The Portland daily press., 1869-04-09
Miscellany.
Dolly,
A WESTERN DRovER's STORY.


My dame is Anthony Hunt. ana drovel
and live miles away upon the western pri.i-
rie. There wasn't home within sight when
we moved there, my wife and /, and now we
haven't many neighbors, though those we have
are good ones.
One day, about ten years ago, went away
from home TO sell some fifteen head of cattle
fine creatures as ever saw; was to buy
some groceries and dry goods before l came
back, and above all, doll for our youngest
Dolly, she had never had a store doll OF her
own, only the rag babies her mother had
made her.
Dolly could talk of nothing else, and went
down to the very gate to call alter me to "buy
big one." Nobody but parent can under
stand how full my mind was of that toy, and
how, when the cattle were sold, the first thing
/ hurried off to buy was Dolly's doll. found
large one, with eyes that would open and
shut when you pulled wire, and had it
wrapped up in paper and tucked it under my
arm, while had the parcels of calico and de-
laine and sugar put up. Then, late, as it was,
l started for home. ltmight have been more
prudent to stay until morning, but felt
anxious to get back, and eager to hear Dol
ly's prattle about her doll.
was mounted on a steady-going old hoIse
of mine, and pretty well loaded. Night set
in before was a mile from town, and set
tied down dark as pitch while was in tho
middle of the widest bit Of road know of.
l could have felt my way, though, L remem-
bered it so well and when the storm that had
been brewing, broke, and pelted the rain in
torrents, it was almost five miles, or may be
six, from home yet.
| rode on as fast as / could, but all of a
sudden heard a little cry like child's voice
/ stopped short and listened-I heard it
again. / called and it answered me. got
down and felt about in the grass-called
again, and again was answered. Then be-
gan to wonder. I'm not timid, but l was
known to be a drover and TO have money
about me. 1t might be a lrap to catch me
unawares and rob and murder.
am not superstitious- very-but how
could real child be out in the prairie in
such night, at such an hour? 1t might be
more than human.
The bit Of coward that hides itself in
most men showed itself to me then, and
was half inclined to run away, but once more
Iheard that cry, and said /:
"If any man's child is hereabouts, Antho-
ny Hunt is not the man to let it die."
/ searched again. At last bethought me
of hollow under the hill ,and went that way.
Sure enough, found little dripping thing
that moaned and sobbed as l took it in my
arms. l called my horse, and the beast came
soaked thing under my coat as well as l
could, promising to take it home to nanny.
1t seemed tired to death, and pretty soon
cried itself to sleep against my bosom.
1t had slept there over an hour when saw
my own windows. There were lights in
them, and supposed my wife had lit them
for my sake, but when l got into the door
, yard saw something was the matter, and
stood still with dead fear at heart five min
utes before / could lift the latch. At last /
did it, and saw the room full of neighbors,
and my wife amidst them weeping.
When she saw me she hid her face. "Oh,
don't tell him." she said, cit will kill him."
what is it, neighbors," cried.
And one said, HNothing now, hope
what's that in your arms?"
GA poor, lost child !" said /. II found it on
the road. Take it, will you, Eve turned
faint" and i lifted the sleeping thing and
saw the face of my own child, my little Dolly.
1t was my darling, and none other, that [
bad picked up upon the drenched road.
My little child who had wandered out to meet
"dad0y" and the doll, while her mother was
at work. and whom they were lamenting as
one dead. / thanked Heaven ON my knees
before them all. 1t is not much of story,
neighbors, but think of it often in the night,
and wonder how could bear to live now ii l
had not stopped when heard the cry for
help upoa the road, the little baby cry, hard
ly louder than squirrels chirp.
That's Dolly yonder with her mother in
the meadow, gill worth saving-I think
(but then, I'm her father, and partial may-be)
1.-The prettiest and sweetest thing this side Of
the Mississippi.