Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1873-01-31

the fastening pin was in, and, in spite of
cries and knpcks that no one heard, Clar-
ence Shank was a prisoner in an empty
grain-car that was bound for the Great
West. -
In vain he shouted, in vain he thrust
his stout boots against the doors. The
old locomotive engine, putting away in
front, may have felt the thrill in its steam
chest, but no ones heart was touched to
open the doors and let Clarence out. So
the wheels began to roll, and they rolled
faster and faster, and the journey began.
The boy did not know whether he was
going east or west. All that he could tell
was, that the road was rough and the car
jolted terribly. He stood up and clung
fast to its sides to keep from being thrown
about. a +a .w.-
"What will mother think at homer
gasped Clarence, trying in vain to find a
crevice out of which he could peep at
the surrounding country. HIS country
was blackness and darkness just then.
The time seemed days, the way endless,
and then the thudding rumble grew less
and less. The car was standing
still. He renewed his knocks
and shouts and kicks, but no
one came, and after few moments the
old motion begun again. He held fast,
until his hands were sore from the fric-
ton. The tears came and rolled down
his cheeks, for he could not let go to wipe
them from his eyes. After another hour
the train stopped again, and he felt the
motion of backing; then all was still in
the car, while the great locomotive throb-
bed itself into the distance. 3 0r
eff [ could only see where I ami"
thought Clarence. But not sound was
heard. The car was "switched off"
somewhere and left; but where was it?
"What if nobody should come and let
me out! Whatif should have to stay in
here till / starved and died" And then
the thought of all the sore trouble his alb.
sence would make at home. He listened
attentively for the sound of footstep,
for he was growing very cold, and he
wondered if it was night.
At last they came, the sweetest sounds
that Clarence had ever heard, and yet
they were but the tramp of heavy feet on
frozen ground. The boy forgot to cry
aloud, he was so eager in his listening.
Yes, they were coming; he could hear
voices, as of men talking. Then he
knocked with feet and hands; he shouted
aloud, but his voice was wellnigh drowned
IN the dark, close car.
whats this?" said one of the men.
"There's somebody stolen free ride in
that car. reckon" The pin was taken
out, the door showed back, and Clarence
was nearly blinded by the full light of
day, for it was not yet four o'clock.
He had not been imprisoned quite four
hours, but the journey had seemed to him
the length of the United States.
"Where am II" asked Clarence.
cat Barton. Meant to steal ride did
you?" asked one of the men.
mo, I did not. I got carried off,, re-
piled Clarence, with indignation.
'Well, you'd better start back pretty
quick, boy. Where did you come from?"
"FrOm Binghamton. How far it it?"
"About forty miles. Take that road!"
Aud the men went on their way, think
ing little of their careless words to the
boy.
He started, and walked until it was al
most dark. Then he reached Tioga Cen
tre. He passed through the village, and
went on until it was so dark that he could
not see.
A farmhouse was near by, but no
friendly light cleaned out from it.
Clarence thought the folks had gone to
bed. He did not like to wake them up;
beside, he was afraid they would think
he was beggar boy. Near the barn
yard there was large stack of hay with
fence about it, to keep the cattle from
getting in. Clarence jumped the fence,
pulled out some hay, made berth for
himself, crawled in, and, with the sum-
mer's rad-top and clover for bed and
covering, he fell asleep. The tears stole
out from his tired eyelids with the last
moment of consciousness, after which
sleep warmed his cheeks and dried his
tears, and sweetly freshened every tired
nerve and muscle for the great trial of the
morrow. There lay between his hay
stack bed and his home thirty -four miles
of frozen land, and Clarence was only
eleven years old, and had eaten neither
dinner nor supper that day.
Light came from over the east, and
with a culver the boys eyelids opened.
He sprang up fully dressed; no smoke
curled from the farmhouse chimney; no.
body was astir so early. He started for
the long march. In his pocket was the
corn that he had gathered yesterday.
Hunger was strong, and the lad ate few
kernels, wondering why horses seemed
to like it so we'll.
At Oswego some boys sent him two
miles in wrong direction. He met an
old man who told him he must go back.
That made four extra miles to walk.
Clarence cried with cold and hunger
and WEAKNESS, yet he never thought to
beg a ride back by rail, or to ask piece
of bread even, at house door. They'll
think me beggar if do, and I'd rather
go hungry than beg" he thought.
10 of yrhi Ia
the day went its round. His cheeks were
frozen from the flow of his tears, his toes
and heels were touched by frost, but he
had reached Union, and that was not
many miles, he knew, from home. In
all that dav he was oveItaken by but two
wagons. They were so heavily laden
that their drivers walked; therefore he
could not ask ride of either of them.
1t was after dark when the friendly lights
of Binghamton were seen.
The last few blocks were longer than the
miles had been, and yet he knew if he
fell down there, somebody who knew him
would be certain to find him.
He came dragging himself wearily up
to the house. No one saw him until he
opened the door. The house was full of
friends and kindly souls who were come
to sympathize with his mother.
Clarence opened the door and surprised
them all. With one shout they cried,
'Here comes the lost boy!' while his
mother sprang forward and clasped MIN
IN her arms.
Clarence was too tired to tell his story,
just then. They gave him food, for he
had eaten nothing but few kernels OF
corn since Fridays breakfast, and had
not drunk even one drop of water since
leaving home
Thus ends this true story of Clarence
Shank's ride in the grain-car. How nice
it would be if all the lost children could