Ashtabula telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1874-1880, 1879-12-19
Eaton that such an occurrence had
never been known before.
THE DROVER's sTORY.

THE DROVER'S STORY.
We find the following in one of
our Agricultural Exchanges without
anything to indicate its author or
source. 1t will do all our readers
good to read it.
My name is Anthony Hunt. l am
a drover, and I live miles and miles
away upon the western prarie. There
wasn't home within sight when we
moved there, my wife and /, and
now we haven't many neighbors,
though those we have are good ones.
One day about ten years ago, I
went away from home to sell some
fifty head of cattle-fne creatures as
ever 1 saw. / was to buy some gro
ceries and dry goods before 1 came
back, and above all, doll for our
youngest Dolly. She had never had
store doll of her own, only the rag
babies her mother had made her.
Dolly could talk of nothing else,
and went down to the very gate to
call after me to ''buy a. big one"
Nobody but a parent could under
stand how full my mind was of that
toy, and how, when the cattle were
sold, the first thing l hurried off to
buy Dolly's doll. 1 found a large
one, with eyes that would open and
shut when you pulled a wire, and
had it wrapped in paper and tucked
it under my arm while l had the par
GELS of calico and delaine and tea and
sugar put up. Then, late as it was,
l started for home. 1t might have
been more prudent TO stay until
morning, but 1 felt anxious to get
back, and eager to hear DOlly's pratt
tie about her toy.
was mounted on a steady-going
old horse of mine, and pretty well
loaded. Night set in before 1 was
mile away from town, and settled
down dark as pitch while 1 was in
the middle of the widest bit of road
l know of. l could have felt my
way, though, 1 remembered it so
well, and it was almost that when
the storm that had been brewing
broke, and pelted the rain in torrents,
five miles or, may be, six from home
yet, too.
rode as fast as could, but all of
a sudden / heard a little cry like
child's voice. 1 stopped short and
istened-I heard it again.-I called
and it answered me. I couldn't see
a thing; all was dark as pitch. I
got down and felt about the grass
called again, and again was answer
ed. Then l began to wonder. Pm
not timid, but l was known to be a
drover and to have money about me.
1t might be trap to catch me IN
awares and rob and murder me.
Pm not superstitious-not very.
But how could a real child be out on
the prairie in such a night, and at
such an hour. 1t might be more
than human.
The bit of a coward that hides It
self in most men showed itself to me
then, and l was half inclined to run
away, but once more l heard that
cry, and said /:
eff any mans child is hereabouts,
Anthony Hunt is not the man to let
it die"
1 searched again. At last I be-
thought me of a hollow under the
hill, and grouping that way, sure
enough, 1 found a little dripping
thing that moaned and sobbed as I
took it in my arms. called my
horse, and the beast came to me, and
I mounted, and tucked the little
soaked thing under my coat as well
as l could, promising to take it home
to nanny. Itseemed tired to death,
and pretty soon cried itself to sleep
against my bosom.
1t had slept there over an hour
when 1 saw my own windows.
There were lights in them, and 1 sup
posed my wife had lit them for my
sake, but when 1 got into the door
yard l saw something was the mat
ter, and stood still with a dead fear
at my heart five minutes before l
lifted the latch. At last l did it, and
saw my room full of neighbors, and
my wife amidst them weeping.
When she saw me she hid her face
"Oh, don't tell him." she said, 'it
will kill him."
"What is it, neighbOrs," l cried.
And one said, ''Nothing new I
hope-what's that in your arms ?''
IA poor, lost child" said l. 81
found it on the road. Take it, viii
you, rve turned faint" and 1 lifted
up the sleeping thing and saw the
face Of my own child, my little Dolly.
1t was my darling, and none other,
that 1 had picked up on the drenched
road.
NV little child had wandered out
to meet Hdaddy" and the doll, while
her mother was at work, and whom
they were lamenting as one dead. 1
thanked heaven on my knees before
them all. 1t is not much of story,
neighbors, but / think of it often in
the night, and wonder how / could
bear to live now if I had not stopped
when 1 heard the cry for help upon
the road, the little baby cry, hardly
louder than a squirrels chirp.
That's Dolly yOnder with her
mother in the meadow, a girl worth
saving-I think (but then, Pm her
father, and partial, may be)-the
prettiest and sweetest thing. this side
of the Mississippi.
Telephone Talk.
d - --.-e.-I Il. -.