Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1877-09-13
l should have done in the light.

| ouOuAN uoNO NVho AA OAAo AlSuVs
was about six miles from home,
suppose, and | knew the time must
he close upon midnight, when the
storm which had been brewing
broke. The thunder roared, the
rain fell in torrents; the best l
could do was to press onward in it.
All at once, as l rode on, a cry
startled me; faint, wailing sound,
like the cry of child. Refining up,
| sat still and listened. Had been
mistaken No, there 1t was again.
But in what direction / could not
tell. I couldn't see thing. It
was, as I said, as dark as pitch.
Getting off my horse. felt about,
but could find nothing. And while
I was seeking the cry came again
the faint moan of child in pain.
Then | began to wonder. I am not
superstitious, but | asked myself
how it was possible that n child
could be out on the prairie at such
an hour and on such n night. No;
a real child it could not he.
Upon that; came another thought
-one less welcome. Was it q trap
to hinder me on my way and en-
snare me ? There might be mid
night robbers who would easily hear
of my almost certain ride home that
night and the money should have
about me.
don't think, sir, I am more tim
id than other people; not as much
so, perhaps as some; but I confess
the idea made me uneasy. My
best plan was to ride on as fast as
could, and get ou: of the mystery
into safe quarters. Just here was
the darkest bit of my road in all the
route. Mounting my horse, I was
about to urge him on, when the cry
came again. It did sound like
child's; the plaintive wall OF o
child nearly exhausted.
''God, guide me!' I said, unde-
cided what to do. And as I sat
another moment listening. l once
more heard the cry, fainter and
fainter. / threw myself off my horse
with an exclamation:
''Be it ghost or be it robber, An
thony Hunt is not the one to aban-
don child to die without trying to
save H."
But how was 1 to save it Y--how
find it The more I searched
about, tho less could my hands light
on anything save the sloppy earth.
The voice had quite ceased now, so
/ had no guide from that. While
stood trying to peer into the dark
ness, all my ears alert, a 10 ID or sheet
lightning suddenly Illuminated the
plain. At little distance, just be-
hind q kind of a ridge, or gentle hill, I
caught glimpse of something white.
1t was dark again i'm moment, but
/ made my way with unerring in
stinct. Sure enough, there lay a
poor little child. Whether boy or
girl could not tell. Ii seemed TO
be three parts insensible now, as /
took it up, dripping with wes, from
the sloppy earth.
s'My poor little thing 10 Isaid as
1 hushed it to me. "We'n go and |
find NANNY. You are all safe
now"
And, in answer, the child just |
put out its feeble hand, moaned |
once and nestled close TO me.
With the child hushed to my
breast rode on. Its perfect silence |
soon showed me that 1t slept. And, |
sir, l thank God that he had let me
save ii. and I thought how grateful |
some poor mother would bel But / |
was full Of wonder for all that, won
dering what extraordinary fate had |
taken the child to that solitary spot. |
Getting I'm sight Of home Il saw all |
the windows alight. Deborah had |
done it for me. / thought, to guide |
me home in safety through the dark
ness. But presently i knew that
something must be the matter, for
the very few neighbcrs we had were |
collected there. My heart stood |
still with fear. / thought of some
calamity to one or the other of the
children. / had saved a like one
from perishing, but what might not
have happened to my own?
Hardly daring to lift the latch,
while my poor tired horse stood
still and mute outside, went slowly
in, the child in my arms covered
with the long flap of my coat. My
wife was weeping bitterly.
"What's amiss ?" L asked i'm
faint voice. And it seemed that
whole chorus of voices answered
me.
'tDolly's lost.''
Dolly lost JRst for a moment
my heart turned SICK. Then Soma