The Lynden tribune. [volume] (Lynden, Wash.) 1908-current, 1915-11-18

pouring gold through his window. came
pleasantly in his hair as he leaned
from the sill to watch the tribe Of
chattering blackbirds take wing, fol-
lowing their leader from the trees In
the yard to the days work In the open
country. The blackbirds were his, as
the sunshine and the breeze were his,
for they all belonged to the day which
was his birthday and therefore most
surely his. Pride suffused him. He
was twelyei
His father and his mother and Mar
garet seemed to understand the differ
enee between today and yesterday.
They were at the table when he de-
fscended, and they gave him greeting
which of itself marked the milestone.
Habitually his entrance into a room
where his elders sat brought cloud OF
apprehension. They were prone to
look up in pathetic expectancy. as II
their thought was. "What new awful
ness is he going to start now" But
THIS morning they laughed. His moth
er rose md kissed him twelve times.
So did Margaret. And his father
shouted: well. well! How's the
MANI"
Then his mother gave him a Bible
and THE Vicar Of Wakefield" Marga.
ret gave him pair of silver mounted
hairbrushes. and his father gave him q
Pocket Atlas" and a small compass.
"And now. Penrod," said his mother
after breakfast. I'm going to take you
out in the country to pay your birth
day respects to Aunt Sarah Grim"
Aunt Sarah Grim, Periods great
aunt. was his oldest living relative
She was ninety, and when Mrs. Scho-
field and Penrod alighted from a car
riage at her gate they found her dig
ging with spade in the garden.
I'm glad you brought him." she said,
iesisting from labor. "Jinny's bak-
ing n cake I'm going to send for his
birthday party. Bring him In the
house. I've got something for him."
She led the way to her sitting rOom."
which had II pleasant smell. unlike any
other smell. and opening the drawer Of
shining old whatnot took therefrom
4 boys "slngshot." made Of forked
stick, two strips of rubber and q bit
of leather.
This isn't for you" she said. plac.
ing it in Penrod's eager hand. mo
1t would break all to pieces the flrst
time you tried to shoot It because II IL
thirty-fivr years olu. 1 want to send
1t back to your father. think it's
time You give It to him from me and
tell him say | believe l can trust
him with 1t now. l took 1t away from
him thirty five years ago. one day aft
err he'd killed my best hen with 1t &C.
cidentally and broken a glass pitcher
on the back porch with it-accidental-
ly He doesn't look like person
who's ever done things of that sort,
and suppose he's forgotten 1t so
we'll that he believes he never did. but
If you give it to him from me ] think
he'll remember. You look like him,
Penrod. He was anything but a hand
some boy"
After this final bit of "Reminiscences
probably designed to be repeated to
Mr. Schofield-she disappeared In the
direction of the kitchen and returned
with pitcher of lemonade and a blue
china dish sweetly freighted with fat
ginger cookies of composition that
was her own secret. Then. having set
this collation. before her guests, she
presented Penrod with superb, In
tricate and very modern machine OF
destructive capacities almost limitless
She called it pocketknife.
IL suppose you'll do something hor-
rible with it," she said composedly.
II hear you do that with everything,
anyhow. so you might as we'll do 1t