X.

"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept

the faith."--_II Tim. 4:7._

Rupert was now continually thinking of the great questions of life.

Never before had he been so stirred in his feelings; never before had he

contemplated life in the light which now came to him. His heart was full

of love, gratitude, and praise which swelled within him, and seemed to

take possession of his whole being.

The winter passed, and Rupert closed his school. He came to the

conclusion that school teaching was not his forte, though the people

were satisfied with his work. He longed to be out digging ditches. He

liked it far better, and conjectured that in this world his mission was

to make the physical deserts to blossom as the rose.

During the summer, Chamogo valley did undergo a change. One side of the

valley was brought under irrigation, and a number of farms were sold at

a good profit. Mr. Janson did right by Rupert, and together they worked

and prospered.

And that which now filled Rupert's cup of happiness was the fact that he

had rendered obedience to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and had received

the promised gifts and blessings following. The light that leadeth into

all truth was his. With Signe and her co-religionists, he could now see

eye to eye, all having the same glorious hope for the future.

One more winter passed; and when nature had spread her robe of green

over Chamogo valley, preparations were made for the ceremony that would

make Rupert and Signe husband and wife. Rupert longed to see Willowby

and Dry Bench once more, so it was decided that after they had visited

the Temple of God and had been sealed to each other for time and all

eternity, they would take a trip to Rupert's old home. They were married

in the Temple. Within its sacred walls they experienced more fully than

ever before what still sweetness there is in the ministrations of the

Spirit of God.

They reached Willowby late in September. He had written Nina when he

would be there, and she and her husband were at the station to meet

them.

There were tears in their eyes at the meeting.

"Nina, this is my wife," said Rupert. "Signe, my sister, Mrs. Furns."

A number of Rupert's old friends were there who now came forward and

welcomed him home.

Then they rode through the valley behind two spirited grays. Nina had

not changed much, but she declared that had she met her brother on the

street, she would not have known him.

"What has changed you so, brother?" asked she.

"Experience, Nina, experience with the world I have lived a long time in

the two and a half years that I have been away--but never mind that now.

Everything looks the same hereabouts. I seem to have been absent but a

few days. How strange it is! Signe, there you see Willowby, on that

rise; quite a town yet. How's Dry Bench, James?"

"Much the same, Rupe. No improvements since you left."

"And the reservoir?"

"As you left it, though it needs repairing badly."

In the few moments of silence that followed, Rupert contrasted his

condition now with what it was when he left the place. What a change! He

was wiser if not much older. And then he had a wife--and he looked

lovingly at her as he thought of all she had done for him. As they drove

into town, friends greeted him and seemed pleased at his return.

Married? Yes; that is his wife. Not so dashing as Miss Wilton, but far

more charming, was the general expression.

That evening there was quite a social gathering at Nina's.

Early next morning, before others of the household were astir, Rupert

and Signe went up to Dry Bench. A beautiful morning greeted them. They

walked up towards the hill that they might get a good view of the farm,

and when they turned, Dry Bench was before them. The trees had grown,

but otherwise it was the same scene that he had looked upon many and

many a time. The memory of a particular morning came to him--the morning

when Miss Wilton's horse had run away. Miss Wilton had never been heard

of since she left Willowby.

"How beautiful!" exclaimed Signe. "Do you know, Rupert, it reminds me of

a scene in Norway. I must make a sketch here before we leave."

"Sit down on this rock," said he, "while I tell you something. Here's my

overcoat." He made a seat for her and he stood by her side.

"Signe, nearly six years ago, I stood here on this spot. I was the owner

of the farm that you see. In fact, I dug this ditch. I set out that

orchard, I planned and built the reservoir that has made all this

possible; and then I stood here, and in the pride of my heart I said:

'All this is mine. I have done it all.' Now I understand that God put me

on trial, lent me some of His riches to try me, and then, seeing that I

was not in a condition to stand such favors, took them all from me. Yes,

it was a blessing in disguise. Darling, for this knowledge I am indebted

to you," and he leaned over and kissed her.

"There you are wrong again," she said; "what about God above?"

"You are right. 'Tis He only who should have our gratitude. You have

been but an instrument in His hand. I see it all. O Father, forgive my

foolish thoughts." He uncovered his head, as if in prayer.

He sat down with her on the stone. The smoke began to rise from the

chimneys of the town below, and soon the Dry Bench farm-houses showed

signs of life. He pressed her cheek against his own.

"Sweetheart," said he, "'When love has blended and molded two beings in

an angelic and sacred union, they have found the secret of life;

henceforth they are only the two terms of the same destiny, the two

wings of one mind. Love and soar.' That is from Victor Hugo; how true it

is."

After a time they went down to the old home. A Mr. Temming was living

there, as a renter. He was not acquainted with Mr. Ames, and was not

disposed to show much courtesy, so they left.

"What do you think of the place?" he asked.

"I like it."

"Could you live there?"

"All my life, I could. Rupert, I see you in every tree, fence, and

ditch."

He laughed at that.

"I can now buy the place. Shall I?"

"Yes, do."

"You don't object? Would you really like to live there?"

"I think, my dear, that you can do much good here. We ought to live

where we can do the most good."

And so it was settled. Next day Rupert inquired after the owner of the

farm which once was his, and learned that it was in the hands of a real

estate dealer. He made his way to the office and knocked at the door,

which was partly open. A man was sitting at a desk, but he evidently did

not hear, so Rupert stepped into the room, at the same time giving the

door another loud rap. Still the man did not hear.

"Good morning, sir," said Rupert.

The man turned.

"Volmer, Volmer Holm, is it you?"

"Rupert Ames, I'm pleased to see you. When did you come to town? Have a

chair."

"Are you in the real estate business?"

"I can't hear very well, and you'll have to speak at close range, Rupe."

So they put their chairs close together, and Rupert repeated his last

question.

"Yes, a man must do something; but there's nothing going on now--nothing

in our line."

Rupert looked in pity at his friend. Quite shabbily dressed he was, and

a careworn expression on his face made him look ten years older. He wore

glasses, which he pushed up on his forehead, and then took a good look

at Rupert.

"Well, well, Rupe, and where have you been keeping yourself? An' I've

had luck, I tell you--you haven't heard, perhaps?"

"No; I haven't. What's it been, Volmer?"

"Was getting fifty dollars a week leading the orchestra at the Grand in

Chicago, when I got sick. Don't know what it was, Rupe--the doctors

didn't know. Got into my ears, and that knocked me--couldn't tell one

note from another; so, of course, that let me out. Hard luck, Rupe, hard

luck. Tough world this, Rupe. Why God Almighty crams a fellow's head

full of music, and then disables him so's he can't make use of it, I

don't know--I don't know."

Rupert sympathized with his friend, and then told him of his errand. A

ray of sunshine seemed to enter the musician's life. The property was

for sale, yes, and cheap, dirt cheap; so the transaction was partly

arranged, and Volmer Holm went home to his wife and four children with

quite a happy heart that day.

"It's too bad about Volmer Holm," said Rupert to his sister. "I had not

heard of his misfortune. Such a genius in music, too."

"Well, I don't know," answered Nina, "it may be all for the best. Rumor

had it that he was fast getting into bad ways in Chicago; and some men

are better off by being poor, anyway."

"Yes, that's so," was all he said.

* * * * *

Rupert Ames was again the owner of Dry Bench farm, and the next spring

they moved into the old home. Mr. and Mrs. Janson came with them to

visit, but their interests in Chamogo would not allow of a protracted

stay. Signe was already in love with her new home. With her taste for

the artistic, she soon had the place comfortable, and Rupert was never

more satisfied than when he came in where his wife's adept fingers had

been at work to adorn. It was the dear old home to him with an added

beauty, lacking only his mother's presence to make it perfect.

Then they sent for Signe's family. It was hard for the father to make

ends meet in his native land, and Rupert needed just such help as Hr.

Dahl could give. In due time they arrived, and were installed in a

cottage near Rupert's farm.

In peace and prosperity, the days, months, and years went by; and

Rupert Ames became a light to the surrounding world, and a teacher of

righteousness to his brethren.

* * * * *

It was the sixth year after Rupert's return that the citizens of the

Bench decided to enlarge the reservoir in Dry Hollow. Rupert was given

the work to supervise, and he entered upon the task with his usual

energy.

That morning in September, when he gave his wife the usual departing

kiss, the children--four of them, were hanging about his legs and

clinging to his coat in great glee.

"Now papa must go," said he, as he tried to shake them off.

"A kiss, another kiss," "A tiss, some more tisses," they shouted.

So he lifted them up, one by one, and kissed them again. Then his arm

went around his wife's neck, and he drew her face to his.

"Goodbye, sweetheart," said he, "take care of the children, and don't

forget me," and he tried to hum a song as he walked to the gate. Signe

stood watching him. The tune which floated back to her was, "O, my

Father." Then a peculiar feeling came over her, and she sat down crying,

while the children climbed over her with questions and comforting words.

* * * * *

Terrible news from Dry Hollow! A blast, prematurely exploded, had

seriously injured some of the workmen, and Rupert Ames had been

killed--hurled down the ravine and nearly buried under falling rock.

Break the news gently to his wife and children. Do not let them see that

bruised, bleeding form. Spare them all you can.

Yes; it was all done--all that lay in human power was done; and hundreds

of people to whom Rupert Ames had opened up new light, and in the

providence of God, had given them a tangible hope of the future,

gathered around his body and mingled their tears with those of his

children's.

Another immortal soul's earthly mission was ended. Life's school had

closed for him. Into another sphere he had gone. The Great Schoolmaster

had promoted him.

And Mrs. Signe Ames, after it all, simply said:

"God knows best. He has but gone before. He was my husband for time, he

is my husband for eternity. His mission is there, mine is here. In the

morrow, we shall meet again."