The Benton weekly record. [volume] (Benton, Mont.) 1880-1885, 1880-06-11

me $Dack8 10 Ille iHe I iiaQ Hopea 10 nav
left behind me? o, Mary, 90 not he s
o cruel. Be my wife and let me prove IL
4 stuff that is in me.
4 No, John, she answered softly; an
: the blue eyes now raised TO mine WEI
s swimming in tears. IF you have seen tn
5 wrong, surely you will not return to i
Rather, if you indeed love me, prove youl
self man. Itdoes not take Il battlctiel
| to make hero
Prove yourself a man. These Wer
were the words that haunted me in til
, weeks that followed, saving me from th
ruin / would else have drifted into, bul
torturing me with their hopelessness
What hope had |, in my daily routine O
duty, of changing Mary's mind? Yet, il
spite of her words, something in her ey'
had told me that she loved me, and tha
something gave me strength to live ant
to Withstand the daily temptations of ny
life.
$50 six months passed, when one morn
ing mountedmy engine to take the ex
I press train to G. We were going along a
the rate Of thirty miles an hour when al
at once, right ahead Of US it seemed, tiny
speck Of red futtered on the track.
II strained my eyes-I blew my whistle
What could it be? Merciful heaven! An
other instant and it was made clear to me.
1t was5a little golden-haired child, playing
in the very face Of the huge monster OF
death my hand was guiding to its destruc-
ton.
i whistled down hr-1rsa, , Z =,'s =
50 knew that it was of no avail. Before
the order could be obeyed it would be rem
dered useless. Then something within me
said:
"'Your life is worthless. Give it for
| that innocent life if must be, but save it at
the peril of your own. Had you been a
better man you might have had a little
child like that one praying for you at
home
cit takesa long time, sir, to tell all this,
but in reality not one second had passed
At such times men think quickly. One
bitter sigh rose in my breast. I would
never havea chance of proving to Mary my
manhood by some great deed in the future
or long years of penance. But it did not
make my duty any the less clear. Bill,
the fireman, was behind me.
/" Take the engine, I screamed to him.
EGood-by, Mary l whispered low to my
self.
''The next minute, hardly conscious of
what was doing, / was down upon the
cow-catcher of the engine, clinging by one
had, the other outstretched to grasp the
child, now paralyzed with terror. Then
we were upon it. 1t was killed, crushed,
mangled? p? No! / looked down. 1t was
safe, held within one strong arm, its red
dress tluttering in the wind, Its golden
head close pressed against my shoulder.
How was it done? l cannot tell you, sir.
God, they say, does not let even the spar
row fail.
''Fhen the train checked its speed and
stopped; the passengers came crovding
about us, men grasped me by the hand,
women cried over me, and Ii stood dazed
and beWildered, in their midst, the child
tight-held within my arms. It was such q
simple thing, sir, yet they gave me this"
throwing back his coat and showing gold
medal
II wear it in thanksgiving for the little
life [ saved. They raised for me purse
of gold to Il large amount, but the gift
which seemed to cleanse my heart was the
poor mothers grateful tears.
s'The papers rang, next day, with the
story. You see, sir, it seemed more to
them looking at it, than to me, who had
no time to stop and think; but something
more was in store for me. | was off duty
next night, alone in my lonely, desolate
room, thinking it all over, when some one
whispered my name. In another moment
some one was sobbing in my arms-some
one who had come to me of her own sweet
will-some one who, from that moment
has been the sunshine of both my home and
heart.
s.1'hat is all, sir. 1t is a simple story. l
trust [ have not tired you.'
But I, as / grasped the noble fellows
hand, whose speech had so unconsciously
betrayed the grand true heart within, could
only echo his Mary's words:
'FIt does not take a battlefield to make q
herO,3