1897. 



THE AMERICAN BEE KEEPER. 



153 



:V10UNTA(N ECHO. 



1b mournful stillness rides a knight 

 Through the deep vale's concave. 

 "Ah, do I now fare to my darling's armSt 

 Or do I but go to the darksome grave?" 



The echo answer gave — 



"The darksome gravel" 



As ever onward rides the knight 



His mournful sighs increase. 

 "Find I, so soon, in the grave release? 

 Ah, well, the grave brings peace 1" 



Nor did the echo cease— 



"The grave brings peace." 



Down from the cavalier's cheek, for grief, 



A teardrop rolled and fell. 

 "Is there on";y rest in the grave for me? 

 To me, then, the f^-ave comes well." 

 The echoes hollow swell — 

 "The grave comes well." 

 — G. W. Oddie in New York Tribune. 



HIS HOME COMING. 



How I came to visit my home hap- 

 pened in a curious way. Six weeks ago 

 I went down to Fire island fishing. I 

 had had a lunch put up for me, and you 

 can imagine my astonishment when I 

 opened the hamper to find a package of 

 crackers wrapped up in a weekly pub- 

 lished at my home in Wisconsin. I read 

 every word of it, advertisements and 

 all. There was George Kellogg, who 

 was a schoolmate of mine, advertising 

 hams and salt pork, and another boy 

 was postmaster. By George, it made 

 me homesick, and I determined then 

 and there to go home, and go home I 

 did. 



In the first place, I must tell you how 

 I came to New York. I had a tiff with 

 my father and left home. I finally turned 

 up in New York with a dollar in my 

 pocket. I got a job running a freight 

 elevator in the very house in which J 

 am now a partner. My haste to get rich 

 drove the t]]ought of my parents from 

 me, and wi:en I did think of them the 

 hard words that my father last spoke to 

 me rankled in my bosom. Well, I went 

 home. I tell you, John, my train seemed 

 to creep. I was actually worse than a 

 schoolboy going home for a vacaricu. 

 At last we neared the town. FaiirJliar 

 sights met my eyes, and, upon my v, rrd, 

 they filled with tears. There v; ,s L.ll 

 Lyman's red barn just the sar;.o . i ^ 

 great Scott, what were all X ■ r 

 houses? We rode nearly a n ' • i 



coming to the station, passing many 

 houses of which only an occasional one 

 was familiar. The town had grown to 

 ten times its .size when I knew it. The 

 train stopped and I jumped off. Not a 

 face in sight I knew, and I started down 

 the platform to go home. In the oflSce 

 door stood the station agent. I walked 

 up and said, "Howdy, Mr. Collins?" 



He stared at me and replied, "You've 

 got the best of me, sir. ' ' 



I told him who I was and what I had 

 been doing in New York, and he didn't 

 make any bones in talking to me. Said 

 he: "It's about time you were coming 

 home — you in New York rich, and your 

 father scratching gravel to get a liv- 

 ing. " 



I tell you, John, it knocked me all in 

 a heap. I thought my father had enough 

 to live upon comfortably. Then a notion 

 struck me. Before going home I tele- 

 graphed to Chicago to one of our corre- 

 spondents there to send me $1,000 by 

 first mail. Then I went into Mr. Collins' 

 back office, got my trunk in there and 

 put on an old hand me down suit that I 

 used for fishing and hunting. My plug 

 bat I replaced by a soft one, took my 

 valise in my hand and went home. 

 Somehow the place didn't look right. 

 The currant bushes had been dug up 

 from the front yard and the fence was 

 gone. All the old locust trees had been 

 cut down and young maple trees were 

 planted. The house looked smaller, too, 

 somehow. But I went up to the front 

 door and rang the bell. Mother came to 

 the front deer and said, "We don't wish 

 to buy anything today, sir." 



It didn't take a minute to survey her 

 from head to foot. Neatly dressed, John, 

 but a patch here and there, her hair 

 streaked with gray, her face thin and 

 wrinkled. \et over her eyeglasses shone 

 those good, hcnest, benevolent ej'es. I . 

 stood staring at her, and then she began 

 to stare at me. I saw the blood rush to 

 her face, and with a great sob she threw 

 herself upon me and nervously clasped 

 me about the neck, hysterically crying, 

 "It's Jimmy! It's Jimmy!" 



Then I cried, too, John. I broke down 

 and cried like a baty. She got me back 

 to the house, huggii^g and kissing me. 

 Then she went to the back dcor and 

 shouted "George!" F.ither called from 

 the kitchen, "What do you want, Car'- 

 liue?" 



