University of Virginia Library

THE KIDNAPPED BOY'S PRAYER.

Of all the ultra-mean things that are done in this world (and there are plenty of them, Heaven knows) the kidnapping of a child is one of the very worst. A villain who can play upon the homesickness of a little one, and the terrible anguish of a parent, for the sake of financial gain, has no right to expect mercy from the law, or from any human being who has a heart.

It is pleasant to dwell upon the fact, that in this case, there was one member of the gang, who did have a heart, when at last it was reached.

The deed was done—the game was caught: the robbers grimly smiled
And chuckled at how easy 'twas to steal a helpless child.
A lure into a carriage-door, a rush through gleam and gloom,
A manufactured jail within a rude and dreary room;
A warning to a homesick boy to keep discreet and still,
With threatenings from men who knew an hundred ways to kill;
A letter to the stricken sire with money its demand,
And hints of death if so the coin came promptly not to hand;
And night fell down upon the scene, and left the boy alone,
With no one there save God Himself, of all he e'er had known.
Of you who read this simple tale, the strongest must agree
That 'mong all homesick, heartsick lads, the wretchedest was he.
This was the first of all his nights when none he loved was there;
The first that he had ever known without a mother's prayer.
But he, still brave, in spite of all the terrors round him thrown,
Pushed back a sob, and said “I guess I'll have to pray alone.
“O Lord, of course you're on to this—know all about the case,
An' why you let 'em bring me here to such a shabby place;
It's goin' to make Pop rippin' mad—an' tempt him for to swear—
An' Mom—I'm sure this instant now she's joinin' me in prayer;
An' Sister Mabe is grievin' 'cause this mornin' when we stood
An' scrapped about that little game, she said I wan't no good;
An' Brother Rob has one the less to tell his stories to,
An' Auntie Grace is worryin' 'round, not knowin' what to do;
And Baby's gone just half to sleep, quite sure things isn't right,
Because, you see, I didn't come and kiss him ‘sweet good-night’;
An' Ninelives won't be half a cat without me in the shed,
To pick a romp and scrap with him before he goes to bed;
An' when tomorrow mornin', boys comes round there on the sly,
An' gives our little curly squeal, they won't get no reply;
An' Teacher she will sort of mope an' feel a little sad,
An' state that now she's lost the most mischievous boy she had;
(An' yet she thought she liked me, too, an' said 'twas very sweet—
That time with stones I plunked a dog that bit her on the street;)
In truth, O Lord, I think they all would love to see me back,
Though not so glad as I would be to take the home'ard track;
An' if you'll help me out o' this, I tell you straight and true,
Whenever it is so I can, I'll do as much for you.”
Of course it was a rough young prayer—in neither prose nor rhyme—
Or grammar, such as one might use, in youth's or manhood's time;
But still it may have worked more good than words discreet and fair;
For God knows many curious ways with which to answer prayer.
The bandit guard—an old gray rogue—was list'ning at the door,
And caught some talk, the like of which, he ne'er had heard before.
But echoes of a boyhood past came tolling through his brain,
And his crude heart had softnesses that worked the youngster gain.
“Come with me, kid”, he whispered soft: the two foes sneaked away,
Perhaps ten minutes from the time the boy commenced to pray.
They crept through many hidden paths not fruitless of alarms,
But when next morning smiled, the boy was in his mother's arms.