Ester Ried Yet Speaking

by Pansy

Was the rest of the story an answer to prayer? We are to remember that He has strange ways. Events startling enough in their import followed each other in rapid succession. In the first place, Dirk's father, poor, wrecked man, returned no more. Whether he had wandered among the network of railroads which lined the southern portion of the city, and lost his life there, or whether he had fallen into the river, or just how he had disappeared, could not be discovered. There were three men killed by an accident on the road one night, but their disfigured bodies were buried before Dirk heard of it. There was a man seen struggling in the water off the lower wharf one evening, but he sank before help could reach him, and his body was not recovered. There were half a dozen men killed by a boiler explosion, but that was not heard of in time to look into it. There were so many ways in which the wreck might have gone out of life and left no sign. They were safe in supposing that he was intoxicated, and that was about all they could be perfectly sure of, concerning him; that, and the fact that he came no more. Of course, there was no such search for him as is made for the man of respectability and position. To one who had some idea of the worth of a soul, it was pitiful to see what a tiny ripple this disappearance made on the surface of life.

A moment of startled questioning by those who lived in the immediate neighborhood; a few women with aprons thrown over their heads congregating in groups around the pump, or before the door of the bakery; a crowd of dirty children, stopping their play for a moment, and speaking lower;—then the tide of noisy, fighting, swearing life went on.

One was gone out from it. Whither? None knew, few cared; and there were such crowds and crowds left, how could he be missed?

One missed him,—an abused, insulted, downtrodden woman. One whom, years before, he had promised to love and cherish until death parted them, and had broken the vows almost as soon as taken, and never renewed them again. Yet that woman wept bitter tears over his absence; watched for him, listened nightly for his staggering footsteps; rose up from her heap of straw in the corner in the middle of the night, and set wide open the cellar door, and listened to the angry voices floating down to her from some drunken brawl further up the street, if, perchance, she might hear his; listened, and held her breath, and quivered all over with hope and fear: then crept back to her miserable bed, covered her head with the ragged quilt, and cried herself into a few hours of forgetfulness.

“She is crying herself to death about him!” Mart said. There was surprise mingled with awe in her voice.

She told it to Dirk, and the two stood thoughtfully for a moment looking out at the one window. They carefully avoided looking at each other. They did not understand. To them there was simply relief in the father's absence. They had no trace of love for him in their hearts. The word “father” meant nothing to them but misery. Still there was that in them which respected the mother's grief; they tried to shield her. Dirk, of his own thoughtfulness, brought home a bit of tea in a paper, and bought half a pint of milk at the corner bakery; and Mart took lessons of Sallie, and made a delicate slice of toast, and borrowed Sallie's one cup and saucer to serve the tea in. She was disappointed that the mother cried, and could hardly drink the tea. She was even almost vexed that the mother said with tears that “poor Jock always did like tea so much, and she had always thought that maybe if he could have had it hot and strong he would not have taken to the drink.”

Mart had no faith in this, no belief that anything in her father's past life could have kept him from the drink; but she held herself silent, and let the tears have their way. All the time she had in her heart one great solemn regret. There was one who would have helped her father; would and could have saved him, even from rum. What if she, his daughter, had known the Lord Jesus, and could have taken the miserable father to Him and had him transformed! Mart had no doubt about His power to do it. An unanswerable argument had been given her. No infidel need try to assail her now.

But the father! Why had everybody kept silence, and let him sink away?

Awful!

Why had not she known Christ? Why had she not listened to Sallie but a week before? Why had not Dirk learned the way and saved his father? An awful problem! Mart's life must henceforth be shadowed by it.