Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1883-10-06

WAC was this valiant man of mem
A simple laborer brave and bold
" Grand vas the deed" hear you say,
&c But ssll he did it for goods and gold
listen, then Gallant the deed you've done,
Aud we'll" said the Count, " have you earned
The prize"
Frankly and modestly answered then
The valiant with the fearless eyes
60 Ny life, Lord Count, is not for gold
Your money all to the keeper give
Lost in the bod Is his little all,
Yet ha and Dis vile and child must live
With clreless smile he turned and went,
This man with the frank and the fearless eye !;
We sing OF his fame, but what was his name
Is known alone to the Lord on high.
-tE. II. Traquair, in Harpers Young People.
little Boy, but Great Zero.
Az INTERESTING STORY THAT ALL BOYS
SHOULD READ.
"The stage has gone, sir, but there's a
widow lives here, and she's got boy, and
he'll drive you over. He's nice little
fellow, and bacon Ball let's him have ais
team for tritis, and we like to get him
lob when we can.
1t was q hot day in July. Away up
among the hills that make the lower slope
of the M)nadnock mountain, friend lay
very i'll. In order to reach his temporary
home, one must take an early train to the
nearest station, and trust to the numbering
old coach that ms de daily trip to K.
The train was late the stage, after wait
ing sons time, was gone. The landlord OF
the little white hotel appeared in his shirt
sleeves, aud, leaning his elbow on the bal
cony rail, dropped down on the hot and
thirsty traveller what comfort could be ex-
trac.ed from the opening sentence OF my
sketch.
Would we not come in and have some
dinner?' Yes" Would he send for
the deacon'a team," eyes" "And the
boy ?" &" Yes
And the dinner was eaten and the team
came round-an open buggy and an old
white horse-and Just as we were seated
the door OF little brown house across the
way opened, and out rushed the " widows
boy"
In his mouth was the last morsel of his
dinner he had evidently learned how to
d" eat and run" His feet were clad in last
winters much-worn boots, whose wrinkled
legs refused TO stay within the limits OF his
narrow and faded trousers. As his legs
flew forward his arms flew backward in an
Intellectual struggle to get himself inside OF
a jacket much too short IN the sleeves.
There be is. said the hostler " that's
the widow Bsebe's boy, l told him that
| d hold the horse while he went homo to
get bite"
The horse did not look as if he needed
to be held, but the hostler got his dime,
and the boy approached in time to relieve
my mind as TO whether he would conquer
81 he ,atxa a.
him and turn him wrong side out
He was sunburned and freckled, large
mouthed and red haired-s homely, plain,
wretched little Yankee boy. And yet, as
we rode through the deep summer bloom
long hills in the glow of the afternoon sun,
/ learned such lesson from the little fell
low as I shall not soon forget.
He did not look much like preacher, as
he sat, STOPPING forward little, w5isking
the flies from the descon's horse, but his
sermon was one which l wish might have
been heard by all the boys in the land.
As it vas, had to spur him on now and
then by questions, to get him to tell all
about himself
My father died, you see, and left my
mother the little brown house opposite the
tavern. You saw it, didn't you, sir-the
one with the lilac bushes under the win.
dow! Father was sick long time, and
when he could not work he had to raise
money on the house. Deacon Ball let him
have it, a little at the time, and when
father was gone, mother found the money
owed was almost $500. At first she
thought she would have to give up the
house, but the deacon said, Let it wait
awhile, and he turned and patted me on
the head and said, When Johnny gets
big enough to earn something, l shall ex-
pect him to pay it l was only then,
but I'm Is now. I remember it, and re-
member mother cried and said, Yes, dea-
con, Johnny is my only hope now, and
wondered and wondered what work l could
do. really felt as if ought to begin at
once, but could not think OF anything to
do
"Well, what did you do?" I asked
quickly, for l was afraid he would stop,
aud wanted TO bear the rest.
"Well, at first I did very funny things
for boy. Mother used to knit socks to
sell, aud she sewed the rags to make rag
carpets, and helped"
"Howl WHAT could you do?'
"Well, the people who would like car
pei, could not always get the time to make
it. So | went to the houses among the
farmers and took home their rags, old
coats, and everything they had, and out in
the woodshed I ripped and cut them up
Then mother sewed them and sometimes
l sewed some, too, and then l rolled them
into balls and took them back to the own
ers, all ready 70 be woven into rugs"
4" But did they pay you for your work ;"
" Oh, yes, we got so much a pound, and
l felt quite ike young merchant when
weighed them ont with our old steelyards
But that was only one way we've two or
three old apple trees out in the back yard
by the wall, and We dried the apples and
sold them. Then some of the farmers who
had a good many apples began to send them
to US to dry, and We paid them so many
pounds all dry and had the rest to SELL "
g But you surely could not do much in
ways like these"
fNo, not much, but something and we
bad the knitting"
Ibid you knit ?"
"Not at first, out after awhile mother
began to have the rheumatism in her hands
and the joints became swollen and the
fingers twisted, and it hurt her to move
them. Then / learned to knit; before that
| wound the yarn for her. had to learn
to sew little, too, for mother didn't like
to see the holes without patches"
And he looked half smilingly at the
specimens on bis knees.
d" But you did not mend thoseY'
"Yes, sir; but was in hurry, and
mother said it was not done as it ought TO
be. They had just been washed, and 1
couldn't wait for them to dry"
"Who washed them ?"
81 did, aud iroRed them, too. 1 can
wash and iron almost as well as mother can.
She dop'i mean to let me, but how is she