Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 January 1918 — THE BEACON [ARTICLE]

THE BEACON

By MARY RANDALL.

(Copyright, IM7. Western Newspaper Unto®. > No matter how long or dark the night, no matter if it was the brightest moonlight, always and ever there was a light shining in the parlor alcove window in the home of widow Janet Graham. The neighbors and townspeople generally related a weird tale connected with the familiar beacon. The widow and her son, Verne. Graham, had come to Roslyn and had rented the pretty little cottage. The young man was brisk, industrious, always had a smile on his face, and it was no wonder that he attracted the attention of Marjorie Dale, who was the nearest neighbor. Her life was devoted to the case of a crippled father and an invalid mother. She was one of those sweet, patient souls whose face is irradiated with a purity and gentleness almost ethereal, and when Verne was called to promising position in the city her pride mingled with that of the fond mother, and they built great hopes aS to bls business future. A year went by and twice Verne visited home, and each week he wrote to both the dear ones. When he had first left them Mrs. Graham had looked earnestly into his eyes. “Verne,” she said, “you see the light I have placed in the window. It shall be there on the darkest night, your beacon. Think of it, cherish it.” One day Mrs.. Graham and Marjorie were seated conversing, when a keeneyed, hard-faced man knocked at the door. He edged his way into the room, glancing about sharply. “I am looking for Verne Graham,” he announced in a tone of assurance and command that somehow chilled the hearts of mother and fiancee. “He is not here,” Mrs. Graham advised the visitor. “It is three months since we saw him last. Even his usual letter missed us last week. Oh, sir! I trust there is no trouble.” “Sorry to say there is,” bluntly responded the stranger, "and I am a detective looking for him. .He disappeared from his work ten days ago, taking with him twenty thousand dollars of the fupds of the company intrusted to his charge.” “My son a thief!” cried Mrs,, Graham. “It is false!” The man shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “I do not believe him!” breathed Marjorie, agitatedly. “There is some error, some plot, oh! be assured of that. Mother Graham, I am going straight to the city to ferret out qll the details of this terrible thing.” Marjorie Dale was received at the place where Verne Graham had been a cashier by the manager, a Mr. Thorpe. The man was coldly polite and matter of fact. The money and Verne Graham had vanished together, this man told Marjorie. Marjorie carried a breaking heart back to the little country village. She told her story amid the tears to the Stricken mother. “Oh, it is vain!” cried Marjorie. “Verne will never come back.” “He will cofne,” solemnly declared the mother. “Of his innocence or guilt what can I say, but he is always my son, always welcome, no matter how black his sins may be. Some night Verne will come back to the light in the window.” Then came a break in their companionship. Marjorie’s father died and a brother insisted on Mrs. Dale making her home in his household. Marjorie went to the city and became a nurse in a public hospital. One night the word went round that a terrible railroad accident would s£nd in many sufferers for treatment. After the surgeons had attended to one victim in her ward, he delegated the patient to Marjorie’s charge. The man was insensible and had sustained frightful injuries. Marjorie was startled as she recognized him. He w’as the plant manager, Mr. Thorpe, whom Marjorie had called upon In regard to the disappearance of Verne Graham. Marjorie sat down by the cot. She became conscious that the eyes of the patient were fixed Upon her. She met the glance. “I’ve seen you before,” spoke Thorpe. “You were the sweetheart of Verne Graham.” • “Try and keep quiet,” directed Marjorie gently. “It will harm you to talk.” “I’ve-got to talk!” almost shouted the man, in a wild strain of excitement, “I want you to sehd at once for Mr. Woodson, the head of our house. It is vital, it must be done, and more for your sake than my own.” Marjorie consulted the head nurse and Mr. Woodson was sent for. He arrived within the hour. As Marjorie placed a chair by the bedside of the natient and moved out of hearing, the latter called out insistently: “No, no—she must hear, too. Mr. Woodson, Verne Green never stole that twenty thousand dollars. It was I who did it. I worked out a plot against him and hired some persons as wicked aa myself to hold him ih captivity. Take down my confession and the details of where this man whom I have so cruelly wronged can be found and rescued.” c ._ Thorpe breathed his last the next morning. The wealthy and humane Mr. Woodson at once insisted that she accompany him on the journey that was to restore to a loyal, faithful girl her lover, to a patient, loving mother her cherished son. “The house will make all. due amends for the fearful work of Thorpe,” ■fledged Mr. Woodson. And the light in the window welcomed Verne home at last 4 ,