The People's vindicator. [volume] (Natchitoches, La.) 1874-1883, 1881-10-01
DOR0THY'S RIDE,

N"Ny "oSN w otsiA u ViIly UOdG Ou one Oh
the many ponds. Their little craft was
not French toy with painted hull and
gay streamcrs. but plain affair which
their father had made for them in the
long evenings, and it had q coarse bit
OF cotton for sail. But that did not
matter. No, indeed! They tied a
string at either end, and as the ponds
were very shallow, they waded about,
pulling it merrily from side to side.
using all kinds of real ship names and
words. which they had learned from
the sailors.
50 the summers flew away until, alas!
John was thought old enough to be sent
to school, and poor little Dorothy was
left to play all alone. She was a help
ful little girl, and saved the mother
many steps. Still, she found her play
time very dull, because she didn't care
any longer for the boat.
At last she began going with her
father to the mill; and all day she fitted
about, as busy as bee. and hummine
as cheerly.
Sometimes she would lie on tho grass
and watch the mill-sails as they swept
slowly down, and rose again on the
other side-thinking all sorts of odd
thoughts about them. One day while
she was lazily watching them. she had
a bright idea. What fun! Sprineing
up, she waited for sail to come within
her reach, and caught it, holding on
until it lifted her off her feet, and then
she let 60 and seized another, until she
was tired. Day after day she amused
herself thus; and when Saturday came
she brought John to see the sport.
She had become too we'll acquainted
with her great friend, the mill, to have
any fear of it, and each time she trusted
herself to its arms she let them carry
her a little higher, 80 that she began to
see . long way of, over the land and
the ocean.
What heroine she must seem to her
orother--she thought-for he had never
tried It, not once. Elated BY her sue.
cess. she sprang upon the sail for a last
ride, as it was dinner-time. LOOKING
back over her shoulder to see the effect
OF her daring upon John, she chung a
little longer than she meant to. and in
twinkling she found that she could
sec farther away than she had ever
dreamed.
There was the harbor, with its white
sails set to dry. She could look away
down into the town, and see the people
in the streets.
There, too, was the Sankety Head
light, so far away: now she must be "A |
high as the tall lighthouse. Thorough.
~ frightened, yet not daring to let 90 |
at this dizzy height, she began to cry. |
She saw her mother coming to call |
them to dinner, and she thought, poor
little girl, II shall never see NV dear
mother again!'
Higher and still higher she flew, her
dress floating out on the wind, and
her poor little heart nearly bursting
with terror and grief.
She did not see John, so pale with
fear, nor did she hear her father crv.
Ion, my child will be killed! Nv poor
little girlr r~
She had now only eyes and ears and
thought for that terrible journey. and
once she wondered If she were going to
heaven. tor she was sure it could not
Be much higher than she had risen.
Still she chung tightly, and at last she
shut her eyes.
The top once reached, slowly the sail
with its precious burden, began to de.
'cend. How they all watched it, No.
BODY spoke. and they hardly dared
breathe. Lower and lower It came.
until within few feet of the ground,
when Dorothy opened her ewes, and. ID
overcome with a sense of safety, her !
little fingers unclasped, and down she {
came. = +,
She fell pretty hard, but. luckily, {
here are no stones in Nantucket. so no
bones were broker; but her head had =
;uch q bump that she saw bright LIGHTS g
flashing. and heard hum OF strange /
ounds; and soon her poor back beean h
Q ache, and her head felt sore, and She !,
opened her eyes once more to lind her. /,
elf safe in her dear fathers arms; and /;
hen they ali wept together for thank r
illness.
And this was the last ride that Doro- I,
by ever took on the sails of the old $,
st. Nicholas. /