The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-08-08

Mr.. FennimoreI moved uneasily; his
| thoughts had also been occupied over his
| sons welfare. II have thought some times
| that we are too stern with him now" he re-
| piled. Perhaps if you would be more pa
| tient with him, and take an interest in his
amusements, he would be less troublesome,
| and be more contented at home"
81 have eudeavored to be patient with
| him. But you have no idea what trial
| that boy is 1t does seem as If there is no
| peace to be had in the house while he is at
| home. He is continually in mischief of
| some kind, or teasing his sisters. 1t was
| only yesterday that he took Cora's kitten,
| and after glueing walnut shucks to its feet,
| let it go in the room. Such a mewing and
| Gathering l never heard! l opened the door
| just in time to see her dash out through the
| window. Cora, poor child, was crying as If
her little heart would break. and Max-he
was almost beside himself with delight, as if
| the combined pleasure of teasing his sister
and tormenting the catwas almost too much
| to be borne"
Mr.. Fennimore did not laugh at the re-
| cital of the boys mischief. as he had often
done, He was too deeply troubled.
" One thing is certain" he said, decidedly,
=" the boy has got to be kept at home more
| closely. 1t will not do to allow him to be
gone without knowing where he has been,
| or what he has been doing, associatlng with
| boys who are left to roam the streets in idle
| ness, and grow up in an apprenticeship to
| vice. He has not vet sufficient strength of
| principle to resist temptation-few boys of
his age nave. To give him good moral train
| ing Is the duty which We owe not only to
| him, but TO God and to society. We cannot
| always shield him from temptation. but we
| can see that his first impressions are good
| and pure; we can educate his moral per-
| ceptiOns and strengthen his convictions of
| right until he will learn to love virtue and
hate vice. Then, when temptation does
| come, he can resist it. But this we can
never DO If we permit hun to run in the
| Streets
Mrs. Fennmore was impressed by her
| husbands words, but she was convinced
| against her will 1t seemed a great trouble
| to her to have the constant care of Max
| when other boys, many of them the sons of
| respectable parents, were left to amuse
| themselves in the streets. Mr. Fennimore
had referred to such as growing up appren-
tees to vice. Perhaps she did not think of
| That. How often do we refuse to see our
wrongdoings until God has laid his hand
heavily upon US and we are made to see our
faults through binding tears.
To Mrs Fennimore Max was no mythical
creature but an actual, veritable reality. A
trouble, II she could have 1t so; but trouble
which she could not thrust entirely from
her. She might attempt 10 leave him in q
room alone with his toys, but he would gray
itate to her presence again, for he was a So
cla being; his boyiSh heart yearned for the
warmth OF human love and sympathy; and
lie would have it-She might be sure of thati
Ii he could not hnd it in her presence ne
would seek it where unhalowed fires we're
kept burning by no friendly hands. She
might leave HIM to run in the streets and re-
lieye herself of the trouble of his presence
now, but he would return to her again, when
the light spriuging step should be changed
TO manhood's tread, when the tender lips
would be bearded and a deep bass ring in
his tones. But how would lie return? Bring
Ing with him that which he had gathered
IN the byways and hedges! With a song on
his lips and an unsteadinesS in his manner.
that would make his sisters blush. and
would pierce her through and through and
make her bow her head in sorrow and
shame? Better might she take little
trouble with her restless, miSchievOus boy
now, than to wait for that after trouble that
must come as the whirwind.
line night wore slowly away to the anx-
iouS parents, but Max did not return; and
when the next day passed without tidings
from the missing boy their anxiety became
intense. Mr.. Fennimore made every effort
to find clew to his whereabouts, but with
out avail.
After Max had made good his escape from
the policeman, he concealed himself in a
pile OF lumber. He was Young and he very
much exaggerated the consequences of his
fault, and feared to return To his home
Why should lie return and meet his mothers
frOwn and his fathers displeasure? The
world lay before him, which to the young
IUluS ouCu SIINd pOSslUlllllCS. lie was an
adyenturesome boy and he finally con-
cluded to run away from his home. He re-
manned concealed until the twilight began
to deepen, and the quiet stars came out one
by one. As Max looked up, it seemed as if
the eye of the all-seeing GOD was looking
down upon him from the pure depth above,
and better thoughts came into his heart. He
at length resolved 10 return home and rely
upon his father for protection and forgive
ness. He gained the street and started
hnmeward.
"Yo on are the worst boy I ever sawI
There, that is the last want to see of you p
His mothers thOughtless, inpatient words
came to him now; and to his heart, tender,
penitent, they came freighted with full
meaning. He sank down upon the roadside
and moaned, as if in pain. Again there
was short decisive struggle in the boys
mind. Then he arose and again went on
his way, but his heart and his feet were
turned from his home.
Mrs. FeDnimOre was not troubled with
Max now. There was no dark footprints
on the floor when the days were wet. The
dog and cat reposed side by side upon the
hearth-rug unmolested. The sisters never
brought in complaints; the house was very
still and quiet now. But oh, how desolatei
1t was deSolation worse than DEATH
What would she not give, if she could
know, but for one night, where the restless
head was pilfowed! Mrs. Fennimore went
about her household cares like one dis
tracted. Her thoughts were continually
with her son. She thought of him as when
first he lay, smiling infant in her arms:
of how deeply she had felt the RESPONSE
6iltty of this heaven-imposed trust;
and beauty until he was a daily Joy, but
to look upon. And yet it was this same
winsome child that now brought her all this
heaviness of heart. How had the change
come about? Gradually the revelation
came. How often, when wearied in mind
and body by her household cares, had she
| given away to spirit of fretfulness and
spoken impatiently to her loving child,
| chilling the warm affections of the little
human flower thatloOked to her for its sun
shine. and bunting its finer sensibilities
| until he grew careless, Indifferent and I'M
mindful of her wishes, and rendered her
| obedience through fear. uninspired by love
And then the remembrance Of the last
words which she had spoken to her son
came back to her and filed her with sorrow
and remOrse. What if they should be the
last he should ever hear fall from her lips
The thought was more than she could bear.
My son! Oh, my sonP' she cried aloud in
an agony of grief But she felt that it was
too late-that he had passed beyond the
sound of her voice and beyond the reach of
her influence
This days heightened into weeks and Mr..
tennlmore gave up all search as hopeless,
| and advertised for intelligence from his
missing boy. One day letter came. 1t
| was written by a farmers hand, cramped
by years of toll. 1t took the whole family
| TO decipher it. But what joy it brought to
them all for it contained information con-
corning Max He was at the writer's house,
| safe and well. Mr.. Fennimore lost no time
| in going in quest of his son. 1t was with
feeling Of unspeakable thankfulness that
Mrs. Fennimore clasped Max in her arms,
with all the depth and tenderness of
mothers love. This reception was so differ
emit from what Max had expected, he threw
| his arms about her neck and wept glad
| tears OF joy and repentance.
1t would, perhaps, be needless to say that
| Mrs. FennimOre never felt that Max was a
trouble again. And Max, seeing the inter-
| est which she felt in his amusements, began
| to consult her IN the construction of his
carts, wind-mills, water-wheels, and the
| like; and Mrs. Fennimore found a real
pleasure in assisting him, which she had
never before dreamed possible.
| But the noisy period of boys existence,
| although OF sufficiently long duration, does
| not last ALWAYS. Az MAY nraw oldar Ia