The Witness by Grace Livingston Hill Lutz (mobi reader android TXT) 📕

Stupid And Shameful Rôle Of Followers Of The Bolsheviki,  With A Blind

Weapon Between Their Hands.

A Part Of The "Peasants In Uniform" Followed The Bolsheviki To Smolny. The

Germans Honored The Bolsheviki By Continuing With Them The Pourparlers For

Peace. The Bolshevist Government Had At Its Disposal The Red Guards,  Well

Paid,  Created Suddenly In The Presence Of The Crumbling Of The Army For

Fear Of Remaining Without The Help Of Bayonets. These Red Guards,  Who Later

Fled In Shameful Fashion Before The German Patrols,  Advanced Into The

Interior Of The Country And Gained Victories Over The Unarmed Populace. The

Bolsheviki Felt The Ground Firm Under Their Feet And Threw Off The Mask. A

Campaign Against The Constituent Assembly Commenced. At First In _Pravda_

And In _Izvestya_ Were Only Questions. What Will This Constituent Assembly

Be? Of Whom Will It Be Composed? It Is Possible That It Will Have A

Majority Of Servants Of The Bourgeoisie--Cadets Socialist-Revolutionists.

_Can We Confide To Such A Constituent Assembly The Destinies Of The Russian

Revolution? Will It Recognize The Power Of The Soviets?_ Then Came Certain

Hypocritical "Ifs." "If," Yes,  "If" The Personnel Of The Constituent

Assembly Is Favorable To Us; "If" It Will Recognize The Power Of The

Soviets,  It Can Count On Their Support. _If Not--It Condemns Itself To

Death_.

The Socialist-Revolutionists Of The Left In Their Organ,  _The Flag Of

Labor_,  Repeated In The Wake Of The Bolsheviki,  "We Will Uphold The

Constituent Assembly In _The Measure We_--"

Afterward We See No Longer Questions Or Prudent "Ifs," But Distinct

Answers. "The Majority Of The Constituent Assembly Is Formed," Use Was Warm As A Pocket Without

It. They Colored And Strung Popcorn,  Gilded Walnuts,  Cut Silver-Paper

Stars And Chains For The Tree,  And Hung Strings Of Cranberries,

Bright-Red Apples,  And Oranges Between. They Trimmed The House From Top

To Bottom,  Even Twining Ground-Pine On The Stair Rail.

Those Were The Speediest Two Weeks That Courtland Ever Spent In His

Life. He Had Thought To Remain With The Marshalls Perhaps Three Or Four

Days,  But Instead Of That He Delayed Till The Very Last Train That Would

Get Him Back To The Seminary In Time For Work,  And Missed Two Classes At

That. For He Had Never Had A Comrade Like Bonnie; And He Knew

First Day Almost,  That He Had Never Known A Love Like The Love That

Flamed Up In His Soul For This Sweet,  Strong-Spirited Girl. The Old

House Rang With Their Laughter From Morning To Night As They Chased Each

Other Up-Stairs And Down,  Like Two Children. Hours They Spent Taking

Long Tramps Through The Woods Or Over The Country Roads; More Hours They

Spent Reading Aloud To Each Other,  Or Rather,  Most Of The Time Bonnie

Reading And Courtland Devouring Her Lovely Face With His Eyes From

Behind A Sheltering Hand,  Watching Every Varying Expression,  Noting The

Straight,  Delicate Brows,  The Beautiful Eyes Filled With Holy Things As

They Lifted Now And Then In The Reading; Marveling Over The Sweetness Of

The Voice.

The Second Day Of His Visit Courtland Had Made An Errand With Bonnie To

Town To Send Off Several Telegrams. As A Result A Lot Of Things Arrived

For Him The Day Before Christmas,  Marked "Rush!" They Were Smuggled

Into The Parlor,  Behind The Christmas Tree,  With Great Secrecy After

Dark By Bonnie And Courtland; And Covered With The Buffalo Robes From

The Car Till Morning. There Was A Big Leather Chair With Air-Cushions

For Father Marshall; Its Mate In Lady's Size For Mother; A Set Of

Encyclopedias That He Had Heard Father Say He Wished He Had; A Lot Of

Silver Forks And Spoons For Mother,  Who Had Apologized For The Silver

Being Rubbed Off Of Some Of Hers. There Were Two Sets Of Books In

Wonderful Leather Bindings That He Had Heard Bonnie Say She Longed To

Read,  And There Was The Tiniest Little Gold Watch,  About Which He Had

Been In Terrible Doubt Ever Since He Had Sent For It. Suppose Bonnie

Should Think It Wrong To Accept It When She Had Known Him So Short A

Time! How Was He Going To Make Her See That It Was All Right? He

Couldn't Tell Her She Was A Sort Of A Sister Of His,  For He Didn't Want

Her For A Sister. He Puzzled Over That Question Whenever He Had Time,

Which Wasn't Often,  Because He Was So Busy And So Happy Every Minute.

Then There Were Great Five-Pound Boxes Of Chocolates,  Glaced Nuts And

Bonbons,  And A Crate Of Foreign Fruits,  With Nuts,  Raisins,  Figs,  And

Dates. There Was A Long,  Deep Box From The Nearest City Filled With The

Most Wonderful Hothouse Blossoms: Roses,  Lilies,  Sweet Peas,  Violets,

Gardenias,  And Even Orchids. Courtland Had Never Enjoyed Spending Money

So Much In All His Life. He Only Wished He Could Get Back To The City

For A Couple Of Hours And Buy A Lot More Things.

To Paint The Picture Of Mother Marshall When She Sat On Her New

Air-Cushions And Counted Her Spoons And Forks--Real Silver Forks Beyond

All Her Dreamings!--To Show Father Marshall,  As He Wiped His Spectacles

And Bent,  Beaming,  Over The Encyclopedias Or Rested His Gray Head Back

Against The Cushions! Ah! That Would Be The Work Of An Artist Who Could

Catch The Glory That Shines Deeper Than Faces And Reaches Souls! As For

Courtland,  He Was Too Much Taken Up Watching Bonnie's Face When She

Opened Her Books,  Looking Deep Into Her Eyes As She Looked Up From The

Little Velvet Case Where The Watch Ticked Softly Into Her Wondering

Ears; Seeing The Breathlessness With Which She Lifted The Flowers From

Their Bed Among The Ferns And Placed Them Reverently In Jars And

Pitchers Around The Room.

It Was A Wonderful Christmas! The First Real Christmas Courtland Had

Ever Known. Sitting In The Dim Firelight Between Dusk And Darkness,

Watching Bonnie At The Piano,  Listening To The Tender Christmas Music

She Was Playing,  Joining His Sweet Tenor In With Her Clear Soprano Now

And Then,  Courtland Suddenly Thought Of Tennelly,  Off At Palm Beach,

Doing The Correct Thing In Wedding Trips With Gila. Poor Tennelly! How

Little He Would Be Getting Of The Real Joy Of Christmas! How Little He

Would Understand The Wonderful Peace That Settled Down In The Heart Of

His Friend When,  Later,  They All Knelt In The Firelight,  And Father

Marshall Prayed,  As If He Were Talking To One Who Stood There Close

Beside Him,  Whose Companionship Had Been A Life Experience.

There Were So Many Pictures That Courtland Had To Carry Back With Him To

The Seminary. Bonnie In The Kitchen,  With A Long-Sleeved,  High-Necked

Gingham Apron On,  Frying Doughnuts Or Baking Waffles. Bonnie At The

Organ On Sunday In The Little Church In Town,  Or Sitting In A Corner Of

The Sunday-School Room Surrounded By Her Seventeen Boys,  With Her Bible

Open On Her Lap And In Her Face The Light Of Heaven While The Boys

Watched And Listened,  Too Intent To Know That They Were Doing It. Bonnie

Throwing Snowballs From Behind The Snow Fort He Built Her. Bonnie With

The Wonderful Mystery Upon Her When They Talked About The Little Watch

And Whether She Might Keep It. Bonnie In Her Window-Seat With One Of The

Books He Had Given Her,  The Morning He Started To Go Out With Father

Marshall And See What Was The Matter With The Automobile,  And Then Came

Back To His Room Unexpectedly After His Knife And Caught A Glimpse Of

Her Through The Open Door.

And That Last One On The Platform Of Sloan's Station,  Waving Him A

Smiling Good-By!

Courtland Had Torn Himself Away At Last,  With A Promise That He Would

Return The Minute His Work Was Over,  And With The Consolation That

Bonnie Was Going To Write To Him. They Had Arranged To Pursue A Course

Of Study Together. The Future Opened Up Rosily Before Him. How Was It

That Skies Had Ever Looked Dark,  That He Had Thought His Ideals

Vanished,  And Womanhood A Lost Art When The World Held This One Pearl Of

A Girl? Bonnie! Rose Bonnie!

The Rest Of The Winter Sped Away Quickly. Courtland Was Very Happy. Pat

Looked At Him Enviously Sometimes,  Yet He Was Content To Have It So. His

Old Friend Had Not Quite So Much Time To Spend With Him,  But When He

Came For A Walk And A Talk It Was With A Heartiness That Satisfied. Pat

Had Long Ago Discovered That There Was A Girl At Stephen Marshall's Old

Home,  And He Sat Wisely Quiet And Rejoiced. What Kind Of A Girl He Could

Only Imagine From Courtland's Rapt Look When He Received A Letter,  And

From The Exquisite Photograph That Presently Took Its Place On

Courtland's Desk. He Hoped To Have Opportunity To Judge More Accurately

When The Summer Came,  For Mother Marshall Had Invited Pat To Come Out

With Courtland In The Spring And Spend A Week,  And Pat Was Going. Pat

Had Something To Confess To Mother Marshall.

Courtland Went Out Twice That Summer,  Once For A Week As Soon As His

Classes Were Over. It Was Then That Bonnie Promised To Marry Him.

Mother Marshall Had A Lot Of Sense And Took A Great Liking To Pat. One

Day She Took Him Up In Stephen's Room And Told Him All About Stephen's

Boyhood. Pat,  Great Big,  Baby Giant That He Was,  Knelt Down Beside Her

Chair,  Put His Face In Her Lap,  And Blurted Out The Tale Of How He Had

Led The Mob Against Stephen And Been Indirectly The Cause Of His Death.

Mother Marshall Heard Him Through With Tears Of Compassion Running Down

Her Cheeks. It Was Not Quite News To Her,  For Courtland Had Told Her

Something Of The Tale,  Without Any Names,  When He Had Confessed That He

Held The Garments Of Those Who Did The Persecuting.

"There,  There!" Said Mother Marshall,  Patting The Big Fellow's Dark

Head. "You Never Knew What You Were Doing,  Laddie! My Steve Always

Wanted A Chance To Prove That He Was Brave. When He Was Just A Little

Fellow And Read About The Martyrs,  He Used To Say: 'Would I Have That

Much Nerve,  Mother? A Fellow Never Can _Tell_ Till He's Been _Tested_!'

And So I'm Not Sorry He Had His Chance To Stand Up Before You All For

What He Thought Was Right. Did You See My Boy's Face,  Too,  When He

Died?"

"Yes," Said Pat,  Lifting His Head Earnestly. "I'd Just Picked Up A

Little Kid He Sent Up To The Fire-Escape,  And Saw His Face All Lit Up By

The Fire. It Looked Like The Face Of An Angel! Then I Saw Him Lift Up

His Hands And Look Up Like He Saw Somebody Above,  And He Called Out

Something With A Sort Of Smile,  As If He Was Saying He'd Be Up There

Pretty Soon! And Then--He Fell!"

The Tears Were Raining Down Mother Marshall's Cheeks By Now,  But There

Was A Smile Of Triumph In Her Eyes.

"He Wanted To Be A Missionary,  My Stephen Did,  Only He Was Afraid He

Wouldn't Be Able To Preach. He Always Was Shy Before Folks. But I Guess

He Preached His Sermon!" She Sighed Contentedly.

"He Sure Did!" Said Pat. "I Never Forgot That Look On His Face,  Nor The

Way He