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+Project Gutenberg's The Angel of Lonesome Hill, by Frederick Landis
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+Title: The Angel of Lonesome Hill
+
+Author: Frederick Landis
+
+Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9193]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on September 14, 2003]
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+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL OF LONESOME HILL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emily Compton and Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ANGEL OF LONESOME HILL
+A STORY OF A PRESIDENT
+
+by Frederick Landis
+Author of "The Glory of His Country"
+
+1910
+
+[Illustration: Those who passed by night were grateful for the lamp]
+
+
+It was a handful of people in the country--a simple-hearted handful.
+There was no railroad--only a stage which creaked through
+the gullies and was late. Once it had a hot-box, and the place drifted
+through space, a vagrant atom.
+
+Time swung on a lazy hinge. Children came; young folks married;
+old ones died; Indian Creek overflowed the bottom-land; crops failed;
+one by one the stage bore boys and girls away to seek their fortunes in
+the far-off world; at long intervals some tragedy streaked the yellow
+clay monotony with red; January blew petals from her silver garden;
+April poured her vase of life; August crawled her snail length; years
+passed, leaving rusty streaks back to a dull horizon.
+
+The sky seemed higher than anywhere else; clouds hurried over this
+place called "Cold Friday."
+
+A mile to the east was "Lonesome Hill." Indians once built signal
+fires upon it, and in this later time travellers alighted as their horses
+struggled up the steep approach. At the top was a cabin; it was
+whitewashed, and so were the apple-trees round it. A gourd vine clung
+to its chimney; pigeons fluttered upon its shingles, and June flung a
+crimson rose mantle over its side and half-way up the roof.
+
+One wished to stop and rest beneath its weeping willow by the
+white stone milk house.
+
+Those who passed by day were accustomed to a woman's face at the
+window--a calm face which looked on life as evening looks on day--such
+a face as one might use to decorate a fancy of the old frontier. Those
+who passed by night were grateful for the lamp which protested against
+Nature's apparent consecration of the place to solitude.
+
+This home held aloof from "Cold Friday"; many times Curiosity went
+in, but Conjecture alone came out, for through the years the man and
+woman of this cabin merely said, "We came from back yonder." Nobody
+knew where "yonder" was.
+
+But the law of compensation was in force--even in "Cold Friday."
+With acquaintanceships as with books, the ecstasy of cutting leaves
+is not always sustained in the reading, and the silence of this man and
+woman was the life of village wonder.
+
+It gave "Friday's" chimney talk a spice it otherwise had never known;
+the back log seldom crumbled into ashes till the bones of these cabin
+dwellers lay bleaching on the plains of "Perhaps."
+
+John Dale was seventy-five years or more, but worked his niggard hillside
+all the day, and seldom came to town. His aged wife was kind; the
+flowers of her life she gave away, but none could glance upon the garden.
+She seemed to know when neighbors were ill; hers was the dignity of being
+indispensable. Many the mother of that region who, standing beneath
+some cloud, thanked God as this slender, white-haired soul with star
+shine in her face, hurried over the fields with an old volume pasted full
+of quaint remedies.
+
+She made a call of another kind--just once--when the "Hitchenses"
+brought the first organ to "Cold Friday."
+
+She remained only long enough to go straight to the cabinet, which the
+assembled neighbors regarded with distant awe, and play several pieces
+"without the book." On her leaving with the same quiet indifference, Mrs.
+Ephraim Fivecoats peered owlishly toward Mrs. Rome Lukens and rendered
+the following upon her favorite instrument:
+
+"Well! if that woman ever gits the fever an' gits deliriums, I want
+to be round, handy like. I'll swan there'll be more interestin' things
+told than we've heerd in our born days--that woman is allus thinkin'!"
+
+In this final respect, the judgment of the Lady of the House of Fivecoats
+was sound.
+
+How gallant the mind is! If the past be sad, it mingles with Diversion's
+multitude till Sadness is lost; if the present be unhappy, it has a
+magic thrift of joys, and Unhappiness is hushed by Memory's laughter;
+if both past and present have a grief, it seeks amid its scanty store for
+some event, for instance, whose recurrence brings some brightness; to
+greet this it sends affectionate anticipations--and were its quiver empty,
+it would battle still some way!
+
+So the wife of Dale looked forward to Doctor Johnston's visits, yet
+there were so many doors between her silence and the world, she did
+not turn as he entered one eventful day.
+
+Doctors are Nature's confessors, and down the memory of this one
+wandered a camel of sympathy upon which the sick had heaped their secret
+woes for years, though one added naught to the burden.
+
+It was the tale he wished to hear, and when some fugitive phrase promised
+revelation, he folded the powders slowly; but when it ended in a sigh,
+he strapped up bottles and expectations and went away, reflecting how
+poor the world where one might hear all things save those which interested.
+
+But Time is a patient locksmith to whom all doors swing open.
+
+"I always sit by this window," she began as he removed the fever
+thermometer; "I've looked so long, I see nothing in a way--and at night
+I always put the light here. If he should come in the dark I want him
+to see--here is a letter."
+
+The Doctor read and returned it with a look of infinite pity.
+
+"I had a dream last night; I may be superstitious or it may be the fever--
+but it was so real. I saw it all; it was just like my prayer. I believe in
+God, you know." She smiled in half reproach. "Yes, in spite of all.
+
+"In that dream something touched my hand and a voice whispered the
+word, 'Now.' Oh, how anxious it was! I awoke, sitting up; the lamp
+had gone out, yet it was not empty--and there was no wind."
+
+John Dale stumbled into the room, his arms full of wood, and an old dog,
+lying before the fireplace, thumped his tail against the floor with
+diminishing vigor.
+
+She arose. "I'll get you a bite to eat, Doctor."
+
+"Never mind! I must be going." He made a sign to Dale, who followed
+to the gate.
+
+"John, I've been calling here a long time--"
+
+"I know I ought to pay somethin'," Dale started to say.
+
+"It isn't that--I've just diagnosed the case; only one man can cure it."
+
+"Would he--on credit?" Dale anxiously inquired.
+
+"He never charges." Johnston smiled sorrowfully at the old man's
+despair.
+
+"Who is he?"
+
+"The President; the President of the United States," he added as
+Dale's eyes filled with questions. "I came out of college a sceptic,
+John, and I'd be an infidel outright but for that wife of yours--she's
+nearer the sky, somehow, than any other mortal I've seen. I don't
+believe in anything, of course--but that dream--if I were you I'd trust
+it--I'd follow where it led."
+
+With his foot on the hub, the farmer slowly whetted his knife on
+his boot. "I'll go with you, Doctor."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"I called at the office, but it was locked, and so I'm here," apologized
+Dale as Judge Long opened the door of his old-fashioned stone house in
+Point Elizabeth, the county seat.
+
+"Glad to see you--had your supper?"
+
+Hearing voices in the dining-room, he answered in the affirmative.
+
+"Then have a cigar and wait in the library; the folks are having a
+little company."
+
+The old man surveyed the room; the books alone were worth more than
+his earthly possessions. From a desk loomed a bust of Webster. Shadows
+seemed to leap from it; the sombre lips bespoke the futility of striving
+against stern realities.
+
+There was gayety in the dining-room; Judge Long was a fountain of
+mirth, a favorite at taverns, while riding the circuit--before
+juries--wherever people gathered.
+
+A gale of laughter greeted his last anecdote and the diners protested as
+he arose.
+
+Dale told his story excitedly, and at the conclusion Judge Long slowly
+brushed away the tobacco smoke.
+
+"I'm sorry, John, but we did all we could last month--and we failed;
+there's just one thing to do--face the matter. It's hard, but this world is
+chiefly water, and what isn't water is largely rock--it's for fish and
+fossils, I suppose."
+
+"But we will win now!" The old man's hand fell with decision.
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+"Mother had another dream last night."
+
+"But, you know, she had one a month ago," quietly protested Long.
+
+"Yes--and it came true--we didn't do our part just right. We can't
+fail this time; there must be a day of justice!"
+
+"Well, as to that, John, this game of life is strange; we bring nothing
+with us, so how can we lose? We take nothing away, so how can we
+win? We think; we plan; we stack these plans with precision, but Chance
+always sits at our right, waiting to cut the cards. You speak of 'justice.'
+It's a myth. The statue above the court-house stands first on one foot,
+then on the other, tired of waiting, tired of the sharp rocks of
+technicality, tired of the pompous farce. Why, Dale," he waved a hand
+toward an opposite corner, "if old Daniel Webster were here he couldn't
+do anything!"
+
+When an American lawyer cites that mighty shade it is conclusive, but
+the effect was lost on Dale. He was not a lawyer, neither had he read the
+"Dartmouth College Case" nor the "Reply to Hayne." In fact his relations
+with the "Sage of Marshfield" were so formal he believed his fame
+to rest chiefly on having left behind a multitude of busts. Besides, he was
+impatient; the Judge's peroration having lifted his head so suddenly
+that cigar ashes fell upon the deep rug at his feet.
+
+"You won't go again, Judge?" He leaned forward perplexed.
+
+"It's no use."
+
+"Well, mebbe you can't do anything--mebbe Dan'l Webster couldn't--but
+John Dale can!"
+
+Long arose, astonished. "How foolish! Reason for a moment--any
+presentation of this matter calls for the highest ability; it involves
+sifting of evidence; symmetry of arrangement; cohesiveness of method, logic
+of argument, persuasiveness of advocacy, subtleties of acumen, charms
+of eloquence--all the elements of the greatest profession among men!"
+
+Dale leaned heavily against the table, his eyes following the Judge as he
+walked back and forth.
+
+"Well, I've got 'em--I can't call 'em by name, but I've got the whole
+damned list--and I'm goin'!"
+
+Long stood at bay, his hand on the door, his face glowing with animation.
+
+"Dale, you're old enough to be my father, but you shall listen. You'd
+fail before a justice of the peace, and before the President of the United
+States--it's absurd. You'd go down there, get mad, probably be arrested
+and kill any hope we might have; why, you're guilty of contempt of
+court right now. I had a strong influence, yet I failed."
+
+The old farmer of "Lonesome Hill" would listen no more.
+
+"Then wait, John. This letter may at least save you from jail--and you
+haven't any money; will this do?"
+
+"It's more than I need, Judge."
+
+"No, keep it all--and keep your temper too."
+
+As the Judge stood in the doorway, watching the venerable figure disappear
+in the drizzling night, a young woman from the dining-room stole
+to his side and heard him muse: "After all, who knows? A Briton
+clad in skins once humbled a Roman emperor."
+
+"Is he in trouble?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, great trouble, and it isn't his fault. Fate's a poor shot. She never
+strikes one who is guilty without wounding two who are innocent."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dale was an admirable volunteer and strangely resourceful; he had
+something more than courage.
+
+The train did not leave for two hours. He sat in the station till the
+clatter of the telegraph drove him out, when he walked toward the
+yards with their colored lights, and through his brain raced Speculation's
+myriad fiends, all brandishing lanterns like those before him. When,
+at last, the train did start, it seemed to roll slowly, though it could
+suffer delay and reach the Capital by daybreak.
+
+He read the letter of introduction several times, and wondered what
+kind of man the President was; he thought of what he would say--and
+how it would end.
+
+At intervals a ghost would extend a long, bony hand and wring drops
+of blood from his heart; at such times the President was hostile--the trip
+very foolish--he regretted his anger at Judge Long's house; and once,
+had the engine been a horse, he might have turned back. At other times
+gleams of victory came from somewhere and yet from nowhere, and
+routed the gypsies from his brain, and the President stood before him,
+a sympathetic gentleman. Once he knew it, and through excess of spirits
+walked up and down the aisle, studying the sleeping passengers; for John
+Dale travelled in a common "day coach."
+
+At last he yielded to fatigue, and far off on the horizon of consciousness
+dimly flashed the duel of his hopes and fears. Rest was impossible, and
+after a long time the dawn drifted between his half-closed lids; a glorious
+dome floated out of the sky and the porter shouted, "All out for
+Washington!"
+
+The cabmen who besieged the well-dressed passengers paid scant homage
+to the old man, who walked uncertainly out of the smoky shed and stood
+for a moment in Pennsylvania Avenue--on one hand the Capitol, on
+the other the Treasury and White House. A great clock above him
+struck the hour of six; he hesitated, then went toward the scene of
+conflict.
+
+The waking traffic, the great buildings, the pulse of this strange life
+filled him with depression. He came to a beautiful park and gazed upon
+Lafayette and Rochambeau, then the equestrian statue of Jackson. As he
+sat facing the snow-white building with columned portico, the magnolia
+blossoms were as incense. Then he could wait no longer and crossed to
+the President's office. A policeman stopped him at the steps. He explained
+that he had a letter from Judge Long. What! Did this policeman
+not know Judge Long?
+
+He sat under a tree, and the policeman walked a few paces away to turn
+anon and survey the waiting pilgrim. When the doors opened he entered.
+The President would not come for another hour; he would be busy--possibly
+he might see him by noon--provided he had credentials.
+
+With a sigh he sank into a chair and was soon asleep.
+
+"Come--this is no cheap lodging house!" The greeting was shaken
+into him by a clerk with hair parted in the middle, who disdainfully
+surveyed the sleeper's attire.
+
+He who has much on his mind little cares what he has on his back, and
+when the youth exploded, "Who are you?" the old fellow's self-reliance
+came forth.
+
+Leading the way to the door Dale pointed a trembling finger. "See
+that buildin', 'Bub'--and that one yonder, and that patch over there
+with Andy Jackson in it? Well, I'm one of the folks that made it all--and
+paid for it; and you're one of my hired hands. I've got to keep
+so many of you down here I can't afford one on the farm. I want to
+see the President--give him this letter--it's from Judge Sylvester Long,
+of Point Elizabeth!"
+
+The youth vanished and Dale resumed his chair.
+
+He was looking across the lawn when a sudden alertness came into
+the scene; the silk-hatted line of callers stepped aside; those who were
+seated arose; newspaper correspondents turned with vigilant ears. A
+nervous voice inquired, "Where is Mr. John Dale?"
+
+The President stood before him, dressed in white flannel, then smilingly
+grasped his hand with a blast of welcome: "I'm delighted to meet
+the friend of Judge Long!" Taking his arm the Executive escorted him
+through the Cabinet Room thronged with Senators, Representatives, and
+tourists. They entered the private office. "Take the sofa, Mr. Dale--it's
+the easiest thing in the place. I hope your business is such that you
+can excuse me for a little while."
+
+A smile came over Dale's white face. Could the poorest farmer of
+the "Cold Friday" region wait for the most powerful character in the
+world? Nor was the old man in the linen duster the only one who smiled.
+A member of the Russian Embassy turned to his companion--a distinguished
+visitor from the Court of St. Petersburg: "What would a peasant
+say to the Czar?"
+
+The President now entered the Cabinet Room, shaking hands with
+the many, guiding a few into his private office. Dale listened; now it was
+an introduction and a message to an old friend in the West. Then a decisive
+"No" dashed some hope of patronage; again, it was a discussion
+of poetry, aerial navigation, or the relics of the Aztecs. It was a long
+stride from "Lonesome Hill," and for the time Dale was novelty's captive.
+He glanced round the room. It was not as fine as the director's
+office of the Point Elizabeth Bank! Above the mantel--the place of
+honor--was the painting of a martyr. He wondered whether another stroke
+of the brush would have brought a smile to the face, or an expression of
+sadness. The hands were very large--they  had once broken iron bands.
+
+In one corner was a shot-gun; tennis rackets in another; on a chair
+were snow-shoes and on the desk a sheaf of roses.
+
+Those whom the President had sifted into his office from the crowd
+outside engaged in conversation. A Senator discussed the ball game with
+a Supreme Court Justice; a General advised an Author to try deep breathing.
+
+The President returned more animated than before. He placed a
+hand on Dale's shoulder: "Be comfortable--and stay for lunch; nobody
+but us."
+
+The crowd paid sudden respect to the homespun citizen of an older day,
+and a great happiness came into his heart--it was like the unfolding of one
+of the roses. Not that he was to lunch with the President, though Dale's
+was the village estimate of human greatness. A vaster issue was before
+him, and this was a token of success--a success which would bind up his
+remaining years with peace, and give glorious recompense to the companion
+of his few joys and many griefs.
+
+The President hurriedly signed his name to parchments.
+
+"I'm making a few postmasters." He smiled toward the sofa. "It's no
+trouble here--that's all at the other end of the line."
+
+Without stopping the pen, he discussed matters with one statesman
+after another, his lips snapping with metallic positiveness.
+
+A member of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations protested
+against the course pursued in Santo Domingo.
+
+"If I were making a world, Senator, I'd try to get along without putting
+in any Santo Domingos, but as things stand, we must make her be
+decent or let somebody else do it."
+
+Another brings up the question of taxing incomes and inheritances.
+
+"I favor them both," declared the President. "They are taxes on good
+luck; bad luck is its own tax."
+
+A statesman from the Pacific slope protests against Federal interference
+in the school question.
+
+"It is a local matter as you say, Senator, and yours is a 'Sovereign
+State'--they all are till they get into trouble. If we should have war with
+Japan, your State would speedily become an integral part of the Union."
+
+A group of gentlemen now object to an aspirant for a Federal judgeship
+on the ground that he has not a "judicial temperament."
+
+"As I understand it," the President begins, "judicial temperament is
+largely a fragrance rising from the recollection of corporate employment;
+it is the ability to throw a comma under the wheels of progress and upset
+public welfare; I am glad to learn that Mr. L---- has _not_ a 'judicial
+temperament'; I shall send his name to the Senate to-day."
+
+The gentlemen retired. "Come, Mr. Dale, let us go."
+
+This President had been accused of a lack of dignity. Is it a less valuable
+trait which puts the John Dales of our land at instant ease in the
+"State Dining-Room" of the White House?
+
+"Well, sir, no man ever had a better friend than Judge Long," said
+the President when they were seated. "'Ves' Long, I mean," he added
+with a smile.
+
+"I met him in the West; he had a ranch; mine was near it. We saw
+much of each other; we hunted together--and that's where you learn
+a man's mettle. He never complained of dogs, luck, or weather.
+We saw rough times; it was glorious. We'd wake up with snow on the bed,
+and when 'Ves' introduced me at Point Elizabeth in my first campaign
+he said we often found rabbit tracks on the quilts--but then 'Ves' had a
+remarkable eye.
+
+"Some say, 'blood is thicker than water.' That depends somewhat on
+the quality of the water; I like him; there's nothing I wouldn't do
+for him!"
+
+Dale grew suddenly sick at heart. If Long had only come! Recalling
+his discouraging words, a shadow crept over the old man's mind.
+Could it be possible he had not tried the month before?
+
+Such misgivings soon vanished. "This is a trying office, Mr. Dale.
+With all my feelings I had to hold in abeyance the only favor he ever
+asked; it was about a pardon in a murder case over thirty-five years
+ago. He said it was the most cruel case of circumstantial evidence in
+the books--possibly you may know about the case."
+
+The old man struggled back in his chair, then arose, his rough hand
+brushing thin locks back from a temple where the veins seemed swelling
+to the danger point. He was unable to summon more than a whisper
+from his shrunken throat.
+
+"Yes, Mr. President, I do--he's my boy!"
+
+"Your--boy! Yes--that's the name--how stupid of me--I beg
+your pardon, Mr. Dale--a thousand times."
+
+They stared a long while at each other and Dale felt the fears which
+had fled before his gracious reception returning to grip him by the heart;
+the speech he had prepared had fled; it had all happened so differently.
+
+At last the President spoke: "Congress is just going out; it's the busy
+season, but I'll go through the papers to-night myself."
+
+Dale walked to the window; perspiration was on his face, but he was
+very cold. He stood with locked brain, and into his eyes came filmy
+clouds; then through these he saw, with sudden strangeness, a cabin far
+away, and a woman with pallid cheeks looked straight at him.
+
+The President gazed intently as the old man wiped the window pane,
+nodded his head, and turned to face the table.
+
+He cleared his throat, then opened a flannel collar, already loose, and
+his eyes glistened.
+
+"You're sick!" exclaimed the President rising. "Waiter--some
+brandy!"
+
+"No--just a little dizzy.
+
+"Mr. President," he slowly began, "this is a case that all the papers in
+the world can't tell--nor all the men--there's none just like it.
+
+"It's not for the boy--it's not for me. I took her from her folks against
+their will, and I've not panned out lucky--but that's not to the point.
+She's sick; the doctor can't help her--nobody can but you--I wish you
+might have seen her from the window yonder."
+
+The half-finished luncheon was disregarded; the President had sunk
+into his chair, and the keen discrimination of a king of affairs was
+struggling with a strange fascination.
+
+"Long ago, Mr. President, I had an enemy--Bill Hartsell--we shot
+each other." He held up a withered hand. "It's been a feud ever since.
+His boy and mine went to war in the same company--both as brave as ever
+wore the blue. When they were waitin' to be mustered out Bill's boy was
+murdered in his tent--in his sleep. Bill was there and swore he saw my
+Richard do it.
+
+"One night, a month ago, my woman--she's a great woman, Mr.
+President--the sick folks down in my country call her 'The Angel of
+Lonesome Hill'--well, she had a dream that Bill Hartsell wanted to see
+me. I hadn't laid eyes on him for years. I strapped on my six-shooter
+and she said, 'No--it isn't that kind of a trip--it's peace.'
+
+"I put down the shootin' iron and went--it was a long way--two
+days on horseback. I got to Bill's cabin at night; I went in without
+a knock; I wasn't afraid. Bill's folks were round the bed. He
+arose and cried out: 'John, I sent for you; it was a damn lie I told--your
+boy didn't do it'--and then Bill died."
+
+For the moment the old man's agitation mastered him.
+
+"I remember, Mr. Dale. 'Ves' told me; he brought the statements
+of the family--and yours. I've been thinking of it ever since--and a great
+deal these last two days. Tell me, why did you happen to come?"
+
+"Mother had a dream that said the time was up."
+
+Dale spoke as calmly as though delivering a message from a neighbor.
+
+Fear was not even a memory now. He stood erect; the stone he had
+slowly pushed up many steep years was near the summit--one mighty
+effort might hurl it down the past forever.
+
+"Just a word about that boy, Mr. President. At Cold Harbor his regiment
+stood in hell all day; he was one of those who pinned his name to his
+coat so his body could be identified--after the charge. Well, in that
+charge the flag went down, and a man went out to get it--and he fell; then
+another--and he fell; and then a thin, pale fellow that the doctors almost
+refused sprang forward like a panther--and he fell. They were askin' for a
+volunteer when a staff officer called out: 'Good God! He's alive! He's got
+it! He's crawlin' back!'
+
+"They had to lift him off the colors; he didn't know anything, . . . and
+that was my boy, Mr. President--that was Dick!
+
+"Funny how he enlisted," Dale resumed after a moment. "He'd been
+tryin' to get in, but I kept him out. One night his mother sent him for a
+dime's worth of clothes-line--and he never came back. He's not bad, Mr.
+President; he's good--he gets it from his mother."
+
+Dale lifted his head with pride: "When I was on the jury I heard
+Judge Long say no one could be punished if their name wasn't written in
+the indictment. Now, they didn't only convict Dick--they convicted
+his mother--this whole world's her prison--and it's illegal, Mr.
+President--her name wasn't written in that indictment--and it's her pardon
+I want."
+
+The President arose and walked the floor. "How could the man who
+saved those colors shoot a comrade in his sleep? Mr. Dale, my faith in
+human nature tells me that's a lie!"
+
+He stood for an instant at the window, looking over the fountain, the
+river, the tall white Washington needle which pierced the sky, then
+quickly stepped to the table and lifted a glass:
+
+"Mr. Dale, I propose a toast--'The Angel of Lonesome Hill' . . . her
+liberty!"
+
+       *       *       *       *      *
+
+As they returned to the office there was nothing extraordinary in the
+President's vigorous step--that was known the world around. There
+was something most unusual, however, in the radiant soul--the splendid
+ancient youth of the quaint figure by his side.
+
+At the door where the policeman had watched the waiting pilgrim the
+President shook the old man's hand.
+
+"Come again, Mr. Dale, and tell 'Ves' Long I'll go hunting with him
+this fall and bring along a man he'll like--a man who catches wolves with
+his hands."
+
+       *       *       *      *       *
+
+John Dale knew every fence corner in that region, but the night was so
+dark he stopped at times to "feel where he was."
+
+The man with him could not aid him; he was a stranger--a strange
+stranger who spoke but once--"How far is it?"
+
+Long habit had made him silent; he was in the upper fifties, but long
+absence from the sun had pinched his face into the white mask of great
+age.
+
+At the village store the stranger entered, returning with a package.
+
+When the road turned there was a light high ahead and a moment later
+the two men entered the cabin.
+
+The stranger paused. "Mother, you sent me for a clothes-line--I've
+been delayed--but here it is."
+
+Her hand trembled as she raised the lamp from the table.
+
+"My boy--my dream--the President!"
+
+       *       *       *      *      *
+
+When she lifted her face it was glorified.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Angel of Lonesome Hill, by Frederick Landis
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL OF LONESOME HILL ***
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