The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1901-01-31

acter, together with a rare felicity in the
description of the woods and fields" The
following story is taken from one of Mr.
Jarrold's books recently published by
Jamieson-Higgins Co, Chicago.
The air of Cooney Island palpitated
with the fervent heat of a day in
July. The hot air radiated up from
the meadows and the dusty road like
heat from a furnace. Even the chick
ems sought the shade of friendly
trees, and the locusts lazily chanted
their midsummer threnody as Mickey
Finn came down Murray street with a
tattered geography, a worn spelling
book and thumbed first reader I'M
der his arm.
The boys face shone from its re-
cent application of soft soap and wa
ter, so that the freckles stood out
like spots of brick dust on either side
of his nose. He had a stone bruise on
one of his toes, and was forced to
walk on one heel. As he limped along
the roadside, half a mile away in the
haZy perspective he could see the lit
tie red schoolhouse in the hollow,
with its monotonous suggestions of:
Can-the-dog- catch-thecat? Yes-the-
dog-can-catch-the-ca
In fancy he heard the dreary tier
alton of the schoolroom, and saw the
blank white walls speckled with pa
per "spit-balls.' He was hot and
tired and dusty. and his toe hurt.
The truth was, that he had asked
his mother to permit him to stay
away from school. and she refused to
allow him to do so. Mrs. Firms at
tention had been pathetically drawn
to the sore toe, and she had said that
the injured member would not hurt
him any more at school than at
home. And so the boy looked cross
and felt ugly towards the distasteful
''eddication," which his mother forced
upon him. As he limped along the
meadow and saw the naples and
pines in Lindsley's wood whispering
to each other, as they waved in the
breeze which blew fresh and cool
from the Hudson river. These wills
pers Mickey interpreted as coaXing
invitations, which sounded to him as
follows:
Come, little Mike. and lie under our
protecting branches! Here you will
find the tender birch bark and the
juicy sassafras root. Upon our
shady hillocks hidden by glossy
green leaves, hide the red winter
green berries awaiting your coming!
The tree toad will sing his little song
for you, the bubbling spring is dis
tilling sparkling liquor for your
thirsty lips, and the shady coverts of
our sylvan dells await yOu!"
With these enchanting voices in his
ear the temptation to play hockey
was a strong one. The tempter of
men came to him with the liquid
melody of birds, the soft wooing of
futtering leaves, the rustic of the
pines thin fingers. and the gurgle of
brooks. And as he stood in the dusty
road and looked down into the hol-
low at the sun beating fercely upon
the windows of the little red school
house, and realized how sitting was
the air inside, what wonder that he
hesitated.
Then the reproachful face of his
mother rose before him. AS little
Mike loved his mother and feared her
rebuke more than he did her heavy
hand, the thought of her grief i'm
PEELED him onward toward the school.
But he could not shut out of his men
tai sight the picture of the cool par
aHicn in hn NEnoH yyhara hA
lake rippled in the sunlight. and
where, far below, ran the wide reach
es of the Hudson river as it loitered
to the sea. And in this enhancing
picture his mothers face was blotted
out as with a sponge from the slate
of his mind; the schoolhouse was for
gotten and he limped eagerly toward
the stone wall to which chung the ri
otous wild raspberry bushes laden
with fruit. Forgotten was the sore
toe, lost sight of was the long, black
strap hanging on the kitchen wall.
and left behind was the dusty road
and all the suggestions of work
On arriving at the summit of the
hill little Mike turned in his tracks
anu bONh upOh lHt SCHOOI-
house. He saw the master come to
the door and ring the bell, and his
schoolmates scamper like corralled
sheep into the building. Then the
door was shut and Mickey realized
that his sin was irrevocable. He
trembled, too, when he thought
that he would have to make confess
sion to the priest. But it was too
late to retrace his steps. He was now
in the narrow path leading to the
woods. He took off his tattered cap
and the cool fingers of the breezes
lifted the hair from his forehead. AS
he sat down on the grass a striped
chipmunk stopped palpitating, on
the stone wall, and little Mikes fin
gers itched for His bow-gun. After
hiding his books in the stone wall
and covering them with dead leaves
he began picking and eating raspber-
ries until his bronzed cheeks were
covered with the juices of the fruit.
The scent of clover blooms and fresh
grasses made his notrils dilate, and
while the birds sang for him from
the trees the nodding buttercups and
daisies shook their heads at him and
seemed to say:
Little bow you're DlayinU hockey -