From the Improvement Era, March 1930 –

His Father’s House

By Lewis J. Wallace

Fred Warfield stood at the window of the small, plainly furnished room looking out into the rain. It was a dismal day. Just another of the many dreary ones that had followed one another endlessly during the past month. There had been but once in all those four weeks when the sun had managed an appearance; and then, as if ashamed to linger, and after but a moment’s reflection, it disappeared.

He turned to his companion, who sat reading in a nearby chair. “Bert, I’ve been thinking pretty hard lately, and I’m about at the end of my rope. Everything seems to have gone wrong with me here; everywhere, for that matter. Not that I mind that so much — when I came away on my mission I expected it. But — “he paused.

Robert was the younger of the two. He had had far less experience than Fred, but he was wise enough to have been aware that a heavy burden had been weighing heavily on his friend for days. “I have felt that you were quite upset over something, old man,” said Robert, “but didn’t say anything because I knew you would tell me about it if you wanted me to know. I have wished I could help you, though. What’s the trouble?”

“It’s about Mother, mostly. You remember that letter I got from home this morning?”

”Yes.”

“Well, it was from Mother. She’s been having an awfully hard time, I guess. You know Father died several years ago, and Mother and I have been trying since then to live decently on her small income. She insisted that I remain in school. And then nothing would do but that I fill a mission. I wanted to work and help her a while first; try to make her comfortable if I could. She wouldn’t listen. And here I am.”

“But your mission is almost finished, Fred,” interrupted Robert.

“Six months more,” replied Fred, in a tone indicating that six months was an eternity to him. “Six months more. It might as well be six years. When things go to smash there is no waiting six months. I simply must go home, Bert.

“Has anything happened to your mother?” inquired Robert anxiously.

“Not exactly. But she has been ill for some time and hasn’t told me. Maity, a young neighbor girl, slipped a note in the envelope with Mother’s letter when she posted it for her, telling me as much as she could. Mother has been practically starving herself to send me money, so Dr. Williams told Maity. She’s too proud to accept help. The bishop offered, but knew better than to insist. Mother’s queer that way.” As he talked he began dressing to go out.

“You’re not leaving this minute?” queried Bert, amazedly. “Where are you going in this rain?

“I won’t be gone long. I want to see the district president at once and tell him I’m leaving. He will want to get in touch with mission headquarters. And I can’t ‘phone him.”

Robert jumped to his feet. “You’re not going to walk to Pikesville in this storm?” he cried.

“Why not?” said Fred, calmly, as he started for the door. It was evident he was not to be dissuaded. Robert motioned for him to wait while he, too, dressed. His only comment was, “You’re out of your head.”

They found the district president in. “You realize, Brother Warfield,” he said sympathetically, when he had been apprised of Fred’s plans, “what a serious step this is?”

“Yes,” was the quiet reply, “I realize only too well.”

‘Your mother hasn’t sent for you, has she?” continued his superior.

“No. That is just the trouble. She wouldn’t. Maity told me the doctor expected to have her taken to the hospital the day after she wrote. She needs me now and I’ll have to go.” He looked into the faces of his two friends for approval. Tears welled up in his eyes but were forced back.

The district president was soft voiced, possessed an abundance of mature wisdom, and maintained a dignified, well balanced reserve, although himself little older than the two youthful missionaries before him. Genuine respect and affection for him existed wherever he was known. “Do you think your mother would want you to leave your work?” he inquired thoughtfully. Fred swallowed hard.

“That is the one thing that would make me hesitate. It would break her heart if I didn’t complete my work. But,” he added when he saw the hopeful glow in his friends’ eyes as he made this admission, lest they persuade him to remain, “she won’t mind^ so awfully much if she doesn’t know I’m coming. When I walk into the hospital and tell her why I came she will be so glad we are together again that she may soon forget the other. I’ve just got to help her now. She has sacrificed everything for me for years. I haven’t appreciated her half enough.”

“Might she not feel that a good bit of her sacrifice has been wasted if you return now, particularly when you say her heart is so set on your filling a full mission?”

“Perhaps she will,” said Fred thoughtfully. Then, after several minutes of meditation, he went on, “I can make that up to her, though, someway. Besides — ” he paused, as if ashamed to speak his thought, “she will be unable to send me any money at all, now she is ill. She will need every cent she has. And I couldn’t take it, knowing she needs it so.”

“Aw, forget that, old man,” said Robert. “We can get along on mine. You’re welcome to anything I have. You know that. Our expenses won’t be heavy this summer. We’ll have more than enough for both of us with what Dad sends me.”

“No,” replied Fred, with finality, “I’ve got to go.” Fred was looking down at the floor as he spoke. He stood up, his eyes squarely meeting those of his district president. “Will you wire mission headquarters tonight?”

When Fred and Robert returned to their room that evening they were exhausted. Their conversation on the return hike, when they had spoken, was monosyllabic. Neither seemed in the mood for talking now. Preoccupied, they retired early with little more than an appreciative “good-night.” For hours the rain poured down, beating its monotonous rhythm on the roof overhead. When morning came there was no sign of intermission.

Fred was the first to awaken. Despite the still-continuing deluge and the depressing atmosphere his face was radiantly cheerful, all vestige of worry and trouble seemingly erased by the night’s rest. In high spirits he bounded across the room, landing on Bert’s bed in a single jump. Bert had been aroused at the first sound of Fred’s stirring and with grinning face prepared for the rush. The fight was on. Bert didn’t have time to ask the question that was uppermost in his mind; he was glad of the change that had come over Fred, and was content to say nothing. In fact, he could not have said anything had he wanted to. In short order Fred had him pinned to the floor, shoulders down, with a pillow pressed smotheringly in his face. When he gave recognition of defeat by ceasing to struggle Fred sprang to his feet, assumed a dramatic pose in the center of the floor and haughtily commanded, “Up, varlet. Bestir thy lazy bones and show signs of life. Make haste to provide suitable attire for thyself and master. We must to foot, at once.”

“Aw, go jump in the lake,” said Bert good-naturedly. “I suppose you are planning another fifteen mile waddle-and-squash tour this morning.”

“Exactly,” replied Fred enthusiastically, now in the act of dressing. “And if you don’t hurry we won’t get there in time.”

“What?” cried Robert incredulously. “Get where?”

“Back we go to the D. P.,” said Fred.

“Now I know you’re out of your head. What’s the idea?” he inquired dubiously, at the same time showing his happiness at Fred’s exuberance.

“Never mind asking questions. I’ll tell you on the way. We’ll have plenty of time to talk then.” Fred had completed his toilet and now eyed his companion’s dilatory movements with mock impatience, although obviously anxious to be on his way. “If you don’t snap out of it,” he remarked dryly, “we’ll never get there.”

When at last they had sallied forth into the storm Fred began relating the occurrence which had prompted his sudden change of heart and the return trip to the district president. Hesitant at first, as though finding it difficult to know where to begin, he soon plunged headlong into his story to comply with the persistent demands of his comrade. Robert was all but bursting with mixed curiosity and thankfulness. He had been fearfully perturbed over Fred’s decision of the previous day to resign his mission. Now he was happily amazed, and, as he told Fred, “all ears.”

“Last night,” began Fred, “I had a most unusual dream. How long it lasted I do not know. It seemed an age. And now that I recollect, it is difficult to believe the night was long enough. I’ll try to tell it briefly.

“The time was long ago; the place indefinite; the setting an ancient kingdom or empire. A magnificent metropolis was the first scene. The people were dressed in a garb with which I am not familiar. As I looked closer, I realized that they were excited about something. The whole place was agog with news that a messenger had arrived from the eastern border in great haste to reach the palace and see the King. He was injured and exhausted, his horse terribly spent.

“Promptly the messenger had been admitted to the private chambers of the King and his trust discharged. This done, he collapsed. Within the hour he was dead. The King first directed that a state burial be arranged for his trusted servant, and then began issuing orders to his attendants who hurried off on their several appointments. Others were called. They came, consulted, left. And still others. The King was obviously alarmed by the report.

“Word went out to summon the prince. He came, the youngest of the royal children. Handsome, clear-eyed, strong; he saluted his father respectfully. ‘My son,’ said the King, after embracing him, ‘we are beset by our enemies. The Province to the east” being overrun by foreign emissaries seeking to incite the people to revolution. You are young I know, but your brothers are all busily engaged defending other frontiers. I must remain here to direct our armies on all sides and conduct the defense of the central province. I can not leave. May I call on you?’

‘ ‘Sir, you are aware of the impatience with which I have until now remained home,’ responded the prince. ‘My pleadings to be allowed to take up arms with my brothers have heretofore fallen on deaf ears. For months my sword and armor have been prepared in anticipation of this hour. I can leave at once, my father.’ The King was moved by this pretty speech.

“Said he, ‘Be not disappointed with the commission I have set for you. It is one of more importance than bearing arms. My lieutenants in the east are well able to fight the outward battles, but they can not cope with the sedition and espionage that threaten to undermine the loyalty and faith of the people. Our subjects are being persuaded that I am a tyrant King, that I am a usurper, that I am selfishly overtaxing the country, that I am weak and lack the ability to protect them. Secret agents are among the people encouraging them to rise up and bear arms for their leader, who is truly a vicious dictator, under the promise of rich spoils, vast gifts of land to be taken from the conquered nations, and other vain and misleading inducements.

“‘Some one must go there and protect these good people from this danger, warn them against the evil designs of the enemy and point out the true facts relative to the status of our Kingdom. Someone in whom I can repose absolute confidence must take this message. And that someone is you, my son.’

The prince, crestfallen, looked utterly ill. All his lifelong ambitions to be a soldier, to lead an army, to bear the scars of war with his elder brothers, realized but a moment ago in his father’s suggestion of an assignment on the eastern border, were shattered. He felt like a deflated balloon must feel as it falls, punctured, from the heights. His head swam for a moment in a spell of dizziness, the reaction from the animation and enthusiasm so suddenly kindled and then so promptly quenched. True soldier at heart, however, he hastened to control his feelings and expressions lest the King see his disappointment.

“‘But how, sir, can I perform this task? If I take such a message to our people will they not reject my entreaties on the ground that I am biased? Will not our enemies fall upon my back with drawn blades, glad of the opportunity to dispose of another possible leader, if I may be so presumptuous as to include myself among your valiant sons?’ He said this last with a note of bitterness, well knowing that his name had not yet struck fear to the heart of an enemy. The King gave no heed to the sadness he saw in his son’s face. He had expected as much, and secretly gloried in the assurance that this last of his worthy sons was equally as splendid as the others, equally as fearless and brave.

“‘My son,’ said the King, ‘that soldier is ofttimes the greatest who has the courage to lay aside his own ambitions in the interest of the cause he has espoused, to forego the plaudits of the multitude for the simplest praise of his superior; who has the courage to assume the role of a weakling or a traitor, if need be, thereby incurring the contempt and hatred of friends and loved ones, to serve his King. Any man of good blood can face death and the enemy on the battle field. There lies honor. But few can face life and their acquaintances, branded a coward, no matter how important their commission. There lies apparent dishonor.

“‘At the present time the enemy within is more to be feared than the legions without. Revolution is beginning within our own house. It must be dealt an effective blow. That blow must be struck as quietly and ingeniously as is being planned the knife thrust at the heart of this Kingdom.’

“The prince began to gather the import of his father’s problem, but the solution was more than nebulous to him. ‘How, sir, do you propose effecting a counterplot to this treachery? What can I do against such hidden workings?”

“The King now knew he had won his son’s support. He and the prince were closeted alone for hours, the one outlining his plans in the utmost of careful detail, the other listening, absorbed, engrossed, fired with a new determination to serve his father and King unquestioningly.

“I cut short my account of this dream,” continued Fred, “the prince left secretly that night. No weapons, armor or other military paraphernalia were his. With him he took a small purse of money and the princess Helen, his bride of but a few hours. To meet the urgent call to duty their nuptials had been advanced on their betrothal calendar and at the same time transferred from the public to the private pages of their country’s history.

“It was not many days before they arrived in the border country and, following out the King’s orders, engaged humble quarters among the subjects. Their clothing was plain, their habits simple. The prince sought employment and with his bride settled down to the life of good country folk. They were unknown here and entirely upon their own resources. It was imperative that no suspicion be attached to them. They could not, therefore, run the risk of having money sent to them by the King.

The prince, now no more than the least of the citizenry, worked tirelessly at tasks with which he was not familiar in order to make a living, keeping his eyes and ears open and saying little. Soon he was rewarded by an invitation to attend a secret meeting. As he expected, he heard foreign agitators rail and blaspheme his father and his country, storm at what they called tyranny and plead for revolution. His mission was now taking shape. The next day he talked quietly to a few of his new-found friends, doubting a little some of the statements made at the meeting and expressing personal confidence in the present government. Other meetings were attended. More and more he questioned.

“Soon he was engaged constantly in every hour spared from his work in exhorting the people to loyalty. He was frequently taking fiery issue with the foreign agents at their meetings. He was always just a plain subject.

He met with growing success in rallying noble-minded subjects to his views, but not without difficulty and danger. Time and again attempts were made on his life. Frequently when he went to far distant places to plead his cause, his wife had to be left unprotected. Twice their cottage was set ablaze by incendiaries. On no less than five occasions was the princess attacked in the streets by unknown assailants and as many times rescued by equally unknown protectors. These latter, the prince knew to be his father’s trusted soldiers in disguise, for he and his bride had been promised the protection of the Kingdom at the time of leaving the palace. Naturally this protection had to come from an unorganized and un- known source. It did not, however, benefit them in their economic or other difficulties. Employers hesitated to hire him or keep him long about their premises when they learned of the storm that hovered above him. Consequently they fared poorly at their table more often than not.

“As the sphere of the prince’s influence increased so was he compelled to travel more, so did his income suffer, so did the dangers to himself and the princess multiply. On many occasions the prince was sorely tempted to give up in despair. He was trying to preach loyalty to the government and faith in the King, and yet was so distracted in body and mind and so fearful for the safety of his lovely wife, for her health and comfort — in fact, for her very sustenance — that he doubted the sufficiency of his father’s promise to protect her; he doubted the wisdom that had sent him on this assignment; questioned the end to be accomplished. To keep from fleeing to her side he was compelled to assume a stoical confidence and an arbitrary, unreasoning belief that no harm would befall her.

His only comfort in these trying times was the recollection that he was a prince, that his father was the noblest of noble Kings; the conviction that his whole existence would not be spent amid such hopeless circumstances, that while poverty, hunger and danger stalked his footsteps and those of the princess now, a brighter future lay ahead, a heritage of royalty awaited their return.

“On he worked, pleaded, exhorted, persuaded; at the same time secretly gathering information with respect to the activities of the enemy and as secretly sending it to his father.

“One day when all seemed entirely lost, when his strength was gone and his courage exhausted, he returned from a trip abroad to find his home surrounded by a large crowd of neighbors, friends and strangers. Alarmed, he quickened his pace to learn what new trouble brewed. At his approach a mighty cheer went up. Dumbfounded, he heard his name called out and heard the people cry, ‘the Prince, the Prince! All hail!’ Picked up bodily by loving arms, he was borne to the door of the cottage where stood the princess Helen smiling a greeting. Beside her he saw his eldest brother, the crown prince. Nearby waited a royal carriage and a retinue of soldiers and servants to escort them to the King.

“Overjoyed, he embraced them both, and then, due to fatigue, hunger and long suffering sank at their feet. He did not hear the crown prince say, as he stooped to lift him up: ‘My faithful brother, your good work here has enabled us to expose the spies and traitors in our midst and turn the tide of revolution to a surging wave of patriotism. The armies have been successful in their campaigns and are now recalled. Anxiously awaiting your return are the King and our good brothers. Now that your work is disclosed you stand foremost in the hearts of the people.'”

Jared ended his story; his emotion was manifest in his voice. Robert said nothing. They walked on in silence. During the narration they had unconsciously increased their pace until they now arrived at the quarters of the district president almost on the run. Without intending to be rude or discourteous they rushed up the steps and into his room. “Have you wired the mission president?”

“Yes,” was the reply.

“Will you wire him again, please?” asked Fred.

“Why, yes,” said the district president, “what shall I say?”

“Say that Fred Warfield is remaining here to finish his mission; that there has been a misunderstanding; that a letter of explanation will follow.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “And please ask him to say nothing about the first wire to anyone. Mother might hear of it.”