Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 234, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 October 1911 — THE NAME OF DAVE POWELL [ARTICLE]

THE NAME OF DAVE POWELL

"Uncle Dave” had reached the age of 70 years, and hta chief concern, after the feliglous ardor which It characteristic of his race was that he had never learned to read and write. He was full of song and story with which he held the eager attention of the children of the neignb< rhood, the most fascinating and popular being of "De time de levee broke ip Mississippi," but he longed for the accomplishments of the “three R's.” "If 1 could only write my name an’ read my Scriptures, I could die happy,” he would say every day to "Miss Mamie,” the little daughter of the “big house” In the back yard of which he lived. Miss Mamie was a blue-eyed, rosyfaced child, whose tender heart yearned over all that was weak or helpless or old. She was so touched by his longing to read and write, and so haunted by the fear that he could not ‘‘die happy.” that she undertook to teach him, beginning the task by writing his name, "Dave Powell,” on a biate and having him copy it over and over. He kept the copy on the slate, and at every spare moment he worked at it. At last, after many days, he was able to write it from ipemory—Dave Powell —without the copy, and after repeating it a few times at Miss Mamie's command to make sure, he wept with pride and gratitude that his heart’s desire was fulfilled, and he could write his name. With confidence and courage now began the task of learning to read. Miss Mamie patiently and tenderly pointed out the letters, and Uncle Dave as patiently and anxiously conned them over. But it was slow, and the old man began to think there were many difficulties to be surmounted before he could read the Scriptures. It was not so easy as writing “Dave Powell.” Miss Mamiffl tender heart and ingenuity at last devised the plan of teaching him some favorite passages by memory, and marking the places tor him In the Btb’e so could “read” these w lie he was completing the arduous task of learning his letters.

He learned the r e texts readily, and then the book changed hands. Miss Mamie sat on the steps to listen while Uncle Dave read to her, the book more ofte” than not upside down, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want”; “Suffer little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven"; “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” and others which the little girl had selected ps particularly comforting to the old man. When he bad read over the whole lot he would close the book and say, "There’s many a true word In that little book, Miss Mamie.” Meanwhile , the work of learning to spell was slow, and the summer waned; and before the primer was half-learned the little teacher was stricken unto death with a fever. Through all the anxious days and nights Uncle Dave hung about the windows of her room, praying and reciting his texts with an aching heart; and when at last all was over, and the funeral cortege left the house, bearing the little form away from him forever, Uncle Dave fell upon the ground and wept aloud. Loving hands had covered the little mound with flowers, and it was bathed in the tender light of the setting sun, when late that evening the old man made a pilgrimage out there alone. He*stood for a moment lifting his hands and eyes to the sky. and then sat down beside tbe little <rave, took out his Bible and read aloud all tbe old familiar verses. Then his memory turning to chapters she had read to him in the past, he cried, “It is well with the child!” Over and over again '-e repeated his little store of verses, but even this could not satisfy his longing to pour out his love and sorrow, and as a last tribute he smoothed a place in the earth at the foot of the little mound, and with a trembling finger traced there on the ground his name, “Dave Power."—Youth's Companion.