--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Spring, Everett collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 22 number: 8 published: 1919-06 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Spring, Everett, "His Word of Honor," *Improvement Era* 22, no. 8 (June 1919): 687–690.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2208unse 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: improvementera2208unse start_page: 687 end_page: 690 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1919-06) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2208unse publication_year: 1919 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 1919, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # His Word of Honor HIS WORD OF HONOR 689 He would never see the little fellow again as he looked now with his round baby face and masses of yellow curls. When he saw his baby again he would be a baby no longer. He would be a boy capable of thinking; of understanding. A convulsive shudder passed over the man. It was no longer of any use, the attempt to crowd back the sickening thought which had been lurking in the background of his consciousness all day; sometime his baby would know what he had done. His head sank lower over the little pillow and great silent sobs shook his frame. Danny stirred gently as the father unconsciously pressed the small hands. "I's glad you'se corned, Daddy," he murmured and with a sigh of content the blue eyes closed again. Mary entered the room. At sight of the bowed figure she guessed the man's suffering. Quietly she came to his side and placed her hand upon his head. Presently he looked up at her, then back at the sweet face of the little sleeper. "Somday he'll know," he whispered brokenly. "O! I can't bear it." She tried to comfort him. "Yes, but he shall also understand," she assured him, "the difference between crime and weakness." She wished to take his mind from the gloomy picture which had taken possession of him, so she added, "Come out into the other room. I have a letter from cousin Tom I want you to read. He writes that there will be a splendid chance for you down there in Argentine when you are out." — She handed him the letter and they sat down before the open fire. Before the letter was half read she noted a sudden change in Dan's face. A quick light had flashed into his eyes, and his cheeks had paled and flushed and paled again. Then the thought stirring him flashed into her own mind. Why not go to Argentine, now? She trembled. Dan's breath was coming quick and short. The letter was trembling like an aspen leaf. Finally, he folded the sheets and put them back into the envelope, but he avoided her eyes. Her own emotions were in a tumult. She read the full storm of temptation which had assailed him and yet she was untable to tell whether she hoped he would resist or yield. She thought of the three hundred dollars she had saved from the farm. It would take them to this new world where they could begin all over again. She thought of her own days of toil and loneliness and of little Danny. Besides, had he not been punished a thousand times over for his mistake? "We had better go to bed," Dan's words broke the palpitating silence. His voice was dry and unfamiliar. The woman saw the mighty turmoil he was in. "O, Dan!" she cried passion- 690 IMPROVEMENT ERA ately as they both arose. He strained her to him fiercely, but spoke no word. Through the dark hours of the dragging night Dan Schapper lay sleepless, torn with a hitter conflict. "And he would never know," he concluded his mental summary of the tilings to be gained by taking this beckoning road to freedom. The horror of his little son's knowing his crime had taken possession of him and that argument seemed to out-weigh all others. But. at the same instant his mind was forced back to the prison ind he could see the kind faced warden standing before bin and his nineteen fortunate comrades just before they left: "Boys, I have been granted permission to try this experiment," he had explained to them, "on one condition. It is that if any nan of you fails to keep his trust, I shall not ask for the privilege again. You know the opposition our new honor system has received. You also know better than anyone else, what a miracle it has worked with the boys. You know it is the only system in the future. You have not only the fate of your comrades in your keeping, but you have the fate of this great reform we have just commenced. You know what it means to me. You know what it means to you all. My brothers, can I trust you?" and Dan Schapper could hear himself with his nineteen companions answering fervently, "You can!" A shiver ran over him. He had been led to see through the eyes of the new warden that a man's word of honor is the highest bond on earth. Could he break that bond? Could he disappoint his warden and bring unmerited suffering upon his fellow unfortunates? Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. The agony of the conflict was dreadful. Mary's eyes were also staring into the darkness. She guessed what Dan was suffering and she felt that one word from her would end the struggle, but she did not know which word to say. The November dawn was beginning to steal over the mountains and break the night with streaks of gray. Dan arose quietly and went into the other room. Mary could hear him pacing the floor. Presently the clock struck five. She also left the bed and went into the kitchen. In two hours the train which was to carry Dan back to bondage would be at the little station. Carefully she prepared breakfast and opened the door to the living room. Dan was standing before the fireplace Tom's letter in one hand and his return ticket to the city in the other "Breakfast is ready," she said simply. He followed her in- HIS WORD OF HONOR 691 to the kitchen. They sat down and tried to eat. Both faces were haggard. When the pretense was over they hoth went into the living room and stood looking out of the window. The gray streaks of the dawn had turned to crimson and gold. The clock on the mantle struck six. Dan started at the sound. Suddenly he put his arms about Mary and drew her to him. "Tell me what to do, sweetheart," he begged. The words came in a husk whisper. —— "I I can't," Mary answered with a dry sob. They stood so for several long moments. The man closed his eyes. The veins on his temples stood out like whip-cords. His lips were parched and his cheeks were gray. The clock struck the half hour. A shaft of sunlight shot through the window. Dan opened his eyes. The conflict was over. He bent and kissed Mary's lips. "We must wait for the future, dearest," he breathed softly, and his words had no bitterness. He reached for his hat and coat and went toward the bedroom. For a moment he gazed upon the innocent face of his little son. The cords of his throat tightened and a mist blinded him. "Some day you'll know," he whispered, "but you'll also know your father kept his word of honor." He knelt and kissed one chubby hand, "Heavens, it's hard!" he breathed, as he arose and went from the room. Mary was waiting at the door. He pressed her in his arms. As he opened the outside door, the sun flooded over him. He smiled back at her bravely as he hastened down the Malic. Mary sank into a chair and burst into tears. They were not tears for the lonely years before her, however, bur tears of joy for the strength of the man she loved. Provo, Utah Have Courage Choose well life's path; though it be steep, make sure, Be brave, and take the step that you can see: With heart undaunted, obstacles endure; A victor you will stand where you would be. Lydia D. Alder. Our Best Laid Plans By Horace G. Whitney when Long before the railroad was known in Utah, and and were among the rarest of luxuries, it books of poetry fiction of the young used to be noted as somewhat strange that many of poetical quotations at people seemed to have a ready store end, and that they could reel off excerpts from their tongues' that Shakespeare and the other standard authors with a glibness familiarity almost suggested literary schooling. Part of this habit with the poets, of course, came from the almost universal among the Pioneers of attending the theatre, and taking the young people with them, for then the classic drama was as frequent as it is now rare. But*the greater part came from the community indulgence in the now almost forgotten games of "authors" or "proverbs," the favorite diversion of family and neighborhood parties among the Pioneers, during the long winter nights. Everyone who could read took part, and the youngster just emerging from the second and third readers at school, was as likely to secure a "trick" by arranging his group or "family" of cards, bearing a set of quotations all by the same author, as his father, or his mother, or big brother or sister. It was largely a matter of memory, and a very good exercise it was. The experiences in our own family, I fancy, were typical of those throughout the community. It is one of the pleasantest of the recollections of childhood to call back those far away evenings around our family fireside and to picture the company encircling the big table ready to begin the game. Lamps had only just come into fashion, and one placed in the center of the table afforded the only light in the room. Two grandmothers sat knitting in the corners, we children hung over the shoulders of our mothers hungrily watching the progress of the game, if it so happened that all the places at the table were occupied, and eagerly responding when the absence of a guest made it possible for us to secure a hand. Our father used to deal the cards, pass- ing them around with some quizzical comment or a jest to the company assembled. With what triumphant glee did we young- sters demand from our reluctant elders the cards which We had just heard them obtain from others, having stored the names up *From an address delivered at the Eighteenth ward M. I. A., Salt Lake City, Utah.