The shoemaker : $b A powerful picture of nature, adapted from Hal Reid's famous drama of the same nameHarper, Olive
General
The shoemaker : $b A powerful picture of nature, adapted from Hal Reid's famous drama of the same name
Harper, Olive
Abduction -- Fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Shoemakers -- Fiction; West (U.S.) -- Fiction
“No one can tell as to that. Sometimes it takes weeks and months, and
sometimes it is found right on the surface. I knew one man and he
worked at his claim four years, finding just barely enough to live on
in the poorest way, and everyone thought he had lost his reason, being
alone so long and being always disappointed. Then, one day, when he had
about given up hope, he stepped on a loose stone, and as he fell he
found his mine. And it is one of the richest in the State. Others seem
to stumble into good luck at once, and in a week will be rich. So be of
good cheer. These mountains, dark and forbidding as they look, are full
of gold that will be found some day. We will get there in time.”
“May de goot Gott put dis one on de top, for den I can haf de money to
hunt for mein poor Dora! Laty, I vonder if you know vot it is to lose
your chilt? Oxcuse me, I know you do. I forgot, but dis is eating my
heart out all de time. I cannot bear it much more!”
“Ah, here is little Loney”--and as he caressed the curly hair, Helen
continued: “Only Heaven knows what I would give to see my child again!
But it has been more than ten times as long as that since your child
was stolen. I fear he is dead! my poor little boy, my baby.”
“Well, you know I promised you that I would be your little boy now;
anyhow, till you find your own little boy. Then--I suppose--you won’t
want me any more?”
“Ah, yes I would; yes I would, for you are a comfort to me in my
sorrow.”
The child nestled close to Helen, who passed her arm around him and
drew him close to her yearning heart. Nothing told this mother, bereft
of her only one, that she held him to her heart, nor did the numbed
intellect of the boy tell him that this was his mother. And yet they
were mother and son, and destiny was planning to again divide their
ways.
Morris sat down weakly, in almost the same place where John had
watched the previous night, but his unused eyes failed to show him the
cigar-butt that lay almost at his feet. He said, gloomily:
“How shall ve do apout somedings to eat, laty? Dere is not much left.
Oh, de Bennie! nefer mindt, nefer mindt, I can get along mit very
little--yust so dot ve fint dot mine.”
“Hooray!” shouted Bennie, who had been exploring in the shack. “I have
found bacon, coffee, flour and sugar. Now, what do you think of that?”
“I dink dot ve haf no right to touch vot belongs to oders.”
“But you don’t know the rules, Mr. Goldberg. Whatever is in this shack
is for the benefit of the person who comes here for shelter. We have a
perfect right to use what is here. I will cook some, and then we will
go on. We will have plenty, for the mountains are full of game. I have
tramped for weeks and found all I wanted, and there must be as much
now. We can get some flour and coffee occasionally and live off the
game for the rest.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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