Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1875-01-08

| SGatlOn, anu 10 lake tHe uTSL JTdlu IOi ACnC
east.
"The nearest stationis at Ilium; nium
is twenty-five miles distant; you cannot
get there before night, if at all. l think
you won't get there at ALL"
All this was spoken refectively, and
with deliberation.
eff can get there by ten o'clock to:
night can make the eastern express?"
"You can, but / doubt if you can get
there at all"
"Why?" / asked. .ar4 tst..
He was not man to waste words. He
only said: ~ :.
"The stage won't sgo-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?"
"Ido," 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 / don't believe any horse
could pull through it,"
I thought of the little children waiting
for me yonder; of their bitter disappoint
ment if I did not come. Then / said
"I am very anxious to go, and am will
ing to pay we'll for being taken"
| The landlord leaning over the bar
asked: t&$ ~ s.8t ~
"How much?"
told him what was willing to pay.
"pll go 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. 1t was an ordinary box wagon on
good strong springs, having cotton
cover open in front. The horse was a
half-starved, jaded-l 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,
pointed to an ill-clad boy standing at
the horses head. I looked closely at
him. He might be, / thought, fifteen
years old, or he might not be more than
| ten. His eyes were clear blue, and he,
hearing my question, turned them fuH
upon mine, a frank, boyish smile rebuk-
ing the distrust my words implied, and
| lighting up every feature of his delicate
face. His complexion was like that of a
girl, his mouth small and tender, his hair
yellow, his figure slight and sinuous.
| looked at him, standing there shlver-
| ing with the cold, out through the driv-
ing storm, along the snow-covered
mountain road we were to travel to-
! gether, and asked: care you not afraid
= to go?S
The landlord interrupted:
"It don't matter if he is afraid. He
belongs to me. He shall CO."
NO" said, he shall not go if he if
not quite willing"
"I am not at all afraid" the boy re-
piled, and am quite willing to 60. |
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 tattered cap, and in his
voice there was such a hearty, CHEEKY
ring that from that moment | trusted
and loved the boy.
| jumped into the stage, took the back
seat, drew my great frieze coat close to
nv legs, and we drove off from among
the gaping, sooty crowd of miners into
| the lonely mountain road; into the cruel
est storm of wind and snow that ever
saw.
The boy sat on the front seat, waiting
to be spoken to, looking straight aheod.
When we were quite clear of the
struggling huts of the miners on the
outermost limits of the 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 father
and mother?"
| "That man yonder is all the father or
mother have, and his stable loft is the
only home have had since he took me
from the poor-house. That was better
than the stable, though, for they taught
me something there"
There were no complaining chords in
the tones in which these bitter words
were said, and while he was speaking he
was drawing the whip gently across the
horses back, brushing off the snow that
had fallen on it.
"Have You been driving on this road
long?" / inquired.
three years in March,
ais it cold out there? Colder than in
here, I mean?"
81 think it is," he replied; " the wind
and snow cut so, but don't mind, sir!
We get used to rough weather up in
these hills.''
"I wish you would come in here; my
coat will cover us both" -~,---
"No, can't, ''lhe said. II must watch
the road now. We have to go pretty
close to the precipices sometimes"
Chow closer" / asked.
"Within a few inches. / can't see now
five wards ahead the snow falls so heav-
| ily." 49, !.
'"Do you think it safe, then, to go on?'
"Quite safe, sir! and don't mind the
cold" But his teeth chattered as he said
| it, and the ruddy glow was all gone from
his cheeks. ~
/ did not talk more then. There were
discovered, wide cracks in the bottom
of the stage, through which the wind
poured mercilessly. was chilled
through to the heart in less than an hour
after starting. do aot know how fan
we had gone, or how long we had been
upon the road, when / heard the boys
voice. CHEEKY and bright, asking:
} "How are you now, sir? Feeling
pretty comfortable, sir?"
nodded my head, and crept closer in
| to the corner. But he was wiser than l
and would not let me have the sleep
coveted.
You are in hurry to get home" he
!. said, for want of something better to say
t with which to rouse me-
"Yes," / replied. II want to be al
> home on Christmas Eve"
The best days / ever knew were
!. Christmases---a good while ago"
He said it as if he were ever and eve
. Sc old, and, whatwas saddest of all, as j
{ he were done with Christmas forever. I.
! told him of the tree | was to get, AMI