The circle banner. [volume] (Circle, Mont.) 1914-1939, 1915-03-12
more into the hands of his unnatural

more into the hands Of his unnatural
| parent
Certain it was that the feelings OF
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-
veloped into an unquestionable fact,
there was universal sense of re-
greet in the little town. which in turn
resolved itself into positive indigna-
ton when it was learned from the
doctor that an explanation, 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 bride. The some
what remarkable communication, in
sprawling capitals, ran thus:
"Paps got me agin. / hat to go.
Dam him. Doc tel her to keep my
books. Good by. ] fed ole Charly.
fed him otes and ha an corn. He
wont need no more fer weak An
brand to. Doc tel her good by"
1t was a curious bit of composition
-uncouth, assuredly, and marred,
maybe, with an objectionable 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, filed
and overfioWed with tears.
| wish that it were in the veracious
sequence of this simple history to give
this hayward boy back to the hearts
that loved him, and that still in mem
DRY 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-never
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 chickering's, admired
the gallant spirit of the lad-are con-
tinually meeting with reminders of
him; the last instance of which, in
my own experience, l cannot refrain
from offering here:
For years l have been a wanderer
from the dear old town of my nativity
but through all my wanderings gra-
cious fate has always kept me some
where in its pleasant neighborhood,
and, in consequence, l often pay brief !
visits to the scenes of my long-van-
ished boyhood. 1t was during such a |
visit, but a few short years ago, that |
membranes of my lost youth were |
most forcibly recalled by the progress
of the county fair, which institution l |
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
What does it mean?" I asked my
friend, as he guided his horse in and
out among the trees toward the edge
Of the Enclosure.
IT'S Professor Andrus, I suspect"
he answered, rising in the buggy as
ne spoke, and peering eagerly above
he heads of the surging multitude.
And who's Professor Andrus?" I
asked, striking a match against the
ire of the now stationary buggy
Wheel, and lighting the stump of my
,igar.
why, haven't you heard of the ia
nous professor" he answered, laugh
adding in a seri-
JUS tone: Professor Andrus is the
amous 'horse-tamer' who has been
irving the country absolutely wild
lere for two or three days. Stand up
lere where you can see!" he went on,
xcitedly.
"Yonder he comes! Isn't that
plendid?' ]
And it was.
Across the sea of heads, and facing !
oward US down the track, l caught /