The Miser

The Miser BY ELSIE C. CARROLL

The "Miser's" real name was John Henry Welker, and he had once been a highly-respected and influential citizen in southern Utah. But that was before Bates Thompson, his partner in the sheep business, had absconded with the fortune the two men had spent their young manhood in accumulating. Some rare natures use adversities as stepping stones to higher development of char- acter, but more common ones are often crushed beneath them. John Henry Welker, unfortunately, belonged to the latter type. There is an old proverb that misfortunes come seldom alone. This was also verified in the Miser's case. He might in time have been able to overcome the distrust and hate caused by his friend's per- fidy, had that been all. But a short time after this, his only daugh- ter eloped with Thompson's nephew, and the sins of the fathers were certainly the deserts of the children in the Miser's mind so;

this degradation completely crushed him. His own youth had been so completely obliterated in his struggle for the almighty dollar that he could not understand that the bond which had grown between his child and his neighbor's, through the years of child- hood and youth, was too strong to be broken by the will of a third party. This was the beginning of. John Henry's life as a Miser. He had lost none of his ability to accumulate, but his confidence in his fellow-men was dead, and as the years went by he drew more and more within himself and away from his associates. When his daughter was left a widow he refused to give her assistance. But a year later she died, and her little son was sent tohim. He received the child sullenly, and the hopes of his old friends that the little one's influence would bring him back to his old life were never realized. The Miser was going over the years that had followed the child's arrival now, as he sat on the crude bench outside of the dilapidated ranch house. It was Sunday morning, and the world was filled with the glory of late springtime. Everywhere were signs of Nature's bounty. The sun was pouring its mellow warmth over the shriveled old man as he leaned against the weather- beaten logs; but its radiance failed to bring an answering glow to the hardened, brown face. A meadow-lark perched on a little mound of grass in the flower-sprinkled meadow a few rods away, was almost bursting its throat in an ecstasy of song, but the

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Miser's ears were deaf to the melody. He saw only the blighted years that stretched behind him, and the desolate, empty years before. A one-seated buggy came around a point in the road. The Miser involuntarily looked in its direction, but when he recog- nized the occupants his face grew even more hard and melancholy than before, and he left the bench and tottered into the cabin, muttering, "Curse him ! Curse him !And I meant it all should be his. But he couldn't wait. He had to get high-falutin' ideas about school and wouldn't stay. And now it's that girl. I had hoped he might come back after he'd had a little taste of strugglin' for his self, but he won't now. But what do I care? I was wise not to learn to love him. I knew it would be the same story of ingrat- itude, and I was right. Curse him." The young man in the buggy was the Miser's grandson who had left him a few months ago, after many vain attempts to gain the old man's consent to go away to college. He felt the need of his time and finally had told his grandfather that he would go without his consent or assistance, and he had gone, followed by the old man's maledictions. "I meant it all should be his," again the old man muttered as he hobbled along the rough floor. "But he shall not have a cent. Not a cent. No one shall have it it is mine. Bah how I hate ; !

him. How I hate the world ! It is false. Everyone is false. How I hate it all !" His claw-like hands opened and closed diabolically. "But it never changes, my money. It is always the same. I love it." The bitterness faded from his sunken eyes and his voice grew almost tender as he spoke these words, "Gold Gold !" he re- !

peated as he bent over the crude hearth in front of the open fire- place and laboriously lifted part of the stone and took from their hiding place two large bags. He held them in his arms for a moment as a mother would hold a child from whom she had been unwillingly separated for a time. "Mine, mine," he mur- mured, and patted the bags. Then he carried them to the other side of the room and stood beside the high bunk. He opened the bags and poured the shining contents out. "Mine, mine," he re- peated again, gloatingly, as he lifted up handfuls of the yellow coin and let them slip through his crooked fingers. As he sat thus with his treasure the sound of a church bell came faintly from a distance. "Sunday," he muttered. "God's day! God!" His thin lip curled in a "sneering laugh. "There's no God, nor friends, nor good in life. I've tried them all. They're all false. Only you are sure," and he turned again to his treasure. His fingers caressed the sparkling heap before him. "God! You are my god, and no one shall take you from me." In the meantime, the young man and girl in the one-seated

334 IMPROVEMENT ERA beyond the buggy rode on down the road to the thrifty fields Miser's cabin. river- "See, Mary, it begins here and goes clear over to the bed." The young man drew his horse in beside a new wire fence surrounding a field proudly waving its first crop of alfalfa and wheat. "If it does as well as it looks like it will, I can finish pay- ing for it this fall, and then I—we— can talk about college." The girl's face flushed and she hastened to say, "You have done won- derfully well, George. I can hardly believe it. You will be a rich

man some day." "Not if the Miser has his way," the young man answered, and a gloomy expression came over his face. His companion quickly changed the subject again. "Never mind, let's not think of that, George. There are so many pleasant things to think about today, and there is the bell for Church already. We shall have to hurry back," and they turned into the road and drove toward the village. Everywhere the world was full of summer loveliness. As the young couple neared the village their eyes rested on thrifty farms, stretching away on each side of the peaceful Sevier, to the foothills. Comfortable homes nestled among green trees and blooming shrubbery. It was a picture of successful toil and prosperity. Little did they dream that within a few hours that beautiful valley would be devastated by a ruthless flood. That fields would be swept barren, and that this carefully tilled land would be covered with brush and boulders. That beautiful homes would be made unsightly and uninhabitable. That trees would be uprooted, bridges washed — away, telephone poles shattered in a word, that the years and years of man's labor would be swept away in a few hours by a fettered element which would burst the bands of man's control. The people living along the Sevier River will long remember the 25th of May. 1914. The morning had been spent in a May dav festival at Circleville. The afternoon passed in athletic sports. The day was to be completed by a grand ball in the evening. The inhabitants from neighboring ranches had come to Circleville for the occasion. Crowds still stood on the public square, although the sports were over. Everyone was in a holiday mood. It was almost time for the young people to go home to prepare for the dance. Some one espied a foaming horse dashing up the river road. All eyes were turned in the direction of the rider. A pre sage of fear clutched every heart. The courier drew rein as he neared the crowd and called out: "The Hatch Town dam is broken ! Run to the hills !" For a moment the people stood and stared in white-faced alarm. Then someone cried out, "Go on with the dance. That flood will never touch us. We're half a mile out of its course, at least. Besides, it's thirty miles away. It won't be here until some time tomorrow. On with the dance.

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Let joy be unconfined." Others took up his cry, and faces began to lose their expression of fright. Some of the older people ar- gued that precautions should be taken, and went to prepare in case an exit from the town should be necessary. But soon the spirit of the day had been restored, and preparations went on for the dance. There was one who heard the courier's call, who felt the full significance of his words and watched in horror the calm indiffer- ence to his warning. But it was only "Daft Meg," so no one paid any attention to her entreaties. At last the poor soul went home disheartened, and lived over again the tragedy of seeing her husband go down in the muddy torrent of a flood caused by the break of a dam. "And we felt safe," she moaned. "That was it. We felt safe." She called up to her tortured brain the little valley home fifty miles from the head of the flood, and how they had scoffed at danger until the seething, cruel, boiling mass was sud- denly upon them. She lived again the torture of seeing her hus- band, in his desperate attempt to save her and their baby, give him- self up to the roaring torrent. "And that is why I am 'Daft Meg' and they will not listen to me," she cried in a frenzy of despair, as the picture tortured her memory. Then she sprang up and rushed out. "They must listen ! They must !" she cried, and hurried to- ward the dancing pavilion. When "Daft Meg" entered the hall, her wild eyes and livid face commanded attention. Everyone knew the sad story of her misfortune, and regarded her with pitying tolerance. "Get to the hills !" she cried, in a shrill, excited voice. "Don't be fools like we were. The flood was fifty miles away that night, — — but it rushed upon us and stole him. Get to the hills the hills Or are you a pack of fools ?" Her weird laugh sounded through the hall, as she rushed into the night, leaving the people staring into each other's faces. Somehow this time her words had made them realize their danger. There was a mad rush toward the door. Soon the whole village was aroused, and began to make their way up the mountain side. There they stopped and waited. An hour before dawn they could hear the roar of the oncom- ing flood as it pounded its way through the narrow gorge of Cir- cleville Canyon which opened into the village from the south. It

was quite light when the great, boiling, seething, sixteen-foot wall of water could first be seen tumbling through the mouth of the canyon. The people stood in awe-stricken groups and saw it sweep on towards their homes, helpless to stem its tide. It was like an avaricious giant clutching treasures on every hand. After the first fearful fascination had passed, eyes began to rove up and down the valley to make sure that all human lives, at!" least, were safe. Then it was that someone cried out, "The Miser and a look of horror came into every face.

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George Thompson went cold. In his solicitude for Mary and her widowed mother he had not once thought of his grandfather. He was standing beside Mary when the cry went up. She clutched his arm and looked with mute sympathy into his face. Friends gathered instinctively about the young man. He pressed Mary's hand silently, then started down the mountain-side. Someone seized his arm. "Where are you going?" was the question on every lip. 'To save my grandfather !" was the calm reply. "Don't be a fool, boy. Can't you see that it is too late?" Still George, filled with remorse at his neglect, stumbled on- ward. "Come back, George," someone else implored. "What do you owe the Miser, anyhow? Surely not your own life, and that is what you are sacrificing without the least hope of saving him, either. Think of Mary and your friends and be sensible." The young man hesitated a moment at these words, and looked into the white face of the girl he loved, but what he saw in Mary's brown eyes rather urged him on than detained him. He knew that at the rate the water was going the flood would almost beat him to the Miser's cabin. His horse was tied to a tree a little way down the hillside, and he hurried to her. When the boy's friends saw that he was de- termined to make the risk, several of them followed him, but he was heedless to their calls for him to wait, and once upon his horse, went galloping over brush and boulders, down toward the flood. The Miser was awakened by an unusual sound. He lay for a moment listening. It was a peculiar, dull roar, growing louder and louder. The old man got painfully from his bed and looked from the window. The sight that met his eyes froze the blood in his veins. It was a murky, clutching mass of water rushing upon him. Time and again the Miser had told himself that there was no God, but now he groaned in agony, "O God, deliver me deliver!

me!" And still the flood rushed on. He knew that before he could cross half the distance to the nearest hill the water would be upon him. He suddenly remembered that he had heard of — — houses floating on the crests of floods perhaps he found that he could move, after all. He stooped over the hearthstone. Even in that hour of danger the Miser's first thought was of his treas- ure. A mother would as likely think of abandoning her child as the Miser his gold. He flung the strap attached to the bags over his shoulder and put on a heavy overcoat that was hanging near, then he went out and laboriously climbed to the top of the cabin. As the Miser sat and watched that ominious death creeping certainly upon him, his thoughts turned curiously back over his

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past life, and terrifying dread of the hereafter that was so near almost overpowered him. The flood struck the cabin. It tottered and quivered for a second then began to rock. One glance at the seething waves about him, and the Miser covered his face with his trembling hands. "O God, forgive and save me ! O God, forgive and save me !" he repeated over and over in the anguish of despair. These were the words that reached George's ears as he neared the cabin, and something clutched at the boy's heart as he looked at the old man's distorted face, and made him redouble his efforts. He shouted to his grandfather, but the old man was too absorbed in his plight to hear.George knew that Queen was an excellent swimmer, and he had brought a long rope. He saw that his only hope of success was to swim in behind the flood and throw the rope to the old man. He was yet in comparatively shallow water, not yet having entered the direct current of the flood. He waited a moment to see which direction the cabin would take. It sud- denly swerved to the right and away from him. With a shriek the old man clutched the ridgepole of the roof and buried his face in his arms.. George leaned over his horse. "Dear old Queenie, you have never failed me yet. Don't, oh, don't fail me now !" And the faithful beast plunged into the flood. George's friends had followed him around the point of the mountain, and were watching him with breathless interest from the edge of the flood. As he plunged into the foaming water there was a deathlike hush among the watchers. Mary covered her face for a moment, then with another silent prayer looked again at the brave young savior. Inch by inch the horse and rider neared the drifting shack. Now a mass of debris would entangle them, and again a tum- bling boulder would swerve them from their course. At last, after what seemed an age to the watchers on the mountain-side, the cabin was reached. They saw George throw the rope. They — saw the Miser clutch for it and miss it. It was flung again, and this time the old man caught it and tried to totter to the edge of the roof. He stumbled and fell, dragging George from his horse. They both went down, down out of sight in the boiling water. The men on the mountain looked at each other with white, questioning faces the women clung to each other, weeping. After a moment ;

the flood threw its victims to the surface, and the watchers saw the struggle begin again. Queen had become frightened, and with dilated nostrils was swimming to the opposite edge of the water. The Miser seemed to be unconscious. The spectators saw George bind the old man to his back and begin to swim toward them. Ashout of encouragement went up from the hillside, and a dozen men ran to the rescue. They dragged the two unconscious men to safety. For an

338 IMPROVEMENT ERA hour they rubbed the stiffened limbs of the Miser before he showed signs of life. George had recovered and was bending over the old man when he first opened his eyes. The sun was just coming up over the eastern hills, revealing all the devastation of the flood. The people stood in disconsolate groups, gazing at the waste before them. The Miser tottered to his feet. He looked first at the barren valley, then at the people, and last at his grandson. A new light beamed in his wrinkled face. Slowly he took up the bags which had been carelessly flung to the ground with his coat. "Here, son," he said, touching George on the shoulder, "take this and — give it where it is needed most, and then if if you are ready, per- haps we had better try to get to the sheep ranch to see if things are safe there." George looked into the old man's face, and as he read the meaning there, he caught the Miser's trembling hand and pressed it tight in both his own, and whispered, "Grandfather !" PROVO. UTAH

Missionaries of the Minnesota conference, held November 8, 1914: Back row, left to right: Marvin G. Bennion, Taylorsville; W. J. Hen- derson, Cannonville; Chas. S. Miller, Farmington; L. R. Nelson, Provo; E. H. Erickson, Ogden, Utah. Second row: Zelda Kirkham

r h hi Ca ; V f Presi ^ncy of Alpine stake', Lei* U? O Olson, n7" O. TL. niin f TT{.° '

Utah, ah Oxford, T Idaho; Joseph I. Cook, Vernal, Utah.