The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1886-08-12
BILL ARp,S LETTER.
he Institutes System of Family Reform.

BILL ARP'S LETTER.
He Institutes q System of Family Reform.
atlanta Constitution.
Nature can beat art sometimes. Pve
been to the theater afore now, and the
players acted the play so natural and
sympathetic that got all tangled up and
excited, and would cry or laugh just as
they did; but nature can beat art some.
times. just about aundewn, the other
evening, while we were all sitting in the
piazza calm and serene, there was wild
shrek down at the corner of the garden,
and it was Carl calling, and he said, "Run
here to Linton. Linton is killed; run,
papa; run somebody" and we did run,
and Mrs. Arp and the girls cried, "oh.
mercy! Oh, good Lord !" and all sorts of
interjections and conjunctions at every
step, and there was q wild and fearful
panic when we got to the boy, and he was
lying pale and senseless on the rocky
ground, with a big limb across his breast.
He had fallen about twelve feet from the
top of venerable apple tree that, they
say, was planted by the Indians about
sixty years ago. 1 heaved the old broken
limb off of the boy and took him in my
arms and then up the hill to the house,
and my escort oh, oh my escort, with their
cries and screams, demoralized me fear
fully. He was stout lad of thirteen,
this grandson of ours, and as tough as a
pine knot, and I knew he WAS hurt, badly
hurt, but I can always keep calm and
serene on such occasions if the women
will let me. Laying him gently on the
bed, Mrs. Arp ripped his garments with
trembling hands and motberly sobbings
to find the flowing blood and the gaping
wounds, and broken limbs, but they were
not there. He was shocked and senseless,
and breathed hard and gurgled in his
throat, and groaned and sighed, but | had
seen those signs before with the other
boys and had faith. And, sure enough,
in about an hour he came to himself, and
looking around upon the excited family
asked what was the matter, and said,
"Grandma, dreamed I was falling from
the apple tree" The doctor came about
that time and found his arm and shoulder
badly bruised and one rib hurt, perhaps
fractured, and said he would be awful
sore for day.or two, and then get we'll
and be ready for the next skirmish. But
Mrs. Arp was not satisfied, and watched
him all night, and as he slept she listened
to his breathing and felt his pulse and
imagined that something was internally
wrong. The boy carries his arm in a
handkerchief now, and can't 60 in q
washing nor shoot a. sling nor climb a
tree, and he and Carl have to stay in the
house and read story books and look ct
the pictures. But the like of this has to
happen. 1t is part of boys raising. l
wasent much account until fell down a
ladder head foremost and was picked up
for dead. told my wife I wouldent give
cent for boy who had never fell out of
an apple tree or got his arm broke or his
head gashed or something of the kind.
If a man has never had any narrow
escapes, or any wounds, or any broken
bones, or been thrown from a horse and
picked up for dead, what kind of father
will he be? What has he got to tell his
little boy, and excite his wonder and
admiration2 1 had lots of mishaps my
self, and as / grow older Mrs. Arp says
they grow more bigger and more numerf
Gus. Well, of course! Nobody wants
to tell the same old thing the same old
way thousand times. AmpliGcation is
sign of genius. Being knocked down
and added, is big thing; but to be
picked up for dead is heroic.
I've got these children to watch now.
Mrs. Arp has gone to visit her old home
in Gwinnett, and she gave me a whole
catalogue of admonitions and ordinations
and recapitulations, which I've forgotten
already. She has gone to see brothers
aud their wives and children, and the
dear old home where her father and
mother used to wear the parental crown,
and had more love and more power than
king. What sacred temple was that
old family room. It was the court where
she brough all childish troubles and got
comfort. She remembers every nail in
the floor, every brick in the hearth, every
knot in the ceiling overhead. She
wanted to see the big old oaks in the back
yard, under whose shade she played and
swung and had her playhouse of broken
china. The cooling pigeons made love
upon their spreading limbs by day and
the noisy katydids by night. She wanted
to see the big old spring at the foot of
the bill, for she. knew there was no
change, no decay, no mortality there.
The water is still running and though
the frog and the crawfish and the spring
lizard that used to excite her youthful
fears have departed this life interstate,
they left children to inherit and enjoy
that peaceful shady spring. The little
branch still flows on over its gravelly bed
and down into the little fish pond below,
and the ripple of its waters still sings
that same old song:
"For men may come and men may go,
But 60 on forever"
I know that her memory will linger there
sweetly, for she used to wade in that
branch, and she would like to wade in it
again if nobody was looking, but I reckon
she won't. There is 'simmon tree on
the hill close by that she used to climb
in the Fall of the year, for she was as
fond of simmons as a 'possum, but she
will never climb it any more; reckon
she won't. The grape vine swing at the
back of the garden and the saplings she
used to bend down and ride are gone
all gone; but she doesent want to ride
saplings now. Old Aunt Peggy has gone,
too; gone where the good darkies 60.
She was always old and wrinkled and
dried up, but she was faithful unto death,
and the children loved her. Nobody
knew how old she was. For forty con.
secutive years she said she was hundred
no more no less-always hundred.
But dearest of all is the old grave yard that
is close by. The village grave yard where
"the rude forefathers of the hamlet Sleep"
I know she will linger there with sweet
and sad emotions, for there sleep her
noarcs! and dearest ones-father and
mother and brothers and au only sister,
and sweetest of all, dear little babe Of
her own. How surely does life and love
repeat the scenes of our youth. Hers
were fond parents and there was flock.
of children, fair children, all hopeful and