Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1879-09-18

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telligent face. Peggy Donnel felt her
heart drawn toward him at once.
Poor wean; but you're kilt wi the
wet an cold. Did you como far the day?'
she asked.
The poor boy lifted his large, soft
eyes to her face without speaking.
BE seated an warm yourself; the guide
man makes you welcome
The boy sat down on the stool eho
placed for him before the Gre, and smiled
at her in silence.
who he'd the heart to let tte likes o
you travel the night? What do they
call you, my poor wee man ?
No answer. 4 declare he's dummy,
John,' cried she; the poor wean 7
The storm ragged on; but the wanderer
was safe and happy. II stretched out his
bare feet on the warm fagstone, and the
steam rose from his rags, which had
been soaked through with the rain.-
Meanwhile Peggy set back her wheel.
lifted the pot from the crook, and filed
a wooden bowl with mealy potatoes.
The boy eyed them hungrily. and when
she spread handful of salt on stool,
and put tin of milk into his hand, he
required no further invitation.
John Donnel's i'll temper vanished as
he watched the child eat his supper and
heard his sighs of contentment.
Where shall he sleep? Tim O'Brien's
beds no made yet
I'll shake straw in the corner there
near the fire, replied Peggy, 'an' throw
a wheen sacks over him. He'll sleep
rightly, I'll warrant him.
'Ay, it'll he better nor the back o q
dixie, I'm thinking, returned John.
The poor creature was now quite dry
and warm; he lay down on tho straw
that the kind woman prepared for him !,
but he first caught hold of her harl
hand and pressed his lips upon it.
Look, John, lookp cried she, with
tears in her eyes; did you ever see the
like O. that 2
1t was twenty years since child had
slept under that roof; full twenty years
since small black coffin had been car
ried down the mountain, containing
Peggy Donnel's son, and more than half
her heart. She dreamed of her dead son
that night as she had not dreamed for
very long time. She fancied that he
came to her bedside, and begged her to
be good to the friendless child for his
| sake.
The storm lulled before dawn, and by
the time the Donnels got up to their
work the stranger was mp also. When
Peggy took her milkpail, prepared to
go out to the byre, he sprang forward
and took it from her hand. Smi]ingly
she consented to let him help her milk
Motley and Buttercup and strain up the
milk; then, while she made breakfast,
he sig gned to John that it was his wish to
assist him also. Very useful he was in
finding the cattle and driving them to
fresh grazing ground; and he did a hun
dred helpful things during the day.
He's sight better than Tim O Brien.
Let US keep him, an he'll be as good q
boy as we could get, said John Donnel
that evening.
what name shall we call him 2 asked
Peggy, quito pleased at her husbands
proposal.
Mel wad be good enough name,'
thought John.
So the dumb boy was called MEL
was given q suit of gray freize, and
shoes and socks, and became the ser
want instead OF the truant, Tim o Brien.
A season of extraordinary prosperity
began for the Donnels from the day Mel
came to them. No accident Happened
to the cattle that winter or spring; the
hens laid diligently, so that Peggy made
quantities of money by selling eggs; the
cnurn was always so full of butter that
the staff would hardly move in it; and
butter was bringing eighteen pence per
pound in Letterkenny market. If Don
mel sold, he gained more than his neigh
bors; if he bought, everything was cheap
for him.
I'VE did weel to shelter the boy he
was wont to remark when any striking
instance of Niels industry or cleverness
came under his observation; but some
times, to his wife's anger and disgust,
he would animadvert upon the large ap.
petite of his little servant.
Mel gained the goodwill of the few
neighbors who lived on the mountain;
but, what was more remarkable, he
seemed to have a strong attraction for
all birds and animals.
The very night after his arrival he
made handsome bow, and each even
ing while Peggy sat at her spinning
wheel he made arrows, tossing them, as
he finished them, up to the loft. There
was large sheaf of arrows lying beside
the bow, but he never shot single one.
sWhy, but you TAX your bow an ar.
rows outbye an play yoursep wee,
Mel, dear ? asked Mrs. Donnel when
the bright spring evenings came, but no
answer of any description was forthcom-
ing. It was real vexation to her that
she had no means OF discovering why he
had made the bow and went on making
30 many arrows.
One November morning, year after
Niels arrival, John Donnel came into
the kitchen, pale with grief and dis
may.
The cattle are all awayl' he cried
all driven off themountain in the night.
Thieves robbers Oh, Mel, avick j.
Oh, Peggy, mavourneen, what'ill l do,
anyway
Gone? Stolen2' exclaimed Peggy,
and she was unable to utter word
more.
Aye, gone-stolen I repeated the be-
reaved owner, crying bitterly.
'Whisht,' said Mel, coming forward