The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1878-05-03

ing roar. There is wild shouting in the
street-mad voices crying out:
"Back back from the river, for your
lives, back the leves is giving away |"
White-faced Tommy hears this, and tugs
with all his might at the drunken man
sleeping so near deaths door.
ooh, father !" lie cries, awaken waksn!"
A muttering curse was the only answer.
"We'll be swept away Father, the river
is OVERLOOKING the town"
No words reply to the boys frantic APP
peal.
"Come, father, come hear the water
rushing along"
He clasps his fathers hand, and tries in his
pungy strength to pull him from his miser-
able bed. He falls back himself, helpless
and discouraged.
ooh, mother |" he cries, che isn't fit to
go! I've done my best I've tried to save
him good enough to come with me to you,
up there, but he will not listen Give him
a little longer time. Oh, father, waken, it is
| almost too late ~
Too late too late The river is grow
ing more fearful, the clamUr of voices dying
away, the streets by all living beings are
deserted. Under the door some cold and
creeping thing is fast coming. 1t steals in
slowly, little stream at first, then rushes
on faster, crosses the floor and laps about
the little bare feet.
ooh, father, father, it is here !" and yet
the faithful child stands firmly.
Upward, upward, the water rises. 1t
covers the cold feet, eddies about his an
kles. 1t strikes chill through the I'M
clothed limbs-a deep chill through the
child's heart. He knows then that is death
coming For himself he is not afraid but,
o, God of mercy! must he go. and her wish
unfultilled2 He thinks then ofthat unknown
future; of the great gull between the good
and the bad of the fearful wickedness of
his unkind father; of the angelic goodness
of his blessed mother; and though he is
too much of child to clothe the thought
in words, yet his baby heart realizes the
terrible tragedy, and he cries aloud again
FEATHER, oh, father, do not die, and so
forever be kept away from mother and me-"
The sleeping man turns heavily.
He is awakening Weakening at last"
the child cries eagerly.
The water comes up to his waist. 1t
creeps over the edge of the bed and vets
the mouldy straw. 1t reaches the sleeping
man. He mutters YEARLY:
Course the cold. If had drink of
whisky I might drive the chill away; but
the last dime is gone"
"Oh, father, come quick, come The le-
wees broken away 1t is the water that
you feel-it is that which sends the chill
over you. Come, father, come "
"What! water roaring all about US The
cursed river in the room, and not stream
of old bourbon flowing by as | dreamed
Why didn'tyou waken me, Tommy2 You
know | am not fit to die Here, let me
rest my hand on your shoulder"
He staggered heavily to his feet. Cross
ed the room unsteadily, unlatched the door
and went out into the fearful flood. In
going out he went down two steps. 1t
brought the water to his shoulders. Tom
my, following him closely, went down two
steps also. 1t brought the water over
Tommy's head.
The drunken man rushed on, making to-
ward the bluff that lay back from the river.
There was a faint, drowning cry of ooh,
father" ending in hoarse gurgle-a lifting
up for a moment of white face and two
white childish hands, and then the hands
and face were gone-lost amid the rushing,
boiling water.
A fearful buffeting against the mad
stream, terrible struggle for worthless
life, and the sobered inebriate reaches the
bluff. Then the horrible truth rushes upon
him. Then he understands the faithfulness
of his dead child-realizes to its fullest ex-
tent that he has sent that child to his
death.
The morning came. Rocked on the
swaying branch of an uprooted tree, they
found the little martyr, his white face
cleaning in the spring sunshine. But the
pure, young soul had entered upon the ev-
erlasting spring of which he had so often
dreamed, with his head lying on his moth
er's grave. Two graves then in the church
yard--two deaths in the household-and
he responsible for both Could he ever
become, through his terrible penitence,
good enough to meet them up there He
seemed to see Tommy's tiny hands reaching
out to him through the terrible gloom that
had settled swiftly over him; lie seemed to
hear Mary's voice calling to him.
Let us hope that the child's death has
not been in vain, for he for whom he died
has turned his feet away from the road
along which destruction marks the way,
and his old haunts, where death still turks,
know him no more. Heaven help him to
become worthy of poor little Tommy, the
MARTYR,