Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1873-02-27

Sat Barton. Meant to steal a ride did
your" asked one of the men.
| mo, did not. l 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 roadi"
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
tire. 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 a beggar boy. Near the barn
yard there was large stack of hay with
tence about it, to keep the cattle from
getting in. Clarence jumped the fence,
pulled out some hay, made a berth for
| himself, crawled in. and, with the sum-
mer's red-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 bis 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
| III Il
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 wrong direction. He met an
old man who told him he must 90 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. They'll
think me a beggar if | do, and I'd rather
go hungry than beg" he thought.
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 oveTtaken by but two
wagons. They were so heavily laden
that tt cir drivers walked; therefore he
could not ask a 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 lost boy!" 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 few kernels Of
corn since Fridays breakfast, and had
not drunk even one drop Of water since
leaving nome.
Thus ends this true story of Clarence
Shank's ride in the grain-cap. How nice
it 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 grain-car On the Erie road
and the roof of his fathers house a better
shelter, in January, than red-top and
clover.-OuT Young Folks.