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NE Sunday morning, while Mr. Thomas
was teaching his class of forty boys,
a strange sensation came over him. He
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stopped in the midst of the lesson while
he was telling them about the sin of drink
and of the love of God for them. Without hes
itation, he told them that he had a true story
to tell them about a once good boy who had
come from a good home. The boys, of course,
were anxious to hear the story, and were very
quiet.
Then Mr. Thomas said: “Boys, you can take
this for what it is worth to you.” They closed
the door to the Sunday school room and Mr.
Thomas at once began.
“It was in 1893, just after the run in north
ern Oklahoma, when many people were lucky
enough to get land. I was riding over the
country which was soon to become homes for
many poor people in the future. I felt very
badly; my heart was heavy because I had fail
ed in the race to get a claim. But, neverthe
less, I was determined to make the best of it
and go back to Kansas. As I looked forward
in the distance, my eye caught a figure; I rode
toward it and as I came closer I saw that it
was a man. He was building a little hut. I
stopped to pass the time of day with him. He
was old and gray; his back was bent; his hands
were rough, and his language broken. He told
me of his many failures in his life and with
tears in his eyes, pointing to two old horses
and a wagon he said: ‘This is all I have out
-of my hard work all these years.’ I told him
he could not endure the hardships of this new
country and he had better sell as quickly as
he could. But the old man came closer and
placing his hand on my horse’s bit said:
“ ‘Friend, it is this way. I know my days
are numbered, but what little time I have here
I will have to work. Once upon a time, I had
money; but it is all gone now. I lost it in
a land deal; the land I got was lost, or, in
other words, I was beat out of it.’
“ ‘You have a wife, have you?’ I asked.
“ ‘Yes, and a boy, too. I am going to have
the woman down and we are going to send the
boy to school. You see, my boy, Henry, is
a good boy and we want to give him a good
education so he will not have to work as hard
as his poor dad has; but we can not send him
this vear. ’
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THE GOLDEN AGE FOR WEEK OF DEC. 18, 1913
A LIFE’S LESSON
“Then the poor man hid his face in his col
ored handkerchief. I looked at my watch and
saw it was nearly noon; so I bade him good
by and rode on my way.
“The poor man’s story sank deep into my
heart, and I determined to help the boy get
an education. When 1 reached home, I found
him a place where he could earn his board
and room and attend school.
“When the father and mother heard of this
chance for Henry, they were rejoiced, and be
gan to plan at once for Henry’s going away.
Soon the morning for his departure came and
there was a feeling of sadness in the little hut.
Henry’s home-made clothes were tied in a bun
dle and placed under his arm. The nearest
railroad was fifteen miles away. The father had
the horses ready to take Henry half way; he
was to walk the other half. He kissed his
mother good-by at the door and her last words
to him were: ‘Be a good boy and write often;
I know you will be a good boy, Henry.’ With
tears in her eyes, she stood at the door of the
little hut and watched him ride away. Soon
he was out of sight and she, as all good moth
ers do, cried the rest of the day.
“As the father and sou rode on they dis
cussed plans for the future. At length they
came to the place where the father was to
turn back and the son go on. If I were an
artist, I would paint two pictures—one of a
mother standing in a doorway of a little hut
watching her son ride away; the other of a
father starting back to is home and his son
trudging on down the road with a bundle on
his back.”
Mr. Thomas paused in his story. “I won
der,” said he, loking around over his class, “do
we love our fathers and mothers as much as
we should love them?”
Then he went on with his story: “One year
passed, and, as Henry did not have money
enough to go home, he staid where he was dur
ing the summer. The father and mother had
scarcely enough to live on; so they could not
send money to Henry to come home.
“Months passed and Henry wrote home less
and less often. Soon he seemed to forget his
father and mother. He began running with
bad company and started to drinking. He lost
his job and left school. I plead with him to
change his way of living; he determined to do
better and go back to school, and he begged
By Gilbert B. Clift.
me not to tell his father. He got his job back
and for a time he seemed to be doing well. He
did not get money enough together for a visit
home, however. One night he picked up the
Bible his mother had given him the day he
left home and read it; but it was the last time
“Three months later, he was back with his
old associates; they had persuaded him to
drink with them again. Sin called him and
he answered the call against his conscience.
He soon became a drunkard, a gambler and an
outcast. His health failed. His father and
mother lost his address and failed in their
search for him. A little later, his mother died,
and his father was left to fight the battle of
life alone. All purpose in life seemed to have
left him. and many days he wandered around
the farm listlessly accomplishing nothing.
“As I was walking along the street one day,
I heard a voice like one crying in the wilder
ness. I stopped and listened. I was in the su
burbs of the city in a street of tumbled-down
buildings. I followed the sound of the voice
up two flights of rickety stairs which were
scarcely able to hold my weight In a little
dark room, I found what was once a respec
table young man, but what was he now? Boys,
it was a terrible sight. I thought of the old
man whom I had met five years before and of
his pride in his son, his Henry. For this young
man, now so wretched, was Henry. As I en
tered the room, he looked at me and said:
“ ‘Don’t tell mother.’ Then he turned his
head
“I knew that he was dying, and that I could
do nothing for him. I told him that he could
not live; he said he was not ready to go.
“ ‘I am not ready to die,’ he moaned. Life
has been a failure to me. What shall I do?’
“I asked him if he had anything to say, and
he gasped: ‘Tell the young men never to take
the first glass and they will never have to
stop.’ His eyes became glassy and the dark,
lonesome building rang with his cries again,
and seemed almost to tremble in its horror.
Soon death claimed him for its own.”
Mr. Thomas stopped. The room was quiet,
and the eyes of all the boys were on their
teacher.
“Boys, do you get the lesson? I pray God
you do. Let us fight this poison serpent to
the last.”
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