The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1881-06-21
One of "Gath's" Yarns.
The Story He Tells of a New England
Father and Son.
New York Tribune.1


day long without the power to rest, walked off
alone, and even when alone spoke alone with
himself, chased geese with little legs as lean
aud swift, and at the table eating his meals
could not sit very still nor bear to sit all the
morning in church hearing the sermon because
his heart was too rapid in his narrow little
chest, every rib could be counted against
his tender flesh and skin. In the morning he
was awake at earliest light at evening his tired
nature yielded to the deep sleep OF exhaustion.
His mother feared she could never raise him to
be man. His father thought he was too long
becoming man in gravity, sobriety and form
al obedience.
"What ails my SOM" the father sternly
asked. "He is rattle-headed and without sta
bility. fear for him. Do you chastise him
enough? Spare not the rod lest ne grow be-
yond you and your rule. -
"Alasi" exclaimed the mother, che has his
little world we cannot see, perhaps. He Is
growing and sensitive. The doctor says we
must not push him at his studies, but let him
play all he can until his frame is equal to his
brain.'
The father shook his head and spoke sternly
to the boy, and feared he was going to give
them all trouble, growing up seldom mould.
ed and restrained
All day the little boy was doing something,
carrying the cat by the tail, carrying the dog
under his arm, making pictures on paper of
engines, and steamboats, and Indians and bel.
lows.
"He will be an artist" said his mother hope
fully.
NI1a will croil ha ihrar , IL
father suspiciously.
Antagonism grew up between the father
and the boy, born on the boys part, OF fear;
on the fathers of suspicion and severity The
boy ran to his mother and asked her protec.
tion from his fathers suspecting eye. The
father feared his wife was spelling the son
with mistaken generosity and allowance. At
times the fathers habitual suspicion broke
away like the clouds above hard, humid Brit
ain, and he laid his rigorous books Of theology
down to take his boy walking, and they grew
little nearer. Then again the father OBJ
served some voluptuous tendency in the son
which started his fears anew; some taste for
worldly, passing modes and joys.
Wife" said he, "do you ever give our boy
money!"
"a little," said she; "a few pennies, to buy
drawing materials and colors; he will be an
artist, think
Money" exclaimed the sire, sis the root of
every evil. You had better give him FIRE or
poison. He will become wild, ruined spend
thrift
The idea that his.wife gave the child money
operated in the fathers head like jealousy or
revenge; it tinted everything about his sons
conduct, and he believed his wife had deliber-
ately set to work to indulge her child at the
expense OF his soul.
One morning, thinking of such things, the
father lay awake in bed and gentle noise dis
turbed him. The sun was nearly up, though it
was scarcely o'clock, and the light and air
striking through the chamber curtains showed
little boy in his night clothes stealing along
the floor toward the foot of his fathers bed
Lying perfectly still with-his eyes almost closed
the father saw that small, large-headed child,
unable to sleep yet careful not to awake his
parents, turn an eye of timid covetousness up
on his fathers trowsers and vest hanging upon
nail He glanced sharply toward his father
to see II he was quite asleep, and then swiftly,
like little bird, hoped upon chair and ran
his lean white fingers into his fathers vest
pocket.
"Ha!' thought the father. 'My son is in
my pockets by stealth, before am awake,
and initiating the bad example of my wife,
who often, perhaps, searches unauthorizedly
therel''
AS he said this a dreadful idea crossed his
mind. That son, spoiled by the mothers in
diligence, already corrupted by spending mon
ey, was a thief-a thief while yet childl He
rose in bed and spoke in a voice of thunder:
Robert, you are stealing my money!
Horror froze the boy; he dropped from the
chair like cat, and was into his own bed in
the next room and covered his face with the
sheets. Anguish and stern resolve possessed
at once the fathers stricken heart He had
delayed too long to chastise his wayward son,
now gliding into ruin. 1t must be done, hard
though the thought should be. He awoke his
wife, and, suppressing her replies with an iron
will, related the story of her depraved child.
"Henceforth," he said, 81 must be the magis-
trate and mother instead of you'll Robert, come,
dress yourself''
He thrust the frightened mother back. The
boy fell on his knees, but could not speak one
word so large the knot that gathered in his lit
tie throat, so resolute the startled, fawn-like
eyes, as il agony and perversty worked togeth-
or to make him obdurate. Down the stairs
and into the orchard, away from sight, the
father bore his child, and making him kneel
upon the grass, struck hard and slow with
switch OF the apple tree, telling his boy to con-
his fathers knife. the shrinking childhood of
the boy received his hard chastisement. Car
ried back, all trembling as with q chill Of
death. to the house OF mourning, the little boy
was laid in his bed still frozen tight of speech
and only the ointment Of a mothers tears fell
on his tortured back and famine-narrowed
shoulders, but his large eyes turned to q little
box that he kept his treasures in, and they
placed it in his bed whore he lay all day sigh
ing from his inarticulate soul.
The fathers heart was wrenched to think Of
such q frail, dear SON persisting in his wicked
ness, and turning from repentance. he sat by
his side all that afternoon, demanding his boy
to confess and save them both the pain Of
another chastisement, which else he would feel
required to enforce next day. The boy trem-
bled but did not speak, and put his arms
around his little box as If it was his brother.
The long night through sigh went through
the chamber ever and anon from those suffer-
ing lips. Neither man nor woman slept. At
carly day the anguished father felt that the
stern punishment must be meted out again un-
less his boy spoke and repented. He rose and
passed into the chamber where the son lay in
his lowly bed all strewn with his little draw
ings, and his arms around his box. He sighed
no more, but seemed asleep. Upon his face
color paler than the snowy sheets extended.
Another guest was in the bed; the guest that
"Mary," cried the father, "Mary, my wife,
come here! Robert is dying"
The mother came on feet of doves wings.
She raised her son upon her breast. The little
lips unclosed and spoke the last forever to this
world:
81 love my papa. Mamma, only wanted
his pencil. not his money. Dear God, let papa
love mel"
And so, among the little drawings he had
been working at every dawn, till his pencils
were worn to the wood and he would have bor-
rowed his papas noiselessly, whose sharpened
pencil was in his waistcoat pocket, the little
artist yielded up his broken heart. Only the
room resounded with childless fathers cry:
oh! had ! my son again, even though he
were thief!'
Magazine Notices.