Tombstone epitaph., 1915-03-14
more into the hands of his unnatural

more into the hands of his unnatural parent
 Certain it was that the feelings of all who knew the lads story showed hearty sympathy with him. and when one morning it was rumored that The Boy from Zeeny had mysteriously dis appeared. and the rumor rapidly de- yeloped into an unquestionsble fact, there was a universal sense of re gret in the little town. which in turn resolved itself into positive indigna- ton when it was learned from the doctor that an explana ton, printed in red keel on the back of fragment of circus poster. had been found fold ed and tucked away in the buckle strap of his horses bridle. The some what remarkable communication. in sprawling capitals. ran thus:
 "Paps got me agin. l haf to go. Dam him. Doc tel her to keep my boocks. Good by. fed ole Charly fed him otes and ha an corn. He wont need no more fer a weak. An brand to. Doc tel her good by
 It was a curious bit of composition -uncouth. assuredly, and marred.
 maybe. with an unpardonable pro
 fanity-but it served In the silence and gloom of the old stable the doc tors fingers trembled as he read. and the good wife's eyes, peering anxious
 ly above his heaving shoulder, filled and overfiowed with tears. wish that it were in the ve-acious
 sequence of this simple history to give
 this wayward boy back to the hearts
 that loved him. and that still in mem
 ory enshrine him with affectionate re-
 gard: but the hapless lad-the little
 ragged twelve-year-old that wandered
 out of nowhere into town, and wan
 dered into nowhere out again-neyer
 returned. Yet We who knew him in
 those old days-we who were children
 with him, and. in spite of boyish jeal-
 ousy and petty bickerings. admired the gallant spirit of the lad-are con tinually meeting with reminders of him; the last instance of which. in my own experience. I cannot refrain from offering here:
 For years I have been a wanderer from the dear old town of my nativity, but through all my wanderings a gra- cious fate has always kept me some where in its pleasant neighborhood, and. in consequence. I often pay brief visits to the scenes of my long-van- ! ished boyhood. It was during such q visit. but few short years ago. that
 remembrances of my lost youth were ! most forcibly recalled by the progress
 of the county fair. which institution I ] was permitted to attend through the [ kindness of an old chum who drove me over in his buggy.
 | Although it was not the day for rae | ing, We found the track surrounded by a dense crowd of clamorous and ap- | plauding people
 i What does it mean?" I asked my | friend, as he guided his horse in and | out among the trees toward the edge | of the inclosure.
 It's Professor Andrus. I suspect. " ' hc answered. rising in the buggy as 1 he spoke, and peering eagerly above | the heads of the surging multitude. And who's Professor Andrus?" | asked. striking a match against the tire of the now stationary buggy
 wheel, and lighting the stump of my ! cigar
 Why, haven't you heard of the ia.
 nous professor he answered, laugh. 1 ingly-immediately adding in a seri, i ous tone: Professor Andrus is the | famous 'horse-tamer' who has been | driving the country absolutely wild here for two or three days. Stand up
 here where you can see'" he went on,
 excitediy.
 Wonder he comes, Isn't that | splendid?"
 | And it was.
 l Across the sea of heads. and facing
 toward us down the track, caught