The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1881-02-25
THE BRAkEMAN'S STORY.

hiHu vi iilC ithu Jul pC &iNCa III
wl.ite kid gloves al d dress coats.
wasn't brought up with many advan-
ages, and I'm only brakeman on the
RENSSELAER, and Saratoga line. Old
ZONES was telling you about me, was
ne, sirp He'd better hold his tongue.
there's more profitable subjects of con-
versativn than i am. But old Jones
nesns well enough, and If he told you
20 ask me how thai stripe Of white hair
anne on my black name, l amt the
nan to go back on him. Oh, you
needn't beg my pardon, sir ! I don't
mind talking about 1t now, though the
inc was when I could't speak of it
without big lump coming in my
hrost.
we hadn't been married long, Polly
and me, when 1t happened. Polly was 8
r rim, bright-eyed slip OF a girl as ever
you'd wish to see. She was one of the
Mattresses In the Abany lunch room
Ter I made up my mind to make that
irl my wife. So. when they raised my
wages. took heart and asked her il she
would have them with me, with a
wedding ring thrown into the bargain.
do you really mean 1t, Jakep"
said she, looking me full In the face,
with those dark blue eyes of hers, that
are like the skies at night.
a. do really mean 1t. Polly" said
"Then," said she, putting both her
hands In mine, "I'll trust you. I've no
living relation to advise me. 80 can
only take counsel with my own heart
SO we were married. rented little
one. story house, under the hill on the
height. that overlooked the Hudson
coy place with good-sized wood pile
at the rear, for winter meant winter In
those parts, and the snow used to be
drifted up even with our doOr-yard
fence many and many q cold gray
morning, And everything went smooth
until Polly began to object to my mates
at the White Bsckblrd, and the Satur-
day evenings ] spent with the boys,
after my train was safely run onto the
yide track a. the junction.
why, Polly, GIRL" said /, where's
the harmP A man can't live by himself,
like an oyster in Its shell, and a social
glass never yet harmed any one"
NO." said Polly, mot n social glass,
Jake, but the habit. And il you W uld
only put every 1ve-cent piece that you
spend for liquor into little Bertie's tiny
savings bank"
'Pshaw /" said /. I'm not drunk
ard. snd never mean to become one.
And no one likes to be preached to by
his wife, Polly. Remember that my
girl, snd you'll save yourself deal Of
trouble"
l kissed her, and went away. But
that was the beginning OF the little, grave
shadow that grew on my Polly's face, like
a creeping fog over the hills, and that
she has never got.rid OF since.
IL was a sore point between us-what
tho n,lifsoiaHo l1oA n
felt that Polly was always watching
me; and didn't choose to be put in lead
ing-strings by a woman. Sol shame
to say It'll went } the White Blackbird
oftener than ever. and / didn't always
ccunt the glasses OF beer that drank,
and once or twice, Of a particularly cold
night. 1 let myso.f he persuaded into
drinking something stronger than beer;
and my brain wasn't the kind that could
.tand liquid fire with impunity. And
Polly cried. and I lost my temper, and
well don't Ike TO think of all these
things now. Thank goodness they're
over and gone
That afternoon, as stood ON the back
platform OF my car. with my arms fold
ed and my eyes fixed on the snowy
waste of fat fields through which the
iron track seemed to extend self like
an endless black serpent, I looked my
own lie in the face. / made up my
mind that had been behaving like e
brute.
"What are those senseless fellows at
the White Blackbird to me-" muttered
/, "as compared with one OF Polly's
sweet bright looksP will give the
whole thing up. I'll draw the line lust
here now. We shall be off duty early
toni ht. I'll 60 home and astonish
Pollyw
But, as night toll, the binding drift OF
great storm came with it. We were
belated by the snow which collected on
the rails, and when we reached Earldale |
there was a little girl. who had been |
sent on in the care oi the conductor who, |
must either wait three OF four hours |
for g way train in the cold and |
cherries station, OF be taken home |
across a snowy field by some one who
knew the way.
! thought OF my own little children.
III take her." said land lifting
her up gathered my coarse, warm coat
about her. ana / started for the long,
cold walk under the whispering pines
along the edge of the river. / honestly
believe she would have frozen to death
II she lad been left in the cold station
until the way train could call for her.
And when had lett her safe In charge of
her aunt, ! saw by the old kitchen
that 1t was ten O'Clock.
Polly will think / have slipped back
into the Slough OF Dsspond," said to
myself. with half smile; "but IN give
her an agreeable surprisep
Flowing down amid the snow-drif,
through q grove OF pine trees that edged
q ravine at the back of my house, /
sprang lightly on the doorstep; the door
was shut and locked. went around TO
the front. Here l effected an entrance,
but the fire was dying on the hearth.
and little Bertic, tucked up In his crib,
called out:
Papa, Is that your"
where Is mamma. my son" said i,
looking eagerly around at the desolate
room.
"Gone out with the baby in her arms
10 look for you." he said. "Didn't you
meet her. papaP"
stood a minute In silence.
Lie still. Bertie," said /, In a voice
hat sounded strange and husky even
o myself. ~ win 60 and bring her
Jack"
And I thought with dismay of the
snow-storm outside, the treach- !,
rous gorees which lay between here
md the White Black bird, the trackless
woods. through which 1t was difficult {
nough TO. ind ones way even in the !
unshine OF MONDAY, snd-worst of all
1.-THE lonely track, across which an !
express shot like q meteor at a few :
uinutl4 nofnra unidntohf Nh ha.~a-l