Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1870-09-06

me like chestnut burrs; but | don't be-
lieve | ever should have done it, if it |
hadn't been for the bottle Nv wine
I'd just been drinking, to keep me
warm-cause | knew | must be up all
night. But 1 struck that boy, and
sent him up aloit.
"The sea was running higher than
it does in snow storms in general, but
| didn't believe there was any real
danger to the lad, when the ship made
leeIurch, and all in a minute, l
heard a rushing sound, and Ben Kin
ney's boy lay on the deck. l picked
him up myself, and carried him down
below.
'It's no use to 90 over the story
and tell you where he was hurt. He
died the next morning, and, just afore
he stopped talking to anybody on this
earth, he says to me, Captain, you'll
have to put me in the sea, won't you :?
and l had to tell him at last that we
couldn't help it, because we were so
FAR from port.
"'There's place, where l played
with Susie at home,' says he, where
the sand is white, and the jingle shells
shine in the sun, that I'd rather be
put in, than to drop way down, down
in the awful water; but it won't hurt
so, may be. as it did to fall on deck,
and God won't forget me when he
wakes the children up-do you think
he will, captain?
"What do you suppose l could say
to that boy? | went down on my
knees before that little bunk and told
him how I'd played on them same
sands with his mother, when she was
a little girl like Susie, and how much
| loved her through years and years,
and how she never loved me but mar
ried his father; and when | got that
far, he stopped me, and says he, Cap
tain, was that why you sent me up in
the cold and snow; was it because my
mother didn't marry you?' and his
| little eyes-he was most an angel By
that time-seemed TO see right thro'
mine, and to draw the words right
out OF nv mouth, for | said, I'm
afraid it was, boy Who will forgive
me-? III forgive you, captain, he
said, and In the enc thai is hurt
/ | guess I'd rather 20 now. | dom t
want to be captain and own q ship.
I'm afraid | might get wicked too. if
somebody didn't love me. You'll 90
anu tell my mother all about it, won I
yog, when you get home-teIl her all
and that I'd rather 60 now, for l
don't believe its very nice to grow
up, only don't want God to forget
me, when the children wake up, he
cause I'm lying alone, with no one
near me in my big bed? Won't you
pray for me captain? Please do" he
added.
Al tried to pray, but the words
wOuldE' t come.
a had a praying man on the ship
and | sent for him, and he prayed for
the boz. Soon after that he fell
asleep, and, when he reused again. he
was talking to somebody beyond thi7
> world.
GAS I told you, sir, the next morn
ing he died and that was Christmas.
"You won't mind my leaving out
; telling you what we did with the boy
afterward but no one on the ship ev
er set eyes on him after that Christ
mas day, and | kept walking upon the
deck, promising the boy, and God
too, that if ever | touched home again
> I'd 60 straight to Susan Kinney, anC
tell her what | had done with hel
child. l vowed to tell her the whole
truth, and every word he said to me
: and that I'd stand and bear the hate
that knew she bore on me out of be-
eyes at the heartbreak the words
would give her, foy she loved the lit
: tie lad. Oh. if she'd only love me ;
j little-iust a little"
;, ''Well, John, did you keep tina
l promise ?"
= "Not yet sir, not yet; and ever,
Christmas in all the forty-six year
4 that has come and gone, I've repeated
! that promise, said it over again t
the boy, to myself, and to God-an,
: now I'm going to do it. You see a
- ter the blindness struck me | couldn'
see to know how Susan would hat
, me, and that was a kind Of an excuse
. but now I'm going sir, going" an
! John Danforth got up from his chai
= and reached fof his cane, as thoug
that minute he meant to leave the hal
. Dor for the place where Susan Kline
- was.
: "You shall go, john" l said, "an
y shall send some one with you"
~ "And then," with pathos | cannc
+ + put into the words; he said, "maybe
!, shall know another Christmas just b
7 fore | die Forty-six years without
Christmas in it! Isn't it awful sir
a But I'm going this time. The Lor
=, waited wonderful while for me, an
- now | am going and I'll tell her e
;, cry word the lad said, and where 81
:, can find his grave too, for l marke
H. it"
" "His grave John! You told me |
u was buried in the sea-"
a "Nay, sir-tbat wasn't true, for
III put him with my own hands und,
re the sands, just where he wanted to b
n, Nobody knew what | carried home
y. my big sea chest, but it was Caleb, tt
e. boy. | kept him in vinegar, sir, q
o. the long voyage, and put him und
I'd the sands, and now I'm going up, S
at I'm going to Groton. l won't wa
I for any tea, thank you, sir-Pd rath
rs start while the sea is right It's ha
y's sailing up agin the wind, and i
ID. blowing.
Ell persuaded him to wait until nor
ing. He then was 10th to go, but
in sent him home. He told his story
he Susan Kinney, every word of it ju
W, as he had told it to me. She look
ht, at him in his helpless blindness, a
as put out her hand to guide him dov
to the shining sands, where he b
W. told her the boy was buried. Sig
ok less though he was, his inner sig