Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1873-01-31

ihoJlOu VI DaCklnR; Jnen all was sull IN
the car, while the great locomotive throb-
bed iteelf into the distance.
"1f could only see where amp
thought Clarence. But not souud was
heard. The car was "switched off"
somewhere and left; but where was itP
What II nobody should me-and let
me outl Whatif should haveto 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 II 1t 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, be 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 thisY" 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 1t was not yet four o'clock. nr
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
'At Barton. Meant to steal ride did
your" asked one of the men.
mo, did not. got carried off, re-
piled Clarence, with indignation
well, you'd better start back pretty
quick, boy. Where did YOU come fromt"
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 1t 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 e beggsr boy. Near the barn
yard there was a 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 rsd-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 quiver 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 well.
At Oswego some boys sent him two
miles in a 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 ride back by rail, or to ask piece
of bread even, at a house door. "Theyl
think me beggar if l do, and I'd rather
~ Ihdu DCB1 NC IuOuRuI.
SO he passed on mile after mile, while
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 day he was overtaken by but two
wagons. They were 80 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.
Clarence thought he could not get home.
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 YEARLY 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 los. boyr' while his
mother sprang forward and clasped him
in her arms.
Clarence was too tired to tell his story,
just then. They gave him food, for he
had eaten nothing but a 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
| 1t would be if all the lost children could
come home, as Clarence came; if never a
hearth-stone remained cold for the want
OF the living touch of the little feet that
stray and come not again.
Clarence thinks his home a far nicer
place than a grain-car on the Erie road
and the roof of his fathers house better
shelter, in January, than red-top and
clOvar -OgIr Yo,fno RoIL0