The Yakima herald. [volume] (North Yakima, W.T. [Wash.]) 1889-1914, 1906-08-01


now."
Good night. Mr.. Oakley" with hap
py alacrity.
Good night, Clarence"
The door into the yards closed with
q bang, and Clarence, gleefully skip
ping the mud puddles which lay in his
path, hurried his small person of
through the rain and mist.
Oakley glanced at his letters. One
he saw was from General Cornish. 1t
proved to be brief note, scrubbed in
pencil on the back of 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
hand. Oakley opened it. Like the
first, 1t was brief and to the point, but
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 I have not fur.
nished him with any definite information
on this point, as I have not felt at lib
| erty to do SO. However, was able to tell
Should you desire to write him, I will
gladly undertake to see that any commu-
| ntcation you may send care of this ONCE
| will reach him. Very sincerely yours,
EZRA HART.
| 1t was like bolt from clear sky
He drew a deep, quick breath. Then
he took up the newspaper clippings.
One was florid column and a half &C.
count Of fire In the hospital ward of
the Massachusetts state prison and
dealt particularly with the heroism of
Roger Oakley, life prisoner, in lead
ing rescue. The other clipping, mere
ly 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 man 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; great wave of
self pity enveloped him, the recollec-
ton of his struggles and his shame
] the bitter, helpless shame of 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 the
end was not 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
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 its 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 man this Roger Oakley was who
had seemed SO curiously remote, who
had been as a shadow in his way pre-
ceding the presence and suddenly he
found his heart softening toward him.
1t was infinitely pathetic to the young
| man, with his abundant strength and
| splendid energy, this Imprisonment
that had endured for almost quarter
| Of a century. He fancied his father as
broken and friendless as dazed and
confused by his unexpected freedom,
with his place in the world forever
lost. After all. he could not sit in judg-
| ment or avenge.
| So far as he knew he had never seen
his father but once. First there had
been hot, dusty journey by stage;
then he had gone through Il massive
| iron gate and down Il narrow passage,
where he had trotted by his mothers
side. holding fast 10 her hand.
| All Ibis came back in n ierky, dis
| connected fashion. with wide gaps and
| iuI'StS III SOulAt iiot iili bui thc llHlbIts-
sion made upon his mind by his father
had been lasting and vivid. He still
saw him as he was then. with the
chalky prison palor on his haggard
| face-a clumsiiy made man of tremen-
tlous bone ard muscle who had spoken
with them through the bars of his cell
door while his Slother cried softly be-
hind her shawl The boy had thought
| of him as a man in a cage
| He wondered who Ezra Hart was,
for the name seemed familiar. At
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
secret from his father even II he wish
ed to- Since Hart knew. there must be
others also who knew.
| He took up the newspaper clippings