Fulton County tribune. (Wauseon, Ohio) 1883-1925, 1921-04-07
CHAPTER ONE
Which Introduces the Shepherd Of
the Birds.

Which Introduces the Shepherd Of
the Birds.
=
The day that Henry Smix met and
embraced Gasoline Power and went
up Main street hand in hand with it is
not yet forgotten. Their little journey
produced an effect on the nerves and
the remote future history of Bingville.
They rushed at a group of citizens
who were watching them, scattered it
hither and thither, broke down sec
ton of Mrs. Risley's picket fence and
ran over a small boy. At the end of
their brief misalliance, Gasoline Power
seemed to express it's opinion Of Mr..
Smix by hurling him against tele-
graph pole and running wild in the
park until it cooled its passion in the
fountain pool. In the language of Hi
ram Blenkinsop. the place was badly
"smixed up" Yet Mr.. Smix was the
object of unmerited criticism. He was
like many other men in that quiet vii
lage-slow, deliberate, harmless and
gOod-natured. The action of his in
tellect was not at all like that of a
gasoline engine. Between the swift
ness of the one and the slowness of
the other, there was a wide zone full
of possibilities. The engine had ac-
complished many things while Mr..
Sinks intellect was getting ready to
begin to act.
Tn lyfno nf fhfc o6
ram BlenkinsOp made wise remark !:
my married life learnt me one thing"
said he. ''If you are thinkln' of hitchln'
up q wild horse with a tame one, be
careful that the tame one is the stout
est or 1t will do him no good"
The event had its tragic side and
whatever Hiram Blenkinsop and other
citizens of questionable taste may
have said Of it, the historian has no
intention Of treating it lightly. Mr..
Smix and his neighbor's fence could
be repaired, but not the small boy
Robert Emmett Moran, six years old,
the son of the Widow Moran, who
took in washing. He was in the ma
ture of a sacrifice to the new god. He
became a beloved cripple, known as
the Shepherd of the Birds and alto
gether the most cheerful person in the
village. His world was a little room
on the second door of his mothers
cottage overlooking the big flower gar
den of Judge CroOker-his father hav-
ing been the gardener and coachman
Of the judge. There were in this room
an old pine bureau. a four-post bed
stead, an armchair by the window, q
small round nickel clock that sat on
the bureau, a rubber tree and q very
talkative little old tin soldier of the
name Of BlOggs who stood erect on a
shelf with a gun In his hand and was
always looking out of the window. The
day of the tin soldiers arrival the boz
had named him Mr.. Bloggs and dis
covered his unusual qualities of mind
and heart. He was a wise old soldier,
it would seem, for he had some sort
of answer for each of the many qUes-
tions of Bob Moran. Indeed, as Fob
knew, he mad seen and suffered much,
having Travelled to Europe and back
with the judges family and been sunk
for year in a frog pond and been
dropped in a jug Of molasses, but
through it all had kept his look OF
inextinguishable courage. The lonely
lad talked, now and then, with the
round, nickel clock or the rubber tree
or the pine bureau, but mostly gave
his condolences to the wise and genia
Mr.. Bloggs. When the spring ar
rived the garden, with its birds anG
flowers, became a source of joy anC
companionship for the little lad. Sit
ting by the open window, he used tt
talk to Pat Crowley, who was getting
the ground ready for sowing Late
the. slow procession Of the flower,
passed under the boys window ant
greeted him with its fragrance ant
color.
But his most intimate friends wert
the birds. Robins, in the elm tree jus
beyond the window, woke him ever,
summer morning. When he made hi
way to the easement, with the aid o
two ropes which spanned his room
they came to him, lighting ON hi
wrists and hands and clamoring fo
the seeds and crumbs which he wa
wont to feed them. Indeed, little Bol
Moran soon learned the pretty ling
of every feathered tribe that campet
in the garden. He could sound tn
pan pipe of the robin, the fairy flut
of the oriOle the noisy guitar of tn
bobolink and the little piccolo of tn
song sparrow. Many of these dea
friends of his came into the room an
explored the rubber tree and sang i
its branches. A colony Of barn swal
lows lived under the caves of the oil
weathered shed on the far side of tn
garden. There were many window:
each with a saucy head looking ou
of it. Suddenly half a dozen of thes
merry people would rush into the al
and fill it with their frolic. They wer
like lot Of laughing schoolboys skat
ing over invisible hills and hollows.
With a pair of field glasses, whic
Mrs. Crooker had loaned to him, Bo
Moran had learned the nest habits @
the whole summer colony in that wor
derful garden. All day he sat. by tn
open window with his work, an al
gun at his side. The robins woul
shout warning to Bob when ca