The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1871-12-23
ened breathlessly for the expected


sound.
A picture for an artists eye was the
group in that doorway. Glorious imperial
Addy, with the soft light in her eyes, hel
purple dress sweeping round her and touch.
ing the snow at her feet; fair little Margie,
with her golden-bron hair falling and
glittering over her shoulders, and scarlet
shawl half trailing on the floor, half cling
ing round her slender figure. Behind these
two flood of warm light from the Christ.
mas fire, glowing and sparkling, and hall
revealing other young and graceful figures
in the background; in front of them the
cold glittering moonlight, the wide expanse
of snow, and the little pale, wistful child.
John Winston, standing outside in the
shadow of a great tree, was smiling to see
how fair it was, and was already in fancy
transferring it to canvas, when little July
threw up her head with the look of star
tied fawn. cit is father she whispered
hoarsely. "He is calling me-" With her
tiny hand held up for silence, she listened
again, and once, only once, from the ra-
vine, a hundred feet below them, came a
low, wavering, wordless cry, almost borne
down by the light wind that shook the
feathery snow from the pines.
Dan Cross started up at the sound, and
with all the strength of his lungs, sent
forth shout that echoed far aud wide over
the mountains, and then paused for the
answer. None came, and little July wrung
her hands and sobbed in wild terror. eft
is father" she cried. "He is down there
in the deep snow. Oh please, Mr.. Cross,
get him out. He will die in the cold.''
Without word, Mr.. Cross dashed into
the house, seized half dozen flaming
eight wood " brands, and came hurrying
out again. As many ready hands seized
the torches, and following the lead of Mr..
Cross, the men hurried down by circuitous
route into the deep ravine where there the
shadows lay black as ink.
The torches flared red against the moon
lit snow, and when the bottom of the ra-
vine was reached the shadows fled before
their light. To little July, kneeling on
the edge of the precipice, with Margie's
arms around her, and Margie's soft voice
whispering hope and courage in her ear, it
seemed long time before the torches
ceased flashing restlessly to and fro, and
gathered at last around one central point.
But at last shout from below told them
the search had been successful, and then,
by the winding path, toiling patiently
through the deep snow-drifts, came the
group of men, bearing slowly, oh, so slow
ly, dark and heavy burden with them.
Up from the black shadows into the fair
moonlight, through the wide, open cabin
door, and into the light of his own hearth
fire they carried the cold senseless form of
the blacksmith, and his little daughter
gathered his head in her arms, and rocked
backwards and forwards in grief too deep
for words or tears. Many time pale lit
tie July had looked on death, and she
thoughtful had come again to their humble
home, but she was wrong.
mot this time, July. said Mr.. Cross,
cheerfully. "He amt off the handle yet,
child. Here's his heart beatin' under my
hand like sledge-hammer already. Not
so close to the fire, boys, though I believe
he amt SO much frozen as dead beat and
stunned, with long tramp and fall some
how
And so it proved. At the end of an hour
the blacksmith sat in his arm chair by the
fire, very feeble and dizzy, but happy as a
king, with July sitting at his feet, and the
two curly-headed cherubs sleeping on a
bear-skin beside him, while he ate his sup
per and told his adventures. The snow
had detained him at his fathers until he
became SO uneasy about the children at the
cabin that he set out, in spite of entreaties
and warnings, to come to them. Taking a
short cut through wood roads we'll known
to him, he came into the main road near
his house, but seeing no light from the
windows (poor July had put up the wood
en- shutters when night came on) he had
wandered out Of the path, missing his foot
ing, fallen over the edge of the precipice,
and only been saved from death by the vast
drift of snow into which he sank. Here,
stunned, chilled, and bewildered by the
storm and darkness, he had CROPPED about
vainly trying to find his way out of the
ravine, and conscious that his shouts could
not be hear! above the roar of the storm,
and at last he sank down to die. utterly
unable to move another step. But when
he had lain a little while with his eyes
closed and his heart beating slower and
slower, suddenly he heard music in the air
above him. "Yes, you may believe me or
not, just as you please, said Jim, sturdily,
"but heard the angels singing. 1t was
like the music in church, only sweeter than
any they make there, and the clouds were
rolling away from before it, and the moon
shining like silver in the sky. Then l
gathered up strength to call my little July
here. called her three times, and when l
had done it l was sorry, for was afraid she
wonld try to come down to me, and be lost
in the snow. Then tried to raise myself
up again, and in minute the world SEEM
ed to spin round and round, and just
didn't know any more till I heard Dan
Cross say, Hes all right now, boys, and
so 1 am all right
"And it was Miss Margie and all of them
you heard singing" said laughing, crying
July, looking up at Margie with face of
half alteration. "But reckon the angels
don't sing any sweeter than she does,"
added July, softly.
"Anyhow, it was the singing that saved
my life," said Jim, with tremble in his
rough voice; 81 was falling asleep in the
snow when heard it, and when man
falls asleep there, it is apt to be a long sleep
a long sleep. little July" And Jim
stroked the child's hair, and gazed musing
ly into the fire, while July bent forward
and timidly touched Margie's hand with a
touch that was a blessing.
''There sn't only angels in heaven.
reckon there's some of em on the earth,
too" said Dan Cross, nodding sagely, and
pointing his speech with so direct look at