The Long Silence

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Dec 5, 1912

For eighteen years David Sill had bowed and said "Good morning!" or "Good evening!" whenever he met William Pearson. Never once had Pearson returned the greeting, nor even so much as looked in his direction. Most people thought that in continuing his friendly advances David showed a lack of proper spirit; some did not scruple to call him foolish. One thoughtless young fellow ventured to joke David about Pearson's unresponsiveness.

"Real pleasant-spoken man he is, isn't he, Dave? Deaf and dumb asylum'd be a good place for him, I guess."

David smiled, but his face sobered at once.

"Will Pearson and I were boys together, classmates at school, and the closest of friends," he said, slowly. "Years ago we had a misunderstanding,—a mere trifle to begin with,—and both of us lost our tempers, and said harsh, bitter things. As soon as my anger had burned out, I was sorry, and I told Will so. It was all I could do, but he wouldn't look at me. I tried it again and again, whenever I thought time might have softened the old grudge, but the result was always the same."

"And yet you speak every time you meet him?" the other said, curiously.

"Yes, that's no more than my part," David replied. "If Will ever comes to a better mind, it will make it a lot easier for him to know that I've always been willing to meet him half-way. I have a notion that people are often kept from making up just because they don't know how their advances will be taken. I don't want Will to have so much as a straw in his way. I'm afraid he has an unforgiving disposition to contend with, anyhow, and it'll be hard enough at the best."

Just after the quarrel occurred, Will Pearson had boasted that he "guessed he could live without Dave Sill," and although he had never repeated the boast, his prosperity had stiffened his independent spirit. He had a pardonable pride in his family, in the handsome returns his farm brought him, and in being an important member of the community.

But after a time there came a turn in his fortunes. He lost most of his money in some unlucky investments. The following winter he buried his eldest daughter. That was the hardest blow, but it was not the last. Circumstances arose that actually brought his reputation under a cloud. Old friends, believing the worst, bowed to him coldly on the street.

Life had narrowed sadly for Pearson these last few months, and David Sill's cheery "Good morning!" sounded appealingly in his ears, like an echo of old times.

One day Pearson answered the greeting shamefacedly, walked on a few steps, and then, turning impulsively, went back.

"If you hadn't been keeping that up all these years, Dave," he said, "I could not find the courage now, when friends are fewer than they've ever been before, to ask — to ask you to forget what's past." The big voice trembled perilously. "I don't deserve it, but —"

David Sill's warm hand-clasp spoke for him, and the long estrangement was ended.—Youth's Companion.