Bradford reporter. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, 1858-04-01
The Stolen Knife.

Many years ago, when boy of seven or
eight years, there was one thing which long
ed for more than anything else, and which l
imagined wonld make me happy. 1t was a jack
knife Then | would not be obliged to bor-
row fathers every time | wished to cut string
or stick, but could whittle whenever l choose,
and as much as I pleased. Dreams of kites,
bows and arrows, boats, &c. all manufactured
with the aid of that shining blade haunted me
by day and night.
1t was beautiful morning in June, that my
father called Inc, and gave me leave, if wish
ed, to go with him to the store | was de-
lighted, and taking bis hand we started The
birds sang sweetly on every bush and every
thing looked so gay and beautiful, that my
heart fairly leaped for JOY After our arrival
at the village, and while my father was occu-
pied in purchasing some articles in remote
part of the store, my attention was drawn to
a man who was asking the price of various jack
knives which lay on the counter. AS this was
a very interesting subject to me, approached,
intending only to look at them | picked up
one, opened it, examined it, tried the springs,
felt the edge of the blades with my thumb, and
thought | could never cease admiring their
pououCu Ou IL III heIC OHly
thought l, how happy should be ! Just at
this moment, happening to look up, saw the
merchant had gone tochange bill for his Gus
toner, and no one was observing me. For
fear that might be tempted to do wrong,
started to replace the knife on the counter, but
all evil spirit whispered, Put it into your
pocket !; quick " Without stopping to think
of the crime or its consequences, | hurriedy
slipped it into my pocket, and as | did So felt
blush of shame burning on my cheek but
the store was rather dark, and no one noticed
it, nor did the merchant miss the knife.
We soon started for home, my father giving
me parcel to carry. AS we walked along
my thoughts continually rested on the knife,
and | kept my hand in my pocket all the time,
from a sort of guilty fear that it would be seen
This, together with carrying the bundle in my
other hand, made it difficult for me to keep
pace with my father. He noticed it, and gave
me lecture about walking with my hands in
my pockets.
All how different were my thoughts then,
from what they were when passing the same
scenes few hours before The song Of the
birds seemed joyous no longer, but sad and
sorrowful, as if chiding me for my wicked act
| couId not look my father in the face for /
had been needless of his precepts, broken one
of Gods commandments and become a hirf.
As these thoughts passed through my mind, |
could hardly help crying, but concealed my
feelings, and tried to think of the good times |
would have with my knife. | could hardly
say anything on my way home and nv father
thinking | was either tired or sick, kindly took
my burden, and spoke soothingly to me, his
u
than | retreated to safe place, behind the
house, to try the stolen knife. | had picked
up a stick, and was whiting it, perfectly de-
lighted with the sharp blade, which glided
through the wood almost of itself, when sud
denly heard the deep, subducd voice of my
father, calling me by name, and on looking up,
saw him at the window directly over my head,
gazing down very sorrowfull at me- The stick
dropped from my hand, and with the knife
clasped in the other, proceeded into the house.
| saw by his looks, that my father had OWNED
all. found him sitting in his arm chair, look
ing very pale. | walked directly to his side,
and in low, calm voice, he asked me where
got the knife. His gentle manner and Lind
tone went to my heart, and burst into tears.
AS soon as my voice would allow me, ! made a
full confession. He did not fog me-, as some
fathers would have done, but re, ,,rimanded me
in such manner, that, while / felt truly pen
itent for the deed loved him more than ever,
and promised never, never to do the like again.
In my fathers company. [ then returned to the
store, and on my knees. begged the merchant S
pardon, and promised never again to take what
was not my own.
My father Is long since dead and never do
think of my first theft, without blessing the
memory Of him whose kind teachings and gen
tie corrections have made it, thus far in my
life, and torerer, my last.--Moore's RHra! .Ne,e
Yorker