The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1894-08-22

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tiums nodded their yellow heads, and
reached the ears of little boy who
was playing call by his lonesome" in
the old-fashioned summer-house at the
foot of the garden.
'Tummin', mamma" came back the
quick answer, and Mrs. Pond, Davy's
mother, went back to her pleasant
sitting-room and the company of a
neighbor who had called.
"He's strange child, Davy is"
said the mother.
This was no gossip she was talking
to, and it was relief to speak of Da-
vid's peculiarities to one who would
listen to her, and aid her by advice or
sympathy. The child's father looked
upon her fears as the expression of
rank heresy. His Davy-his little
mani There never was such boy in
the world, none as bright and com
panionable. At the same time the
father knew that his boy was not quite
like other children, or why would he
prefer to play alone rather than with
the little ones of the neighborhood?
''Yes," Mrs. Pond was saying, she
talks to himself nearly all the time 1
can hear him in the arbor, and have
stolen down there often, but he was
always alone, playing with the leaves,
or talking in low voice. And he has
hallucinations. know it, because he
talks in his dreams of playfellow he
calls Angel"
Perhaps" suggested the neighbor,
cautiously, she really does see the
angels. / read in book once story
of an old lady who had died but
couldn't rest in her grave because she
had hidden her will, and her niece, to
whom her money was left, could not
find it. So she came back to earth to
try and show her where the will WIS.,
The girl could not see her, but walked
through and through her, but the dog
could see her and the child in the
cradle, and it reached out its hands to
her.
'"That," said Davy's mother, sis
only book story. l couldn't believe
it if tried"
81 believe there are influences we
do not know how TO receive" said the
other women ''some are born of fame,
some of flesh and some of the spirit.
Perhaps Davy is under control; he
may have visions"
At that moment the little fellow
came running in. He was a pretty
boy, but not healthy-looking. His
soft, curling hair lay in rings on
pale, high forehead. A blue mark,
said to predict early death, lay between
his delicate brows. The same blue ap-
pearance settled about his mouth. He
painted with the exertion of running.
Mrs. Pond looked meaningly at her
friend and began to question the child
in the lingo of mothers.
"Where has Davy been?"
"Playin' wifi Angel"
"Why doesn't Davy bring Angel
home?"
"Angel won't come"
"Where does Angel go when Davy
comes in the house?'
"Davy doesn't know"
The child spoke with sad regret,
even as the little boy in the story of
the Pied Piper, who all his life
lhul6ulSu Judb D6CduS6 ne WAS lhine ne
did not get to the cave in time to be
swallowed up with the other children,
but only caught one glimpse of the
wonderful country into which they
we're gone.
Another year has passed over Davys
yellow head. He is in a new country,
but he knows little of it. From the
garden of Iowa to the garden of Michi-
gan is not great change TO child
who is so i'll he must be carried on a
pillow all the way. He had fallen
sick and faded from the day, almost
from the hour, when the farOily left
their old home, and he was torn, sob
bing and unhappy, from the old arbor
and his 'dear Angel"
His mother had been very patient
with him and the kind neighbor who
came to see him of told him that
angels went everywhere; they were
not subject to rules like other people,
and did not need to be conveyed by
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