The Louisiana cotton-boll. [volume] (Vermilionville [i.e. Lafayette], Attakapas, La.) 1872-1883, 1874-06-03

i him. he said :zzf srsyr.sz-, "A
i W Ihepglora, daRallter
L pfdFnfsAG 81 +, s..,
I I think shall find it where am going.
The friends of my youth have all found
1t already. We love the next world
better than this when Our dear ones die,
or" by one, and we have a hope of
meeting them there | wish Edward
Wallace would come home"
TheO. went to Norton one day in a
railway train. As she returned she OBJ
served stranger sitting directly oppo-
site her. He was looking at her with a
cleaning, intense look. That was how
she happened to see him. He was a
largo man, with heavy, dark beard,
| brOnzad checks, and eyes. All Tbe0-
dora's face turned white. She set her
| teeth together, drew a deep, shuddcring
/ brf ath, and looked out the window.
| The mans face turned pale too, pale to
his very brow, and he leaned his head
Snddeny y forward, as if dizzy. He tore
the back Of an old letter and scribbed
a question on it. He touched Theodore
on the shoulder and gave it to her, look
ing steadily at her with his bright, in
tense eyes. People thought she had
dropped letter and he had picked it
mp for her. She read the question,
looked fuIl into the expecsant face, with
its bright, intense eyes, and her face
turned winter than before. She looked
full into the bright eyes and delibcr-
| ately shook her head. The stranger
sat quietly down. The letter did not
| belong to her after all.
The train was crossing a railway
| bri6ge, stilted upon trestle-work, half
disjointed, hastily thrown together. and
WOrm-earen IN some places. 1t was
fashionable American railway bridge.
It seemed fealfulIy shaky to the Btran-
GER with the bright eyes and brown
cheeks. A moment later every soul on
that train would have thought the same
thing, if he had had any time for
thought, which he hadn't. There was
sudden noise of splintering timbers.
The bridge was going down beneath the
weight of the train. It was a very high
bridge. There was deep ravine under
it, full Of dry, jagged rocks and fallen
| trees. The train was fitting over to-
ward the side where Theo. sat. She had
time to see that much. TheO. glanced
wildly around for nome Mt, and then
closed her eyes. Something caught her
il a grasp like steel and whirled her
madly around. She thought the car
was turning over.
An awful crash, which will ring for
ever in the ears of those who heard it,
like the crack of doom. Wild shrieks
of agony, appalling, fearful death
| Df
gled with the hissings of steam, and
the sound of women screeching in that
idiotic way which tries mems souls.
Edward Wallace had caught Theo.
in his arms just as the bridge went
down. It was his last act of conscious
ness for days. He had hurried her
away from the window, and turned so
| that ne was next the side where she sat.
| An old trea stump came bamping into
| tue window. It struck him on the
shoulder. As Theo. had been, it would
! have struck her on the head. She es-
capped with some broken glass cuts and
black and blue bruise on her arm. He
| had save her life. His shoulder was
dislocated, a rib or two btOken, and he
was badly stunned and bruised about
the head. That was ail.
We are nearing the end Of our story.
They took the poor, bruised creature
homo to Daddy Dinkle's own house.
! TheO. gave her school in charge Of some
Of the older boys. She told Daddy
DinkIe that stranger had saved her
life at the risk OF his own that he was
sorely wounded, perhaps unto death,
and she had brought him home to be
cared for. And she grew white with
watching and sorrow.
But one day Daddy Dinkle, through
the open door, heard a voice family
speaking in the next room. He had not
walked without help for month, yet
he sprang upon his feet quivering with
excitement.
"Theo., you have lied to me ; you,
who never told me falsehood before.
It is no stranger hear in there. 1t is
nv we'll beloved son, who was dead
and is alive again. Take me to him."
And he tell upon his neck and kissed
him, and they wept together-the weak
old man aud the weak young man. But
Daddy Dinkle took to his bed next day
and did not leave it. A week later, when
Edward Wallace, feeble yet and no more
than able to walk, went to bis bedside
to take his blessing and bid him fare
well, he clung to the tall man and wept.
'My son" he cried, "you will not
leave me again Alone in my helpless
blindness I have prayed daily and
nightly that might not depart this life
till I heard your voice. You were a
spirited lad, full of life, and wayward
sometimes, but I always loved you as
the apple of my eye. Next to one other
it was the crnelest disappointment OF
nv life when you went away. Oh nay
son. my boy! You will not leave again?
You will stay with the foolish old man
till he dies?"
He reached ont in his bitterness and
caupht him, and clung to him with his
trembling hands. The dora sat beside
his bed. She turned her head away
and wiped tear from her eyes.
"Father," at length Edward Wallace
said, chow can I stay? have accom-.
plisheI the career which was the
dream OF my boyhood. I have sailed
the seas from the northern icebergs to
the Southern Ocean. I have prospected
for gold in Australia, and helped build
telegraph through a country where
the foot of civilized man never trOd
before. have sailed around the globe
and done all that I hoped for in my
youth, only to find at last that Theo
dora is more to me than anatomy and
botany more than the travel and ad
j venture more than all the world be
side. Father 7 have come five Thousand
|, miles to ask Theodore once in her life *
forgive, and she will not. If she would
bid me stay, father"
!, The old man groped hopelessly ovel
, the quilt with one hand.
"Theo., give me your hand. I can
! not find it myself" said the old man.
: She reached out her hand, cold ant
, trembling, and he took it in his veal
,, grasp, holding it thus in one hand, ant
Edwards hand in the other. He drew
them feebly together, and laid the h -n'
4 ! mi g