The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1880-07-17

"sAnd stayed at home, perhaps, to
have had you laugh at me, with the rest.
Besides, [ am quite satisfied with my
escort, and believe am the only person
to be consulted in the matter.
"sAs you WILL | said, turning on my
heel, muttering the word 'Coquette!
between my teeth, and unheeding the
little pleading glance she sent from
time to time across the room to where L
stood.
"She was not without pride, and if
she suffered from my GOODNESS, she only
smiled the brighter on others, until |
grew mad with jealous anger. That
night began series of designations with
which employed every leisure moment.
1 drank more deeply than | had ever
done in my life-not, as before, for So
called good will and good-fellowship,
but to drown memory.
81 did not go near Mary for a month.
To me it seemed a year. Once, after a
nights carousal, passed her on the
street; but not until long after did L
learn of the bitter tears my haggard
face and dissipated air had cost her.
Finally my better nature triumphed,
and went to her, repentant, to ask her
forgiveness, and perhaps her love.
"On long, lonely night ride | made
up my mind to do this, though like a
thousand devils, memories of the mo-
ments had spent in the last few weeks
crowded around me, as though taunting
me in contrast to her purity; but with
Gods help ! would make myself
worthy, l said aloud, and thought the
hours would never drag along until I
could find myself once more in her
presence. She came in to see me, hold
ing out her hand with sweet smile of
welcome, as though we had parted only
yesterday, and yet-and yet there was a
change. All, learned it, all too soon!
In those first few moments 1 told her
the story of my life for the past few
months, of what it had been before l
knew her-of what it should be if she
would give me the assurance and prom
Use of her love. Then l paused. For a
moment silence fell between us; then
she spoke. A bright flash was in her
cheeks, her lips trembled, her lashes
yelled her eyes, but her lips faltered not.
"'John,' she said, I am only girl,
it is true, but the man marry must be
man. Perhaps l might have loved
you here little tremble crept into
her tome but have almost ceased to
respect you. Were you my husband, /
would fear for you, and fear and love
can not 60 hand-in-hand.
"Stop!' said. DO you want to
drive me back to the life 1 had hoped to
have left behind meP O, Mary, do not
be so cruel. Be my wife, and let me
prove the stuff that is in me-
"No, John,' she answered, softly;
but the blue eyes now raised to mine
were swimming in tears. IF you have
seen the wrong, surely you will not re.
turn to it. Rather, if you indeed love
me, prove yourself a man. 1t does not
take battlefield to make hero.'
prove yourself a man. These
were the words that haunted me in the
weeks that followed, saving me from
the ruin would else have drifted into,
but torturing me with their hopeless
ness. What hope had I, in my daily
routine of duty, of changing Mary's
mind? Yet, spite of her words, some
thing in her eye had told me that she
loved me, and that something gave me
strength to live and to withstand the
daily temptations of my life.
$50 six months passed, when one
morning | mounted my engine to take
the express train to G. We were going
along at the rate of thirty miles an hour,
when suddenly, right ahead of us it
seemed, a tiny speck of red futtered on
the track.
81 strained my eyes-I blew my
whistle. What could it be? Merciful
heaven Another instant it was made
clear to me. 1t was a little golden
haired child, playing in the very face of
the huge monster of death my hand was
guiding to its destruction.
81 whistled down brakes but, as
did so, knew that it was of no avail
Before the order could be obeyed, it
would be rendered useless. Then some
thing within me said;
"'Your life is worthless. Give it for
that innocent life if it must be, but save
it at the peril of your own. Had you
been better man, you might have had
a little child like that praying for you at
home'
| ~ oahOo d loAS tlIlo, SIT, 10 Tell all
this, but in reality not one second had
passed. At such times men think quick
ly. One bitter sigh rose in my breast.
would never have chance of proving
to Mary my manhood by some great
deed in the future, or long years of pen
ance. But it did not make my duty any
the less clear. Bill, the fireman, was
behind me.
"'Take the engine!' 1 screamed to
him. 'Good-by, Mary l whispered low
to myself.
:" The next minute, hardly conscious
of what was doing, I was down upon
the cow-catcher of the train, clinging by
one hand, the other outstretched to
grasp the child, now paralyzed with
terror. Then we were upon it. 1t was
killed, crushed, mangledp No! looked
down. 1t was safe, held within one
strong arm, its red dress fiuttering in
the wind, its golden head close pressed
against my shoulder. How was it done
| can not tell you, sir. God, they say,
does not let the sparrow fall
"Then the train checked its speed,
stopped; the passengers came crowd
ing about us, men grasped me by the
hand, women cried over me, and l.
stood dazed, bewildered, in their midst,
the child tight-held within my arms. Ii