The passing of five years over a country village generally brings but
little change in the existing conditions, but even in this prosaic
atmosphere of easy going methods and action, the calendar marks some
days and events of more than passing notice.
Doctor Hissong had served his term in the Legislature, and proudly
pointed to his record in passing the bill for the construction of extra
locks and dams on the Kentucky river.
Shawn was attending lectures at the Medical College in Louisville,
Doctor Hissong acting as his preceptor and paying all the expenses
necessary to his medical education, and now that he had been two years
in school and was nearing the end of the course, Shawn felt that life
held out a hope for him far beyond the dreams of his earlier years, and
his breast swelled with gratitude to those who had shown him such
friendship and confidence; to the kind old doctor, who trusted him to
his every word and deed, and to Mrs. Alden, who wrote him such beautiful
and touching letters, reminding him of his duty to God and his
fellow-men, and as he laid each one of her letters aside, it seemed that
a newer strength and some higher motive filled his heart.
And there were other letters whose coming he anxiously awaited. The
small, round handwriting on the envelope sent the glow of happiness into
his eyes; the dear, sweet letters from Lallite, with marginal notes in
every conceivable nook and corner of the page; the dainty tid-bits of
love. When these letters came, Shawn took them and wandered down to the
stream he loved so well. Lallite seemed associated with the murmuring
ripples, the tiny pebbles of the beach, and the shimmering bosom of the
river. As he sat near the drowsy rumbling falls with her letter in his
hand, it seemed that the river flowing past breathed some tender message
from the village above and linked his heart into a closer and fonder
memory of sweeter hours. And these letters laden with love's tender
offerings, with here and there some whisperings of loneliness, some
unlooked-for digression embracing the gossip of the neighborhood, or
some delicious speculation as to his fidelity and love.
One day, just about three weeks before his graduation, as he sat at the
dinner table, a servant came in and placed a telegram beside his plate.
Shawn opened the envelope and read, "Come home at once. Dave Budlong."
Something seemed to almost paralyze his heart-strings; some terrible
apprehension took possession of him. His mother? Mrs. Alden? Lallite?
Through the long, dragging hours which followed until the evening
mail-boat started up the river, he wandered in an agony of suspense.
The river had lost its charm, and the strains of music from the
orchestra on the boat, fell on his ears in saddened tones. He walked the
hurricane deck, and bent his gaze upon the distant river bends, as
counting the dragging miles. At midnight the boat reached Skarrow. Dave
Budlong, the old lawyer, was there to meet Shawn. Shawn grasped his hand
and eagerly asked, "Tell me what is the matter!"
"Doc' Hissong is very low and has been calling for you ever since last
night," said Budlong.
They went up the hill to the office. Old Brad met them at the door,
"Praise Gawd, you've come, Shawn--he gwine mi'ty fas'--he nearin' de
Valley uv de Shadder." Shawn went in, and as he saw the old doctor's
white head on the pillow, the tears gushed from his eyes. He went to the
bedside and took the old physician's hand.
"Doctor, it's Shawn; I've come."
A glad beam came into the fast-closing eyes, and the feeble voice
struggled into a fitful tone, "Shawn, my boy, God has forgiven me--I
don't know how it may be--I've tried to think it out, but somehow I feel
that in the long journey I must now take alone, that God will let the
light burn for me--I've remembered you, Shawn."
The head sank back upon the pillow. Old Brad was sobbing in the corner.
From the hill came the weird tones of a whip-poor-will, and from the
far-away bend of the river, the echoes of a steamer's wheel. The moon
shot a beam of light through the window and the rays seemed to rest
tenderly upon the calm and gentle face. Doctor Hissong's spirit had
flown.
"Clear the room," said Budlong, "I want to speak in private with Shawn."
Taking a paper from his pocket he said, "Shawn, Doctor Hissong told me
to read you this, his will. I am here to do it. I drew it up."
The old lawyer stood by the mantlepiece, and by the flickering lamplight
read:
"In the name of God, Amen. Realizing the uncertainty of life and
the certainty of death, I, Radford J. Hissong, being of sound
and disposing mind and memory, do hereby publish this to be my
last will and testament, hereby revoking all former wills and
codicils.
1st--I give to the old negro Brad Jackson the sum of $500.00 and
intrust him to the care of the young man known as Shawn Collins.
2d--I desire that $1,000.00 of my estate be distributed among
the poor of Skarrow.
3rd.--I give, devise and bequeath to the young man, known as
Shawn Collins, but whom I hereby acknowledge to be my son, my
river-bottom farm, consisting of 387 acres. I bequeath to him my
hill farm, consisting of 187 acres. I bequeath to him my town
property, consisting of two dwellings and one store-room, my
office, bank stock and all other properties found, outside of
the first two clauses of this will. This property to belong to
the said Shawn, to be used or disposed of according to his
pleasure. I desire a modest stone above my grave, and ask that I
be buried in the cemetery on the hill, overlooking the river.
In witness whereof I have hereby set my hand, this 18th day of
Sept. 186-
Radford J. Hissong.
Witness: Dave Budlong,
John Burney,
Victor LeCroix.