeling is that comes over me whenever I think of Jesus, and I shall know why He never let me walk, like Charlie, and I expect I shall be so glad when I do learn.
Last night I think I was the least bit asleep, when all at once this room was covered with shining stones. The sun that shone in the door was all trembling just as we see it far off, and there O, it was so beautiful!”
“It was a sweet dream my boy” said his kind mother.
ML 07/13/1941