The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1896-08-12

lovely Mary die, and he fol-
lowed her the same day-rather
than petition his proud and wealthy
neighbors, when he knew that they
were aware of his helplessness, yet
kept back their aims, waiting, not an
opportunity, but solicitation, to do
good.
Henry, their only son, aged twelve,
brought mp as he had been, accus-
toned to little and expectant OF less,
how did he know "pap" and imam"
were dying2
He had always been accustomed to
that pinched, cadaverous look he had
often held his mothers thin hand be-
tween his eyes and the fire, and seen
her thin, bonY fingers turned to
threads of jelly, and her hands were
always cold.
But he had never seen such wild ex-
pressions upon his parents faces as
that evening when he came home from
fishing, with his bass "for man, :"
which his mother would never need.
One was before the fireplace on the
floor, the other on what passed for a
bed; their eyes were staring blankly,
cold and clammy; their lips were
apart, and when Henry spoke they did
not answer.
He knew nothing of death, save that
he had seen poor Leo, the dog, hanged
to save even what the poor dog ate !;
and now they locked like Leo did.
Poor boy his heart knew no grief |;
he knew nothing but poverty, misery,
hunger and toll. Born to his con-
dition, irresponsible for his existence,
never yet awakened to the rosponsi-
bilities of entity-oh, what expert
ences, bitter to the dregs of bitter
ness, awaited this child of misfortune !
Twas better that he did not realize
it all.
'1'll tell Squire Johnson; 1 b'lieve
they are swung like Leo was," he
said to himself, as he started toward
their two-miles'off, though nearest
neighbor.
He, as children ofttimes do, had
substituted the cause for the effect.
Knowing that poor Leo had been
hanged, and now seeing them stiff,
cold and silent, he reasoned as he
did.
esquire, they are swung-pap is,
and"
SNOW, boy, none of your simpering
impudencel If you want anything,
tell that; if not, go on homel".:
'I say, squire, they are Swung,
like Leo was, and can't make 'em
talk, or wake 'em up; they are cold,
aud their eyes are open, and"
"'They are dead, then," said little
Thomas johnson.
Squire johnson, moved more by
curiosity than by pity, mounted his
horse and rode down to William Oharl.
tons, finding the lads story only toe
true.
This, then, was the mute appeal oi
the dead to charity. These people
must be buried. The squire notified
some of his poor neighbors to attend
to the affair, and he'd foot the bill,
and said:
"This boy, Henry, may stay with
my gardener for a few days, and the1
he must hunt work"
And this is the cry of the tramp, 81
am hunting work." and proud, ricl
Squire Johnson put this cry into the
mouth of Henry Charlton and started
him out q tramp.
1t was autumn, and the approach oi
winter had already been heralded by
his white errand boys-the hoar-frosti
of the middle latitudes.
Night had passed; another clear,
crisp, frosty morning had dawned up
on the sons of men, ushering in an
other glorious day, fraught to some
with dazzling delight and unfeignet
happiness; to others, with only blacl
despair, disappointment and death.
From beside q hay stack, who's,
friendly shelter he had sought the
evening before, to break the chilly all
and to prevent the frost from gather
ing upon his body, erept the Wastet