The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1879-04-16


Lest i'll you fare!
The rogue may catch you unaware!
Hdrper's Bazaar. y. .. Z
THE POLICEMAN'S PROTEGE.
WANTED to surprise my wife, so I car
ried my parcel stealthily into the house
and deposited it unconcernedly on the
sideboard in our little parlor. should
have known my wife better than to have
doubted her feminine acuteness.
''Why, whatever have you got there,
Charles? No more toys for the little
ones, hope. I won't allow you to waste
the money like that, you afectionate old
fellow"
''No, old lady; no more toys for Nick
sy."
"What's in the parcel, then?"
II don't know"
Here my wife looked at me incredu-
lously. The idea of my having walked
home two miles from the police station
with a parcel under my arm, of the con-
tents of which was ignorant, seemed to
her feminine imagination such an utter
impossibility, that she expressed, as po-
htely as she could, with her uncommonly
expressive countenance, that was having
bit Of fun with her.
"Don't know what's in the parcel then
why don't you open it, 1t may be some
thing dreadful"
"Don't feel very suspicious, at any
rate" said L; ''but you know as we'll as l
do why didn't cut the string"
Why?"
0Because--because I wanted us to do it
together"
Here my wife kissed me, and that's
what I hoped for. We didn't cut the
string. because peculiar hobby Of my
fathers had descended as an heirloom to
his son. I believe my father would soon-
er have given me money for three balls
Of Irvine than allowed me to cut bit to
waste. But the nimble fingers of my
wife soon undid the knots, and then came
perplexing wrappings of paper, fold upon
fold. At last came the last folding of
tissue, and then we saw something gilt.
ter.
"It's gold! !" said my wife, in the ener-
getic tone of an excited Australian dig
ger.
It was gold, but not nugget. Before
us on the table stood very handsome
clock, inlaid with Roman mosaic, and
beneath the clock was a silver plate,
with the following inscription written on
it in scarlet enamel: "Presented to
Charles Dyson, the policeman who Was
the means of rescuing beggar-boy from
despair. The poor ye have always
with you, but Me ye lave not always.'' },
"And what's the meaning of all this
Charles Dyson?" said my wife. "Yes
the policeman, of course, but who is the
beggar-boy2 Tell me all about it, my
husband, for I am dying to KNOW"
"Molly, 1t must be a mistake. / can't
understand it all.''
"a mistake! nonsense. Your names
Charles Dyson,and of course the clock be-
longs to you. But all! here's a letter."
Sure enough, there was letter hidden
among the paper coverings, but as thelet-
ter may not prove very interestingly and GER
tainly was far too eulogistic, I will travel
back some years from the night we un-
packed the parcel, and relate, just as l
related to my wife, the story of the bog.
gar-boy.
sit wccs one Of those terrible hard
nights in the winter, when men naturally
thank Gcd as they walk through the
streets for the blessing Of comfortable
home and a warm fire to goto when work
is over, that I noticed little urcbin
crying his heart out, at the end Of dark
alley in the neighDorhood Of Leicester
Square. Now, I hate to hear children
CRY. For the matter of that, I hate to
hear any one cry, but it makes ones
heart bleed to think and know-for all
policemen know 1t--that young children
cry and die of hunger and cold, day after
day, while we hulking great fellows ca
mutton and beef, and have our stomach
warmed with cups Of soothing coffee an6
tea. am not fool, or l shouldn't b.
policeman; and am not so dull tina
can't see that many of these crying
children are the instruments of cheat
and impostors.
''Anyhow,. there was little fello'
crying as if his heart would break, alone
and up blind alley. I touched the DO
on the shoulder, and asked him what wa
the matter.
He had no trumped-up story ready o
his lips. He gave one look at me, an
then covering his face with his hands,
sobbcd again. He was not afraid of m
as most sueet boys are. They look upc
policemen as their natural enemies, know
ing that policemen are aware Of all the
cleverness and tricks. This poor lit
fellow turned away because he W
ashamed. His story--when I could g
him to speak-was a very simple one.
was an Grand boy in a stationer's she
and with his small earnings contrived
swell the income of his widowed moth
who had to fill several little mouths. G
ing home with his weeks wages, he b
been robbed by designing woman, W
had cajoled the little fellow into show !
his money, and having seen it, b
snatched 1t out Of his hand.