St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1884-06-12
Brave Ben Ballard.
BY ADA CARLETON sToDDARD.

Der afternOon,-a thin little fellow
with sandy hair aud pale blue eyes,
and freckeled, old-lOOking face, in
which there was certainly no appear
ance of any thing like herOism. just
AT that moment, indeed, there was a
cloud of mingled grief and anger upon
/ it, and the tears Ben could not check
were chilling on his cheeks. He was
Deacon Wilson's bound boy. and was
respected to work early and late for
| his food and clothes.
He could hardly remember the time
when lie was not bound boy. though
the time had surely been. cottage
i'll the little country town was occasion
ally pointed out as ''the place Rufus
Ballard owned before he took, to
drink Poor Rufus BaIIlrdi There
was. no kinder-hearted or happier man
in all Payueville than he, before the
demon that has ruined so many homes
clutched and held him in its vicious
grasp. Ben was scarcely four years
old when his mother died; but one
memory of his dreary babyhoOd still
appeared to him, standing ont terribly
distinct against the dark back ground
oi fOrgetfulness. Often he thought of
1t, and seemed again to see his mother
us he saw her then, lying, OH so white
and still, her pretty, soft hair all dab
bled in the blood that was trickling
slowly from wound in her forehead
Her head had come in contact with ii
sharp corner of the stove when she fell,
struck down by her husband in fit Of
drunken rage. The shock sobered him
Instantly; through all his madness, he
had never before raised his hand
against her. Now, with dry, burning
eyes, he lifted the insenSible form at
his feet and placed it on the bed and
kissed the still lips with sad, remorse-
ful tenderness. All this Ben remem-
bered; and he remembered, too, and
always with grateful tears swelling mp
from the depths of his lonely little
heart, how his father had turned to-
him, then, taking him in his arm for il
moment, and stroking his hair.
1--WE been il brute he said, huskily
I'm going away, Bennie. If ever
get to be il man again III come back
Tell-your mother what | say. And
don't you ever. if you die first, Bennie.
touch a drop of liquor. Run across,
now, and ask Mrs. Brown to come over
to see
And when Ben, crying bitterly, had
performed the errand to the best of his
small ability, his father had disap-
peared; and from that day forth Rufus
Ballard was seen no more in PAYNE
vile, nor did any word come from him
to-one little lonely waiting heart
Scarcely three months late, Ben's
mother died of consumption, the doc
tor said; of Il broken heart, said the
meighbors. At her death, good Mrs.
Brown took the boy and was very kind
to him until she, too, went tn her long
rest. And then Ben fell into the
hands of Deacon Josiah Wilson.
They were not particularly tender
hands, though, to do the deacon Justice,
he endeavored To perform his duty to
his charge conscienciously. His trouble
was only that in his conception duty
was synonymous with discipline, and
that of the most rigorous description.
So the life of his poor little bound boy
was hard i'll the extreme, and pitifully
devoid of all simple, childish pleasures.
1t was after prayers that morning
that Ben had prottered IA timid request,
standing as he spoke with flushed
deacon Wilson, cant oh, if you
please. sir, Eben Beals says that if You
if will come over and help him after
| get my chores done nights, he-I
may--he will give me his old skates
in pay. He's got-a new-pair."
Poor little Ben How the color came
and went III his thin face, and how
painfully hard his heart thumped be
hind his checked blouse. The deacon's
sharp grey eyes were upon him.
"Trash ~ calculated the deacon,
shortly. "What do you want to do
with skates !''
'T'll skate" cried Ben, eagerly,
Frightening with new hope. ~
learnt last winter at recess time and
moons on Mr.. Kane's duck pond, sir"
Deacon Wilson's next words dissi-
pated all expectation of good to come,
however and the clouds swept across
Ben's sky again, darker than ever.
"YOu might have been better en-
| played. | don't send you to school tC
cut up any such didos. You can't helI
the Beals boy, an you can't have the
skates. Give 'em backs quick as you're
Il mind to-
1t was of all this Ben was thinking
as he stood with half-angry, tearfu
face 10y the deacOu's wood pile, where
have left him an unconscionablt
length of time. His tears fell thicker
and faster with the gathering shadow:
of night, and he dropped his axe a
last with little bitter cry.
''It's no use to try" he said. go
father! o, father, why don't you come
why don't you come -
With ii sudden thought he fell upul
his knees beside the log, and claspe,
his hands before him.
"Oh, God, please bring my fathe
back to me. Oh, please, dear God
And this ask for Jesus sake. Amen.
From the doorway at that momen
sounded the deacon's incisive voice. -
Come i'll to supper, Benjamin. You'll
wear the knees o. your pantaloOns al
ont getting down Oh 'em that way
Come right in"
! And at the supper table he eye
| Ben's flushed face sharply.
"Lemme See" he said, taking IA med
itative sip of tea: Its nigh onto te
years sence Your father went off ain
t ?r
t "Hes sir" returned Ben, family.
, Well said the deacon, not alto
gether unkindly '''taint IA good pla
for ye to be pleasin' yourself with til
e notion at he'll be back IL don't stan
: TO reason he will. An you're best she
;. of him, BenjaInin-best shet of him =
r. Ben did not reply; his heart va
full and there was painful lump
his throat. Just as long as he lived |
q WOul1 cling to the faith which ha
been his mothers also, that his faith,
Il was alive and well, and would one d.
!, come back to him-a man among mt
" once more.
d Every night before he went to re
d he prayed for this in his own humb
r. way. On this particular night, he Gre