The Caucasian. (Clinton, N.C.) 188?-1913, 1911-11-30

Why does be 20 there 70 nneAr-
The boys hare suils . cabin In
Anderson's yard-"
which boysy"
%. the Andersons' and The Grit
iths' and VIII Hamsr and Sam van
Leer and . few more"
Boys from the best families In the
neighborhood- No cause for alarm
here.
But come. father, and zee tia,
cabin Come quickly. for the mo-
ments are precious This IL f. Open
the door. whew, Whist an odor OF
stale tobacco smoke Do not hest
tate on the threshold. for your boy
In part owner here
What IL that small box behind the
rafter7 All. cigarettes And these
papers, father: what are these7 Dime
novels. And this little book with no
title On it's yellow cover. which Ia
pushed away back beneath the other
papers: what In this?
Quick, father Have you . match
Burn them-the booklets. the papers,
the cigarettes, the shanty-a!l OF
them!
But stop a bit. The nicotine pois-
oning. the lies, the false conceptions
OF heroic manliness. the vile stories.
the impure thoughts, the corrupt
practices! Can you burn these things
out OF your boy and leave him un-
SCARED? Can you gather them to-
gether In one hideous mass Of cor
ruption and so utterly destroy them
that he will know them no more for
ever?
Can you? Say, father IL you can
do this, come with the speed of the
lightning's flash and the glory OF the
mornings light to show US other
fathers how to do 1t.
where is John?"
The same inquiry is made when
another Ave years is past.
"He went down to the creek"
mother answered.
why does he go down there so
much"
"They have a boat and a boat
house."
"The Anderson and the Griffith
boys and Will Hamer and Sam Van
Leer."
The same old crowd-boys from
the best families in the neighbor-
hood. But, mother, did John forget
to tell you that a few more boys had
Joined that company-Jack Quinn,
whose father keeps the notorious sa-
loon; Mike Donnelly, son of low
bred politician; and more of that
type? No matter. Perhaps they are
not so very different from your boy,
after all.
But this is Sunday" father sud-
denly remembers. Doesn't he go to
Sunday-school any more?"
HE hasn't been there for several
weeks"
3'Why?"
"I suppose he thinks he has grown
too big"
Go after the boy, father. To the
boathouse? Yes, or to any other
place he may be this Sunday after
noon. Do not go in anger, with stern
reproach or arbitrary command, but
go with loving pity and sympathy to
bring him back. And wherever he
goes, be his companion. Let his in
ambitions. If he has none, create
| some.
Another five years pass, and there
comes the same old query: Where
is john"
II do not know" mother replies.
"He never tells me now"
All, the pathos of it! But try as
you will, sweet mother lips, you can
not utter the sob that is in the heart.
1t seems but yesterday that those
same lips sang the baby John to sleep
while the heart built magnificent cas-
seemed SO sure, so strong, those cas-
ties; but now they are blown over
with the breath of these few words:
HE never tells me now!"
Where is john" You have ask
ed that question many times in the
PcHSI, AoShCA dAo you WCI0 SdIISu0U
when mother answered. You will
ask that question many times in the
future; but there will be no answer
Long after the lips have ceased to re.
peat the query your heart and SOU
will reiterate 1t, for in your inner.
most being will be the bitterness oil
a fearful disappointment. How glad.
ly would you then recall the days
when the little fellow romped
through~the house while you com.
planned of his noise or Stunned his
. society! Because you spurned his
companionship then, you will one day
yearn for a fellowship which you car
, not win.-Harry e. Barlow, in Moth
er's Magazine.
HOW ALAN WENT TO SLEEP.