The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1869-05-27
A Western DrOyer'S Story.

My name is Anthony Hunt. L am a
drover, and [ live miles away upon the
western prairie. There wasn't house
within sight when we moved there, my
wife and |, and now those we have are
good ones.
One day, about ten years ago, I went
away from home to sell some fifty head
of Caffeine creatures as ever l saw. L
was to buy some groceries and dry goods
before [ 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 caA after
me to ''buy big one" Nobody but a
parent can understand how full my mind
was of that toy, and how, when the cat
tie were sold, the first thing, | hurried
off to buy Doly's doll | found large
one, with eyes that would open and shut
when you pulled wire, and had it wrap
ped up in paper and tucked it under
my arm, while | had the parcels of calico
and delaine and tea and sugar put up.
Then, late as it was, [ started for home,
1t might have been more prudent to stay
until morning, but | felt anxious to get
back, and eager to hear Dolly's prattle
about her doll.
[ was mounted on steady going old
horse of mine, and pretty well loaded
Night set in before | was mile from
town, and settled down as dark as pitch
while [ was in the middle Of the widest
bit of road [ know of. l could have felt
my way, though, [ remembered it SO well
and [ almost had to, when the storm that
had been brewing broke, and pelted the
rain in torrents, five miles, or maybe, six,
from home yet, too
[ rode as fast as [ could, but all of
sudden [ heard little cry like a child's
voice [ stopped short and listened-I
heard it again. [ called and it answered
me. [ couldn't see a thing. all was as
dark as pitch. [ got down and felt in
the grass-called again and again was an
swered Then | began to wonder. I'm
not tlmid but [ was known to be a dro-
yer and to have money about me. 1t
might be a trap to catch me unawares and
rob and murder me.
[ am not superstitious-not very, but
how could child be out in the prairie on
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 heard that cry, and said |:
eff any mans child is hereabout, An
thony Hunt is not the man 20 let 1t die. "
[ searched again. AT last [ bethougt
me of a hollow under the bill, and CROPPED
that way Sure enough. | found little
dripping thing that moaned and sobbed
as | took it IN my arms. | called my
horse and the beast came to me, and /
mounted, and tucked the little soaked
thing under my coat as well as could,
promising to take it home to mama. 1t
seemed tired to death, and pretty soon
cried itself to sleep against my bosom.
1t had slept there over an hour when
7 saw my own windows. There were
lights in them and [ supposed my wife
had lit them for my sake, but when [ got
into the door-yard [ saw something was
the matter, and stood still with dead
fear of heart FIVE minutes before I could
lift the latch. At last | did it, and saw
the room full of neighbors, aud my wife
amidst them weeping.
When she saw me she hid her face.
ooh, don't tell him. she said, lit will
kill him.
"What is it neighbors % [ cried.
And one said, Nothing now, hope
what's that in your arms?'
GA poor, lost child" said l. II found
it on the road Take it, will you, I've
turned faint and lifted the sleeping
thing and saw the face of my own child,
my little Dolly.
1t was my darling, and none other, that
| had picked up upon the drenched road.
My little child had wandered out to
meet daddy" 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 nights, and won
der how | could bear to live now if [ had
not stopped when l heard the cry for
help upon the road, the little baby cry,
hardly louder than squirrel chirp.
That's Dolly yonder with her mother
in the meadow, a girl worth saving-I
think but then, I'm her fathor, and
partial maybe)-the prettiest and sweet
est thing this side of the Mississippi.