The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1875-12-16

Gle.
In my frequent iourneyings through
the State, / had seen many places which
/ wanted to get away from quickly, but
l never saw another that l wanted to
turn my back upon so much as lama
qua. It was not in any manner pleas
ant place, and besides, If these nephews.
and nieces of mine were to have Christ
mas tree at all in this year, 1856, |
thought / must go home as fast as |
could travel. I had come to Tamaqua
In stage-not to Philadelphia, exactly,
was distant knew not how far.
I arose shivering from the dreary
breakfast, and hunted up the landlord OF
the inn. He was easily found, and was
no better Or warmer looking man than
his accommodations promised him to be.
I paid his extravagant charges. and then
informed him that wished to reach as
quickly as possible the nearest railroad
station, and to take the first train for the
east.
'sThe nearest station is at Iium; III
UNI is % miles distant; you cannot get
there before night, If at all.
All this was spoken refiectlvely, and
with deiberation.
eff / get there by 10 o'clock tonight
can / make the eastern express q
"You can, but doubt if you can get
there at all"
ssWhy 2" I asked.
He was not man to waste words. He
only said:
'sThe stage won't go-on account Of
the storm"
care you sure of that?" [ ventured to
ask.
"Quite sure" and he closed his lips
with snap, as If he knew all about it.
"Who owns the stage?'
ct do" he replied. "And I won't
let it go, because the road lies over that
mountain yonder; it runs close to the
edges of precipices several hundred feet
high, it is rough and slippery, the snow
is deep now, and getting deeper every
minute, and I don't believe any horse
could pull through it.
I thought of the little children waiting
for me yonder; of their bitter disap-
pointment if did not come. Then l
said: "I am very anxious to go, and
I am willing to pay well for being Ia
KEN
The landlord leaning over the bar.
asked:
Chow much9"
I told him what 1 was willing to pay.
'sI'll go and get the stage ready" he
said. After all, it was only the higher
price he had been waiting for.
In five minutes the stage was at the
door. It was an ordinary box wagon on
good strong springs, having a cotton
cover open in front. The horse was
half-starved, iaded-looking beast. / took
all this in as I stood on the porch wait
ing for the driver. Getting impatient at
last, asked:
"Where is the driver?"
The landlord, without speaking, point
ed to an 1l-clad boy standing at the
horses head. I looked closely at him.
He might be, I thought, fifteen years
old, or he might be not more than ten.
His eyes were clear blue, and he, hear
ing my question, turned them full upon
mine, a frank, boyish smile rebuking the
distrust my words implied, and lighting
up every feature of his delicate face.
His complexion was like that of girl,
his mouth small and tender, his hair
yellow. his figure slight and sinuous.
/ looked at him, standing there shiv-
ering with the cold, out through the
driving storm, along the snow-covered
mountain road we were to travel to-
gether and asked care you not afraid
to go?''
The landlord interrupted
cit don't matter if he is afraid. He
I L. IL
"No," said !: che shall not go, II he
is not quite willing"
s'I am not at all afraid, the boy re-
piled, s'and am quite willing to go.
have gone often and often, through
worse storms than this. .
There was an earnest, manly grace
even in the way he shook the gathered
flakes from his battered cap, and in his
voice there was such hearty, CHEEKY
ring, that from that moment I trusted
and loved the boy.
I jumped into the stage, took the back
seat, drew my great frieze coat close
about my legs, and we drove off among
the gaping, sooty crowd of miners
into the lonely mountain road; into the
cruelest storm of wind and snow that /
ever saw.
The boy sat on the front seat, wait
ing to be spoken to, looking straight
ahead.
When we were quite clear of the
struggling huts of the miners on the out
ermost limits of town, / asked him his
name.
"They call me Lewis shively," he
said.
Chow old are you, Lewis, was my
next question.
!" Fourteen, next April, sir.
'Do you live at home, with your IA
Their and mother9"
That man yonder is all the father
or mother I have, and his stable loft is
the only home I have had since he took
me from the poor house. That was bet
ter than the stable though, for they