The Madison daily leader. [volume] (Madison, S.D.) 1890-current, 1916-02-04
TWO OF FAMILY LEFT
HOMELESS OLD MAN AND YOUNG
son SPEND NIGHT IN MADI-
son POLICE STATION.

He had almost reached the allotted
span. His shoulders We're stopped,
and there was a p%erceptible limp in
the painful. measured steps which
took him in through the entrance to
the newspaper office this morning
and to the nearest desk. His hair,
as white as the snow that had fallen
on it, and, melting, was trickling
down his unprotected neck, was
scraggly and long, and a short coat
which he drew tighter about his
racked form, was unkempt and thin.
Il am trying to get to Minneap-
Oils" he faltered through chattering
teeth.
AS if to eXtirpate the effects the
g%listening snow had had on his sight,
he lifted a palsied hand to brush an
imaginary something from his faded
eyes, and turned to a boy at his side.
4 mean my boy and me are trying
to get back" he corrected. We're
all that's left now"
The boy was still in his early teens,
and his bearing indicated dire priva-
ton. He gave mute assent to the old
mans slowly coming words.
The "old man" was Rev. John
Wesley Kendall, the shadow of one
who for fifteen years occupied a pull
pit in Minneapolis, according to his
own declarations. He unfolded a
story of affliction and distressful
wanderings, such as is rarely sur.
passed in the widest flight of fiction.
Three years ago, | was making 4
good living for my family. and
owned a home in Minneapolis" he
began. Il gave up both, upon the
advice of men | trusted, to make a
payment on a small patch of ground
in Texas. | felt that | was getting
too old to preach, and my boy and
girl were growing up, and could help
in the care of the garden and in rails
ing chickens.
Texas seemed to possess just the
climate for us. We were happy-my
wife, our two children and myself
for a time. 1t was not until contin-
ued heavy rains washed away our
first crop Of sprouting vegetables and
drowned our young chickens that
dGS DOIUCutE Dt6dn W 0lt0D uHOil US
BY going without the actual necessi-
ties of life. we managed TO get
enough seed to replant the garden,
but before the vegetables had reached
a marketable size they went the way
of the first crop"
The tired, old man told of succeed
ing calamities. With only an old
horse and buggy left, it was decided
to attempt to get back north. There
was Don for only three in the We
hicle, and it was thought best that
the daughter should seek house work
in Galveston, the man told.
1T must be true that troubles
never come singly," he said. AT
Tyler, Tex, the horse died. Learn
ing of our plight, the citizens of Ty-
Ter took up a subscription, and
bought us tickets clear through to
Minneapolis. But my wife had
grown very sick. On the train she
became worse, and when we arrived
in Kansas City, Mo, persons advised
me to take her TO a hospital. She
died a few days later. The boy and
| walked a part of the distance 10
Sioux City, and at that place we were
given tickets 10 Sioux Falls. We got
here last night on a freight train, and
we were given a bed at the police
station"
Asked regarding his daughter, the
man said that he neyer had heard
from her, although he had SEN sew
eral letters. lie told that newspaper
accounts of those drowned in the
Galveston flood last August, gave
among those lost, a description
which would answer that of his girl.
In a little yalise the man carried
school books. Last night in the DO
lice station he had his boy do sums
in arithmetic and go through a les
son in language. The father and son
expected TO leave for the north late
this afternoon.
Kendall said he was ordained by
the Spiritualist Christian Union in
Minneapolis, and he offered to sub
nit his credentials.