Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1871-03-29
The Story Of Il Hero.

1t might have been long story, for the
hero was as brave as good Sir Galahad, and
perhaps as well deserved immortality. But
he was only boy, and they say boys don't
always have justice done them. lie was
very poor boy besides, and there was nobody
in particular to tell the story, and so it never
was told in any regular way, only passed from
lip to lip, and kept sacred in the hearts that
held it, like the legends Of the old saints.
I'm afraid he wasn't saint though. lie
had been known to join most heartily in play.
ing trick on the pompous little policeman
that kept the newsboys in order while they
were waiting for papers; and once, when a
big peanut boy was pounding little candy
peddler, he pitched in vigorously and gave the
big fellow complete pommcing. He had
been heard to say rough words upon hard
provocatlon. which was not so strange as it
might have been, seeing he never in his miser-
able little life was taught any better. In
short, he was nothing better than a ragged
dirty little heather, and it was out Of all
reason that he should have wanted to Join the
boys Of his ward school in that last game Of
-" shiny" Why, he hadn't even pair of
skates but came scufing along With his clumsy
shoes, as sure-iooted as a cat, except when
one Of the merry skaters glided suddenly
across his track, or haf.a-dozen Of them
swarmed pel-mcll over him in the eager rush
for the ball lie never minded that, or the
frequent raps from the sticks that struck
wildly at the flying ball, and seemed to have
as much fun as if he were leader, and his feet
had silver wings
He had not been chosen on either side not
because he was poor-your genuine boy is a
democrat and snaps his fingers at social dis.
tnctions Il but because he had no skates, and
what was the use of fellow without skates ?
Well, it was hard work keeping up, and by
and by he shufled OFF the ice, danced turn or
two on shore to warm his feet little, and
started, with the hands in his pockets, for the
glue factory, where Tim Conoyer was sure to
let him warm up. 1t wasn't in boy nature
not to see how the game was coming out,
however 50 he crossed vacant lot and came
down to the river just by the ice houses.
All it only needed one glance to see how
it must come out for some of them. Only a
few rods away was the belt of blue water
where the ice had been sawn across to keep
the boys from spelling the harvest of the ice
packers, and every instant they were coming
closer to it. Couldn't they see it No one
had eyes or thoughts for anything but that
ball, gliding, gancing, darting here and there
among the steel clad feet.
1t was long way around the bend and up
the river by any street, but straight across,
where the ice cutters had been at work, was
a thin treacherous sheet of broken ice. 1t
might hold boy up, but it ddn't--there was
no time to think about that, for the next
instant ragged little hero was dashing across
it, whooping and Streaming like locomotive
gone mad. Would the ice bear ? Yes per-
haps the hands that are underneath the fall
ing sparrow held it up, and the herd of
startled players looked up, and circled with
quick motion from the very edge of the
chasm at their feet
&" Who was it? Where is be % they ask
ed with pale faces
Gone down with the breaking ice, to come
up again, gasping and struggling and at last
to be drawn out, chilled and breathless, by
the ice cutters. They rubbed him with all
the vigor Of their brawny arms they held
him up by the heels to let the water run out
they pounded, and squeezed, and tossed him
in blanket, but he lived through it ALL and
came to himself with n strangling cough, and
laugh of appreciation Everybody praised,
and pettei, and made much Of him. and then
forgot all about him so it was left for me
to tell his story, and | called it "The Story
Of Hero. - Little Corporal.