The Three Comrades Part 10

Bacha closed his eagle eyes that they might not fool him. He opened them only when the steps drew nearer to him from below. He let go the cross and crossed his arms on his chest. Looking up he stood face to face with the stranger.

"Good evening," said he.

"Oh, Stephen!" It came out of the chest of Bacha. Half cry, half terror.

"Peter! Is it you!" Two arms twined around Filina's neck.

"Stephen! You live? Really? It is not possible!"

"I live, Peter, and at last, I am coming. It is rather late, it's true, but I did not know before that the loved one who once separated us, had pa.s.sed away long ago, and that you and I would not have any more heartaches. I am coming to you for my treasures, which are in your care."

"Your treasures?" Bacha was surprised still, not knowing whether it was a beautiful, but impossible dream. He could not get enough of the voice that was speaking to him. The face was older, changed, but the voice was the same. It always sounded to Peter Filina like music. And so it was today.

"We are expecting the father of Madame Slavkovsky today, and I am going to meet him."

"I am that father."

"You, Stephen?" Bacha released the stranger. "I do not understand that."

"I believe you, my Peter. Well, how you have changed, how strong you have gotten, how giantlike, like the beautiful mountains all around!

I would not have recognized you, if it were not for the voice--no one has called me thus since--and by your eagle eyes under those heavy eyebrows."

"Stephen, tell me, how is it possible that you live? Was not that ship wrecked?"

"Yes, Peter, she went to the bottom of the sea; but I was among the few immigrants which another ship saved. G.o.d does not want the death of a sinner, but rather that he be converted and live; so He saved me.

The first steady work that I had in America was on the farm of Mr.

Slavkovsky. My daughter wrote me that she told you everything about us. Thus you know what Slavkovsky asked of me and that I agreed to do as he wished. When he heard from me that I did not want you to know that I still lived, he advised me to adopt his name and thus disappear forever from this world. His wife and son, and even my good wife, agreed with it. Thus Stephen Pribylinsky died and only Stephen Slavkovsky remained. I could not return home and live with you, as our father planned. Eva was your wife and I loved her. I did not really know G.o.d and the Lord Jesus then, nor understood His Holy Law; but this much I knew, that it would have been a constant and a great temptation for us all. Thus, I chose to die to you."

Slavkovsky finished, and out of Bacha's breast came a deep sigh. "You died for us, and until recently I worried very much about it, that I had become a murderer and was like Cain."

"You? And why?"

"Did I not drown you the second time in that swamp, by driving you to America? Eva loved you more. Had it not been for me, you could have lived as happily as in Paradise. You would have been mated much better. At my side, she perished of sorrow. My father did not live long; I took care of mother, but could not replace her son to her. See yonder the burnt remains of our hut, where we once lived so happily.

Years ago, when I took up this service which I have held ever since, I rented it to a neighbor. He did not take good care and it burned down.

I could, but would not rebuild it. What would it have been good for to me? I was forsaken in the world, like a stick."

Sudden quietness prevailed on the step at the foot of the cross, where both men sat. It seemed that the popular song could be applied to them:

"Mountain, green mountain, Ahoy!

My heart is hurting, sadly I cry!

Painful, so painful is my woe, My heart is fainting, my joy is gone."

"Forgive me, Peter," suddenly said Stephen Slavkovsky. "It was not right that I hid myself from you. I have caused you much sorrow. While I imagined that you were living with Eva in our mountains, which I never could forget, perhaps surrounded with children, and our parents were happy with you--you have lived alone for years. It was not good that I did not let you know about myself. Once some one from this neighborhood came to America but did not know me and told me that father died. I had already written a letter to mother, to send her my love, but I did not send it. I thought how good I was to you, but that heart of ours is deceitful and perverse, full of self-righteousness and pride. I have done wrong both to mother and to you, but I was repaid when my only child forsook me, and after ten years I must come as far as here to find her."

Bacha roused himself, "Come, Stephen, let us delay no longer; but if we go on foot we shall arrive very late."

They both arose. "I am on foot. I have a coach; however, I told the driver to feed the horses a bit. Now I hear them; they will be ready.

Let us go; on the way we can tell one another more."

Thus among the Slovak mountains rode two brothers, who had grown up among them, and were so closely united to them, that one of them in a distant land almost died of home-sickness, and the other could not have lived without them at all. Now they did not think about the beauty around them, because Stephen Slavkovsky found out his child was waiting for him, and that only the Heavenly Doctor could save His sheep which had returned to Him.

The proverb says that bad luck does not wander among the mountains but among the people. Now it was among the mountains. Who can describe the moment when the father stopped at the bed of his only child and saw her so broken and read on her beautiful face the confirmation of all of which he had once warned her. The setting sun shone upon the broken flower and on the man who was kneeling at her bed, his head laid on his crossed arms. No one dared to disturb him in his sadness and prayer. Suddenly the lady opened her eyes; she turned them to the window and began to sing softly the song which she had recently taught the boys:

"Jesus, Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the billows o'er me roll, While the tempest still is high; Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life be past; Safe into the haven guide; Oh, receive my soul at last."

Her father cried silently and the others with him. But she sang on, and as Joe said sometime ago, "She could do anything with them when she sang." The weeping stopped, and the small room seemed to be full of the presence of Him who is the King of Glory, the Prince of Peace, and the only Healer.

"Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; Leave, oh, leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me: All my trust on Thee is stayed, All my help from Thee I bring; Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of Thy wing."

Palko believed and felt that his Lord was there, and the lady sang on:

"Thou, O Christ, art all I want; More than all in Thee I find; Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Heal the sick and lead the blind: Just and holy is Thy name, I am all unrighteousness; Vile and full of sin I am, Thou art full of truth and grace.

"Plenteous grace with Thee is found-- Grace to cover all my sin; Let the healing streams abound, Make and keep me pure within; Thou of life the fountain art, Freely let me take of Thee; Spring Thou up within my heart, Rise to all eternity."

The song concluded. A silence followed during which the lady turned her look away from the window and fastened it upon the face of the man who bent over her.

"Mary, dear, my golden darling, do you not recognize me?" asked the trembling lips of the man, so tenderly, as only a good father can speak to his only child. For a moment the beautiful eyes of the lady fastened themselves on the man's eyes. The doctor entering the room at that moment, with a quick movement of his hand tried to hinder this critical situation, but it was too late. The lady's pale face glowed suddenly, as after the dark night the day breaks over the mountains.

"My father! Oh, my father!"

She sat up, stretched out her arms and would have sunk back, had not her father's arms clasped her; her head was resting on his breast, her arms twined around his neck, and the lady clung closely to him like a little chick pursued by the hawk, when the hen spreads over it her protecting wings.

"Did you come? Did you forgive? Do you love? Oh, at home, home! No more in a strange land. I am not fleeing any more--the Lord Jesus was merciful, He received me.... Now I can die!" Thus whispered the lady, crying softly, returning her father's kisses.

"Indeed not! Who would die now?" the doctor interrupted at this tender moment. "You haven't even shown Ondrejko to your father, and the poor boy can hardly wait any longer." It was as if a new life had been poured into her.

"My Ondrejko!" She stretched out her hand to the boy, still crouching beside her. "Just look! Grandfather has come, and you don't have to beg him any more. Just welcome him!"

Ondrejko found himself in the arms of his grandfather and was very surprised. He had expected to see an old man with a gray beard, but grandfather was without beard and still quite young and handsome.

The boy felt, what he had never known before, what a joy it is to be kissed and hugged by a father. His saddened heart rejoiced, and he was filled with a feeling of protection and safety.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Some things happen in this world at which we cannot wonder enough.

Thus it was at the sheepfolds of the Gemer estate. There still lived people in that neighborhood who had known old Filina, the father of Bacha, very well. They remembered how he had told them that one of his boys had prepared to go to America, and the other one had married at home, and when Stephen had made some money across the sea, he would return home and they would all live together. They also remembered how the message came that the ship was wrecked, and that Stephen would never see his homeland again. But that did not happen! Thirty years pa.s.sed and Stephen Pribylinsky came home after all. He appeared to them as if he had been raised from the dead, and the resurrection had come when the sea had given up her dead and returned him. They spoke about his coming for his daughter and grandchild. But when the fragrance of his beloved Slovak mountains filled him, would he be able to go again far across the sea? Will he not fear that he was like a stranger, for years in a foreign land? He fared there very well, but he was not at home. Only in the homeland on that black ground was there sweet sleep.

Who can describe the surprise of all three boys when they learned who it was that came with Bacha Filina--that it was his Stephen. Palko, when he heard it, could not stay with the others. He ran away to the woods and cried there for joy. He thanked the Lord Jesus that He had comforted Bacha Filina forever. There was still salvation possible, even though the ship was wrecked. After all, he had lived to see his brother, Stephen. The Lord Jesus had given him back to Bacha.

There was something more, very good for Palko. It was not necessary for him to read to the people out of his Book. He could himself sit down at the feet of Uncle Stephen, whom he loved greatly, and listen to the truth of G.o.d from his lips. That was a joy for the boy.

Ondrejko rejoiced again that Bacha Filina belonged to his family and Petrik also. The boys hugged each other for joy that they would not now have to part any more till death. And who can describe the joy of Madame Slavkovsky when they took her again for the first time to the sheepfold. "It seemed to me at once that I was among my own, that I had come home," she said to Bacha, "and you, Bacha Filina, I loved at once like a daughter."

Then she found out all about the small and big Stephen. Bacha, himself, told her, and her father even said, "I am sorry about it, my daughter, after considering it all, that I did not let those at home know where I was, but now I see it all. The Lord Jesus in His love turned all this evil for our good. For me there in America and for Peter here at home, it is a true saying, 'He brings them to the desired haven.'"