Ladysmith news-budget. [volume] (Ladysmith, Rusk County, Wis.) 1907-1927, 1921-04-29
CHAPTER ONE
Which introduces the Shepherd OF
the Birds.

The day that Henry sink met ana
embraced Gasoline Power AMI 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 1T
hither and thither, broke down a 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 its opinion of Mr..
Sink by hurting him against a tele
graph pole and running wild in the
park until it cooled it's passion in the
fountain pool. In the language Of Hi
ram Blenkinsop, the place was badly
"smixed up Yet Mr.. Sink 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 Il
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 M.
Sinks intellect was getting ready to
begin to act.
In speaking of this adv enture, Hi
ram BlenkinsOp made wise remark:
my married life learnt me one thing"
said he IF you are thinkin' of hitchin'
up a wild horse with a tame one, be
careful that the tame one is the stout
est or it will do him no good"
The event had it's tragic side and
whatever Hiram Blenkinsop and other
citizens of questionable taste may
have said of 1t, the historian has no
intention of treating it lightly. Mr..
Sink and his neighbours 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 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 floor 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, a
small round nickel clock that sat on
the bureau, a rubber tree and very
laxative little old tin soldier of the
name of Bloggs who stood erect on
shelf with a gun in his hand and was
always looking out Of the window. The
day of the tin soldiers arrival the boy
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
tons of Bob Moran. Indeed, as Bob
knew, he mad seen and suffered much,
having travelled to Europe and back
with the judges family and been sunk
for a year in a frog pond and been
dropped in 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 genial
Mr.. BlOggS. When the spring ar
rived the garden. with its birds and
flowers, became source of JOY and
companiOnship for the little lad. Sit
ting by the open window, he used to
talk to Pat Crowley, who was getting
the ground ready for sowing. Later
the slow procession of the flowers
passed under the boys window and
greeted him with its fragrance and
color.
But his most intimate friends were
the birds. Robins, in the elm tree just
beyond the window, woke him every
summer morning. When he made his
way to the easement, with the aid of
two ropes which spanned his room,
they came to him, lighting on his
wrists and hands and clamOring for
the seeds and crumbs which he was
wont TO IeeQ Lnem. lnUeeu, llltle DOD
Moran soon learned the pretty lingo
Of every feathered tribe that camped
in the garden. He could sound the
pan pipe of the robin, the fairy flute
of the OriOle, the noisy guitar of the
bob0link and the little piccolo Of the
song sparrow. Many of these dear
friends of his came into the room and
explored the rubber tree and sang in
its branches. A colony of barn swal-
lows lived under the caves Of the old
weathered shed on the far side of the
garden. There We're many windows,
each with saucy head looking out
of it. Suddenly half a dozen of these
merry people would rush into the air
and fill it with their frolic. They were
like lot of laughing schoOlboys skat-
ing over invisible hills and hOllows.
With a pair of field glasses which
Mrs. Croker had loaned to him, Bob
Moran had learned the nest habits of
the whole summer colony in that won