A LOST SHEEP
Grandfather Milhausen, having heard the echoes of the slamming door die
away and the gate close with a loud click after angry Matthew, began to
pray. The traditional language of petition was on his lips a powerful
vehicle; noble periods poured forth eloquently. He prayed as though
the safety of the universe depended upon his entreaties. He asked for
the blessing of God upon them all, and especially upon Matthew and
Ellen, and he asked specifically that Ellen be led to return with an
inclination to take up the great work which might be hers.
He did not observe that he failed to lift his companion's spirit with
his own, and that along the treasured and brittle pages of "The Mystic
Dove" a desecrating pencil made angry strokes. Matthew's account of
Ellen's situation appalled Amos; the evil influences of the world must
already have been at work upon her.
Through a sleepless night Grandfather's anxiety deepened. He reproached
himself because since Levis's death he had trusted too much to the
softening influence of grief upon Ellen's heart. He should have
importuned her, he should have laid her responsibility before her. The
deep regret for his marriage and his own consequent forfeiting of power
returned. God had given him another chance in his grandchildren--had
he also forfeited that? The consciousness of the immanence of God was
strong within him, but it was the immanence of a reproachful God. He
had slept when he should have watched and idled when he should have
toiled.
Toward morning he began to pray, and at last, when he had made a
promise to God, he fell asleep. He would go to find Ellen and would
bring her back.
The inertia of seventy-five was not overcome by a mere intention.
Emotion had exhausted him and in the morning he could not rise. As he
looked out day after day from his bed upon the towering walls of the
old buildings, he had blessed dreams which he did not deserve. He saw
again the white-robed processions, heard the matin songs, and sometimes
he lifted his hand and tolled an imaginary bell.
When at last he was able to go, he declined the offer of Amos's
company. Amos had waited upon him with devotion; he was his only anchor
to windward; upon him alone he could wholly depend; and therefore, as
is natural to human nature, he valued him a little the less.
He did not begin his journey in the trolley car as did younger, braver
spirits--steam was sufficiently dangerous as a motive power. Before
he reached the railroad station he was the object of interested
observation by the villagers, who did not often see him. It was one of
the clear, bright mornings of Ellen's early life at the Lanfairs', and
the invigorating winter air acted as a tonic to the old man. He looked
about him with pleasure. In his youth he had dreamed of adventure, of
journeying to the ocean which was not far away, but which he had never
seen, and of visiting the West toward which many Pennsylvania Germans
were then setting their faces.
But his light-heartedness did not long continue. The sky showed signs
of change; fleecy clouds gathered, and the brightness of the river was
soon dimmed. With the shadow there fell a cloud upon his spirit; he
could not long hold any mood of youth.
The miles of furnaces and mills astonished and troubled him, signifying
a great force which he felt was not of God, and when he arrived in
Harrisburg he was bewildered by the crowd. The continual motion
seemed to him to be in a circle, though in reality the only circular
motion was that about himself as he stood, though bent, yet towering,
prophet-like, gathering his faculties together for the plunge into the
street.
He walked up the steep hill, pausing often to rest and passing each
moment into a deeper bewilderment. There were moments when he could not
recall, try as he might, the object of his journey. Then he stood quite
still looking about him with dim, puzzled eyes.
At the end of an hour, when he had at last reached Hill Street, there
had settled upon the city a thick mist in which black particles were
suspended. He found Number 34 without difficulty and stood waiting
until the rapid beating of his heart should subside. Ellen's face and
figure were before him; he longed for their reality as a lover longs
for a sight of his mistress. She was young and strong and she was a
woman. Old as he was Grandfather missed that complementary association
of which he had long been deprived. But he would not have accepted this
analysis of his feelings; he was a shepherd and Ellen was his lost
sheep; it was in that spirit that he sought her.
Mrs. Lebber's house still hung over the hill, it still sheltered a sad
spirit, and it still exuded when its door was opened the same heavy
odor. Mrs. Lebber appearing, blinked at Grandfather as though she were
not sure whether he was real or whether he was a thickening of the mist
into a human shape. But the shape gave forth human speech.
"Is my granddaughter, Ellen Levis, here?" he asked in his thin old
voice.
Mrs. Lebber looked blankly upon the patriarchal figure. Nothing
would ever happen to her; she was as stationary as her house and as
gray as the mist, and the stories of other lives furnished her only
entertainment. She now scented mystery.
"You'd better come in, then we can talk," she invited.
Grandfather peered at her uncertainly.
"You are Manda Sassaman's sister?"
"Yes, her younger sister."
Thus assured, Grandfather walked into the small parlor and sat down
upon the first chair. He did not perceive the dreariness of the room;
he perceived only the pleasant odor of food.
"What time does my granddaughter come from her work?"
"She's not here, she's gone this long time," announced Mrs. Lebber.
"First Manda went to get married. She is trying it for the third time,
but I don't believe she will have luck. She--"
"Where is Ellen?"
"Well"--Mrs. Lebber folded her hands and began to rock slowly. "One
Sunday Ellen she said she would go for a walk, and she didn't come
and didn't come, and after dark she came driving in an automobile,
and I didn't know what to make of it. She was down along the river
where the rich ones live and she got in front of an automobile,
another automobile, that is. It's very dangerous down there. Then I
know a woman that lives down there and she got a place for Ellen."
Mrs. Lebber gave the impression that she had been the chief agency
in Ellen's finding a place and thus unintentionally counteracted the
mysterious insinuations of the first part of her speech. "It's on Front
Street, a very grand place."
A grand place was to Grandfather an unsafe place.
"I was married and my husband was killed through an open switch which
wasn't his fault and I never got enough for it. Then Manda, she came to
live with me, but it wasn't long till she must go away and get married.
I still say to her, 'Manda, why did you come if you were not going to
stay?' Then Ellen came and now she is gone. There is no peace but in
the grave." Mrs. Lebber wiped away her tears.
Grandfather did not dispute this opinion; he rose feebly, animated by
alarm. He must find Ellen quickly.
"You needn't go," said Mrs. Lebber as though he too might as well have
stayed away as go so soon. "I have sauerkraut for dinner." She quoted
sadly a proverb meant to be cheerful, "Sauerkraut und Speck treibt alle
Sorge weg."
A powerful temptation assailed Grandfather, but he resisted it bravely.
He must see his lamb.
He found that descending the hill was more difficult than ascending.
His knees seemed to have grown too weak to bear him up, and when he
reached the station he could go no farther. Snow had begun to fall,
and he had no umbrella. He must get home; he prayed God that he might
succeed in getting home. He saw the little cottage under the shelter of
the old buildings--oh, to be there, to lay his head upon his pillow!
Amos met him at the train, his face full of hungry desire. He knew that
it was mad to hope that Grandfather would succeed in persuading Ellen
to live at the Kloster, but perhaps she would bring him home. He had
had a day of unusual freedom, but he had read none of his books, making
of his abstinence a sort of petitionary offering. In the intervals of
his teaching he had put the cottage into thorough order. He saw, as he
worked, Ellen sitting under the lamplight, Ellen moving about. Perhaps
she would help to get the supper as she did in her childhood.
When Grandfather got feebly down from the train, Amos saw for the
first time that this was an old, old man. Ellen did not follow, and
he guessed as he took his uncle's arm that there was no good news.
Grandfather did not speak, and even when they had reached the cottage
he sat for a while silently as though waiting for his strength to
return.
"I couldn't find her," he said at last.
"Why not? Isn't she with Manda Sassaman's sister?"
"No. She's living with rich people on the main street. I couldn't
understand the woman exactly, but I have the name and the number of the
house. It's a very worldly place. I've heard how such people occupy
their time."
Amos looked at Grandfather curiously. Grandfather knew nothing of the
world!
"What do they do?" he asked.
"They play cards," said Grandfather in a frightened tone. "And read
idle books, and their days are spent in pleasure-seeking. They never
think of God. They drink spirituous liquors. There is no health of soul
with such."
Amos smiled a bitter smile. Grandfather did not know the worst of them!
What sort of pleasures did they seek?--ah, Amos knew! He longed to be
of them--he acknowledged it to himself shamelessly.
"What are you going to do next?" he asked.
"I'm going to send a messenger to Ellen. You are to be my messenger,
Amos. It will not be pleasant to you, but you will do your duty."
Then Grandfather retired to his bed.