The Train of Human Progress. A Poem

THE OPEN ROAD. 1079 These two facts, as I say, Brocketts had quickly taken notice of, the whereabouts of the head nun with respect to himself and the whereabouts of the crowd with respect to the pathway— the former before he had got fairly out of the oblong house on the hill, the latter when he had gone but a little on his way. This happy combination of circumstances he had been waiting for now a great while. One or the other had always been wanting. Either the matron had brought up the rear with her sharp eye, or the spectators had formed that fatal avenue, in consequence of which the lines were thin at every point. And so, the wings of the boy's thought fluttered, tremulous with anxiety. "Say, kids, if I skit and don't bid good-bye to the sisters, you close up the gap so's I won't be missed." This Brocketts whispered to his marching comrades fore and aft and by his side — whereat they each experienced a thrill. None knew better than they what was about to happen! It had hap- pened twice before in exactly the same way. No, not exactly, either; for once the big matron was in the rear with her keen, sweeping eye; the other time the crowd was divided. They assured him, however, as to the little matter of the gap. Fritz Kerwald, though, tossed him this bit of discouragement, "Suppose you're caught again?" For everybody knew that the first escape had been followed by a mild flogging, that the second had resulted in so severe a lashing on the naked back, from a strap wielded dexterously in the big hand of the head nun, as to render it extremely incon- venient for Brocketts to lie down during the period of seventeen days, or rather nights, and that the third attempt would bring about what only the imagination of one who had been a long resi- dent at the orphanage might conceive. "Not this time!" was the confident reply. "But you've been caught twice, you know." "But the third time's the charm!" Meanwhile, the procession moved on as if nothing but thoughts of the most abject submission possessed every boy's soul. All the drab legs, little and big, stepped together; all the drab heads, save one, turned only forward. Neither of the nuns in front looked back; of the rear sisters, one was near-sighted,

1080 IMPROVEMENT ERA. Brocketts knew, and the other, a young and beautiful woman, would not dare to lift her pretty eyes to the vulgar crowd. And the sun shone pleasantly, and the birds twittered hopefully in the spring leafage. Presently young Brocketts shot into the crowd, the gap was filled by the next in line, and the drab figures and the hooded fig- ures marched into the church. Presently, too, the worshipful spectators disappeared in the sacred building. The only moving thing outside was a solitary boy in drab darting behind a buttress in the rear of the church. It had all happened so quickly, so silently, so naturally, that if she of the seeing eye had been back there in person, it is doubtful whether she would have observed anything amiss. To be sure, a small group of housewives at one point had exchanged significant glances, but who could feel at all safe in predicating anything positively on the fact that women looked at one another and smiled? Now, it happened that the corner made by the intersection of the buttress and the wall was hung with heavy-leafed ivy. Into this retreat the boy wormed himself from beneath, and stood there with too little of his drabness exposed to serve as a guide to anyone who did not know already that he was somewhere behind the church. Out from between the broad leaves he looked, first at the stone wall that surrounded the building at a distance, and then at the solid pavement of gravestones between the church and the wall. He would remain here till his way was clear to fresh woods and pastures new. The figure of a man approached, "You going to run away?" it said. Brocketts started. What should he answer? His intention to run away was so apparent, however, that the man did not even wait for a reply to his question. " Why do you want to run away?" he asked the next minute. " 'Cause I hate the place, hate the sisters, and hate every- body!" the boy cried passionately, ''and I want to get away from it all." "Well, to be caged up like a bird when the fresh air and the sun's calling to you, and the warm earth's crying out for your feet — I don't blame you. I was there once myself."

THE OPEN ROAD. 1081 Brocketts showed a pair of glad eyes. "Then you'll help me?" he asked eagerly. "Sure! That's what I came back here for." There followed a pause as if each was considering in what way t'hat could best be done. The man spoke. "You'd better stay here till nightfall. They won't think of looking for you so close by." "I've decided to do that, sir." "Very well, but you'll have to have something to eat." That was very clear, too. "I'll get you some," the man resumed. "And you'll have to have different clothes from those drab ones. They'll get you into a trap right off, before you've gone farther away than the end of your nose. Let me see." And there was another pause, for this last was evidently a knotty problem. Pretty soon, however, the man walked away. But he came instantly back. "You don't think I'm guying you, do you?" "No, sir." "Well. And you'll be sure and stay here till I comeback? I'llbe here as soon as it's dark." "Yes, sir." There was no doubt that he would. No deceiver ever spoke in a voice like that, and so Brocketts waited patiently, though not without some discomfort from his long-continued posture. (to be continued.) The Train of Human Progress. {For the Improvement Era.) Slowly moving from the station Of the dim and distant past Rolls the train of human progress O'er a desert drear and vast — Evsr moving slowly onward O'er the mountains, through the vales, Laden with its stores of knowledge, With its faith that never fails.