--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - H. R. Merrill collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 17 number: 10 published: 1914-08 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'H. R. Merrill, "Love’s Message," *Improvement Era* 17, no. 10 (August 1914): 938–939.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera17010unse 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: improvementera17010unse start_page: 938 end_page: 939 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1914-08) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera17010unse publication_year: 1914 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 1914, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Love’s Message Love's Message BY H. R. MERRILL He seemed no more than a boy as he opened the neat littlegate that led up to the pleasant, .snow-covered cottage that nestled under the protecting branches of a large tree. He walked with the strange, halting step that is characteristic of the mendi- cant. He knocked on the newly-painted door in a half-hearted manner, as if he were afraid that his knock might be answered. The door opened, after a moment, and a rough-visaged, unshaved man appeared. "Mister, could I obtain breakfast from you?" the boy be- gan in a low tone, the tremble that he couldn't keep out of his voice, indicating his earnestness. "Certainly, certainly," the man replied, as he stood aside that the boy might pass. "I can't pay for it." the lad hastened to say, before he of- fered to advance. "I'm broke, but if you have something I can do, I'll be willing to work for it." The man paused as he looked searchingly into the wan, hag- gard young face. He leaned against the door, which the boy evidently thought he was about to close. "Please don't," he cried, "I'm hungry. I'll work." "Work nothin' ," the old man bellowed. "You come right in here." As he closed the door, he sent a blast through his nose into his handkerchief that fairly shook the door frame. "I reckon we're not too poor to feed a stranger, air we, Mary?" An old lady came forward as they entered the kitchen. She gave the lad a tender, though searching look a wounded, aching, ; mother heart was revealed in the tone of her voice as she re- plied : "My boy, you're welcome here. Sit right down there by that stove and dry them feet. Why them shoes is plumb wet through." The young tramp took a seat by the fire as the old lady hur- ried out of the room. In a moment she returned bearing a heavy pair of woolen socks, and a good, heavy pair of shoes. Her eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed, as she laid them upon a chair beside the derelict. "Now vou git them wet things right off an' put these on this minit ; you'll kitch cold." The lad hardly knew what to do. He attempted to speak, LOVE'S MESSAGE 939 but could not. The old lady and her kindly ways reminded him, someway, of another lady he knew, one not quite so old. — "Now, sonny, you jist put them things on," the old man said, as he held out the socks. "They're warm." "But they're new. I can't take them. I haven't any money." The boy was overwhelmed.- "Tut, tut, what's money Money couldn't by them socks ! from my wife. There's some things money won't buy, my boy. - Now you jist put 'em on. It'll hurt her if you don't." The old man picked a stick up from the floor and began to whittle it carefully as the boy removed his ragged and badly soaked shoes. "You see, we got a boy about your age somewhere," the old man said in a low voice. "We've been waitin' fer him for mor'n three years but he hain't come yet. I've about give up hope, but Mary ain't. She say's he'll surely come some day. Women air funny that way. She keeps some socks knit up ready, for she says he'll need 'em sure when he does return an' every ; time a feller like you comes along she gives him a pair, an' it helps a heap. She'll be quite happy, now, until she has another pair clone. Every time she hears a knock she thinks it's him sure,. an' she says to me, 'Run, William, run, it may be Willie !' It ain't never been him yet, but I jist can't help but wonder, myself, who it is knockin' as I open the door." He whittled in silence for a moment. "You see us old folks is a little lonesome here alone," he corir tinued after a moment. "I wish he'd come, and I reckon he would if he jist knew how things are." He dropped his stick and wiped his nose, deftly wiping his eyes at the same time. "Hain't you got them stockings on yit?" It was the voice of the old lady that broke in upon them. "Do hurry, your dinner's waiting." The lad looked up, and in his eyes were tears. "I can't put them on." His face was working and his voice was broken. "Nonsense, why?" "I * — I have a mother waiting, too." * * * * * ** * An hour later, the boy to the ticket office of a walked up near-by railway station, but in his eyes there was a new light in ; his voice there was a new ring, as he asked the agent for a ticket. "Where to?" the ticket man asked. "Home," the lad replied, unconsciously voicing the one thought in his mind, as he laid his gift, a glittering gold piece, upon the glass receiver. PRESTON, IDAHO ...