The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1888-05-05
boxful, that the Rrea. R lev demanded

Scotch-looking farmer, every inch an
optimist How happy he must be!
The small boy did not dare to address
him. for fear of telling of the secret
love that had grown up. And when
the melon bearers returned home there
was feast for they had lived on salt
pork and bad spring-water until they
were all famished for some of the juice
O. earth. But the farmer ate of the
great musk-melons. things the boy had
no tooth for. The farmer did not care
for watermelons. He ate melons as
he sang John Anderson"-in the
minor key.
And now came the rout of autumn.
The boy could almost hear the sounds
of revelry at r ley Roses. How blessed
it was, that though the days should be
long and hateful on this worked-out
farm. still. up there, not mile awar,
was a place where men and women
laughed and made merry! How rue
fully the farmers all about declared
that Riley Rose could get more done
at one husking bee than any other man
| could in ten!
1t was destined. in the providence of
God, that the boy should vanish from
these scenes. He went with but
single regret-that fate had kept him
away from the one spot on earth that
had been worth living in.
Nnih;n~ oaop,aA OF mora
joyful than the news. few years
afterward, that another and beloved
family of tine boys relatives had bought
Riley Roses place, and would also try
farming. Time had wrought some
change for the better in the fortunes
of the small boy. He had a guitar,
and he was well liked. Therefore, to
to visit his affectionatc aunt and her
daughter. the people who had never
been unkind to him. and 10 visit them
in Riley Roses paradise. became a
privilege that could hardly have been
dreamed of. And in the days of de-
lightful midsummer, while the men
were off on the creek hayng, the
| women would cook dinner of spring
chicken fried in fresh butter. the table
would be spread under the trees. the
boy, who gloried in homework, would
take delighted hand at the various
industries of that little home, and
though the people roundabout might
say that the light had departed from
Riley Roses yet what cared the boy?
The fact was he, the small boy. had be-
come sole heir of this principality of
nature. No wonder the dsinherited
should complain. To swing, to play
the guitar. to pick fruit to go winter
greening, to shoot the black squirrels
and shoot at the red squirrels, to bring
in wild turkey or goose, TO drive
home the cows, and hear the tinkling
of their bells along with the call of
some sweet-voiced bird born in those
acknowledgement was the round of
pleasures that succession OF visits, in
all times of the year. brought to the
small boy. And be it said to his credit
that he never fled his head from the
downy pillows of that hospitable
house, to catch the thread of the
dawn's discussion outside-the gobble
bobble and the chanticleer-without
thoughts of gratitude for the
man who had coined this lovely spot
out of the primeval wilderness-wh no
had fenced it away from the mean,
ugly, workaday world.
Twenty years afterward the small
boy finds his health undermined by
the hard summers work and vigil
growing out of the assassination, suf-
ferings, and death of President Gar
field. In his desire for rest the small
boys thoughts turn backward to the
grove of singing birds and scolding
turkeys and chirping squirrels. The
ever-present dew of that far-away
heaven of a sterile childhood seems to
fall upon his soul. Yes, he will travel
thither He will walk once more in
those scenes He win do again for
day as he did once for happy weeks.
And then he will go in search of Riley
Rose. The small boy is old enough
now to speak his gratitude.
Years ago the small boy has heard
that his people had left the saplings
and the oaks. Why, he knows not,
but railroad journey carries him to
their farm. not far from the by-places
of his youth. They tell him the old
place is gone. but he can hardly be-
lieve them. A walk of half an hour
brings him to the knoll where the Or
chard once bloomed. In dazed sort
of way he looks for the p!cket-ferce.
the gracious oaks; his eye travels
mile for grove of saplings. But
this, he is told. is the sacred spot--a
cornfield, like the meanest cultivated
acre in the township. Not far from
the road, over stake-and-rider worm
fence, is pit. Here is the cellar of
the joyous old home; here had Riley
Rose gained his greatest triumphs on
the E string. There the cornstalks
are picked soldiers. like Frederick's
guard; they grew tall out of the chip
pile, a soil three or four feet deep.
Some purchasing Goth had seen no
beauty in the place. Troy was; Car
thago delenda est The small boy
weeps tear for the orchard. the
Strawberries, the swings, the squirrels,
the cackling. chirping. squealing.
bleatng, mooing host; he hears Tin his
mind) once more the midsummer
breeze among the upper branches. aud
departs. And then he bethinks him of
the meagre farmhouse a mile away,
where the two young people began life
SO long before He strolls down the
unhappy lane of his youth, where he
had carried spring-water when he had
boil on his knee cap; he walks
around the pond where the mare he
rode from ploughing at noon always
lay down in the warm, muddy water to