The Upward Path Part 9

"I WILL STUDY AND MAKE READY, AND MAYBE MY CHANCE WILL COME."

--ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

Durmont read this, and then looked at the boy as if seeing him for the first time. Again he looked at the words, and far beyond them he saw his own struggling boyhood, climbing daily Life's slippery path, trying to find some hold by which to pull himself up. And as he watched the brown-skinned boy bending over the instruments, instinct told him here was one who would find it still harder to fight his way up, because of caste.

"Ah!"

The exclamation startled him. The boy with phones adjusted was busily writing.

"Well, has that partner of yours got that message down at his end yet?"

"Yes, sir, and here is your answer from New York."

"Why it's only been half an hour since I wrote it," said Durmont.

"Yes, that horse wouldn't have got into town yet," grinned the boy.

Durmont s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper, read it, threw his cap in the air, exclaiming, "The day is saved. Boy, you're a winner. How much?" putting his hand in his pocket suggestively.

"How much you owe to my help, I don't know," answered the lad sagely. "I offered to help you because you needed it, and I was glad of the chance to prove what I believed I could do. I'm satisfied because I succeeded."

Durmont sat down heavily on the other chair; his nerves couldn't stand much more in one afternoon. To find himself threatened with a large financial loss; to have this averted by the help of the scientific knowledge of a colored boy, and that boy rating the fact of his success higher than any pecuniary compensation--he had to pull himself together a bit.

His eyes fell on the motto on the wall. He read it thoughtfully, considered how hard the boy had worked because of that, his hopes of the future based on that; saw the human element in him as it had not appealed to him before, and then turning something over in his mind, muttered to himself, "It's n.o.body's business if I do."

He got up, and walking over to the boy said: "What's your name?"

"Robert Hilton."

"Well, Robert, that motto you've got up there is a pretty good one to tie to. You certainly have studied; you have made yourself ready as far as your resources will permit, and I'll be hanged if I don't stand for the 'chance.' In the manufacturing of electrical instruments you could have great opportunity for inventive talent, and in my concern you shall have your chance, and go as far as your efficiency will carry you. What do you say, would you care for it?"

"I'd care for it more than any other thing on earth, and am very grateful for the chance."

"The chance wouldn't be standing here now if you had not had the inclination and the determination to live up to those words on the wall."

THE MONTHS

H. CORDELIA RAY

JANUARY

To herald in another year, With rhythmic note the snowflakes fall Silently from their crystal courts, To answer Winter's call.

Wake, mortal! Time is winged anew!

Call Love and Hope and Faith to fill The chambers of thy soul to-day; Life hath its blessings still!

FEBRUARY

The icicles upon the pane Are busy architects; they leave What temples and what chiseled forms Of leaf and flower! Then believe That though the woods be brown and bare, And sunbeams peep through cloudy veils, Though tempests howl through leaden skies, The springtime never fails!

MARCH

Robin! Robin! call the Springtime!

March is halting on his way; Hear the gusts. What! snowflakes falling!

Look not for the gra.s.s to-day.

Ay, the wind will frisk and play, And we cannot say it nay.

APRIL

She trips across the meadows, The weird, capricious elf!

The buds unfold their perfumed cups For love of her sweet self; And silver-throated birds begin to tune their lyres, While wind-harps lend their strains to Nature's magic choirs.

MAY

Sweet, winsome May, coy, pensive fay, Comes garlanded with lily-beds, And apple blooms shed incense through the bow'r, To be her dow'r; While through the deafy dells A wondrous concert swells To welcome May, the dainty fay.

JUNE

Roses, roses, roses, Creamy, fragrant, dewy!

See the rainbow shower!

Was there e'er so sweet a flower?

I'm the rose-nymph, June they call me.

Sunset's blush is not more fair Than the gift of bloom so rare, Mortal, that I bring to thee!

JULY

Suns.h.i.+ne and shadow play amid the trees In bosky groves, while from the vivid sky The sun's gold arrows fleck the fields at noon, Where weary cattle to their slumber hie.

How sweet the music of the purling rill, Trickling adown the gra.s.sy hill!

While dreamy fancies come to give repose When the first star of evening glows.

AUGUST

Haste to the mighty ocean, List to the lapsing waves; With what a strange commotion They seek their coral caves.

From heat and turmoil let us oft return, The ocean's solemn majesty to learn.

SEPTEMBER

With what a gentle sound The autumn leaves drop to the ground; The many-colored dyes, They greet our watching eyes.

Rosy and russet, how they fall!

Throwing o'er earth a leafy pall.

OCTOBER

The mellow moon hangs golden in the sky, The vintage song is over, far and nigh A richer beauty Nature weareth now, And silently, in reverence we bow Before the forest altars, off'ring praise To Him who sweetness gives to all our days.