Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1871-08-11
Calls and Sketehes.
LED OUT OF DANGER.
BB JEAN INGELOW.

w no is lnlS ? a careless little mlQShlp-
man, idling about in a great city, with his
pockets full of money. He was waiting for
coach; it comes up presently and he
goes on the top of it and begins to look
about him.
They soon leave the chimney-tops behind
them. His eyes wander with delight over
the harvest fields, he smells the honey
suckle in the hedge-row, and he wishes he
was down among the hazle bushes, that he
might strip them of their milky nuts then
he sees great vain piled with barley, and
he wishes he was on the top of it then the
checkeredshadows of the trees lying across
the white road, and then squirrel runs of
a bough, and he can not forbear to whooI
and halloo, though he cannot chase it to it
nest.
The other passengers We're delighte,
with his simplicity and childlike gee, ant
they encouraged him to talk about the sef
and the ships, especially her majesty
wherein he had the honor to sail. In the
jargon of the seas he described her many
pertections, and enarges upon her pecul.
lar advantages !; he then confdes to them
how a certain MILDLY, having been ordered
to the masthead as punishment, had seen,
while sitting on the top mast cross-tree,
! something uncommonly like the sea-ser-
pent; but finding this hint received with
incredulous smiles, he begins to tell how
he hopes that some day he shall be pro-
NOTED to have charge OF the poop. The
passengers hope he will have the honor !;
they have no doubt he deserves it. His
cheeks flushed with pleasure to hear
them say so, and he thinks that they have
| no notion in what that honor" may hap
pen to consist.
The coach stops; the midshipman with
his hands in his pockets, sits rafting his
| money and singing. There is poor wo-
man standing by the door of the village
inn; she looks careworn, well she may,
for in the spring her husband went up to
London to look for work. He goes for
work, and she was expected to join him
| there, when, alas fellow-workman
wrote her word how he had met with an
accident, how he was very bad, and
wanted his wife to come and nurse him.
But she has two children, and is destitute !;
she must walk all the way, and she is sick
at heart when she thinks that perhaps he
may die among strangers before she can
reach him.
She does not think of begging, but see-
ing the boys eyes attracted to her she
makes a courtesy, and he withdraws his
hand and throws her down a sovereign.
She looks at him with incredulous Joy, and
then she looks at him.
'lt's all right he says, and the coach
starts again, while, full of gratitude, she
hires cart to take her across the country
| to the railway, that the next night she may
| sit by the bedside of her sick husband.
The midshipman knows nothing about
that-anQ he never will know
The passengers go on talking-the little
| midshipman has told them who he is, and
where he is going. But there is one who
has never joined in the conversation he
| is dark looking and restless man-he
sits apart; he sees the glitter of the falling
CON, and now he watches the boy more
closely than he did before
lie was strong man, resolute and de-
termined; the boy with Il pocket full OF
money will be no match for him. He has
told the others that his fathers house was
the parsonage at "; the coach goes
within five miles Of it, and he means to get
out at the nearest point, and walk, or
rather run, over to his home, through the
great wood.
The man decides to get down, too, and
90 through the wood he will rob the lit
tie midshipman; perhaps it he cries out
and struggles, he will do worse. The boy
he thinks, will have no chance against
him; it is quite impossible that he can
escape the way is lonely, and the sun
will be down.
No. There seemed indeed little chance
of escape; the half fledged bird just flut-
tering down from his nest has more chance
against the keen-eyed hawk. than the little
| ight-hearted sailor boy will have against
| him.
And now they reached the village where
the boy is to alight. He wishes the other
passengers good evening, and runs lightly
down between the scattered houses. The
man has also got down and is following.
The path lies through the village church
yard; there is evening service, and the
door is wide open, for it is warm. The
little midshipman steals up the porch,
looks in, and listens. The clergyman has
Jest risen from his knees, in the pulpit,
and has given out the text. Thirteen
months have passed since the boy was in
house of prayer; and Il feeling of pleas
ure induced him to stand still and listen.
He hears the opening sentences of the
sermon, and then he remembers his home,
and comes softly out of the porch, full of
calm and serious pleasure. The clergy
man had reminded him of his father, and
his careless heart is filled with the echoes
OF his voice and OF his praye". He thinks
on what the clergyman said OF the care of
our Heavenly Father for us; he remem-
bcrs how he left home, his father prayed
that he might be preserved through every
danger; he does not remember any par
ticular danger he was exposed to except
inc in the great storm, but he is grateful
that he has come home in safety, and he
hopes, whenever he shall be in danger,
which he supposes he shall be some day,
that the Providence of God will watch
over him and protect him. And so he
presses onward to the entrance of the
wood.
"Are not two sparrows," he hears, 'sold
for farthingp and one shall not fall to
the ground without your Fathers notice
But the hairs of your head are numbered
Fear not, therefore, ye are of more value
than many sparrows."
The man is there before him. lie has