Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1906-08-16

ence. l guess Nou may aS well so nome
now"
Good night. Mr.. Oakley" with hap
Ply alacrity.
Good night, Clarence"
The door into the yards closed With
a bang. and Clarence, gleefully skip
ping the mud puddles which lay in his
path, hurried his small person off
through the rain and mist.
Oakley glanced at his letters. One
he saw was from General Cornish. 1t
proved to be 4 brief note. scrubbed in
pencil on the back of Il telegram blank.
The general would arrive in Antioch
that night on the late train. He wished
Oakley to meet him.
The other letter was in an unfamiliar
aand. Oakley opened it. Like the
first. it was brief and to the point. hut
he did not at once grasp its meaning.
This is what he read:
Dear Sir-I inclose two newspaper clip
pings which fully explain themselves.
Your father is much interested in know
ing your whereabouts. l nave not fur.
nished him with any definite Information
on this point. as 1 have not felt At l.b-
erty to do so. However, l was able to tell
him l believed you Were doing we'll.
Should You desire to write him, l VIII
gladly undertake TO see that any conlnu-
nication You may send care of this Office
will reach him. Very sincerely yours.
EZRA HART.
1t was like a bolt from Il clear sky.
He drew a deep, quick breath. Then
he took up the newspaper clippings.
One was a ford column and Il half &C
count of a fire in the hospital ward of
the Massachusetts state prison and
dealt particularly with the heroiSm OF
Roger Oakley, a life prisoner. il lead
ing a rescue. The other clipping. mere
ly a paragraph, was Of more recent
date. 1t announced that Roger Oak
ley had been pardoned.
Oakley had scarcely thought of his
father in years. The mar and his con
| cerns-his crime and his tragic atone
ment-had passed completely out OF his
life, but now he was free, ii he chose.
to enter it again. There was such sud
denneSS in the thought that he turned
sick on the moment; a great wave of
self pity enveloped him, the reco!!ec-
ton of his struggles and his shame
the bitter. helpless shame of a child
returned. He felt only resentment to-
ward this man whose crime had blast-
ed his youth. robbing him OF every
ordinary advantage. and clearly TIC
end was lot yet.
True. by degrees, he had grown
away from the memory of it all. He
had long since freed himself of the fear
that his secret might be discovered.
With success he had even acquired a
certain complacency. Without know
ing his history, the good or the bad Of
1t, his world had accepted him for
what he was really worth. He was
neither cowardly nor selfish. 1t was
not alone the memory Of his own hard
ships that embittered him and turned
his heart against his father. His
mothers face, with it's hunted, fugitive
look, rose up before him in protest. He
recalled their wanderings in search OF
some place where their story was not
known and where they could begin life
anew. their return to Burton. and then
her death.
For years it had been like a dream,
and now he saw only the slouching fig
ure Of the old convict. which seemed to
menace him. and remembered only the
evil consequent upon his crime.
Next he fell to wondering what sort
Of u MAJ this Roger Oakley was who
had seemed so curiously remote, who
had bee-l as Il shadow in his way pre-
ccGin5 tie lrese-ce. and suddenly he
found his heart SofteHing toward him.
1t Was i~--@ts.y pathetic to the young
man. with H., apundant strength and
splendid e-erGy, this Imprisonment
that had endured for almost a quarter
Of a century. lie flncied his father as
broken ana f~r:euU.ess. as dazed and
confused By his unexpected freedom,
with his place i'll the world forever
lost. After all, he could not sit in judg-
ment or aven@r.
So far as he knew he had never seen
his father but once. First there had
been a hot, dusty journey by stage:
then he had gone through Il massive
iron gate and down a narrow passage,
where he had trotted by his mothers
side. holding fast to her hand.
All this came back in a ierky, dis
connected fashion. with wide gaps and
lapses he could not fill, but the impress
sion made upon his mind by his fathe.
had been lasting and vivid. He still
saw him as he was then, with the
chalky prison pallor on his haggard
face-a clumsily made man Of tremen.
dous bone and muscle who had spoken
with them through the oars Of his eel!
door while his mother cried softly be.
hind her shawl. The boy had though;
Of him as q man in 4 cage.
He wondered who Ezra Hart was,
for the name seemed familiar. Al
length he placed him. He was the law.
yer who had defended his father. He
was puzzled that Hart knew where he
was. He had hoped the little New
England village had lost all track of
him, but the fact that Hart did know
convinced him 1t would be quite use
less to try to keep his whereabouts q
secret from his father even If he wish
ed 10. Since Hart knew, there must y,