Mineral Point tribune. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1854-1858, 1854-12-06
nlisfellallcous.
THE DOVE OF THE STORM.
BY DORA M'NElLLE.

were gathered round blazing fire of ma
J pie wood 1t was one of those old fas h
ioned homesteads of which every one ha
bright ideal; tall trees bent over it al
if to shelter the young hearts that bea
happily under that roof, and peacefully
, even as the birds that sung to them thro
J the long summer days, dwelt the little
J mountaineers in their secluded home-
Their parents had now been absent 6
week on visit to friends at distance
though it was mid winter, and the broad
evergreen forests were thickly covered
with snow They were not the people
who spend in pleasure the lcveliest sea
son God has gwen US, for little thought
could they take of journeying for amuse
meut when the rich fruit and waving grain
was ripening fast for them to gather
1t was the farmers season for fittinp
now the harvest moon had long since
wanned, and left rich stores in barn and
granary There were stalwart boys to
leave at home, who knew right well what
care was needful and the parents had
not feared to leave the little band alone
without protection but their own limo
cence. and the care Of Him IN whom they
trusted
Trained as they had been to brave all
storm and danger, caring lightly for eth
er the hardy children had enjoyed the
independence of being " left to take care
of themselves" as James Graham had ex-
pressed it, and now they were recounting
all the home duties they had performed.
for the absent ones were expected home
that night, and each little heart beat rap
idly in the consciousness of having done
right.
s. Well" says James, /" I guess father
don't expect to find the corn all huske
when he gets home"
/ No. nor the old shed all boarded up
so nicely" said Richard.
What have you got to tell father, An
ME ?n said James to little gentle Great
ure who looked like white morning glory
with blue eyes.
l." Oh, shall tell him how good we've
all been, and how l have helped you to
feed the lambs every day"
You'll tell him we've been good too.
won't you cousin Maria 2" asked Richard,
for the roguish boy began to remember
certain instances Of his teasing and fun
which he thought might not sound very
we'll IN the account.
! \ gay and brilliant girl was cousin Ma
rian. who lad escaped from the dull re-
straint Of city life, for a little while to
enjoy the freedom she loved Oh, it was
strange how she could leave sphere of
gayety and fashion, where she was the
brightest star, to sit on that old stone
hearth in the farmers kitchen, TO crack
buttcrnnts or help pare apples till her
little white hands looked black enough +;
but she did love it, and dearly they all
loved her, she was so gifted and so kind,
so winning to all and then, as James
said, she was first rate hand at making
candy and popping corn.
But Marian Neville was not genteel,
indeed she wasn't; for she had rather
play the romping games of the country
girls. or coast with James Graham, of a
moonlight night, than dance the bewitch-
ing polka in her splendid city home and
why should she not ? for the shadows of
old bending trees tremble on the frozen
lake. and the moon shines brighter there
than gas-hght does in a crowded room, on
beauty which God did not make. Per
haps. too, Marian had holier thoughts than
of mere enjovmel t, for every night she
had gathered the children round her, and
with them repeated a prayer so earnest in
its few simple words. that their young eyes
closed revcrently as they knelt, while all
her mirth and gayety were for few mo-
mcnts forgotten.
Now as she sat on rude, low seat, with
Aunie's sweet face resting in her lap, the
glowing fire lit up her face with the truest
gladuess as she answered Richard:
Yes, coz you've been good most al the
time. but"
While she was speaking the whole group
was startled by low distinct rapping on
the window pane. and there, with its white
breast close against the glass, was a trem
bling dove. picking the frostcovered win
3 dow. rs if it plead for shelter amid tht
= driving storm. All the children rar
eagerly to the door, and Richard lait
the dove gently and carefully in Marian:
! hand. The fickering light of the candle
shown far out on the lonely road, and
dimly showed two figures all wrcathed il
the falling snow. 1t was unusual in thai
lonely place to see strangers passing thu:
at night, and the ever restless Richard eX
b claimed
You carry in the dove and warm it
, and l will run out and see who they
are"
Beautiful looked that half frozen dov,
, TO the kind ones who had rescued it. A
it nestled close in Marian's bosom, there
was CLEAN in its opening eyes tha
seemed almost human, SO earnestly /
told of gratitude and content. They al
smoothed the rufied white plumes ca
ressingly, talking ali the while to Dovie,
as if il knew their meaning They scarce
liz heeded the entrance of Richard, unit
f he said
y Those folks are beggars, and wanted
e that we should keep 'em over night, bu
. | told 'em, as father always does, tha
every town took care of its own poor
' and if they stayed at home they need'n
suffer
Who were they how did they look
: where did they come from 2' inquired the.
J. all at once.
P Z" oh, they looked bad enough ther