--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Anderson, Nephi collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 13 number: 8 published: 1910-06 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Nephi Anderson, "The End of the Rainbow," *Improvement Era* 13, no. 8 (June 1910): 694–704.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1308unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1308unse start_page: 694 end_page: 704 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1910-06) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1308unse publication_year: 1910 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1910, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The End of the Rainbow The End of the Rainbow. BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OF " ADDED UPON," "THE CASTLE BUILDER," ETC. I. Roni Jones came back from the city with a pocketful of money and an additional swagger to his gait. The boys noticed his new suit of clothes and his added importance, as he alighted from the train and sauntered up to the village store, where a half dozen loiterers were seated on the hitching pole, like a row of crows on a fence. "Hello, boys," said Roni cheerilv, "how's everybody?" "Bully!" "Fine!" "All 0 K!" came from the boys, one after the other, in the order of their position on the rail. "Got back, eh?" "How's town?" "Fine! Got top prices for my steers, an' had a dandy time." "Did you take in the theatres?'' "You bet! one nearly every night. Some fine shows was runnin' this week." There was room for one more at the end of the pole, so Roni, to be sociable, seated himself with the boys. They looked at his new stiff hat and his patent leather shoes, and then they nudged each other. "Purty dandy," remarked one, half aloud, as if he did not want Roni to hear; but that young man heard, and with a knowing smile, pushed back his hat from the red mark which it had made across his forehead. "That's all right, Dave," he replied; "but when a feller's invited out to city society, he's got to dress different from everyday farm clothes." "So you was invited out, eh?" THE END OF THE RAINBOW. 695 "Sure. I stopped with Aunt Lizzy, an' she's acquainted with lots )f tony people. There was parties an' sociables a-plenty, an' I come in fur them all." "Make any mashes?" "Well, now, Billy, I — I improved my opportunities, I can tell ye." "Yes, I heard of ye, Rone," shouted the boy on the further end of the line, "how one of them city gals turned your head." "How! what did ye hear, Dick?-' "What did your show tickets cost ye?" continued Dick, instead of replying to the question. "I'll bet they come mighty high. She wouldn't go to nigger heaven." Roni jumped from the rail and faced the row of laughing boys. "Oh, that's all right, fellers," he said. "You don't understand You think that 'cause a girl lives in the city, she's extravagant an' stuck up. That's where you're fooled." "Rone's a goner!" exclaimed one. "When's the wedden' to be? ' asked another. "Can she milk?" shouted a third; whereupon a yell of laughter ran along the perch. "Say, tell us her name?" they began again. "Is she dark or light?" "Short or tall?" "I'll bet she wears eye-glasses — " "An' gloves up to her elbows?" Roni scowled a little at them, hardly knowing whether to defend himself or to treat with silent contempt these jokes at his expense. "Say," broke in a small boy, who stood resting his chin on top of the pole, "do ye wear your best clothes every day in town? Should think ye wouldn't know when Sunday comes." The crowd suppressed its merriment on the principle that no attention should be paid to a "kid" who "butted in." Those who had sharp knives deliberately whittled their sticks, while there was a moment's silence. The store door opened, and a girl came out. Seeing the crowd of men and boys, she paused, as if afraid to run the gauntlet of staring eyes and lively tongues. But there was no escape 696 IMPR0VEMEN7 ERA. from the ordeal — and it was always a trial for Jean Roundy to have to push her way through a lot of lounging men. Some of the girls did not mind it, she knew, but she avoided it as often as possible. As she passed, she was greeted with smiles, grunts and "how do's" from the boys. Roni lifted his hat to her with awkward grace. She was about as much startled at his looks and action as the crowd was amused. Roni saw his chance to escape, so he stepped alongside of the girl, and with a wave of his hand to the crowd he said: "So long, boys, better company, ye know; and on the way home, too." Jean was his nearest neighbor. He took her basket as a matter of course, something he had not been in the habit of doing, and chatted good-naturedly with her. She had never found it difficult to look the young man squarely in the face, but now she could only glance at him, his looks and actions being so strange. The sun was just setting, and the poplars cast their shadows away across the yellow stubble of the fields. The cows were bellowing near the bars, and the frogs creaked sleepily from the sedgy, half-filled water ditches. The noise of playing children echoed across the fields, giving the human coloring to the medley of evening sounds. Jean did not say much as they trudged along, but Roni's tongue was uncommonly ready. Had he not spent a week in the city! Had he not made himself "safe" with "somebody!" and in the assurance of this safety he was free to talk to any and all the girls of his acquaintance, and especially to Jean. He had avoided, recently, being too free with the girls around home, but now the restraint was no longer needed. He told her of his good luck in disposing of his stock, of his attendance at the theatre, and of his social experiences in the city. "I tell ye," he remarked, "it does a feller good to shake off the clods once in a while and get acquainted with other than country folks. It kind o' broadens a feller." Jean had been very seldom to the city, and had visited the theatre but once, when she had gone with a crowd of girls up in one of the cheaper seats. THb hJND OF THE RAINBOW. 697 "Oh, I don't object to goin' up there with the boys," he remarked, "but it's lots better further down, where you can see a little more than jest the tops of the actor's heads." "Yes, I guess so." "What's been goin' on out here lately? Nothin' very excitin', 1 guess; never is." "No," she assented. "J see that Jim Brown hasn't threshed yet. Nor you either." "No, not yet." "We're havin' a long spell of fine weather." "Yes, we are." "Say, Jean, don't ye get kinder lonesome out here on the farm all the time?" Jean had known nothing but the farm and was contented enough. However, she was evidently expected to answer Roni in the affirmative; but she did not reply immediately. "How's your mother?' ' he asked. "Oh, she's well." "An' gran'mother?" "She's not so well." "Too bad. Gettin' old, I guess." "Huh, huh." This disconnected conversation was checked by their arrival at Jean's gate. He gave her the basket. "Thank ye for carryin' it," she said. "Don t mention it," he replied. "It wasn't very heavy, but I got kinder warm. I wish I had a drink o' buttermilk." Usually there was plenty of it in her mother's cellar, but she did not invite him to come in and get a drink, as he had expected. She said a simple goodnight, and walked up the path to the house. He stood for an instant looking at her, and then cut cross-lots for home. Every week Roni Jones went to town to see "his girl." When joked about it, in the rural fashion of his neighbors, he never denied that such was his business in the city. As the town drew him more, the interest in his country neighbors seemed to grow less. His manner, and even his speech, changed somewhat, 698 IMPRO VEMENT ERA . it must be admitted, for the better; but his harsher critics said he was "only a clod-hopper aping city ways." But whatever other faults the young man had, no one could say that he was lazy. His mother's forty-acre farm was among the most productive, made so, mainly, by his own work. Though the house was small and humble, the barn and stack-yards were extensive. If Roni Jones was to bring a city wife to the farm, he would have to do some extensive building. And this work he actually began that fall, after the crops had been harvested. He dug a big hole in the corner lot next to the road, and when the frost made the road easy, he frequently made trips to the mountains for rock. He did not talk much, and his inquisitive neighbors failed to get any definite information regarding his plans. Just before Christmas, all work on the new house ceased, and Roni Jones was not seen going to or coming from town. He was away from home, and his mother said that he had gone off on a- visit. He had arranged with a neighbor to do his chores, and he had told this neighbor that he might be absent all winter. The mother tried not to show her worry, but that was not so easy. The holiday season was danced away in the usual country manner. As far as could be seen, Roni Jones was not missed. Widow Jones spent that long, cold winter alone. The village loungers, sitting around the stove of the country store, had discussed the young man's case in all its phases, and judgment had been passed on him in the following original terms: "His city gal's given him the gran' bounce" — "An' bein' afraid to face us fellers, he's skipped." "He's had to come down from his high horse.'' "He's been jolted purty hard, I guess." "He's been chasin' a rainbow — " "An' a rainbow's purty hard to catch." II. Roni Jones alighted from the caboose of the freight train, and walked hurriedly down the road towards home. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the farmers were busy in the fields. To avoid staring eyes from the farmhouses, he followed the irrigation canal for some distance, though it made the way longer. THE END OF THE RAINBOW. 699 Roni shortly slackened his pace, lingering at times to finger the green willows along the bank. It was the first week in May, yet that afternoon some belated April showers swept hurriedly over the fields, only to give way again to the blue sky and the warm sun. The first warm pulsation of summer could be felt in the air. The world was aglow with light, and throbbing with life. The spring day touched Roni Jones' sore heart with velvety softness. How good, thought he, to get home again; to see the unsullied blue of the sky, instead of the blackness of chimney smoke; to smell the sweetness of all things growing, instead of the stench of mills, and mines, and streets; to hear the twitter of birds, the drone and chirp of insects, the soft whisperings of willow tops, instead of the clatter of paved streets, and the roar and rattle that men make when they crowd together into cities. He took long breaths of the air, and how good it was! He had been away nearly six months, but it seemed an age of wear and tear and confusion. His coming out of it all into this big, free, open country, was like being born again into a new world. Would his mother ever forgive him? He did not care so much what others might say, but he hoped his mother would not be too hard on him. True, he had been somewhat hard on her — but he was going to make it all up to her. He was going home to stay, and behave himself. There would be no more "girl" for him. He had learned his lesson. Heaps of new earth lay along the canal bank. He wondered who had taken his part in the yearly ditch cleaning. As he neared home, he could see that only a part of his land was planted. The lucern was beautifully green, and there seemed to be about ten acres of growing wheat, but there was yet much to do. He was thankful that he had come back in time to put in some of the crops, at least. For him there would be no more loafing at the store, or wasting of precious time going back and forth to and from town. Roni left the canal bank and followed his own ditch down to the farm. The sky clouded over again, and the rain came down hard. He hastened his steps until he came to the corner of his potato field, where, in a clump of willows, there was a shelter of boards. He dodged under the bushes to the cover, but as he did 700 EMENT ERA. so, he heard a scream of fright, and came nearly running into Jean Roundy, who was standing under the cover. "Halloo, Jean," he said. "Sorry I scared you so." He went up to her and they shook hands. "What are you doin' here?" he enquired. Jean's color flew back to her face, which was now red with confusion. She backed away from him, looking down on the ground and then up at the sky. "I came here to get out of the rain — gracious, ye scared me! When'd ye get back?" "Jes' now. This rain is fine fur the crops, isn't it?" "I guess so." "What ye doin' with a hoe, Jean? you turned farmer?" "Alius been a farmer. ' ' "Well, I mean you hain't always worked in the fields?"' "No." "An' you're some ways from your land." "Oh, I live with grandma— that is, until she died."., "Is she dead?" "Yes; died last month." "I never heard of it. An' so you stayed with h^r till she died. You must see mother quite often, then. How is she?" "Purty well, considerin'." "Considerin' what? But I ought to know — yes, I do know." Jean was uneasy. She looked out over the fields, wet with rain, and then at the sky again. "The rain hain't bad now, so I guess I'll go," she remarked. "It's rainin' mighty hard yet, an' you'll get wet if ye go out in it. Here, sit down a little while, I want to ask you some more questions." He pushed towards her an old box. She seated herself reluctantly, holding the hoe across her lap. He took Jean's bucket, which was half filled with cut potatoes ready for planting, placed a board across and sat down on it. The sun peeped suddenly out, and there was a "sunshine shower." The girl scraped the grass with her hoe, and struck rather viciously at a big yellow dandelion blossom. Roni looked at her — in fact he could not take his eyes from her all the time they had been talking. There was something about the girl that he had not noticed before. She was larger, a THE END OF THE RAINBOW. 701 little older, more of a woman. He saw her coarse, ragged shoes and wornout, calico dress. Her hands were thick with the callous of work, and for a moment he contrasted them with some others he had known. She had removed her old, weatherbeaten, straw hat, and was fanning her face with it. Her hair was of the light, Huffy, unruly kind, and she impatiently brushed it back to get it out of her eyes. He noticed that her lips were full and red, and that abroad band of brown freckles extended across her nose from one cheek to the other. Her eyes were big and blue. Hard, coarse work couldn't take away their soft delicacy. He asked her about the neighbors, and she answered him with the meagre information which she had. "Ye see, I haven't been out much," she was forced to explain. "I stayed with gran'ma very close, an' then I had to help mother some. I've even had to neglect some of my meetin's." The sky was clearing, and presently they heard a voice calling across the field. They both arose and looked around the bushes. "Who's that?" asked he. "That's mother, isn't it?" "Yes; she's callin' me." "What does she want of you?" "Why, we've been plantin' potatoes, an' I guess she thinks it's time we begin again. She had to go to the house, but she's come back. I guess I'll go." "Wait a minute. Jean, what are you doin' that for?" "To help her, of course. Goodness knows, she needs help, an' I couldn't stan' to see her workin' out in the field alone. I'm young and strong and can plant potatoes, but she can't do much." She picked up her bucket and shook off the board. "Just a minute," he pleaded. The girl paused, with hoe and bucket in hand. Her hat was tilted on the back of her head, and she looked alternately at Roni and the big dandelion which lay prone at her feet. She was not very neat, she was not very pretty; but there was something about her that touched and satisfied him. A new light shone about his next-door neighbor. He placed his ha.ids over the one that clasped the hoe, and held it firmly. "Jean," he said, "thank you for helpin1 mother. An' now, 702 IMPROVEMENT ERA. will ye help me? I've been a fool, I guess. I know I've done wrong in neglectin' mother. I've been chasin' 'round the country tryin' to get rid of something that I could jest as well have buried right here in mother's field Jean, you're awfully good, an' I want ye to help me." "Jean," echoed again across the field, but the girl did not reply. She stood looking down. Presently she said, "Your mother's plantin' potatoes. Here, go an' help her. I think I'll go home." He took the proffered bucket and hoe. "All right," he replied, "but mother '11 think I drove ye away. Come along with me to her first." "All right," she said, and they stepped out into the open field together. The mother was at work in a piece of plowed land some distance away. As she looked up and saw the two coming towards her, she straightened from her work, and gazed fixedly at them. "Jean," said he, "do you know if mother has any buttermilk at the house?" "No; I gave the last to the pig this morninV "You have'nt any at your house, I suppose?" "Don't know; mother was to churn this afternoon." "Say, I'm comin' over this evenin' to get some." There was no reply to this. The mother stood still looking at them as they approached. "Jean," he asked, and stopped for a reply, "you don't care, do ye?" "Law, no;" she replied, "the folks'll be real glad to see ye." They walked on. In the eastern sky stood a beautiful rainbow. One end reached behind the hills; the other end seemed to rest on the little house which was his home, and bathed it in beautiful colors. A robin, thinking that the rain was over, warbled in a bush nearby. The air was sweet and fresh and full of life, at least it seem3l so to Roni Jones. Jean was looking at the rainbow. "Isn't it fine!" she remarked. "I read a story the other day where it said that at the end of every rainbow there could be found a Dot o' gold, a treasure, or somethin' like that. An' then THE END OF THE RAINBOW. 703 it said that one end of a rainbow is always restin' on your own doorstep. What does that mean?" Roni looked at her, and then slow ly it came to him v, hat that meant. * 'I'll tell ye tonight, when I come over after that buttermilk," he said. Hope. (For the Improvement Era.) There is a heart that never fails To send a silent prayer above, In memory of bygone days — ■ Those days of childlike, trusting love, Whose star of hope, oft hid in gloom, Or dimly seen through falling tears, Still shines, the darkness to illume, O'ershadowing life's declining years. We see in part, and know in part, For blest perfection is not yet, We often grieve with aching heart, And hollow eyes with "lashes wet,'' Because we fail to understand The Providence that bears control. Soon is the glorious dawn at hand, That brings the triumph of the soul. As we are seen, there shall we see, And know as we are known, — For every mystery holds a key,— And reap as we have sown. We then will own, with grateful hearts, That Father's way was kind and just, Wondering that in mortal life We could not to his wisdom trust. The scales of darkness from our eyes Will fall, and we shall plainly see How many times the friends we blamed Were only weak and frail as we. Oh, then let love and mercy rule Life's darkest, stormy day, "We shall know each other better When the clouds have rolled away." Mary A. Farnsworth. Colonia Garcia, Mextco. Photo by Shipler. A BUSINESS CORNER, SALT LAKE CITY. U. S. Post Office and the Newhouse Buildings.