MORNING SERIAL

“DO you expect things to fall into your lap? …. You must fight … the stronger we fight, the firmer we become ….”

“Oh, Ieuan … your studies …. Why have you daunted so soon …? You’ve got brains, Ieuan…. You must get away from the foundry….”

He saw Frank and Sally. Their words crashed into his inner consciousness. Did they give up the struggle? Sally had cause to throw away her life. But did she …?

“I’ll get well again, Ieuan … I know I will.”

And Frank had fought for survival to the last second of his breathing; struggled to live in spite of his pain and agony.

With a cry of fear, he leapt back into safety. He heard the wet clay hurtle into the depths.

God! what had come over him? To throw away his life — was that the solution to his pain and sadness? He was young. Life was a precious gift. To end his own grief would bring only further grief to others. It was cruel, selfish. He must face up to life, face up to its problems. He had talent given him, it was his duty to make use of it. Sally … Frank …. Their images persisted. Their words hammered in his brain. He must live. To end life was cowardly. They would never forgive him — never.

And yet to die was hard. He was young, and life was precious. In that awful moment, the urge to live was strongest, for he had someone else to live for. Sally — she was his. She would always be his. He would wait for her. She would get well and strong again.

He loved her, and to her he would give all that was his.

On her he would shower the gifts of his hands and his brains. Give her everything that was in him. Everything that was possible to give. The song of the lark, the silver raindrop from an April shower, the gold from a butterfly’s wing.

All the beauty in the world he would reach for, and give to her.