Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1877-05-30
The Babes Of the Prairie.
LOST AND POUND.

=" Be quiet now Willie, and You too, Mary
Sit down on your little stool. and be Just as
still as mice. I've just got the baby asleep
and want him to have a good long nap. for
he isn't bit well. There take your primers
and read your A b C's." And the mother
took from the upper drawer Of the bureau
the carefully treasured books.
"But I'm so tired of sitting STILL" said the
little boy. "Mayn't we go outdoors, ma Z
Say yes, do. Wen only 90 down to the barn.
Say, mayn't we go see the two little bossies ?"
And he looked up pleadingly into her face.
Little Mary jumped up at the same mo.
ment and, tossing her primer on to the bed
joined in with Do, ma, do-there's a good
ma. Cause the bossies are so cunning, | do
love to see them
"Yes, go a little whie-but mind and be
good children, and don't take down the bars
so the calves can get into the garden--do
you hear ?"
They had been gone half an hour or so,
when they came rushing into the cabin, ex.
claiming with one voice "Ma ma, mayn't
we have our little pals and go strawberry.
ingY There's a whole lot of them right on
the gopher mound, 'tother side of the barn.
aud they're just as red aud ripe as they can
be- DO let us go and get them. There's
enough for a nice shortcake and pa loves
them so, and they'll taste so good to him
when he comes home from the mill so tired"
The indulgent mother took down the little
pals and handing one to each, and bidding
them be careful and not stain their clean
aprons, watched them until their little
dancing feet had carried them to the place
they spoke of.
" How glad they are l' she said to herself
as she turned from the door, "and how
proud they will be when they get their pals
full And she resumed her patching.
Tired she certainly was, and half sick,
though she would hardly have owned that,
aud a she sat there now, plying her needle
and thread" she was sensible of unusual
fatigue, and in spite of all her efforts, her
patches set awry, and her darning was un-
even. There was pleasant drowsiness in
the soft hush of the golden summer after
noon, and after while she yielded to it in-
voluntarily, and closed her eyes. Starting
up ere she had hardly lost herself, she ran
to the door. The two little ones sat side by
side upon the gopher mound, and the echo
)f their CHEEKY voices was the only sound
that broke the intense quiet of the prairie.
They are so busy, and the baby is so
sound asleep, believe I'll lie down little
while, for my back aches terribly and my
mead is just ready to split with pain. Will
liam says | ought to take nap every day
alter dinner, but dear me, | wonder when
Ghe sewing and mending would get done if
didw
As she spoke she drew mosquito bar
over the cradle, and turning down the neat
patchwork quilt that covered the bed, drop
ped of her shoes and stretched her weary
frame on the white sheets. The weary wo.
man unintentially slept on, and did not wake
until the cry of the hungry baby in the era
die reused her up.
With quick, nervous movement she
sprang from her bed, and drawing it to her
bosom, ran TO the door. To her surprise it
was almost sunset. Her first sorrow was
that she should be belated with her supper,
aud the thought of her tired husband com
ing home aud having to wait moment for
his meal was not to be endured. With the
baby's lips still clinging to her bosom, she
hurried to the stove and took off the grid
Hes aud raked out the ashes. Then putting
the only half-satisiied child in its cradle and
giving it crust of bread to bite on, she
caught up her kindling- basket and ran to
the chip pile. She had filled it and loaded
her arms with wood, when she suddenly re-
membered she had not seen or heard the
children yet. She looked anxiously toward
the strawberry bed. Their little figures
were not visible. For a moment she was
paralyzed with fear. Then she recovered
herself, and saying They have got tired
and gone TO sleep in the barn, as they did
Saturday." she hurried back to the cabin
and built her fire. Then drawing some
fresh WATER she filled the kettle, ground the
coffee, and put down the bacon to fry.
81 shall hardly have time to make them
their shortcake-poor things, they'll be dis
appointed, but III save the berries and make
me for breakfast And giving hasty but
careful look to the stove to see that the fire
was burning bright, she threw on her sun
bonnet and ran to the barn. There were no
,leeping children there. She looked in the
calf-pen. The two little red bossies were
nestled close to the bars, looking out i'm
patiently for their mother-cows, but no little
boy and girl stood near them.
Wille--Mary-m children
The words were screamed out as only a
frightened mother can scream. Echo an
swered her, and then the silence was un-
broken.
A stream headed up into the prairie little
further on, and beside it clustered young
growth of cottonwoods. 1t was her last hope,
and with frantic steps she ran there. Mary
little sun-bounet lay on the bank, the strings
stained with strawberry juice but where
rested the golden locks it had so often shadedY
The mothers limbs shook as with spasms
her throat felt choked, her brain whirled, the
color went out from her cheeks and the light
from her eyes; she sank upon the grass, feel
ing the weakness of death. 1t was dark be
fore she revived enough to realize truly her
whereabouts. And it was only after many
struggles that she at length rose and tottered
toward home.
The baby was screaming in its fathers
arms, and he, poor, weary man, as he now
paced the floor with the little wrestling child
aud then stood with it in the doorway, try
ing to peer out into the gathering shadows
wondered and wondered again where hi:
wife could have gone.
Something moved in the path between
him and the barn. 1t came nearer--it AS
sumed shape-it made light footsteps--ii
was her, his Mary.
"What has happened, mother? What
ails you Where are the children Speak
Mary, for heavens sake, and tell me what
has happened"
A sob, groan, and the falling of her body
on the floor We're his only answer.
Willie-Alary-m children-ost--los
on the wild prairiel"
In broken accents the words struggled
| from her lips, as life returned to her. Then
as her heart once more bounded with strong
though uneven pulses, she reused herself
and standing upright, caught her husband
by the arm, and told him in few brief
terse sentences the sad story OF the children
wanderings.
Leave me--l am weak-sick-bu shal
live--live till see them or she shud
dered, and wrung her hands passionately fol
moment. Then assuming calmness, sh,
said, firmly take the colt, William. anC
the lantern and the COW bells, and your gun
Go straight down to the creek aud raise al
about there, making all the noise you can
Then, if you get no trace, ride over to Nick
cabin aud rouse them, aud get their ole
hound-he was a great pet with the -
she could only sob the word "children
Take Mary's another Sob" bonnet, and
William, William, bring them back to me +
A single kiss was left ON her white lips
and the anxious father left her, and spring
ing on TO his hali-broken colt, he started
The prairie echoed 10 the reyerberations o.
his gun, TO the noisy tinkle Of the bells, t
the echoes of his voice, but no answering
sound came up out OF the still, grassy depths
| Again and again he made the circuit OF tn,