Smyrna times., 1889-10-02
MICKEY PLAYS HOCKEY,

MICKEY PLAYS HOCKEY.
The air of Cooney Island palpitated
with the fervent heat Of day in July.
The hot air radiated up from the mead
ows and the dusty road like heat from a
furnace. Even the chickens sought the
shade of friendly trees, and the locusts
lazily chanted their midsummer thren-
ody as Mickey Finn came down Murray
street with tattered geography, a worn
spelling book and thumbed first reader
under his arm.
| The boys face shone from its recent
application of soft soap and water, SO
that the freckles stood out like spots of
brick dust on either side of his nose. He
had stone bruise on one of his big toes,
and was forced to walk on one heel As
he limped along the roadway, half a
mile away in the hazy perspective he
could see the little red school house in
the hollow, with its monotonous sugges-
tions of: "Can the dog catch-the-cat?
Yes-the-dog-can-catch-the-cat."
In fancy he heard the dreary iteration
of the school room, and saw the blank
white walls speckled with paper 'spit-
balls" He was hot and tired and dusty,
and his toe hurt. The truth was, that he
had asked his mother to permit him to
stay away from school, and she refused
to allow him to do so. Mrs. Finn's at
tention had been pathetically drawn to
the sore toe, and she had said that the
l.
more at school than at home. And so
the boy looked cross and felt ugly to-
wards the distasteful "eddicashun, {"
which his mother forced upon him. AS
he limped along his discontented way,
| he looked off over the meadow, and saw
the naples and pines in Lindseys wood
whispering to each other, as they waved
in the breeze which blew fresh and cool
from the Hudson river. These whis-
pers Mickey interpreted as coaxing invi-
tatiOns, which sounded to him as fol
lows:
"COme, little Mike, and lie under our
protecting branches! Here you will find
the tender birch bark and the juicy sas-
safras root! Upon our shady hillocks,
hidden by glossy green leaves, hide the
red wintergreen berries awaiting your
coming! The tree toad will sing his little
song for you, the bubbling spring is dis
tilling sparkling liquor for your thirsty
lips, and the shady coverts of our sylvan
dells await your
With these enchanting voices in his ear
the temptation to play hockey was a
strong one The tempter of men came
to him with the liquid melody of birds.
the soft woOing of fluttering leaves, the
rustic of the pines thin fingers, and the
gurgle of brooks. And as he stood
In the dusty road and looked down into
the hollow at the sun beating fiercelv
upon the windows Of the little red school
house, and realized how sitting was the
air inside, what wonder that he hesi-
tated!
Then the reproachful face of his mother
rose before him. AS little Mike loved
his mother and feared her rebuke more
than he did her heavy hand, the thought
of her grief impelled him onward to-
ward the school. But he could not shut
out Of his mental sight the picture of the
cool paradise in the wood where the
little lake rippled in the sunlight, and
where, far below, ran the wide reaches
of the Hudson river as it loitered to the
sea. And in this enhancing picture his
mothers face was blotted out as with
sponge from the slate of his mind; the
school house was forgotten and he limped
eagerly up the hillside toward the stone
wall, to which clung the riotous wild
raspberry bushes laden with fruit
Forgotten was the sore toe, lost sight of
was the long, black strap hanging on the
kitchen wall, and left behind was the
dusty road and all the suggestions of
work.
On arriving at the summit of the hill
little Mike turned in his tracks and
looked down upon the school house.
lie saw the master come to the door and
ring the bell, and his schoolmates scam
per like corralled sheep into the building.
Then the door was shut and Mickey re-
allied that his sin was irrevocable. He
trembled, too, when he thought that he
would have to make confession Of it to
the priest. But it was too late to retrace
his steps. He was now in the narrow
path leading to the wood. He took off
his tattered cap and the cool fingers of
the breeze lifted the hair from his fore
head. AS he sat down on the grass a
striped chipmunk stopped, palpitating,
on the stone wall, and little Mixes fin
gers itched for his bow gun. After hid
ing his books in the stone wall and COW
ering them with dead leaves he began
picking and eating raspberries until his
bronzed cheeks were covered with the
juices of the fruit. The scent Of clover
blooms and fresh grasses made his nos
trils dilate, and while the birds sang to
him from the trees the nodding butter
cups and daisies shook their heads at
him and seemed to say:
Little boy, you're playing hookeyv'
When Mickey entered the wood he lay
down upon the brown needles at the
foot Of pine tree and watched the
butterflies fitting over him on yellow
wings. And as he lay there the luxury
OF Incidence stole in upon his senses and
the gentle soughing of the pines fell with
a soothing influence upon his ear. The
drowsy hum Of bees and the inarticulate
voices OF the wood lulled him to sleep.
how long he Lay there Mickey could not
tell. He was rudely awakened by a big
black ant, which bad crawled up his
trousers leg, and a great yellow hairy
caterpillar crossing the bridge of his
nose. AS he sat up and brushed away
these insects a cat bird in a tree near BY
began to jeer at him with what to
Mickey's excited fancy were the words:
Playing hookeyl Playing hookey"
In some mysterious manner gladness
seemed to 60 out of the day for little
Nike at this cruel taunt. The odors of
the flowers were just as sweet as they
had been before, the moss at the foot of
the pine tree was as vivid a green. the
swallows dipped as gracefully over the
field OF billowy wheat, but the charm of
all this beauteous panorama was gone.
His toe began to hurt again. With
dropping head and limping gait, Mickey
plunged deeper into the woods. At the
foot Of a big rock he found a spring.
Lying at full length upon the sward he
put his lips down to the water and drank
deep Of the champagne Of the woods.
The reflection Of his face in the spring