The Findlay Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Hancock County, Ohio) 1870-1881, 1875-03-19
The storm was victor.
PART III.


PART ILL.,
Jane Dalton was a CHEEKY, chubby lit
tie woman. OF education she could not
boast; books and figures were to her un-
known quantities. Her world was linn
tied to the little town in which she lived,
the capital being bounded 10y the white
fence of her little cottage. But, withal,
she was of n humble nature, knew how
to love, and fulfilled her every duty as
John Dalton's wife Thrifty and tidy,
she managed well the scanty means at
her command, and kept the tins and
chiIdren's faces shining, A happy wife
and mother.
AT 6 o'clock of the day in question ev-
erything was in readiness for her good
mans return. The children in bed
asleep, the easy shoes and warm coat
near the blazing fire OF the hearth, sup
per prepared, and some mysterious liq-
uid in a snug little kettle emitting odor
Gus, tempting fumes. 1t was tiIaao- for
Lis arrival, and he was usually very
prompt. Yet he tarried.
The change in the weather had not
taken place unnotieed, but had produ-
ced in her kind of indefinite uneasi-
ness, a slight restlessness, and yet it had
no peculiar importance in connection
with the absence OF he: husband, until
the clock Oh the mantel struck Z. Then
the wind, whistling around the house
corners, rattling the doors and shutters,
and the snow beating so persistently
against the window-panes, acquired
painful significance. Her husband was
out in the storm, and might at that mo-
ment be perishing with cold OH the
prairie,
That dreadful thought transformed
her whole being; the genial expression of
her face changed to a terrified look. She
went to the window and drew wide the
curtains, that the bright fire-light might
shine out as II haven TO guide him who
WAS the light of her humble life She
paced two and fro under a rapidly i'll
creasing excitement. The weird sounds
made by the storm messengers, as they
whirled by in the fulfllment of their mis-
sion, made her start and trembIe.
1t had grown latei it was half-past s,
and yet 10 tidings. She looked resolute
ly down into the fire and made her plan.
1t was a desperate one, but love is
more desperate than hate. If John Dal-
ton did not come by 8 o'clock she would
90 and find him.
Rising with tirmnesS, she went first 10
her children. They were sleeping peace
fully. 4 kiss for each, long lingering
look Of affection, but no thought that
she would never see them again.
She took from the closet a pair of over
shoes and a cloak for herself, blanket
and flask of brandy for him she was
going to seek. Her simple preparations
completed, she stood waiting.
1t lacked Il quarter of .. There W ass
noise at the door like knocks repeated
DaltOn's overwrought senses there was
the sound of hand on the door knob.
She rushed TO the door to admit her
husband, she opened it to let in the
bowling blast which almost dashed her
to the floor. Sadly disappointed, but
still courageous, she returned TO her
place before the clock.
Ia FIVE minutes more the time would
be up. Her cloak and hood were on, and
she was ready for whatever God had in
store for her. She watched the clock
like one who waits for some supreme
moment In life. The winds seemed to
be roughly calling her. Then they lull
ed few seconds, and she heard cry
a moan-which seemed to freeze her
blood. "That is John, she cried; che
calls me-"
Instantly she was out in the night
Drawing the storm. Where should she
gol She could not tell. She went
blindly on. A sparrow does not fall
WlIllOhb SitpS
we're guided; her feet struck something
buried in the snow. 1t was the mail
lag s'Thank GodT" she said, and fell
on her knees at her husbands side.
Quickly, almost tiercely, she snatched
from his body the Jealous snow. She
rubbed his breast; she ehafe1 his wrists
and hands. There was an electricity of
love in her touch, which quickly restored
warmth and life.
John Dalton arose from that bed of
death, saved by his wife.
Together in the little home, by the
bright fire, n heartfelt prayer, kiss for
the little ones. an embrace-yes, more
than One--fOr the wife, the supper fin
ished, the contents of the snug little ket-
tie not forgotten, John Dalton pressed
his hand on his forehead, his face wore
a troubled look, then he turned to Jane
and said
wife, l almost forgot the mail; an
important letter in the bag and must be
delivered to night" A tender voice re-
piled:
"No, John; to morrow will do"