OBITUARY OF
|
Several weeks ago, the little son of Landlord Fowler, of Hotel Fowler,
died of that dread disease, diptheria. Of course none of the boy's playmates were allowed
to view the body, nor were they informed of its burial place. Indeed, in the sorrow over their
loss, the family and intimate friends did not give a thought to the playmates referred to. But,
althought we prate of our superior wisdom, and imagine that all tenderness and feeling is
confined to adult life, childhood has its joys, its loves and its sorrows, none the less real to the
little people moving in the world about us. The surviving playmates of the child referred to held
several conferences regarding the funeral and disposal of the body, and a day or two afterward,
they started out to find Harry's grave. After a careful search in the graveyards they finally found
the grave, and raising their hats, recited in concert the Lord's prayer. Then, after re-arranging
the buds and flowers left by loving hands, they slowly walked away to school. "We were late to
school and the teacher scolded," said one of the boys to his mother, "but I didn't care for that. We
found Harry's grave, and we prayed over it. Harry is in heaven, now mother, and if God let him hear
us I know he will be glad we didn't forget him, even if we couldn't go to the funeral.
|