The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1898-12-30

the shelf at the head of his bed.
The sun was sinking behind the
western horizon on the fateful night of
Williams departure. There, by the
little window in the store room where
he slept with the peaceful, sweet-con-
tented John, he sat on a cane-seated
chair beside the bed, his forty-two dol
lars spread out on the quilt before him.
''I will do itp' he exclaimed to him
self in the dim darkness. 81 will do
it,
His thoughts were broken in upon
by the cry of woman down below,
at the foot Of the stairs.
"Williaml William! It's time to go for
the milk"
"Ah, me-" murmured the boy to him
self, another night has come, but 1t
shall be the last For many years has
it been my duty to go down the dusty
old road to Green's for the evening
milk. cannot see why father does not
maintain a dairy, or at least one COW,
Of his own But no, l must trudge,
trudge on through snow, through SUM-
shine and through rain to that old farm
house nearly two miles down the turn
pike for milk. But this shall be my last
walk"
"William! William! amt yew ever go
In fur that milk2"
Again the femininc -Eoice from the
foot of. the stairway.
Yes, mother, I'm comm now"
haI OF h. -
lars into his trousers pockets, and, after
placing the stone jar back on it's shelf
at the head of the bed, slowly sham
bled down the stairs.
There's tn pail William" said his
mother, pointing toward the table
drawn up by the kitchen window.
William took it and passed out into
the deepening darkness.
He was alone on the road. The stone
walls on either side showed indistinct-
ly yellow gray in the fast gathering
darkness. Now and then William
would stoop and pick up a stone and
fling 1t idly toward a bush whence
came the note of nightbird crying to
its mate. He stumbled once or twice
and murmured something under his
breath each time. As he walked down
that road the whole eighteen years Of
his monotonous existence, called Life,
unrolled themselves before his minds
eyes. He remembered the old swim
ming hole, the eager hunts for birds
nests in the days agone, the "stone
bruise" he carried to school with him
all one spring. and the beech whistles
he used to make at recess. And the
squirrel hunts and the games of youth,
all the different scenes of his life were
enacted again for him in the playhouse
of his memory. And at the end he said
to himself, "Well, 1t is over now, for
tonight 1 shall go away. Never again
will William take home the nights
milk. This is my last walk"
His mind was set, determined. He
stumbled along the rocky path to the
by, silently, while the hired man filled
his pail. then he trudged back over that
country road. The moon was rising
Already soft, silvery light fiecked the
foliage Of the woods on the left, and
cast shimmering shadows on the stone
walls.
And William dreamed of the wealth
Of the Indies that would one day be his,
of the fame, the glory and the great,
good name that awaited him, out in
the world, beyond the ken of life on
the Whittlesy farm.
Suddenly the boy stopped-so sudden
ly. indeed. that the frothing milk slop-
ped over the top of the pail and fell in
two splashes, one on the road, the other
on his trousers.
'T shall not go home. 1 shall leave
nowv' he cried.
He walked to the edge of the road
and peered into the white. lighted
woods. 81 must hide the PAIL" he
said, 'but where?"
For moment he stood in the shadow,
thinking.
81 rememberr' he exclaimed. "The
old blasted tree trunk. I will put the
pail there"
He walked a few rods further up the
road and then sheered off into the
woods. By and by he came out into
the moonlight again. He had carried
out the plan that had suggested itself to
his mind. The milk pail had been
placed In the old tree trunk.
For moment he hesitated. He took
off his cap and stood bareheaded under
| the sky, the rays of the moon bathing
him In flood of silver light
"Good-by! Good-by!'
The words were spoken to the breezes
and were borne to the night birds that
made reply with shriller chirpings.
Then William turned and went back
down the country road.
"Yes," the station agent at the cross
ing told him, "there will be a train
along for the west in thirty minutes" J"
William Whittlesy had dreamed of
Colorado, and twas there he meant to
go. An hour later he was rolling on
his way.