The St. Johns herald., 1899-02-04

of conquests, of piles of gold, of ex | plorations into unknown countries and of experiences in life such as neve entered the mind of plodding John. The days, the weeks. the months rolled on around the spool of time, and with each bright breaking sun, mort and more discontented and dissatisfied did become the restless William. Hi! days were centuries long. There wa: always shining before his eyes the sta of ambition which he was of a min( to follow more than once. He deteste( the sorry life of the farm, with tht homely environment, the old, old rou tine, day in, day out, and finally, aftel several years of accomplishing servi tude, he determined to run away. He was IS then. or two years he haC saved every penny, every nickel, every dime, that had fallen in his way, anC ere long noted that the dollars were taking care of themselves in a little company of their own. There were forty-two of them in the stone jar or the shelf at the head of his bed. :
 
 The sun was sinking behind the western horizon on the fateful night o1 Williams departure. There, by the little window in the store room where be 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 it." he exclaimed to him. self in the dim darkness. "I will do It-"
 His thoughts were broken in upon by the cry of woman down below, at the foot of the stairs.
 William! William! it's time to go for the milk"
 "Ah, me-" murmured the boy to him. self, another night has come, but i: shall be the last. For many years has 1t been my duty to go down the dusty old road to Greens 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 sun 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! aIn't yew ever go- in fur that milk?'
 Again the feminine voice from the foot of the stairway.
 "Yes, mother, I'm comln' now"
 The boy dropped all the forty-two dol lars into his trousers pockets, and, after placing the stone jar back on its 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 1t 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 a 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 brulse" 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 milk house on Greens farm, and stood by. silently, while the hired man filled his pail, then he trudged back over that country road. The moon was rising. Already a 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, h; ;r, the world. beyond the ken of life on the Whittlesy farm.
 Suddenly the boy stopped-so sudden ly, indeed, that the frothing milk sop ped over the top of the pail and fei, in two splashes, one on the road, the other on his trousers.
 q shall not go home. I shall leave nOwp' he cried.
 He walked to the edge of the road and peered into the white. ligAted woods. "I must hide the pail," he said, but where"
 thinking.
 "I rememberr' he exclaimed. "Ehe old blasted tree trunk. will put the pail there"
 He walked few rods further up the road and then sheered off into the woods. By and by he came out into tae moonlight again. He had carried out the plan that had suggested itself to his mind. The milk pail had heen placed In the old tree trunk.
 For moment he hesitated. He took e8 his cap and stood bareheaded under