Compensation

Compensation By Silas L. Cheney, Principal Cyprus Seminary '"Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up Whose golden rounds are our calamities." David Hoffman sat in his car, nervously waiting for his brother to finish "dolling up" and join him. It was no fault of his that Dick was to ac- company him for a day at the fair, since cer- tainly he would have much preferred being alone with Flavia. But, owing to his mother's anxiety that there should be no trouble between them, he had reluctantly consented to the arrangement, al- though experience had taught him to be wary of associating with his clever, vivacious, "cock- sure" brother who, un- fortunately, was more than willing to take ad- vantage of him in any situation in order to ob- tain his own selfish desires. Had Dick been less inconsiderate of the rights and feelings of others, he would never have imposed him- self upon his brother in the present in- stance, since he knew very well that Flavia Thompson would be along. That, how- ever, was the principal reason for his doing so. David had been compelled to play "second fiddle" for so long that Dick had come to resent his having anything which he himself could not enjoy. The fact that Flavia was David's betrothed simply gave him added reason for wanting to take a hand. This he fully intended doing and so, as a preliminary step, he was taking unusual pains with his toilet. David was boiling with surpressed indig- The Author nation at the delay when, finally, his dapper brother came out and stepped into the car. Without the exchange of a single word, they drove out of the " ■ . yard and rapidly down the dusty road. Mrs. Hoffman watched them from the window with a feeling of dismay. Once again she had been guilty of persuading David to submit to his broth- er's selfish whims in order to prevent a scene. It was not right, she knew; still, as she went about her work throughout the long, sultry afternoon, dis- turbed by regrets and shadowy forebodings, there was one thing which, in a measure, comforted her: today, at least, David would not be alone with Fla- via. She considered Flavia a mere empty- headed clothes-rack who, in some inex- plicable manner, was proving attractive to her youngest son. Even though they were engaged, she still prayed for some- thing that would bring him to his senses, but the more they were together the less hope there was for this. Late in the afternoon, as she sat on the porch, gazing anxiously toward town, half expecting something, she knew not what, David's car suddenly hove in sight, driven at break-neck speed. It came roaring down the road, swaying dangerously, whirled in at the gate on two wheels and came to a grinding stop. Mrs. Hoffman hastened

600 IMPROVEMENT ERA out into the yard as fast as her trembling legs could carry her, and almost fainted at sight of David, who stumbled past with- out a word. He was hatless, his hair disheveled, his eyes blood-shot and staring wildly — almost insanely. "Oh, my boy, what has happened!*" she moaned, following him into the house. "They — they were married!" he ex- claimed hoarsely. "Who — who were married, David?" "Dick and Flavia." "Oh, you must be joking. They couldn't have been married." "Well, they were! You'll see! They'll be here soon!" He stamped about the room tearing at his hair. "I could almost kill him!" he stormed. "Oh, please don't talk like that. I'm sure there's some mistake. Please sit down and tell me about it." "I tell you there is no mistake. I saw it with my own eyes — and, mother, she didn't even remove our engagement ring." "But, David, how did it all happen?" For a time he did not answer, but sat in a heap, racked with deep despair. Fi- nally, looking up at her tear-stained face, he made an effort to gain control of him- self in order to explain. "You see there was some idiot parad- ing as a Hindu, and it was announced that he had been given authority to perform civil marriages somewhat according to the customs of his own country, and that a purse of fifty dollars would be given to any couple who would consent to a public mar- riage by him. First thing I knew Dick and Flavia were standing on the platform ac- cepting the proposition. They seem to have had a little difficulty in securing a license, but it was all arranged somehow and they were married while the idiotic crowd applauded." "My poor, poor boy!" she cried, sinking down by his side and caressing him with trembling hands. "Mother, what shall I do? They will be coming here to live for a while and I just can't be around them." "I know — I know. We'll have to think of something, but what shall it be? You would better go to your room now and after a while, when we are able to reason, I'll come to you and we'll decide what's best to do. If we only trust in God, everything will come out all right." "Mother, please don't talk to me of God any more. What has he ever done for me? He has permitted Dick to take everything I ever had or wanted." The strain on Mrs. Hoffman had been severe, and such a statement coming from him proved too much. She swayed, moan- ing for an instant, then collapsed in a dead faint. David stared at her in bewil- derment, then gradually a realization of what had taken place filtered through his numbed and clouded faculties. With a cry, he rushed to her, dashing cold water in her face, chafing her hands, trying to do a number of things at once in his excitement. By degrees, she recovered, her eyelids flickered, then opened, and she lay quietly, looking up at him. "Mother, forgive me," he pleaded; "I'll never say anything like that again." "Then, you didn't mean it, David?" she asked, fear again creeping into her eyes. "No, mother," he replied, "you know I didn't." "Oh, I'm so thankful. I could stand almost anything but that. If you will help me to a chiar, I shall be all right, and I think you'd better go to your room, I believe they arc coming." He did as directed, but, before leaving, bent and kissed her fervently. "Mother, dearest," he whispered, "what should I ever do without you?" A short time later his mother came into his room carrying a tray of attractively prepared food. "You must be nearly starved," she said. "While you're eat- ing, I'll tell you of a plan I've worked out." David had no desire to eat, but, to please her, he made a pretense of doing so, as he listened to what she had to say. The idea was that he should prepare him- self for a mission. Bishop Reese had in- timated a number of times that he had his eye on him and, if he knew that David

COMPENSATION 601 was ready and willing to go, he would be only too glad to have him called at once. In the meantime, he could do any- thing he liked. At first he was dubious about it. He did not want to leave his mother with no one particularly to take care of her for so long a time. Dick would be at home, of course, but both were well aware that he was not dependable. "But, son, it is coming to you after all you have done for me, especially since your father died. And it will develop you so much. Besides, just think of how much good you will be able to do." He consented, since, under the circum- stances, there seemed nothing else to do: certainly nothing he would rather do. In the mission field, among other things, he absorbed polish like the diamond in the rough that he was. At first it was diffi- cult for him to keep from brooding over his troubles sufficiently to catch the spirit of missionary work, but once it came it ab- sorbed him utterly. No task was too great, no time too long, if it afforded him an opportunity of instructing some- one in the principles of right living con- tained in the gospel. He came to under- stand, to some extent, what God really meant when he said: "This is my work and my glory to bring to pass the exalta- tion and eternal life of man." The amount of work he did was phenomenal, and, due to this, together with his general ability and winning personality, he met with gratifying isuccess. He was con- sidered one of the most valuable elders in the field. His mother wrote him frequently, and always cheerfully and encouragingly. If she had bad news to tell, she mentioned it briefly, then passed on to pleasant things. Thus he learned that Dick and Flavia had separated, but heard little of either after that. Two years flew by rapidly, then, one day, instead of receiving a letter from his mother, there came one from a neighbor girl, Golda White. It said his mother was not feeling very well, but, as nothing ser- ious was the matter, he must not worry. When, a week later, another letter of a like nature arrived, he could not help feeling greatly troubled. He was just consider- ing the advisability of going to headquar- ters for a talk with the mission president, when he received a telegram from him tell- ing him to come at once. He walked into the office pale and trembling, his fears augmented greatly by the sympathetic reception accorded him. "Is — is anything wrong at home?" he asked falteringly. "I am very sorry. Elder Hoffman, but there is," was the reply, "though you may be sure a kind Providence will over- rule things for your best good. Here is a letter I just received from your bishop. It will explain better than I can, I think." David took the letter and read with blurring eyes: President , Dear Brother: I regret finding it very advisable to request the release of Elder David Hoffman, owing to the existence of serious conditions at his home. A short time ago his brother, in some way. persuaded his mother to sell half the farm, and then absconded with the money, leaving her suffering with a nervous collapse and things generally in a very deplorable state. His mother has been growing steadily worse until, at pres- ent, her condition is extremely critical. May the spirit of inspiration assist you in reaching a proper decision in this matter. Your Brother, Bishop W. B. Reese. The letter fluttered from David's hands to the floor, as he stood staring into space. "Why? Oh, why?" he wondered. But he no longer felt rebellious, rather from the depths of his soul he prayed: "Lead, kindfy light, amid encircling gloom. Lead thou me on." If only his mother's life could be spared — . "And so we have given you an honor- able release," the president was saying. "Your transportation has already been ar- ranged. You will find it all here," and he passed him a long envelope. "There is a train leaving for the West at nine o'clock tonight. I think you will be able to make it. And, now, good-bye. Elder Hoffman. You have done a splendid work and we certainly regret losing you, especially un-

602 IMPROVEMENT ERA dcr such circumstances. May God bless you and your mother," he said, wringing David's hand warmly. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Good-bye." Then, to hide his grief, David turned and hastily left the room. When he arrived home, he was met at the train by Golda White, whom, at first, he hardly recognized; she had changed so much since he last saw her. "How isi mother?" he asked anxiously. She looked at him sympathetically as she answered, "She is very bad. The doc- tor has little hopes of her recovery. I have been staying at your place doing all I could for her, but I fear it hasn't been much." "That is certainly fine of you, Golda," he said. "We shall not soon forget your kindness." With all the preparation he had received, David was shocked at the emaciated condi- tion of his mother. He knelt by her bed- side, kissing her fervently. "Mother dear- est, I am back," he whispered. Slowiy she opened her eyes and looked at him, then a great joy overspread her face asi she sobbed, "David — David, my boy! What a man you are!" Her weak arms reached out and drew his head down upon her breast. They remained thus for a time; she with joy at having him at her side, he with fear and sorrow lest she should be taken from him. "David," she whispered after a while, "I wish you would administer to me." What a privilege to be able to call down the blessings of heaven upon his own mother. Humbly he complied, and in the sealing ordinance the Spirit of the Lord filled his soul and, under its power and direction, he promised her long life and happiness and joy in her posterity. She lay quietly, tears trickling from under her closed eyelids and running down her care- worn face. "David, that was wonderful," she breathed. "Now I know I shall get well." She commenced immediately to recover, though months passed before she could do much about the house. In the meantime, Golda White remained, doing the work and keeping up a general air of cheerfulness. She was one of those "rare gems of purest ray serene," capable of making others happy and contented without always having them conscious of her. For days at a time, David was hardly aware that she was around. At first he took little notice of her, but, eventually, it dawned upon him how unusually efficient she was in assum- ing the responsibilities of his mother. It was then he began taking a brotherly in- terest in her. Certainly she was just the kind he would like to have had as a sister. All that summer David worked like a Trojan. He had found things in such a condition about the farm that it kept him busy from daylight until dark trying to bring order out of chaos. Then, too, he was given considerable religious responsi- bility. Everyone seemed to recognize him as one of the most capable and dependable men in the ward. His earnest application produced desired results, causing an atmos- phere of hope and cheerfulness to brighten their future, and, stimulated by this, David and his mother began planning to buy back that part of the farm which had been sold. One Sunday in late autumn, David re- turned from meeting looking rather seri- ous. "Mother," he said, "we are about to lose our best friend. Bishop Reese is moving to Idaho soon." "That's certainly too bad," she replied. "He has indeed been a loyal friend and a fine bishop. It will be hard to replace him." David thought so, too, but felt sure someone would be found who could do so, since the Church was not dependent upon the ability of any one man. A week later, the president of the stake called to see him. "Brother Hoffman," he said, "we are looking for a new bishop, one who is big enough to fill the vacancy when Bishop Reese moves away. After prayerful consideration, we have decided that you are the very man we want. What have you to say about it?" A lump arose in David's throat, making it difficult for him to answer. "This is such a surprise," he faltered. "It seems

COMPENSATION 603 to me I am rather young and incompetent for such a responsibility, but certainly I am willing to do my best." "That's the spirit, Brother Hoffman. I'm sure there's no mistake in your selection. There is, however, one qualification you lack but it can be easily remedied. No doubt, you know to what I refer?" "I suppose it is that I am not married," replied David. "Exactly. Suppose we give you six months in which to get married?" David smiled. "I haven't the slightest idea who the unfortunate one might be," he said, "but, if it is the Lord's will, he will surely prepare a way. Yes, I will be married in six months." That evening when he told his mother about the interview she wept for joy. "To think you are scarcely more than a boy, David, and yet they find you worthy of such a responsibility — one of the most im- portant in the Church. How happy I am to have lived to see this day." David was happy also; still, he felt wor ried because of the promise he had made to the stake president. He was so disturbed about it he could not sleep. More than ever before in his life, he prayed for light and knowledge; "Lead, kindly light. * * Lead thou me on." He piled wood on the fire and sat down before it to reason things out. He must find someone soon and yet it wasi a matter demanding the great- est care and deliberation. In choosing a wife, one chooses a companion, the moth- er of his children, for time and all eternity. To make an error, therefore, would be al- most irreparable. He had been saved from such a mistake once. The Lord might not be so kind a second time. Far into the night he sat, the glow from the fireplace lighting up his handsome features and giving him a certain sense of security, which, eventually, lulled him into a sleep disturbed and broken by visions of a number of girls of his acquaintance. None of them, however, made much of an impression upon him, until there came one much more distinct and vivid than any of the others. She was a white-robed figure who stood smiling down at him, illuminated by the soft glow of the fire- light. "How beautiful — how lovely!" Cer- tainly this was the one he was meant to marry, but where was he to find her. Sud- denly he became aware that it was not a dream but a reality. He stood up, rubbing his eyes. "You were staying up so late I wondered if something were wrong, so I decided I might better come and see," she said. "Golda!" he exclaimed. "I thought I was seeing a vision, you are so — so beauti- ful. Funny I've never noticed it before." He stepped up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, and gazed intently into her face. Her eyes were now swimming in tears and looking at him with an ex- pression he could not fail to understand. "Golda, is it possible that — that you love me?" "I — I think I almost worship you, Da- vid," she breathed. He pressed her in his arms and kissed her reverently. "How stupid I've been. Why, Golda, I must have loved you all the time and didn't realize it. Let's go and share our happiness with mother. I think she is awake." "How wonderful! I can hardly be- lieve it," she murmured. "Nor I," he replied in an awed voice. "Surely 'God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform.' " We Only Hope Let any man examine his thoughts, and he will find them ever occupied with the past or the future. We scarcely think at all of the present; or if we do, it is only to borrow the light which it gives for regulating the future. The present is never our object; the past and the present we use as means; the future only is our end. Thus, we never live, we only hope to live. — Pascal.