The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1876-10-28
LOTTY'S WALK TO BOSTON.

1t was 0 o'clock in the morning. By the
road side sat little child. \ rough look
ing man came driving slowly by. He had
red hair, thick red beard, and light blue
eyes, SO light that they seemed almost
white.
The man was nearly at his journeys
end, but something in the childs face at
tracted his attention. Perhaps it was be-
cause he had little girl in his rough home
that he had left few hours ago, and the
pitiful expression in this young face touched
his father heart
Almost instinctively he stopped his tired
horse. and looked down upon her. He saw
that she was pretty. Her large, dark eyes
were raised fearlessly The little blue check
sun bonnet had fallen to her shoulders, and
the thick, flat, brown curls were plastered
on her forehead by the perspiration caused
by walking in the sun.
Presently clear, musical little voice
reached his ear
''1s Boston very far off, now ~
"My next stopping place, puss. Are
you going to Boston?'' There's only the
long bridge way yonder, to cross, and
you're there
The child drew long sigh of relief
"fm SO tired"' she said. ':Guess I'll rest
a little longer"
"Where dye come FROM" asked the
6rover
&C Nov f,n,, Tb,rn,;l1o r,,,+;~,;,,r ,
town abont twelve miles off; and she lifted
her old sun bonnet to its proper place, and
tied the strings.
The drover took his basket, which was
filled with crackers, and ham and cheese,
and as the place happened to be somewhat
secluded, he clambered down from the high
wagon and seated himself beside the child
Hungry" he asked.
Yes sir,'' she said, simply.
"Then eat" and he filed her hands with
crackers. so you're goin' to Boston
sch a mite as you? Well, well.'
"rm going to see DR.. Iris. Do you know
him." she queried eagerly. "He lives on
| fremont street, and fixes peoples eyes
| That's all he does do. One of the neigh
/ bors told my mother about it, and she says
that he almost makes the blind see. |
walked all the way from Thornville."
| The drover paused in the act of taking
huge bite of his improvised sandwich.
lyon walked ~
! Eyes, sir.''
When did you set out?''
/ esterday, in the afternoon. Mother |
! thinks | spent the night at cousin Sarah's,
and did mean to, cause | wanted her to |
/ go with me; but she was sick, SO | came
/ right on
/ "Whew. Walked from there, eh?-
! Where'd you spend the night?'
/ "In barn"
/ "What? In a barn? Well, you are
one of 'em. Your mother must hev
sight o faith in you.''
80, she don't know it, | mean she |
don't know I've come all this way stay
days sometimes at cousin Sarah's. And |
there's Betty at home-she's my sister
and, though she is lame, she can do good |
Bit but | couldn't bear to see mother suf-
| fer So"
| "If that don't beat alr' exclaimed the !
drover, after long stare of admiration. |
"She's the plucKiest little critter ever did |
see. Well, all hope is that you may do |
what You come for; but l don't know. |
/ Dr.. Iris, l s'pose is o them rich fell
lers that wants big fees
"But don't want him to come for moth
ing" said the child.
"Don'to''
"No, I'll pay him when | am grown up"
The drover threw back his big head,
opened his huge mouth, and uttered two
or three explosive sounds, that were, | sup
pose, laughter to him.
"We!l, that's too good- he roared
':I'm blessed if ever | saw any thing SO |
funny in all my born days A kitten like |
you talk about paying when your grown
up. How old may you be now, miss
miss
My names Lofty, and I'm nine next |
May" said the child, with serious man
ner, and nothing daunted by his air of
amused interest.
"Well, well, | never"' muttered the
drover, rising and stretching his brawny
flame. But come, I'll give you ride as
far as Boston, anyway" and the next mo-
ment he lifted her, as if she had been
feather, and placed her on the seat beside
him.
SO they logged along behind the staid !
| old horses, while the man pointed out the
sights. Every thing was novel and de- |
| lghtful to the little woman. The long
bridge, the sparkling water the vessels, !
and sail-boats, and steam tugs; the CLINT of !
the sun upon the river: the fine carriages |
that rolled past them. Every thug she |
saw she treasured, that she might carry |
the picture home fresh to her mother, and |
beguile the long, dark painful hours with |
the story of her experience.
| Leaving her with some pennies in her |
hand, and as near to the place of her desti- |
nation as he conveniently could, the drover
went on, quite lost in admiration of this |
brave little soul; and Lofty began to look
! about her.
| The noise of the streets, the hurrying, |
iostling thongs, the cries and clamor of the |
news-venders and street merchants, discon-
certed her little. In all her life she had |
never seen such bewilderipgly beautiful |
things as the shop windows displayed. 1t |
was as good trip into fairy land and a |
thrill of genuine pleasure caused her for a |
moment to forget the responsibility of the |
errand she had taken upon herself.
1t was long time before she found the |
location she desired and then, poor child, |
she fingered about the door with the sensi- |
tive fear of a novice. She had pictured to |
herself so terrible object, terrible mainly |
because of the dignity and power with |
which she had invested the skillful oculist, |
who could do, it seemed to her, almost |
what he would with disease-she had so |
pictured him, | say, that the thought of |
meeting such greatness, embodied, proba |
bly,, in the form of tall. princely person
age, who could scarcely deign to look upon |