The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1891-11-13
TO THE CITY.
And the Sad Homecoming of e
Wayward Boy.
"Good-by to the old farm


''How so, my son?" asked the grizzly
father. as the young man hung the
scythc on the tool-house rack.
Il say good-by to plow and furrow,
hills, rocks, long hours of hard work
and poor pay. i have chopped my last
stick of cord wood, huslled my last
bushel of corn. | hang up the scythe
now forever The great city shall give
me living"
But, my boy, the farm shall be
yours tomorrow. Only give mother
and me our bread, and that, too, not
for long
Il don't want it. Sell it, give it
away. I'm done" hotly exclaimed the
young man. as he wiped his beady fore
head with his tawny hand
John, listen 10 reason. 1t has been
a Scorching summer but we have near
ly finished il. You think these people
who roll by here in the mountain stages
every day have things easier than we.
But this is their vacation. All these
fine gentlemen work like slaves the
rest of the year, and the city girls with
gay dresses and white hands"
Il tel you, father, I'm done. Don't
argue it,
But to leave the farm because destiny
calls, because one is fitted by education,
by nature for other avocationS or be-
cause one sees an opening is wei
enough. To go 20 the city, however.
for The mere sake of going 10 the city
John. Won are n fool What viii Won
do for bread? IL doesn't grow on street
lamps"
II was all in vain To add words. The
haying was over; the limit of endur-
81 L.
mind all summer through. as many an
evening he had climbed the stone wall,
musing in the du t of passing coaches
whose laughter peeled forth upon him
like song of sirens. or sullenly an
svering the frolicsome pedestrians who
paused upon their alpen-stoclxs 10 ask
how much farther to the TIp-top house.
1t was not far, and of evenings when
the air was still, down through the
great hemloclls came strains of be-
witching music, startling the sheep in
this high pasture, and yearlings from
their browsing, and startling the heir
of all these herds as well.
1t was not so last year, this strange
discomfort; il was never SO with him
before; though born under yonder red,
low-roofcd, old dwelling, as were all
his fathers; though the window of his
birth-chamber looked out upon the
mountain caravansary, whose cool
splcndors thousands yearly came to see.
But he was eighteen now. 1t is step
ping into n new world to become
eighteen years old.
lie was eighteen, and the only child
alive: generous, willful, pampered, of
robust health. and by no means an Ar
cadian saint, though living amid the So
called innocent country hills. As he
reclincd upon the roadside wall. there
was yet something about him very en-
gaging. The open countenance blush
ing in the settling sunbeams, the full
brow and quick, dark eye, the broad
chest and stout limbs of n perfectly
formed and handsome animal. But the
human animal can dream, picture. plan
and ponder with powers OF mind that
no other animal possesses. John was
the last fellow who should have gone
to the great town. OF warm affections,
conscience, he had none. What pleas
ures and qualifications did his vivid i'm
agination sketch upon the evening sky,
away southwark, whitherward lay the
vast city, miles aud miles downP
Farewell the broad rough uplands,
with familiar stone heaps dotted over:
the upper barn whore he had broken
many wild colt and called it his own;
the white gable of his neighbor whith-
er the path across lots ran, trodden
by his bare feet almost since their
first steps; farewell the schoolhouse
at four corners, the sweep and stretch
of fairest landscape under the sky, set
IN the distance with the spires of viii
lage churches far down the valley. The
home of many blessings. and shad-
owed face at the window leaning on an
old hand in the twilight cleaning: for
father had been in and told the story,
and the two old ones were powcrless
against the young, imperious resolu-
tion. He in reverie, they in ponderinC
deep; not how they shall coax n living
from the old farm, for they would
rather the time had come to die. and
cease the strife of life rent with gap
ing graves into which strong sons had
sunk one by one and left them only
one, and he more cruel than their other
sorrows; pondering how to prevent the
Ills of passions never yet controlled by
their Saviour's strong and gentle hand;
much and fearing more; for
hey were ignorant of the city. too.
He in reverie, building gaudy castles of
good time coming, and he free to
rink to his fill; in reverie till the stars
anne out above the mountain pines.
They in prayer together for him, in the !
;hamber where he was born. and what
more could they do, having given him
up to God9
After all, 1T was not a very joyous
departure that Monday morning in the
September glory.
The boy could not quite exult as he
had anticipated. The mother, with her
asst few tokens of love that can never
case to care for its own; tokens
wrought with clumsy, eager fingers.