Our Good Angel

Our Good Angel BY IDA STEWART PEAY He was our neighbor in that college city far from home, and I shall not forget the day I saw him coming slowly up the walk, nor how I met him at the door with a glad smile. It seemed like I knew at once that he came to lighten the burden of those dull days. His hair was snowy white, and the long years of pioneer hardship and suffering had traced their passing in deep lines upon his strong and kindly face. Hastily I reached an easy chair, sinking heavily into it, his keen eye took in thoughtfully every detail of my poor little room, while he won the friendship of my child, and perched her upon my knee : then he observed me closely, and I felt that he was divining much, not in curiosity, but with a kindness of heart that harbors helpful intentions. So it proved, for during our short talk he discovered our greatest need, and that is how we came to ride with him frequently on his errands about town to postoffice and store. How my little girl and I did revel in that cold, fresh air — ill health had kept us from walking out — as we jogged along under the grey sky making fanciful stories about the sheltering, snowveiled peaks whose nearness lent such charm to this young country. But most of all we enjoyed hearing him talk to us in his low, slightly drawling voice. He knew all about this busy little city and valley, his own life was a part of its history. With what effort, energy, bravery and determination he had helped in the development of these once barren and silent "benches." And with what pride he now pointed to the life and industry about us, giving me facts and information concerning everything we could see, also many personal experiences connected therewith, all of which was interesting and instructive to me who loved him for his life's labor. He was one of those fearless, intrepid, untiring and purposeful pioneers who found the West and subdued its stubborn soil and savage wilderness for me and mine. When his hard work was done he had modestly, humbly retired from view seeking no praise

812 IMPROVEMENT ERA nor pension — though he had fought valiantly to win this great area for his country — only essaying, in life's afternoon,the difficult role of being an understanding, sympathetic, peaceful and helpful brother to all humanity. He told us about his troubles and pleasures, making nothing of the former, thanking God for them, in that they had helped him to know and love his fellow-men. And his pleasures — pure, simple hero — the quiet relating of them made his eyes shine with the reflection of the joy he had known in meeting a hard life bravely, cheerfully, performing his full duty, and doing a few "turns," as he lightly put it, for his loved, earthly brothers. Thus, as he unconsciously unfolded his simple and beautiful character — he never once suspected its grandeur; and, as we partook of his "Good Samaritan" kindness, my first impression of him deepened into a conviction of his excellent worthiness. One night when he came to see us, my husband tried to thank him for his many thoughtful services, but the dear, good angel (baby and I called him "our good angel,") stopped him. "It's nothing," he interrupted with a deprecatory gesture, "I am glad to be of some use, it isn't much that an old fellow like me can do anyway." Nevertheless, he seemed pleased that we insisted upon appreciating him. In leaving, he moved so wearily we enquired if he were ill. "I am quite well, quite well," he assured us, "but ninety years young today. "You see," he continued smiling, "the spirit has worn out the body which flies slowly from the life within like the shell of the buried grain drops from the sprouting germ. Yes, yes, my soul will soon burst forth into a greater light, like the new wheat peeps gladly from the dark bosom of Mother Earth." He left us with a happy smile, and we saw him no more, for he was borne to his "reward" that night. But 'his wonderful, undoubting faith has ever since been a light to me. There were no bells rung for him, no write-ups of his long, useful life ; but up there where deeds are measured by the rule of merit, I know he will be welcomed as one of earth's noblemen, and I hope there, sometime, to meet him again and repay his gentle services, in those old grey days of "Our Good Angel." There are many characters among us like this Christ-like man ; in fact, he belongs to a class rapidly passing, perhaps by us