IT is about a boy named Owen. He had not been long at our Sunday-school before his disobedience one day caused his parents and friends bitter anxiety and sorrow. We had no trouble with him. He was always fairly attentive, said his text, and sat quietly as we talked together of Jesus.
“Owen’s lost,” was what greeted me one afternoon as I entered my class of little boys, whose ages ranged from four to seven years. “Yes, he’s lost, and his father and some men are out looking for him all the time, and his mother too, but they can’t find him, and he has not come home himself either, and it’s all true, ‘cause I live quite close to his place and go to school with him sometimes.” The little fellow’s face was unusually serious, and he stopped for breath after running off the long sentence.
When school was over I set out to make further inquiries as to the story of which the children were so full, and this is what I heard.
They had not seen him since last Monday morning. His mother dressed him ready for school; he had a new suit on and with his bag over his shoulder looked quite the little man.
“That will do, mother,” he said, anxious to be off, as she smoothed down his coat.
“Well, good-bye, Owen, your lunch is in the bag, be a good boy, and come home straight from school,” and she stood at the gate watching as he ran down the hill.
Four o’clock struck, five passed, Mr. T. came in from, his work, but still no Owen appeared.
“Where can the child be,” said his mother, beginning to feel uneasy.
“I will inquire of some of the children in the street,” answered her husband, “maybe he has gone off somewhere with one of them.”
But all he could gather from the children was that Owen had not been at school all day, and this news did not at all allay the mother’s fears.
“Something must have happened to him; do go to the police station,” and at her request the father communicated with the police. No child had been taken to any of the stations, but they promised to do what they could.
The poor parents passed a sleepless night, and the next day the search was again begun, but without any success. Various small boys answering to Owen’s description people said they had seen here, there and somewhere else, but the lost child could not be traced. Days succeeded days, a week went slowly by, and the search continued through the second week. The parents’ feelings I could not attempt to describe. I am sure they cried to God in that trying time. In the meantime the rumors subsided somewhat, excepting perhaps one. There were people living on the water front who were certain of having seen a child in school hours on the day in question playing about on a low concrete wall. which ran cut in two arms from the esplanade to form a small boat harbor.
After nearly three weeks the terrible suspense was ended. Owen’s little body was found one morning floating within this enclosure, and then we knew all. Sad to say, Owen had made up his mind to play truant, when he begged to be allowed to take his lunch to school. Do you think he was happy as he struck off in an opposite direction from the school and hurried along to the sea? He could not have been, for he knew he was doing wrong, although only a little boy. And how sadly it all ended. While walking along the wall of the boat harbor he must have leaned forward, lost his balance. and fallen into the water. With no one near enough to see him fall or hear his cry, he was drowned.
“What a sad story,” I hear someone saying. Yes, indeed it is, and what makes it all the more sad is that it was disobedience that brought it all about.
ML 07/12/1925