The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1889-01-17
The Boy who:would Not be Whipped.

in the fa!56f the year, when I vas abou
fifteen yesr. old, / was in the yard trying
to move heavy stick of timber.
asked my brother, then twelve years o:
age, to assist, but he stood stock still and
laughed at me, while I almost strained
my eye.balls out of my head. At last
lost my temper, grew hot, got mad, and
picked up switch and gave my brother
a whipping. That was one thing my
mother did not allow-she did not allow
one child.to whip another on her place
When shs heard the row, she came oul
of the house and gave my brother good
thrashing, and made him help me put
the timber in place, and then said to me
"Now, my son, I am going to whip you
for whipping your brother"
I had not had whipping for long
time, and had begun to feel like a man.
In fact, waited on the girls now and
then, and some white, downy looking
stuff had begun to grow on my chin, and
I felt large over the prospect of beard at
no distant day. The fact is, 1had gotten
"too big for my breeches, and needed to
be taken down buttonhole or two"
had no idea of taking q whipping-none
id the world. had violated one of my
mothers rules, but the provocation had
been great one to boy. True, if / had
gone Eve steps to the door, and told
mother she would have adjusted matters
and made brother do what wanted him
to do. Instead of this I had assumed
authority, had taken the law into my
own hands, and had done what I knew
my mother did not allow.
I said, "Mother you shall not whip
me-"
"But I will do it, my son." she replied,
and started toward me with purpose in
her eye. I got out Of her way, and bad
boy that I was, I turned my back upon
home and mother, and went about four
miles and hired myself to clever,
thrifty, well.to.do farmer for FIVE dollars
month. told him what had occurred,
and how I had been outraged at home,
and that too. by my mother. He told
me that I had done wrong and that I
ought to go back home, and he proposed
to go with me, and intercede for me. I
had too much of my mother in me to
yield just then. went to work but was
not happy. Host my appetite and could
not sleep. I grew worse and worse, but
hoped all along that my mother would
send for me, and apologize and take me
back "scot Free" but / heard nothing
from her. began to feel that I needed
mother and home more than mother and
home needed me-a lesson most boys do
not learn until it is too late. at the end
of the week, on Saturday morning, I told
my employer l wanted to go home. he
approved my purpose, and kindly offered
to go with me, but I preferred to go
alone. He paid me for my weeks work,
but I hated the money. It felt like lead
in my pocket, and grew heavier as I got
nearer home, till finally I pulled it out
and threw it as far as I could send it into
the woods. I did not go home ina hur.
ry. It was four miles and I was four
hours on the way-and mortal hours
they we're. l hesitated, and turned back
and resolved and resolved. The better
thing in me said, $50 home, and yield to
your mother, and obey her" but some
other thing said, ~ would die first"
Those who have never been in the
shoes of the "Prodigal Son" do not know
what an effort that trip home cost the
poor boy, nor how long he vas making
it. When 1 felt that I could go no
further, I would kneel down and pray.
That always helped me. I felt frmer
afterwards. The last hundred yards
before I got home seemed to be a mile
long. Ifit had been night and no lights
burning, so mother could not see me,
hon glad I would have been; but there
it was a beautiful sun.bright day in the
calm, cool November. Oh, how black
the bright light makes guilty heart
look! The last hour before day is
said to be the darkest hour:
When I got near enough to hear,
mother was singing,
"Jesus lover Of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly"
Alb, that song! What mingled feel.
ings it stirred in my heart. and how
appropriate it vas. Hope and shame
had struggle, but, thank God, hope
prevailed just as I reached the kitchen
door where mother was setting the table
for dinner.
"Good morning, my son." she said,
just as pleasantly as I had ever heard her
speak In all my life. "Come in" she
continued, shave seat" setting 8 chair
for me. II hope you are we'll, my son :"
That word "son," how it hurt me. Twas
not worthy of it.
every we'll, I thank you'll did not
venture to say "mother." care you all
well" I asked.
"Well, thank you, my son." and she
went on chatting away just as pleasantly
90 ;fT hod heen q neiphhor called in.