|Paper||Dixie State University Student Newspapers|
|Rights||No Copyright - United States (NoC-US)|
|Publisher||Digitized by J. Willard Marriott Library, University of Utah|
|Paper||Dixie State University Student Newspapers|
THE DIXIE OWL His Mother The short December day was fast drawing to a close. The wind whistled through the bare branches of the tall poplar trees which surrounded the small frame house of Mrs. Boyd. The house contained only two rooms, both small and plainly furnished, but scrupulously clean. Seated in her rocking chair before the old fashioned fireplace of the larger room was Mrs. Boyd. She had been knitting, but now her needles lay idle in her lap, and she sat with her eyes fixed steadily on the fire, thinking of her boy who was somewhere in France. He had been among the first to volunteer to serve his country, and she remembered with loving pride how manly he had looked in his uniform. He was only nineteen and her sole support, yet when he came to her, asking in his eager, boyish way if he might join with his comrades to fight for the colors, she had consented, never letting him see the pain it cost her. It had been four months since he left for France, and tonight she was wondering what his Christmas would be, so far away from his home. A strange sense of foreboding came over her,' and involuntarily she clasped her hands and shivered. What if her boy, ready to brave any danger but no, she would not think of it, it could not be. She arose and put more wood on the fire, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had come over her. She moved about the room restlessly a few moments, then' returned to her chair by the fire and picked up her knitting again. She tried to think of other things, her plans for making a merry Christmas for the children of her poor neighbor, or how slie could get the money for her next load of wood; but her thoughts inevitably returned to her son, and always that dread feeling came over her. It was now getting too dark to knit, so she sat looking into the fire, seeing ever the handsome, boyish face of her soldier. She started at the sound of the clicking of the gate, and rose hurriedly as a knock sounded on the door. Outside stood a boy of about eleven, one of her neighbors children. In his hand he held a letter. I was passin the Post Office, so I went in to git your mail, he said, , reaching a letter toward Mrs. Boyd. She fairly snatched it from him, and hastening to the light she looked at the postmark. Yes, it was from Fiance, but it was not her boys With shaking hands she writing. tore open the letter and swiftly scan-nits contents. The paper dropped from her fingers, and sinking into her chair, she covered her face with her hands. For a long time she sat motionless, then picked up the letter and again read it through, although she knew every word in it. He had been killed in action, the letter said. His commander had asked for volunteers to go on a scouting trip which meant almost certain death, and he had been the first to offer himself. When he was brough back to camp, mortally wounded, his last words were, Tell mother I died fighting. d At the conclusion he said "He died that men might have everlasting life. And you mothers, whose sons have gone to fight, that the poor and oppressed might have liberty and freedom, be glad that you have sons to send; be proud that they are following the example of tiieir master; and if they never return to you. remember that they gave their, lives, as He who bled on the cross gave His, for the good of mankind. The words fell like healing dew on the sore heart of the woman who had called God unjust and cruel. Softly she lowerd her head and murmured. Father I thank Thee that Thou hast given me a son who so world. nobly followed the example of his master. 20 Professor Jenson regrets very much that a few more things are not Christmas day dawned clear and as the Flu. He says as contagious in the little beautiful. The bells church rang out across the snow with that some of his students have been a message of peace and good will to exposed to economice all winter and all. Mrs. Boyd, standing by the have not yet taken it. window of her small living room, shuddered. Judge Miles: Did you strike this Peace," she thought bitterly, man in anger? how can a mother, robbed of her all, No yer honor, I hit Orval H. how can she find peace? him in the stomach. During the two weeks that had passed between the news of her sons Mr. Romney: death and Christmas day, she had Clyde we havent not been outside of her gate. Her seen much of you lately. Clyde: Nope, not since I put on friends, hearing of her sad loss had come to offer their sympathy and long pants. comfort, but she had rejected all alike. When the minister of the litThe man who sits down too much tle parish called on her, she told him is not likely to have a very good bitterly that if there was a God He standing in the community. was cruel and unjust. Why did he take my only child, Vein H. in library Where can I she asked, when others who have find the book called measles? more are spared theirs?" ( Freckles. ) Sadly the minister had gone away, hoping that something might happen Don't feel bad if you do get to soften her heart and relieve her it's a compliment to your pain. Mrs. Boyd had firmly resolved not to leave the house on Christmas day, Im afraid that some day Ill die of but now, as she heard the chimes fever. George Christian. brainless of a of sort horror being ringing, alone seized her, and she hurriedly dressed and went to church. She enMy wife and I are one, but shes tered and went softly to her accus- the one. Mr. McAllister. tomed place, just as the choir began When do the leaves begin to turn? singing the first anthem. A sense of over The stole and when the peace her, night before exams. minister began his sermon she listen-wit- h Keep your temper, no one else rapt attention. He was telling of Christ and his mission in the wants it.