The Boy Patrol Around the Council Fire

He rose to his feet, reached out, clasped her hand and touched his lips to the chubby cheek.

“God be praised! You are my own Ruth come back to me after all these years!”

That poor brain, racked by so many torturing fancies, accepted it all as truth.

“I am so tired,” said the wearied little one, “I want to rest myself.”

He tenderly lifted her in his arms and carried her behind the curtains, through which the firelight shone, laid her on the couch with her head resting on the pillow, and drew the coverlet over her form. At the end of the few moments thus occupied he saw that she had sunk into the soft dreamless sleep of health and exhaustion.

He came back to the sitting room. The outer door stood ajar, as it had been left by the infantile visitor. As he closed it he did an unprecedented thing, – he drew in the latchstring. He wanted no intruders during these sacred hours. Then he seated himself as before and gave himself up to musings and to wrestling with the problem which was really beyond his solution.

There must have been moments when he glimpsed the truth. That which he had lifted in his arms was flesh and blood and therefore could not be the Ruth who had stepped into the great unknown many years before. Yet she looked the same, and bore her name. Could it not be that heaven had permitted this almost incomprehensible thing?

He sat in front of the fire, which was allowed to smoulder all through the night. It is probable that he rose more than once, drew the curtains aside and looked upon the little one as revealed in the expiring firelight.

“Whatever the explanation, it means that my Ruth and I will soon be together. If it is not she who has come to me, I shall soon go to her.”

Unlocking a small drawer of the table, he drew out a large, unsealed envelope, unfolded the paper inside, glanced at the writing, returned it to the enclosure and laid it on the stand where it could not fail to be seen by any visitor, and then resumed his seat.

“By this time,” said Doctor Spellman, “the brain which had been clouded probably became normal. He knew that my Ruth could not be his Ruth. He must have seen that she was the child of the man whom he intensely disliked because I had presumed to marry a woman who resembled the daughter whom he had lost.”

When daylight returned, Uncle Elk after a time aroused himself. He did not renew the blaze on the hearth, but once more drew the curtain aside. Ruth Spellman still slept. As gently as he had laid her down, he raised and carried her back to his chair where he resumed his seat, with the curly unconscious head resting upon his breast, and after a time, he closed his own eyes, never to open them again.

In the presence of death all was hushed. The Boy Scouts bowed their uncovered heads, and as they stood in the crowded room gazed in awe upon the gray head and inanimate form in the chair. Even the overjoyed mother who had clasped her loved child and lifted her from the lifeless arms suppressed her glad croonings, while the bewildered Ruth gazed upon the strange scene with hardly a glimmering of what it all meant.

For the moment, Doctor Spellman was the professional expert. In a low voice he addressed the Scout Master and the young friends who looked into his face and listened.

“Uncle Elk passed away several hours ago, – his death from heart failure was so painless that it was like falling asleep, as was the case with our child. This looks as if he had left a message for us.”

As he spoke, the doctor picked up the large unsealed envelope and held it up so as to show the address, – “To be opened by whosoever finds it after my death.”

Drawing out and unfolding the sheet, the physician read aloud:

“It is my wish to be buried on the plot between my cabin and the brook. Over my grave a plain marble stone is to erected with the inscription, ‘Elkanah Sisum. Born January 23, 1828; died – ’ Add nothing to the date of my death. Inclosed are enough funds to pay the expense. Whatever remains, which is all the money I possess, I desire to be presented to the Sailors’ Snug Harbor, New York.”

Having finished the reading, the physician added:

“The coroner must be notified and the proper legal steps taken. We should get word to Boothbay Harbor as soon as possible.”

“I will attend to that,” said George Burton, “and start at once.”

The wishes of Uncle Elk were carried out in spirit and letter. The clergyman who came from Boothbay Harbor preached a touching sermon, and a score of men who had known the old man for years came out to the cabin to pay their last respects. The evidence of Doctor Spellman was all the coroner required, and there was no hitch in the solemn exercises.

Mike Murphy, when he could command his emotions, sang “Lead, kindly Light,” with such exquisite pathos that there was not a dry eye among the listeners. The grave had been dug by the Boy Scouts, who stood with bared heads as the coffin was slowly lowered into its final resting place. A few days later all departed for their homes, carrying memories of their outing in the woods of Southern Maine, which will remain with them through life.