Southern standard. (McMinnville, Tenn.) 1879-current, 1881-02-05
A STRANGE STORY.

L HAVE strange, almost Incredible,
story to tell of an experience of my QWn
one fearful night in the woods. Imagin-
alton had nothing to do with it, for
am backwoodsman's daughter, accus-
toned to the wild sounds of the forest,
s the loneliness, and all that is terrifying to
novice.
My father was good man, serving
God after his own simple fashion, seeing
Him and loving Him in His works. |
have heard him hold forth on the provi-
dent ways of the beaver: "Why the
little critter'd starve in the cold season,
If it. hadn't used its little fat tail for
sbuidin' its house, and then filed it with
food in time!" have heard him tell
of the caribou "Look at that, too"
he would say, "and at the moose. Now,
the caribou has to travel often a matter
Of twenty miles for his dinner, for he's
dainty 'un, and only eats the long gray
moss that hangs from the trees--so God
3 gave him Snow-shoes good as an Iniun
could make 'em to skim over the ice
crust-while the big, heavy moose there
sinks right in. His dinner is close to
hand. He could live for months on an
acre lott" He would speak of the loon,
and its adaptation in every way to its
watery home-always ending such talk
with; "All Gods works are 'pon hon
or; there's no halfway with Him!"
- Twas the only one left of ten children.
My father, when mourning over and
missing the others, would never COM
plain, but only say: "They're better
\. off! Why! if we can't trust the little
children, that don't know what wrong
doing is, and don't know the meaning
of sin, then there amt aRy chance for
h us men!" And so he lived his quiet
life--his heart beating close to natures
heart, and his soul uncOnsciously seek
ing and finding natures God.
n My mother must have been beautiful
Is in her youth. She was a lOrate Cana
" dtenne, and her bright French spirits
carried her gayly over many hard
trial in her life of frequent deprivations
One great, Oyershadowing sorrow of her
life was the unaccountable disappear
ance of her little year-old daughter, her
only beautiful child-the one in her own
. image, whom from the first she loved
with peculiar tenderness.
The child had been left alone in her
little birch bark crib for a short half
hour, while mother was busy at the
spring, mile from home, in the midst
of the woods. !, little six-vear-old,
- was off in the canoe with my father, as
treat for having been especially good
the day before. Father and had had
q splendid time-we always did when
we went away together-and, our canoe
full of trout, we were coming gayly
home, toward evening, when q cold
chill fell on our happiness, and my
child's heart felt strange thrill as /
read a sudden anxiety in my fathers
face, whose every change l knew. His
quick ear had caught the sound of moth
er's voice, and, after while, |, too,
could hear hopeless moaning, dread
full heart broken sound. We found
mother kneeling on the floor, her head
IA leaning on the empty crib, and mourn
~ ing as one that could not be comforted
The baby was gone. How, or where,
we could not tell-we never knew.
Weeks were spent in searching for her,
ID and, at length, to save mothers reason,
father forced her to leave the pretty loo
cabin in the woods by the lake, where
this last sorrow had come upon her, and
we went to Montreal.
There we lived quietly for years dur
ing the winter time. The nuns of the
great convent of the Gray Sisters took
charge of my education. Mother and
had neat little rooms in the French quar-
ter, while father went off moose
Is hunting for weary months; bu
the summer-times we always spent with
L.
for our summer encampmshts, butn
on the site of the log cabin deserted af
ter the babys loss, until the summer o
my nineteenth year. Then a great de
sire took possession of my mother to g
once more to the old home. She haC
been very delicate that winter, and m,
great, rough father denied her nothing
IJsbudder when think of that beauti
ia, direful place now-it seems q
though our evil fate lowered about it
All the anguish l ever knew center
there!
We passed one peaceful month to
gether, disturbed only by distant ri
mors of the diphtheria, a scourge whicl
seemed to be striding along from villag
p tovillage, first on the river hen nearer u
on the greatlake but we never thoughto
its touchingus us, until one miserable nigh
when father came home, languid ant
feyeI6h, hom one of his numerous eX
petitions, and we read in his face tina
'" the CHASTITY finger of the scourge had Sc
its mark upon him. After the secon,
dav of anxiety about father, all strengt
seemed to desert my delicate little moth
er. From the first she had despaire
about him, and now | saw that, if ia
theirs life were taken, should have t
part with them both.
Her life would die with his, for sol
row FORCES stronger bonds even tina
s4oy, and they had SUFFERED so much tC
al gether, his love always supporting hel
that he had become the life of her life
She could not exist alone. q
l struggled hand to hand, and sick
hSrt, against what felt to be az ine1
orable fate, and on the afternoon of tn
eighth day found myself alone and a
most despairing, save for the thought
the happiness of the two l had love
best in the world.
The sunset came, as sat by the lakt
. o side, flooding my desolated world wit
a heavenly glory, like sign from thei
10 me of their new-found JOY.
The stars had come out before ven
tured 20 return TO the worse than d,
serted house, ! could not hope for bel