Newspapers / The Orphans’ Friend (Oxford, … / April 12, 1907, edition 1 / Page 1
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I * ORGAN OF THE GRAND LODGE OF MASONS OF NORTH CAROLINA VOL. XXXII NO. 12 OXFORD. NORTH CAROLINA, FRI DAY, APRIL 12. 1907. One Dollar a Year GRAN LODGE OFFICERS. K D WINSTON M, W, Grand Mastei S, M. GATTIS Deputy Grand Master R. N. IIAOKliTT ...Senior (ji'anci Warden W, B. McKOY Junior Grand Warden LEO D. HEARTT Grand Treasurer JOHN C. DREWRY Grand Secretary F, N. SKINNER Grand Chaplain B. W. HATCHER Grand Lecturer F. M. vVlNCHESTEK Senior Grand Deaccn J. T. ALDERMAN Junior Grand Deacon F. P, HOBGOOD, Jr Grand Marshal Or. . B. GRIGGS Grand Sword Bearer M. D. KINSLAND Grand Pursuivant GEO S. NORFLEET Grand Steward Ok J. C. BRASWELL Grand Steward R. H. BRADLEY Grand Tiler W. S. PRIMROSE Auditor M, DeLANCEY HAYWOOD Historian BY ELSIE ROBERSON. “That may be; but Ipromised to stay, so I can’t leave,” replied Dick. “It isn’t in writing,” urged Ben. j “No; but it is in my word.” j “Then, if I couldn’t leave, I*d take some way of feathering my nest and make my perquisites,” declared the : other vehemently. i “Whatever i get in this life will, be honestly come by,’’ was ail Dick vouch safed iu answer, as he walked away. “Who was that lad?” asked a gentle man who chanced to overhear part of I the conversation. “Dick Sterling, sou of old John Ster^ Richard Sterling turned the old wal let over in his fingers. It was all that was left him now -the old wallet and his youth and health. There were his memories, of course—some sweet, some sad, but all jery dear to Wsjooy- j ^ne of theTesYmen rnYhere’'pa'rts. Father died, and Dick got in with Jake Assistant Grand Lecturers. K. M. MOVE Wilson 2I1AS. F. BAHNSON- Fanuiugtoii R F. EDWARDS Crumpler, R. F. D. No. i J. W. ROWELL Waxbaw Custodians. f. E, CAMERON, Chairman Raleig LEON C.YSH Winston S.N, BOYCE... Gastonia BOARD OF DIRKCrORS. Oxford Orphan Asylum. F. D. WINSTON. M. W. G. M., P^x-oliicio Chairman, i. ROSENTIL-VL.. Secretary and Treasurer /, M. CURRIN, N. B. BROUGHTON C, W. TOMvS, DRED PEACOCK, J W, COTTEN, E. F. LOVILL, T. A. GREEN. ADVISORY BOARD. W. B. BALLOU, T. L. BOOTH i*. P. HOBGOOD W J. HICKS.Superintendent. DlvSTRIGT DbPUTY CiKANl) MASTI.lift. ish heart. Here, beueath the old map. le tree by the gate, where the two had most loved to sit, the full realization of his orphanedcoudition was forced upon him. He was alone iu the world, for his mother had died when he was but a wee chap of four years. One special paper, which he found in the wallet, seemed to interest him greatly, for he read it carefully several times, aud a look of high resolve and dauntless courage came into his gray eyes as he read. As he folded the pa per reverently, and was laying it away again inside the wallet, a shadow fell across the grass. | “Morning, Dick,” said the voice of j his neighbor across the road. “It’s \ hard.hues for you, losing your father, j What have you got there? Something ' he left you, eh?” | The keen eyes were riveted on the | paper Dick was putting away,as he rose ^ aud answered briefly: j “Yes, sir.” I “Going to invest it or live it out?’’ [ pursued Neighbor Gow. the R. Vaughan, Vaug- C. L. Pridgen, Kiu- M. Koouce, Jackson- ist District—J. A. Kramer Kii/.alieth City. 2ud District—Ilon.J. H Harris. Wash ington. 3rd District— 4th District—W. han. 5th District—Dr stou. 6th District—E. ville. 7th District—R. E- Hagan, Wilson. 8th District -A. J. Harris, Hender son. 9th District—W.D.Mi. Millan, Wilming ton. loth District—H. G. Owen, Warsaw. iith District—A. B. Andrews, Jr., Ral eigh. i2Lh District—Col. A. C. Davis, Golds boro. 13th Dist*'ict—Dr. N. A. Thompson, Lumberton. 14th District—Hon. U. h. Spence, Car thage. 15th District—W. C. Crowell, Moiuue. i6tli District—R.H. Sykes. Durham 17th District—Prof. M. C. S. Noble, Chapel Hill. i8th District—E. B. NeavevSalisbury 19th District- R. K. Austin, Albe marle. 2oLh District—John C. Burrus, Rock ford. 21st District—Leon Cash, Winston- Salem. 2211(1 District—C. B. Flournoy, Char lotte. 23rd ]>istrict-»-S. J. Durham, Bessemer City. 2'jth District—J. L. Banner, Montezu ma. 25th District—.R. F.Edwards,Crumpler R. F. D.No.i, Box 38. 26Lh District—J. L. Gwaltney, Taylors ville. 27th District - Hon. Sol Gallert, Ruth- erfordton. 28th District-- Hilary B. Bruuoi, Bre vard. 29th District—Dr. J. P'.A. bell, Waynes ville. 30th District—Marshall W.Bell Murphy SOMETHING KIND. If thou c-iQst tell ins soiuethin^ kin.l That has been thought of me, If thou canst lift my spirit up To moods of buoyancy, Then speak the words I pray thee, dear. However light they seem. Withhold not from me anything That adds to life s sweet dream. If thou canst tell me of some one Whom I have chanced to aid, If thou canst point me to some spot That I have brighter made, Then whisper softly unto me. Ill accents fond and low; The kind truth never hurts a< harms, But sets the heart aglow. So come with light and warmth aud cheer To meet me every day. Reflect to me the world's bright smiles, Aud hide its frowns away. Oh, hast thou sorrows of thine own? Have others inj'ured thee? Unburden as thou wilt, thou'lt feel My tender sympathy. But if some cruel, heedless tongue Has uttered words of hate, With justice or injustice cursed My errors, hesitate Before thou tell’st me what will bring But shadows in my life. (iod knows we all have need of love d'o calm our secret strife! If thou canst tell me something kinfl That has beeu thought or spoken If thou canst lift a spirit up ’ Too oft by treach’ry broken. Repeat it, dear, my faith inspire, However vain it seems; For I would fain be trustful still, Nor wake from life’s sweet dreams. —Selected. T haven’t decided,” stammered boy in some confusion. “Hope you don’t think I’m trying to pry into matters that don’t concern me said the old,man hastily. “But a boy might better trust his elders. Going to get a place to work?” he questioned with great eagerness. “I should like a place," answered Dick,iuastraightforwardjinanner.^“Fath er certainly would not like me to be idle.” “You can begin on luy garden,if yon like,” offered Mr. Gow affably.“It needs weeding badly, and I can’t seem to find a minute, even if I hadn’t a crick in my spine whenever I bend over. I ain’t as young as I used to be, that’s a fact. What say, Dick? Will you take the job? YouTl be saving your capital aud I’ll give you ten cents a row and your board and lodging. If you’re spry, you can clean out five rows between dawn and dark, and that’ll be fifty cents a day, all f^und.” Dick reflected. Plis father had wished him to stay iu the country. “It’s the best and purest place,” he was wout to say. Aud Dick himself did not care for the city. He had always wanted to learn the secrets of market gardening. Here was his chance. Jacob Gow had the fin est garden in the scope of three coun ties on Nebraska soil, but he had a reputation thatmacle workmen hesitate 4s Dick was hesitating now. He smiled faintly at thought of those weedy rows and their unmentioned length. But hig resolution was soon made. “I’ll try the garden, sir,” he said, quietly. “Afterwards I may have something else, if you work well,” approved the shrewd market gardener.” Will you be gin tomorrow?” “This afternoon, if you like,” said Dick “Good! Come after dinner, then,” And with a parting nod,Mr. Gow stum bled home across the road. So Dick took up the work of weed iug, umltr Mr. Gow's supervision, to the mingled pity aud wonder of the village. But Mr. Gow did not get hold of anything Dick might have had in the wallet, thoughjhe tried by every in, sinuatiou possible to induce the lad to yield his heritage to his keeping. Dick was obtuse,and gave no iutiuiitiou tha^. he understood the hints thrown out by his employer. ■ He worked manfully at his job iu the garden, unconscious that his neighbors and friends were discussing . him and his prospects with more or less interest, as the seasou advanced. His work gave him no time for gossip, if he had been inclined that way, which he wrs not. When the big garden was weeded, Mr. Gow had another proposal to make. “I'll give you eight dollars a month aud board from now till fall, aud fi.nd you work, seeing as you want to learn market gardening, though it’s money out of my pocket to hire at that. Rut, ’ he added craftily, “likely enough wheu you’re through you’ll see best to put in what you’ve got and let m e put it to earning something for you.” Dick accepted the offer, ignoring the closing remark. The few dollars he saved were put carefully away in the old wallet. “I declare I’d starve before I’d work like you do for auy man,” said Ben Wilson indignantly, as the two lads met one evening iu the village. ‘Tie’s putting lots more on you than you agreed to do for eight dollars. I know old Gow, aud so do you, I should think,” i Gow to learn market gardening. Gow got the best of the bargain, and Dick’s chump enough to hang on. Got queer notions about his promises,” garrulous ly informed Martin Clark, an upland farmer near Gow s. “It would seem so, indeed,” said the gentleman, reflectively. “What kind of a business man was John Sterling? Leave the boy anything?” “Sterling was honest as the day is long. Left that to Dick, anyway. If he left anything else, I’ve never heard it stated,” replied the farmer- “Know Gow?” “Slightly.” “He’s trying hard to get what the boy had left him, but there seeems to be a miserly streak iu Dick. He didn’t get that from his father, though. ^ Most of the folks agree that Sterling must have saved something up or Dick [ wouldn’t work so cheap,” aud Clark I looked thoughtful, while the gentle- I man repressed a smile as he stepped j into his carriage. I It was a very warm day in June, and Dick was busy “bugging” the early po tatoes.His mind,however,was upon oth- ertaings,Mr Gow had just lefthimwitb a program which would carry him well into the night. And for eight dollars a mouth aud ooard! he pondered. He had reached the end of the row,and, straightening himself up to shake his bead, he laughed, softly, as he leaned against the fence along the highway, aud addressed the contents of his bucket: “After all, bugs, ‘honesty is the best policy’ ” “So that is your conslusiou?” Dick started and doffed his straw hat with a blush, as a gentleman leaped over the fence skirting the road. He had not heard the carriage as it drew up beueath the walnut trees at the bend. The speaker did not wait for an answer. “I hear you are John Sterling’s son, he said pleasantly. “A boy with a good father.” ^ “Did you know my father?” asked Dick, flushed again, with pleasure this time, however. “No, but reputation travels fast, my lad. Are you making a fortune here?’’ “Well, hardly,” responded Dick, with a smile. “How would you like a position as assistant gardener? I am Harold Wes ton, of Omaha. There is such a vacan. cy at my place, aud wages are good and promotion certain, i^; 3 -)u suit. Would you like it?” “Like it!”Dick’s soul shoue through his gray eyes. “I guess I should like it! When—when would you want me?” Voice and hands trembled as he asked the question. “Immediately. Time is very press ing just now,” was the reply. “I—I am engaged to Mr. Gow until September,” falteretl Dick. “He will have to find someone else, if you go.” “He can hardly do that for what he pays me, aud perhaps not at all just now—at least no one who understands the work,” Dick objected. “Well, you are not bound, are you? No contract in writing, I mean?’’ asked Mr. Weston impatiently. Dick’s gray eyes opened wide. “My honor—” he stammered, “I couldn’t break my agreement, no mat. ter how it was made.” “My young friend, I fear you -are over-particular, with such a chance before you,” said the gentleman, smil ing persuasively. “Father would not think so,” replied Dick, his eyes downcast to hide the mist gathering over them. “Then you decline?” ‘T must, sir. But you don’t know how much I would like to accept. “That's all very well, but I want a boy with just the reputation you have of being worthy of trust. If you change your mind before Saturday noon, let me kno w. After that it will be too late ?s I must have someone ere the week is out. Good-day.” Dick looked wistfully after the car riage as it was driven rapidly away. For a moment it seemed as if he must call it back. He stood with closed lips aud louging eyes for some time, t.heu turned resolutely to the work be- fore him. There were two more days in which he could think of it. He did think. And for two days Mr. Gow watched him sharply. Often as the boy washed at the back sink aud ab stractedly wiped his face, Mr. (iow’s eyes were upon him. “Tiredof bugging?” lie askec^. once. “Well, it is not tlie most !^desirabl® job but it will 4.not have to be doue again this seasou,” he answered, good- naturedly. ^Mr. Gow watched the boy plunge in to work with almost reckless, zeal. He"' saw him do extra jobs that he found for him, until even his grasping soul felt some compunction as Dick’s face grew more serious, and on Friday night the end of the month, he actually fin gered an extra quarter for some min utes after he had paid the boy his regu lar wages. But his fingers came out of the pocket empty,* and he said to Dick: “You’ve beeu extra smart this week, lad, but I want you up a little earlier than common tomorrow morning.” “All right, sir,” replied Dick. “It’s fences first, I believe.” All that night the boy tossed sleep' lessly on his bed. Finally he arose aud went to the window, standing with folded arms, as he looked toward the lights of Omaha, visible not three miles away. “He wants a boy of m3’ reputation,” he said to himself:“aud,if I do it, he would not get such a boy, so that ends it. ” Then he went back to bed and fel^ asleep. He was up before his employer uext moruiug, aud came near, as Mr. Gow was wout to boast iU after years, to do ing a day’s work before breakfast. After breakfast the same pace was kept up till late in the fjoreuoou. Suddenly the old gardener dropped his hammer decisively. He looked at the sun. “Nearly ten o’clock, Dick. Go hitch up Nell aud then get into your clothes I want you to go along with me.” Wondering inwardly, Dick obeyed both orders, aud the two were presently driving at a rattling pace toward Oma ha. Just before noon they drove up to a beautiful estate, comprising wide parks and flower gardens, fair as a dream of Eden. A man approached them as Mr. Gow drew rein, and Dick perceived to his intense astonishment, that it was Mr. Weston, his caller of two days before. “Mr. Gow, 1 oelieve,” he said pleas antly. “Drive right iu and let me know what I can do for you.” “I can tell you that without driving iu, ” said Mr. Gow with a blunt direct ness. “Y'ou’ve beeu trying to coax my boy away,” and he chuckled at the look of astonishment on the faces of his two hearers. “I was behind that slump fence aud heard every word of that talk. Here, Dick, you jump down and see what you can find out about celery growing, while I’m settling things.” “But, Mr. Gow--” “You needn’t saj a word. I heard it all, and I know you ain’t sulked or shirked or struck a lick less. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t so. Go along, I tell you.” Dick went to look at the celery, but returned shortly to hear Mr. Gow say- ing: “T don’t hold up anything against Dick but one thing.” “What is that? asked Dick,anxiously. “Well, I did think you might have let me know something about what your father left you, aud let me have the use of it, seeing I gave you your first chance. But I shan’t go back on what I came for. He’s to be depend ed on, Mr. Weston, from first to last, aud you’re to keep him right here now, while I’m iu the notion. He’s been square with me, aud I’ll be square with him.” In a flash Dick realized what the old man meant, aud bis face lighted as he drew forth • th'i oil wallet, his bauds trembling with emotion. “This is what father left—all there is,” he said gently, handing the wallet to Mr. Gow, whose eyes regained their beady look as he grasped it. He opened it and drew cut a folded paper, at which he gazed steadily for some moments, then hastily crowded it back into the wallet and pushed the latter into Dick’s hands. “I’ve had the use of that heritage five months and never knew it until to, day,” he said huskily, as he gathered up the lines and drove hastily away. Dick drew the paper foith and hand ed it to Mr. Weston, who read as fol lows: BE SQUARE. We may name a hundred drawbacks That a man must meet in life, We may say it’s all a “battle” And a never ending “strife,” Then resolve to meet it bravely— Stand the test—to do and dare— dT. ~.] But the secret of true victory Lies iu one word, just be “Square.” There is something in the twinkle Of an honest fellow’s eye That can never be mistaken And can never be passed b3’, Be his station high or lowly, There’s that dauntless upright air, Which convinces all beholders That the man they see is “Square.’ Heaven gives such men influence ^ Over those they daily meet. If they see a fallen brother They will help him keep his feel —' Make the “sneaks” a bit uneasy — Make the “false” act kind of fair, For the greatest rogue on record J Will respect the man who’s “Square.” —M. Gertrude Robertson. AUNT CA’LiNE’S WAH’NIN’. BY N'ADE MECUM. “My son, this is your heritage—a good name. Keep it clean. Seize the first worthy opportunity that comes and do not reliuguish it except for a better. Make your word your bond. Be honest. industrious, true, to yourself, aud all others. Have faith in (Tod. Success will come.” “John Sterling.” “I didn’t think,” is what people say ofttimes when they suddenly become aware of the pain which some heedle.<^s act or careless word of theirs has given loa gentle heart. Too often ourtliought- fuluessis an after-thought; the problem is to get it to its true place, where it will become motive and inspiration to gentleness, instead of pain aud peni tence over a failure in love’s duty. We would do well to get our kindnesses done while they will do good, giving cheer and encouragement, and keeping them back till there i.s need for them— J. R. Miller, D. D. If there was anything in the world that made Jill an altogether happy lit tle girl, it was to have Aunt Ca’liue roast her an egg. It was always a very momentous occasion to them both, the interest beginning when the wrinkled brown face aud the dimpled pink-and- white oue, beut over the wellfilled bas ket to select the eggs for roasting, aud contipued to grow deeper aud deeper until the hot tid-bit was fished out of the ashes, all ready for eating. “Hit’s’bleeged ter beer big ’uu,” quoth Auut Ca Hue,nodding her tower ing turban wisely. “Yo’ know when hit gins ter bile, hit’s got ter have room ter swoU iu, kase effeu hit ain’t, dar's gwyn ter be er bus’ed aigg, aiT er bus’edaigg alius means er wahn’iu’ dat somethin’ gwyn come ter pass.” This last impressed Jill greatly, and she and the old woman searched care fully through the eggs, until three were found just the right shape and size. Shape was important as well as size, for, as Auut Ca’line oracularly declared. “Hit’s ’bleeged ter be bigger at one eend dan hit am at de urrer, kase effen hit ain’t, hit’ll topple over an’ all spill out, au den I axes yo’, whar’s yo’ ’ This last was a couviucing argument, so of course an egg with a solid foundation was chosen. Then each shell had to have a little hole picked in the small end,into which a stout straw was inserted, to serve as a handle by and by, when the egg was done. They were next carefully wrap ped in wet brown paper, and then tuck ed snugly down among the hot wood ashes, while the two roasters, with Dandy an interested third, sat down before the big fireplace to await results. “I’m so glad you told me about the bluebirds yesterday, Aunt Ca’liue, for I do love to hear about the pretty’ things that live out of doors,” announced Jill, her dimpled chin iu her hand, and her eyes on the eggs. The old woman was knitting in her low chair, aud at the child’s words she adjusted the huge horn rimmed glasses on her flat nose and beamed approvingly at the little bluegowued flgure sitting in the old egg basket. “.Sho’ now, honey, yo’ jes’ teches de warmes’ spot in my ole heart when yo’ ’lows dat, kase endurin’ de years sence my chillum all went erway ter freedom I got moughty thick wid de burds an’ de oeas’es dat roams errouu’ my cabin. Er dumb critter’s er whole passel o’ Company when yo’ doue got ole an’ lonesome. Hit s true dat dey can’t do nufiin in de talkin’ line ’cept howl an’ bark an’ squawk, au’ squeal au’ bellow, but dat’s er mussy sometimes, kase dar aiu t er mite o’ danger o’ dey gettin’ uppety, an’ er jawiu'ov yo’ back.” “I wish Jimmy was a beast of the field or a fowl of the air,” said Jill, and then as Aunt Ca’line’s mouth and eyes open ed wide, she nodded her bright head vigorously. “I do, indeed, for then he couldn’t do anything but squeal and squawk aud bellow and howl, and now t.e can do all those things, and he can talk besides,and that is the very worsest of all! Today I found a poor little bird in the grass and brought it iu to feed it. I thought it was a mocker, but Jimmy said I was a girl, aud didu t have any sense, for it was just an old catbird aud that he was going to squash it. He did, so it’s dead now.” Aud the big tears stood so thick iu the brown eyes that Jill failed entirely to see the hap py little jig the straws in the eggs were dancing. “I gwyn lay my han’ on dat dar Jeems, yo’ see effen I ain’t!” snorted Aunt Ca’liue, with a fervor that made U iughty Jill beam aud twinkle through her tears. “I reckon I kiiows as much erbout catburds as dat boy do, an’ so I’ll tell him de fust chauct I gits.” “Tell me aboutthem right now,while our eggs cook,” piped Jill, nearly top pling out of her egg basket in her eagerness to learn the ways of another bird, aud beaming delightedly at her small listener, the ancient oracle began: “I has alius been great on fambly, kase 1 laks ter know what kine o’ des- ceuters folkes comes from,aii’I’lows dat what’s good iu people am moughty like ly ter be good iu burd an’ beast critters. So I’m piutedly pleased ter specify dat de catburd am er double fust cousin ter de mocker. “Dar’s er pair o’ catburds dat’s been buildin’ in my yard fer three year now come dis May, an’ I tuns’ say, I ain’t neber seed er mo’ pleasin’ behaved couple o’critters in all my bawn days! An’ why hit is, dat boys an’ even men folkses, as well, ’lows dat er catburd am er f Dwel ter be rocked an’ treated mean' is somethin’ I ain’t eber been able ter fine out. ‘‘He’s er moughty tasty burd in de dress, am Mars Cat Burd, an’ w’ars er tight gray jacket dat’s moughty be cornin’ ter his fine fi.gger. Miss CatBurd she mo’ quiet lak, au’ w’ar er dress dat’s pritty dingy, though she’s er rat piert little burd oomau, an’ sho’ do love her lies’ an' her chillum! “Dese two I’m ’quainted wid build dey nes’ in dat dar thorn tree rat by my back gate, an’ I mus’ say hit’s er moughty wobbly, rough kind 0’ place ter go ter kousekeepiu’ in. Hit’s made o’ sticks, all piled togedder, aud de in side lined smoove an’ saft wid roots an’ har’. what Mars Cat Burd mos’likely stole outen er boss’s tail. “Dem two sho’ do lak each urrer an’ de way he sing an’ dance iu de trees fer her to look at am jes’ plum bawda- . ciousi An’ fight! Why, chile, dat dar Mars Cat Burd, he jes’ natchally totes er chip on he shoulder all de time, an’ he go troompin’ ’roun’ plum bus’in, open fer somebody to knock hit off. Au’ effen trouble don’t trouble him, he jes’gits out an’hunts hit up, au’ den bounces in aud raises de bigges’ racket ever yo’ heeard iu all yo’ bawn days. Dar’s my ole cat, Rhody. A peaceabler cat ain’t neber been bawn dan my Rhody, but Mars Cat Burd, he jes’ skip up ter her, when she takin’ er nap iu de sun, and he flop her wid he wing, an’ he swear at her, twell dat po’ ole Rhody, she flatten herself out lak she beeu tromped on, an’ de way she skeedaddle under de cabin am plum ter rifyin’. “Au’ de yallar heu! He hop at her twell she jes’ gits teched iu de haid, an’ he flop along de pith arter me, an’ swar iu burd talk, twell I ‘low I mus’ be de no couutes’ ole nigger oonian dat dar catburd ever sot wicked brack eye on. “An’ de way de little chap sing do beat all creation! He gits up dar on de branch by he nes’, whar Miss Cat Burd kin see him, an’ den yo’ ueber see sech shines as he cut, er bowin’ an’ er niak- in’er feather fan outeii he tail, an’er hoop skirt wid he wings! Den. when her eyes mos’ popp'in’ out wul pleasure, kase he so handsome, he gin ter sing de sof’es’ little song, an’ hit gits louder an’ sweeter, twell biiue-by hit 'ud mek Mars Mockin Burd tuck he haid wid shame, hit so pritty.” “Jimmy says catbirds eat up a lot of fine fruit every year,” piped Jill from the egg basket, and loud ana long did Aunt Ca’line snort. “I sees rat pintedly dat I got ter place my ban’ on dat dar oneary Jeems,” she said, wagging her white turban omin ously. “De mite o’ fruit the caiburcl eat iu er year ain’t wuff even talkin’ erbout, hit’s so little, an’ de bugs dat he catches in de orchard is so many dat ebery farmer had ought ter git moughty thick wid him, kase he jes’ de bes’ frien’ he kin have, let me tell yo’ dat! Effen dey would let de catburds alone, dar wouldn’t be so many fine fruit trees et up by varmints as dey is every year “I got er moughty saft place in my ole heart fer Miss Cat Burd, kase I ain’t never yit seed no critter dat love her home an’ her fambly lak dat little thing do. Her nes' blowed outen de tree oue year, an’ de nex’ day I foun’ her crouch ed iu hit, rat kerslap on de groun’! Deu she got er good heart fer urrer folkses’ troubles, too,■’has Miss Cat Burd, kase sometimes when she fine er nes’ o’ young burds, whose mar been kilt by some boy lak dat Jeems, little Miss Cat Burd, she keeps keer o’ dem yether babies ac well as her own twell de po’ thintf am all wore out. Dey sings hyar in my 3'^ard, an’ dey teach all dey little ones ter fly iu my trees, froo de sum mer, an’ den some night in de fall time o’ de year Mars Cat Burd he go trompin erbout, tellin’he frien’s dat he gwyn Souf fer he health, an’ off dey go, wid’ out so much as er word ov goodbv, fly. in’ erway to whar hit’s warm, in de darkness o’ de nighttime.” Absorbed in her talk, Aunt Ca’line had not noticed the eggs, nor, had auy but Daud3- beard the sinister mutter- ings that came from the big yellow oue, right in the middle of the hearth. It was having rather a hard time of it, was that egg, the white bubbling over the sides and running down in a little pud die among the ashes. Sundry hisses aul pops followed this miniature vol canic eruption, aud then, just as Aunt Ca’line laid down her knitting and leaned over to investigate her lunch, there came a loud report, and a shower of egg and ashes sent Dandy howling out the door, and the old woman wail ing into the fariherest corner of the room. “Hit’s er wah’nin’, er wah’nin’, an’ I knows somethin’ gwyn ter come ter pass!” she moaned, rocking herself to and fro, with her face buried iu her apron. Poor little Jill tried in vain to comfort ‘her, then being able to get nothing from her, except repeated moans about something coming to pass, the little girl fished the remaining eggs out of the ashes, and ou being assured that nothing would induce her hostess to touch one, she tucked them in her pocket and scampered home with Dan dy.—Baptist Boys and Girls. Pass Then on. When Mark Pearse was fourteen years old, he went to Loudon,having been in a school iu Germany. He stayed in London long enough to spend his money, excepting enough to pay his fare to his home iu Cornwall. He went by train to Bristol, and there took passage on a vessel. He thought that the passage money included his board, and therefore ordered his meals t at day. At the end of the journey a dapper little steward presented a bill for meals to the lad. “I have no money,’’said the surprised boy. “Then,” replied the steward, “you should not have taken your meals at the table. What is your name?” “Mark Guy Pearse.” The steward closed his book, took the boy by the hand, aud said, “I never thought I should live to see you. My mother was in great distress years ago. My father had died suddenly, aud your father was very kind to my mother and me. I promised myself then that if I could ever do so I would show like kindness to some oue your father loved* The truly grateful steward paid the boy’s bill, gave him five shillings, aud sent him ashore iu a boat rowed by five sailors. Mark’s father was waiting to receive his sou. “Father,” said the boy, “it is a good thing to have a good father;” and then the story of the steward’s kindness was told. “My lad,” said Mark Pearse, “it is long since I passed the kindness ou to him iu doing what I did. Now he has passed it ou to you. As you grow up, mind that you often pass it on to others.” Years afterwards, when the boy had become a man, he was going by rail on a short journey, when he saw a boy cry ing bitterly. On asking the cause of his grief, the boy replied that he had not enough money by four pence to pay his fare to the town in which he lived. Mark Pearse at once bought the boy a ticket, aud then related his own ex perience ou the steamer years before. “And now,”he concluded,“I want you to be sure and pass this kindness on to others, if you are ever able to do so.” As the train left the station, the smil ing boy waved his handkerchief, and said, “I will pass it on, sir: I will pass ij; Good deeds, kind acts—pass them on Pass them ou. The year awaits them— three hundred aud sixty five days—full of human deeds.—Youth’s Companion. “Now for a ride!” exclaim- He was a ed Dick, the largest of a Coward. group of boys who were playing marbles ou the sidewalk, as he noticed a heavily loaded wagon being drawn slowly down the street. “No-o, let’s just play ou; mymamma told me never to steal rides that way or some time I would get hurt,” said John ny, the smallest boy in the crowd. “Ba-ah! I wouldn’t be tied to my mammy’s apron strings. What does she know about it, anyway? Why, I’ve beeu having all the rides I want ever since I was three or four years old and never got hurt yet!” exclaimed Dick, scornfully. Johnny loved his mamma and knew he would be perfectly safe in obeying her, but when the other boys called him a “coward” as they started toward the wagon he followed them. No sooner bad the last boy climbed on than the driver turned around aud began lashing the boys right and left with his long whip. Johnny received a blow across his eyes which caused him to fall backward down between the two wheels, the hinder one running over his ankle. The uext thing he knew he was lying on the sofa. His mother was bathing his face, and the doctor was working with his ankle. O how it did hurt! And his head and his eyes—he thought they would burst! His mamma was crying, but she smiled as he looked up into her face and said, “I was afraid you would never open your eyes!” Aside from being badly bruised; a bone was broken in nis ankle,aud John ny was unable to walk without a crutch for several weeks. Several days after his accident he had a long talk with his mamma about “cowards,” and before it ended he de cided that the boy who lets any oue shame him into disobeying his mother is a real coward, while the little man who is tied tight enough to his mother’s apron string that the boys may call him a coward all theywant to and still be un able to force him to disobey her—that kindof a boy is a real Ut:le soldier,— American Boys aud Girls.
The Orphans’ Friend (Oxford, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
April 12, 1907, edition 1
1
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