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September 8, 1909. THE P
. PA HELPS JOHN TO RUN AWAY.
By a Business Man.
I had an experience when I was a
boy. It was a favorite threat of mine
that I'd run away. If I was sent on an
errand I didn't like, I'd mutter that I
was going to run away; if I was kept in
the house for missing my lessons at
I'J ?LI AU-x *
oiiuui, i u Yvmmpcr iimi 1 was going to
run away; if I got my ears boxed for
mischief, I'd cry that I was going to
run away. Then, maybe, I'd make a
dash for my cap and my mother would
send me up to the garret without my
shoes till I got cooled ofT, or else she'd
lock me up in the toolshed with an ax
and a small mountain of logs to split into
kindling. We lived in the country,
you see.
But at last my father got tired of
hearing the threat. I tell you he was a
smart man, my father. No licking for
him and no counter threats. He had a
game of his own. He just waited until
he got me committed beyond retreat.
I forgot what mischief it grew out of,
or whether it was just my natural boy's
resistance to something I was told to do.
Whatever it was, I know I ended up the
dispute with the flat-footed announcement,
"I'm goin' to leave home an'look
out for myself. I'm going now. So
there!"
"Oh, very well, John," said my father,
as grave as an owl. "I'm sorry; but if
your mind's made up, it can t be helped.
We may as well part friends. Come over
and see mother," and with that he took
me by the hand as kind and gentle as a
patriarch in a picture in the Bible, and
began walking me over toward the house.
I forgot to mention that the fuss was
in iuc uura.
Now you can imagine how my heart
rose up in my throat in that short walk
over to the house. I had been more or
less consciously bluffing, and here I was,
it seemed, up against the real thing.
About thiB time we reached the kitchen
door, and the old man drew me In. I can
see the picture right now before my eyes
?my mother with her big, blue gingham
apron, stirring apples with a wooden
spoon in a big copper kettle on the shining
stove. Ann Maria, the hired girl,
was peeling the potatoes for the men's
dinner. My baby brother was sitting in
his swing chair near the door and mak
ing grabs at the black cat's tail as it
ruhbed to and fro against a chair-leg just
out of his reach. Oh, it was so peaceful
and homelike, and the pungent smell of
those apples just went to my gizzard.
Then, says pa, as grave as an old
judge, but just as kind and sweet as
honey: "Ma," says he, "John has concluded
it's best for him to leave home.
He's going out into the world to make
his fortune, and he's come over to tell
you good-bye."
"Well, Ma," says my father, "I guess
we'd best do something to give him a
start in life. Just let Ann Maria stir the
apples, and you go and make him up
a little bundle. He'll want a clean shirt
and a pair of socks or two and a couple
of handkerchiefs?and bring him his good
shoes. And say, Ma, you bring me down
RESBYTERIAN OF THE SOUTH
p,e"9
quality is
I It sells by the car-loai
25c. l-pound can.
a dollar bill out of the bureau drawer."
Ma started off as cheerful as could be,
and my father turned to me where I
stood, frozen with horror, and putting
on the fine society air that he usually
kept for the dominie and the doctor, he
waved me to a chair, politely urging me
as if I were already a stranger in the
house, with "Sit down, John. Take the
rocking chair and rest yourself. You'll
need it. Maybe you'll have a long way
to go today."
He slipped out of the room a few minutes,
and then he came back with a loaf
and the heel of Sabbath Joint of beef and
some butter, and he began cutting the
bread and spreading the butter and slic- *
ing the beef and making nice, juicy
sandwiches with great industry. I looked
on with a sick sort of wonder, too crushed
even to cry, when ma came hustling
back, a choice selection from my wardrobe
over her arm and my Testament
in her hand. This was an.awful stroke.
It was so like the stories in the books.
"I'm making a few sandwiches for
John," says my father, kind o' pathetic
HKe. "He may need them, poor boy,"
and he heaved a sigh.
This tapped the springs of my soul. , I
gave a sob that must have sounded like
a hiccough and tears began to stream
down my face.
But my father was unrelenting. He
tied the sandwiches up in a napkin and
made a bundle of the clothes, with the
Testament in the middle, and then he
ambled up to me with the bundle in one
hand and a nice, crisp ^dollar bill in the
other, holding them out with:
"Well, here you are, son John. Maybe
this'll give you a fair start in life, and as
you must go, why, it's time to be starting
now. It's getting on in the morning,
and, no doubt, you've a long way to
uuvei ueiore mgni. so kiss your motner
and"?
But I didn't wait to hear any more. I
made a dash for my mother and fell on
my knees before her to bury my face in
her apron?I was only about eleven or
twelve, you see?and with sobs and walls
and floods of tears I begged her, "Don't
send me away! Oh, don't let him send
me away! I ll be good! I'll chop the wood
and tend baby, and you'll never have no
trouble with me any more. Only don't
send me ?WRV frnm vrni and na "
They had some trouble quieting me,
and I guess there were almost as many
tears on my mother's cheeks as on my
own by the time the Incident was ended.
4 i
I. 19
In^offeeI
es Everybody
right. Its flavor is right,
price is right.
ALL RIGHT
I?other coffees by the case H
At any reliable grocers
Ann Maria was sniveling over the stove,
but my father held his ground, grave
but kind. He inaugurated a long parley,
in the course of which I promised over
and over again that never more would
I threaten to run away.
Woll - * -
mcuuc. uiu i. il me dangerous
words ever came to the tip of my tongue
a glance at my father's face, or my
mother's, was enough to make me swallow
them.?North American.
BRIGHT HOMES.
We try to make our homes bright. For
this purpose we make use of artificial
light. Modern ways of lighting homes
add much to the cheerfulness of the
place. Electric lights shining through
ingenious designs in glass fill the house
with a burst of glory. Unpretentious #
houses are lighted so as to look like a
fairy's palace.
We brighten our homes with music,
with nlCtnrM With hnnlro noi,??o ?-J
, ? - .? . wwnu, O aIIVI
magazines with company and festivities.
We want the brightest music, the brightest
pictures, the brightest literature and
the brightest company in the home. It
is natural to try to shut out the darkness
and bring in the light.
There is something more radiant than
the brightest electric light, the brightest
music, the brightest books. The radiant
Christian character will make the home
brighter than anything else. If every
member of the home were illuminated
bjf the Spirit of our Lord, what beautiful
homes we should see. This brightness
will endure. A father whose soul is radiant
with love and sympathy and goodness
will leave a light in the home when
he departs. That light will linger as
long as the home shall continue to exist.
Let the prayers in the home be bright.
Let the conversation be brightened, not
only by literary and scientific illumination,
but also by the light which is kindled
from above. A truly bright home,
bright with love, bright with peace,
bright with happiness, is a type of that
hbme beyond the skies which is filled
with everlasting sunshine.
If God gives me work to do, I will
thank Him that ne has bestowed upon
mp r ntrnnc arm1 \t ho oliroo
to brave, I will bless Him that He has
not made me without courage; but I
will go down on my knees and beseech
Him to fit me for my task, if He tells
me it is only to stand and wait.?Jean
Ingelow.
I