was just as cheerful and bright as ever, but the flush.was in her
cheeks and the cough had begun. At first we tried to think it
was nothing but a severe cold. But she got no better. Day by
day we saw her grow weaker and weaker as the dread disease
fixed itself upon her. Oh! how we longed then for the spring.
“Three weary months dragged by and the snow was gone and
the earth was warm. One day we carried her out into the warm
sunlight. The first flowers were coming into bloom, and I remem
ber gathering a great bunch for her of those she loved best. It
was then she called me to her side. She spoke of the happy hours
we had spent together, and how glad she had been to be able to
share my privations, even for a little while. We talked fondly
about the old homeland and the dear friends so far away. And,
then, taking my hand in both of hers, she told me that she never
expected to see the old home again; but that I must not weep
when she left me, for God knew what was best. And then there
came a far away, wistful look into her eyes, which I can never
forget, as she told of the land to which she was going—the true
homeland where there is no parting nor grief nor exile. And
when she crossed over she said she would wait for me there and
be the first to welcome the exile home.
“We brought her tenderly up this mountain and laid her to rest
in sight of her beloved homeland. And sometimes when my view
of that homeland to which she had gone grows dim and hazy down
in the valley of my grief, I climb this mountain and there I can
see it all clear and plain again, and I think I see her standing over
there waiting for her exile.”
The wind had blown itself weary and all was still. The fire had
almost gone out. Joe arose, kicked the few scattered embers into
a heap, put on more wood, and then stood with his face toward the
darkness. “We will have a good day to-morrow,” he said, and as
he turned I saw that his great rough hand was moistened with