BILLYACK

THERE was a family living near us, on High Prairie, whom I shall call the Wilsons. That was not their real name. There were two girls, Elva and Stella, and two little boys, the older of whom was always called Billyack was under school age, while the girls were both in school. These children often came to play with us, and their mother and our mother were very good friends.

Billyack was expected to do small chores around the place, and as children often do, he began to feel abused. He brooded long over his mistreatment, sitting under a pine tree, or on the sunny side of the rude old barn, bare toes digging into the soft pine needles. At last he decided that he could endure it no longer. He run away! But where? Tates! That was it. He go to Tates! So he went into the house and told his mother that he was tired staying at home, and was going to leave. where will you go, Honey? asked his mother.

"I'm going to Tate's" said Billyack, "They'll like me and be good to me."

"Very well," replied the mother. "I'll help you get your things together."

So together they packed the pitiful, small supply of garments that Billyack possessed, little home made jeans and shirts, and made a neat bundle of them.

While Billyack was packing, the mother wrote a note to my mother, telling Billyack that she must explain to Mrs. Tate about the addition to her family. Billyack took his little bundle of possessions and started happily on his way to his new home. Over the prairie trails, and through the woods he trudged, and at last reached the Tate home. He handed mother the note. She read it and bravely concealed her merriment, for the note, among other things, asked her to, in some way, get Billyack discouraged with being a prodigal and to want to return to his own home.

Billyack played around with us young Tates until suppertime. Now, our cousin, Frank Lee, was at our house at the time, and Mother had told him and Father what that note contained. The men, therefore, made their plans.

We were called to supper, and we children came trooping in, and sat down to the table. We were eating out on the porch. Everyone noticed the new face, and the men had much to say about the addition.

Now, in the early days, each farmer branded his stock, so there was no question about the animal ownership.

With the men bantering, Billyack became more and more fidgety.

At last, Frank Lee said, we get through with supper, Tate, we better brand this new boy, so he won get away and be lost. A knowing look and a wicked smile passed among the grownups.

Billyack nervousness increased. He wiggled in his chair. He rubbed his bare feet together. He watched the men out of the tail of his eye. He knew exactly what it meant to be branded. He seen it done many times in his short life. They threw the calf or colt, tied it or held it so that it could not get up, then pressed a red-hot branding iron, with the owner initial, or some other individual mark on it, onto the hip or shoulder or side of the struggling animal. There would be a sickening smell of burnt hair and scorched flesh, and the agonized cry of the tortured "critter."

"None of that for me," thought the now thoroughly frightened little boy. Down from his chair he slipped, leaving his plate half full of Mother delicious fried and steamed potatoes, which my mother had a reputation for making.

The family could hear small sounds, as of someone stirring about, then scurrying footsteps. And as we looked up from our supper, we could see Billyack running down the trail toward home, his bundle swinging against his shabby little home-made pants as he ran.

How good home looked to Billyack! And he was through running away.

—

Billyack became of school age. Also the first day of school came along, just as it always does every year.

The Wilson children, and we Tates walked to school together. We were Stella, Elva, Lola, Revvie, Need and this year, Billyack.

Billyack had never been called his real name, which was Charles. As we scampered along, picking wild flowers, or playing tag, Billyack was nervous and perturbed. He took no part in the high jinks of the other children. He walked solemnly along con on what he must say to the teacher. He walked up by his older sister and said,

"Elva, what is my name?"

"Charles Wilson," she told him.

Then again, "Elva, how old am I?"

"Six years old," Elva told him.

He would then silently repeat this information over to him as long as his little, untrained mind could hold it, then the same questions and answers would be repeated over and over again, until at last we reached school.