St. Landry democrat., 1878-09-07
A FLASH OF LIGHTNING.

Hunt. | am a settler On this western
prairie. Wilds! Yes, sir; it's little
else than wilds now, but you should
have seen it when and my wife fra
moved up here. There was not house
within sight for miles. Even now we
have not downright good ones. To ap'
preciate your neighbors as you ought,
sir, you must live in these lonely places,
so far removed from the haunts of man.
What I am about to tell of happened
ten years ago. I was going to the dis
tant town, or settlement, to sell some
fifty head of cattle-fne creatures, sir,
as ever you saw. The journey was 8
more rare event with me than it is now;
and my wife had always plenty of com
missions to charge me with in the shape
of dry goods and groceries, and such like
things.
Our young child was a sweet little
gentle thing, who had been named after
her Aunt Dorothy. We called the
child Dolly. This time my commission
included one for her-a doll. She had
never had real doll; that is, bought
doll only the rag bundles her mother
made tor her. For some days before
my departure the child could talk Of
nothing else-or We, either, for the mat.
ter of that-tor she was a great pet, the
darling of US all. It was to be big, big
doll, with golden hair and blue eyes. ]
never forget the child's words the morn.
ing I was starting, as she ran after me to
the gate, or the pretty picture she made.
There are some children sweeter and
prettier than others. sir, as you can't
but have noticed and Dolly was one.
"a very great big doll, please, daddy"
she called out me; "and please bring it
very soon."
turned to nod eyes" to her as she
stood in her clean whitey-brown pinafore
against the gate, her nut-brown hair
falling in curls about her neck and the
light breeze stirring them.
"a brave doll,"I answered, "for my
little one-almost as big as Dolly"
Nobody would believe, dare say, how
full my thoughts were Of that promised
doll, as I rode along, or what nice one
I meant to buy. 1t was not often spent
money in what my good, thrifty wife
would call waste; but Dolly was Dolly,
and I meant to do it now.
The cs tile sold, I went about my pur-
chases, and soon had no end of parcels
to be packed in the saddle-bags.
Tea, sugar, rice, candles-but 1 need
not weary you, sir with telling of them,
together with the calico for shirts and
nightgowns, and the delaine for the
children's new frocks. Last of all, I
went about the doll, and found beauty.
1t was not as big as Dolly, or half as
big; but it had faxen curls and sky-blue
eyes; and by dint of pulling a wire you
could open or shut the eyes at will.
edo it up carefully" I said to the
storekeeper. "My little daughter would
cry sadly if any harm comes to it."
The day was pretty well ended be-
ore all my work was done and, Just for
famement or two, 7 hesitated whether I
hould not stay in the town and start for
home in the morning. 1t would have
been the more prudent course. But I
thought of poor Dolly's anxiety to get
her treasure, and of my own happiness in
watching the rapture in her delighted
eyes. So with my parcels packed in the
best way they could be, I mounted my
horse and started. It was as good and
steady horse as you ever rode, sir but
night began to set in before I was well a
mile away from the town it seemed as
if it were going to be an ugly night, too.
Again the thought struck me--should /
turn back and wait till morning? I had
my brace Of sure pistols with me, and
decided to press onward.
The night came on as dark as pitch,
and part of the way my road would be
pitch dark beside. But on that score I |
mad no fear; I knew the road well, every
nch of it, though could not ride 80 fast |
Is / should have done in the light. I |
vas about six miles from home, I SUP.
pose, and / knew the time must be close
lpon midnight, when the storm which
lad been brewing broke. The thunder
cared, the rain fell in torrents the best
could do was to ride onward 10 it.
All at once, as rode on, a cry star.
led me; q faint, wailing sound, like the
ny OF a child. Refining up, I sat still
nd listened. Had I been mistaken
70, there it was again. But in what
Erection / could not tell. I couldn't
ee thing. It was, as I have said. as
ark as pitch. Getting off my horse, I
cit about. but could find nothing. And
Ehiie was seeking, the cry came again
the faint moan of child in pain.
Then / began TO wonder; I am not SUI
erstitious, but I asked myself how it
Tas possible that d child could be out on
he prairie at such an hour and In such |