[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

"Shall I nurse him here?" he heard her ask. He pressed her hand in answer. And when again he opened his
eyes she was by his side with the child at her breast. Its large round eyes, so pure and clear, gazed into his own
for a long, long time.
"Now he's so sleepy," she whispered. "Would you like him beside you a moment?"
CHAPTER XLIV 165
"Please."
He felt the faint scent of the tiny boy, and still those eyes looked into his. He forgot his daughter standing
there; and as he watched, a sweet fresh sense of the mystery of this life so new stole deep into his spirit. All at
once the baby fell asleep.
"Good-night, little brother," he whispered. "God grant the world be very kind." He could feel the mother lift it
up, and he heard the door close softly.
Smiling he, too, fell asleep. And after that there were only dreams.
CHAPTER XLIV
And his dreams were of children. Their faces passed before him. Now they were young again in the house.
They were eating their suppers, three small girls, chattering like magpies. From her end of the table their
mother smiled quietly across at him. "Come children," she was saying, "that will do for a little while." But
Roger said, "Oh, let them talk."... Then he saw new-comers. Bruce came in with Edith, and George and
young Elizabeth, and Allan came with Deborah who had a baby in her arms, and Laura stood beside them.
Here were his three daughters, grown, but still in some uncanny way they looked to him like children still; and
behind them he detected figures long forgotten, of boys and girls whom he had known far back in his own
childhood. John, too, had come into the house. Strangely now the walls were gone, had lifted, and a clamorous
throng, laughing, shouting, pummeling, hedged him in on every hand--Deborah's big family!
Soon the uproar wearied him, and Roger tried to shut them out, to bring back again the walls to his house.
And sometimes he succeeded, and he was left for a while in peace with Judith and his three small girls. But
despite his efforts to keep them there, new faces kept intruding. Swiftly his small family grew, split into other
families, and these were merged with other figures pressing in from every side. Again he felt the presence of
countless families all around, dividing, reuniting, with ceaseless changes and fresh life--a never ending
multitude. Here they were singing and dancing, and Laura gaily waved to him. At another place were only
men, and they were struggling savagely to clutch things from each other's hands. A sea of scowling visages,
angry shouts, fists clinched in air. And he thought he saw Bruce for an instant. Behind them lay wide valleys
obscured by heavy clouds of smoke, and he could hear the roar of guns. But they vanished suddenly, and he
saw women mourning now, and Edith with her children turned to him her anxious eyes. He tried to reach and
help her, but already she had gone. And behind her came huge bending forms, men heaving at great burdens,
jaws set in scowls of fierce revolt. And John was there on his crutches, and near him was a figure bound into a
chair of steel, with terror in the straining limbs, while in desperation Deborah tried to wrench him free.
Abruptly Roger turned away.
And in a twinkling all was gone, the tumult and the clamor, and he was in a silent place high up on a mountain
side. It was dusk. A herd of cattle passed, and George came close behind them. And around him Roger saw,
emerging from the semi-dark, faces turning like his own to the summits of the mountains and the billowy
splendors there. It grew so dark he could see no more. There fell a deep silence, not a sound but the occasional
chirp of a bird or the faint whirr of an insect. Even the glow on the peaks was gone. Darkness, only darkness.
"Surely this is death," he thought. After that he was alone. And presently from far away he heard the booming
of a bell, deep and slow, sepulchral, as it measured off his life. Another silence followed, and this time it was
more profound; and with a breathless awe he knew that all the people who had ever lived on earth were before
him in the void to which he himself was drifting: people of all nations, of countless generations reaching back
and back and back to the beginnings of mankind: the mightiest family of all, that had stumbled up through the
ages, had slaved and starved and dreamed and died, had blindly hated, blindly killed, had raised up gods and
idols and yearned for everlasting life, had laughed and played and danced along, had loved and mated, given
birth, had endlessly renewed itself and handed on its heritage, had striven hungrily to learn, had groped its
CHAPTER XLIV 166
way in darkness, and after all its struggles had come now barely to the dawn. And then a voice within him
cried,
"What is humanity but a child? In the name of the dead I salute the unborn!"
Slowly a glow appeared in his dream, and once again the scene had changed. The light was coming from long
rows of houses rising tall and steep out of a teeming city street. And from these lighted houses children now
came pouring forth. They filled the street from wall to wall with a torrent of warm vivid hues, they joined in
mad tempestuous games, they shouted and they danced with glee, they whirled each other 'round and 'round.
The very air seemed quivering. Then was heard the crash of a band, and he saw them marching into school. In
and in and in they pressed, till the school seemed fairly bursting. Out they came by another way, and went off
marching down the street with the big flag waving at their head. He followed and saw the street divide into
narrower streets and bye-ways, into roads and country lanes. And all were filled with children. In endless
multitudes they came--marching, marching, spreading, spreading, like wide bobbing fields of flowers rolling
out across the land, toward a great round flashing sun above a distant rim of hills.
The sun rose strangely dazzling. It filled the heavens with blinding light. He felt himself drawn up and
up--while from somewhere far behind he heard the cry of Deborah's child. A clear sweet thrill of happiness
came. And after that--we do not know.
For he had left his family.
Printed in the United States of America
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of His Family, by Ernest Poole
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS FAMILY ***
***** This file should be named 14396-8.txt or 14396-8.zip ***** This and all associated files of various
formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.net/1/4/3/9/14396/
Produced by Rick Niles, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in
these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission
and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this
license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT
GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used
if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies
of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as
creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
away--you may do practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is subject to the
trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR
USE THIS WORK
CHAPTER XLIV 167
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using
or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project Gutenberg"), you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]