Fergus County argus. [volume] (Lewistown, Mont.) 1886-1946, 1898-05-25

best not to disturb me. When / awoke,
about five O'Clock in the afternoon, l
was duly sober. but had a raging head
ache. When l learned that it was SUM-
day l knew that my spree was at an end,
so 1 called for a cup of strong coffee.
While drinking i. 1 heard from the po-
liceman that mother knew everything.
81 was terribly cut up about it, and
my mothers sorrow-laden face arose
before me with great distinctness as l
sat on the edge of hat hotel bed. What
with that face and my conscience, you
can easily believe that the nex few
hours were simply awful. Then the
church bell rang, and at the sound 1
aroused myself and said:
"fMason, I'm going to church,
"'Where at, Harry?'
sat the First Cumberland
"'You are in pretty rough shape for
church,
There were very few in the room
when I entered. but in 20 minutes the
immense auditorium was packed, for
DR.. Darby was then in the height of
his popularity and drew immensely.
"After the opening prayer my mother
rose to sing her solo. This was my prin-
cipal reason for coming, but I had no
idea of what she was going to sing. She
had sung it a time or two, and it was
now by request of several that she was
to sing it again. She would, if possible.
have avoided it after the mornings de-
velopments, but she had been an
nounced in all the papers and nothing
new had been rehearsed, so she must,
perforce, sing what surely lacerated her
soul at every word. AS | have already
told you, it was the first time l had
heard it.
AT the first line, Where is my wan
dering boy tonight" the audience, who
knew all the sad truth, was wonderfully
affected. Mother did not dream that L
was present, but supposed L was yet
in the hotel. All her gentle, patient,
loving nature stood revealed in the
painful moan of those first words. Oh,
how l hated myself for making it pos
sible that she should sing those words
from the heart. L dropped my head in
my hands, and rocked like a tree shaken
by the wind.
Every word struck deeper and deep
er into my soul 1 began to pray. I
asked God to forgive me for bruising
that tender, loving mothers heart. 1
called myself IN migrate, a matricide,
for her tones impressed my incoherent
brain with the thought that she was
dying. The refrain, peculiarly COM
posed, as you know. gives the impress
sion of a wal ---i when she reached ii
a second time, ; tasuxnI 1 SHOULD shrek
aloud.
Then I remembered that 1 had
sinned, not only against mother, but
against God. L asked His pardon and
got it, just as h reached the last
stanza:
."Go ror my wandering boy tonight;
Go search for him where you will;
But bring him to me with all his blight
And tell him 1 love him still
"Then came the refrain:
"'Oh where is my hoy tonight?
o where is my boy ~to-night?'
when she sang the second where
with all the emphasis her genius, her
longing, her mother heart could give it,
the agony of her soul drew mt to my
feet, and 1 walked up the aisle toward
her with my arms outstretched. Fur
| Their words died on her lips, the or
ganist ceased playing, and in wonder
ing surprise, turned to look at my
mother. For the briefest moment
silence reigned. then 1 sobbed like any
child:
Here 1 am, mother
How could a carefully studied melo-
drama have been better acted? Mother
came hastily down h choir steps and
folded me in her arms. Then DIR. Darby
seized one hand and father took the
other. The organist rue the chords
of old Hundred and almost as one
voice, the congregation burst into the
Doxology: Praise God, from Whom all
blessings f1ow,' and 1 think they sang
it about ten times while they were shak-
ing hands with me.
"All that was more than two years
ago. / date a different life from that
night"
But you have never heard the song
under quite such dramatic circum.
stances, Harry"
II am not so sure about that. Ihearo
my own words to my mother repeated
last summer under vastly different cir
cumstances, though perhaps you viii
say they were as remarkable as wba
l nave just related.
Last summer l was making a horse
back survey in southeastern Kentucky
A local preacher, by the name of Logan
was guiding me, and l was to stay al,
his house one night.
Several days previous he had come
upon a party of gamblers in the woods.
His son Thomas was one of the number,
but he had impartiaily reported all of
them to the grand jury; they had heard
of il, and had been in hiding ever since.
With S~partan-like determination he
had resolved that his son should suffer
with the rest, but his wife was deeply
grieved at the circumstance, and felt
indignant that a father should i'm
molate u son in any such way.
After supper we sat in the soft,
June moonlight, and Mr.. Logan asked
me to sing. Mrs. Logan was sitting
father out in the yard neal the office