Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1882-01-19

mind me-"
"But where am II"
In spite Of all orders | must ask that
question, for fear the vision might fade.
you're safe enough in our house
mothers and mine. | told you we
were poor, but you would faint right
before our door"
"Tm very sorry" said, penitentlv.
"Hum That don't help. Do you
know how sick you've been"
l protested my entire ignorance.
"Well, you've had fever, and been
wild sometimes" she informed me.
"But now lie still until | get you some
thing to eat"
As she said this she got up from the
little rocking-chair in which she had
been sitting.
''No, don't go" I caught her by the
sleeve. Il don't want anything to eat,
and l do want you ~
She sat down again with little
laugh.
'I'm afraid you don't know just what
you do want" she said, pleasantly.
eyes, do; I want you. You won't
go, will your My voice sounded very
anxious in It's weakness.
"Not without mother calls me. Now,
go to sleep"
She settled the white coverlet about
me very carefully.
GLOW did vow get me here? p I asked
presently.
ooh, one of the station men helped
me; and you were terribly heavy, il
you hadn't anything to eat
lay back on my pillow, and watched
her sitting there in the stiffness of the
room. 1t was picture sweet enough
for any man-more than that to me,
for l had scarcely spoken to a woman
for long year, excepting to receive
harsh answers.
The sun that came streaming into
the wiEdow, piercing here and there
the network of vines, went slowly down
casting long shadows across the floor
and fell asleep.
How those two women did watch
over and care FOR me during the days
that followed-days in which | got bet
ter very slowly-the old gray-headed
matronly mother and the little girl
What delightful, dainty little meals
they cooked me with their own hands
And then one would fan and talk with
me in the long, hot summer afternoon
One day, when the mother was out
| told my little nurse my whole history
concealing nothing, and watching the
changing emotions other face.
"You have told me everything but
your name," she said, when / finished
THAT is simple enough" | replied
l was sitting up now, in the great, old.
fashioned rocking chair. at is George
Gray. And yours?'
"Fl.rence O'Neil. My father wa;
killed on the railroad several years ago
and the company gave us this little
house, and we watch to flag the trains
if the bridge should not be safe; the
water in the river rises very high some
times"
She said it all very simply, as if such
life was old and common enough tC
her.
The daughter of railroad laborer
and l loved her-and [ was only 9
tramp?
''Not very elevated" you think
Perhaps not in the social scale, but
our hearts might be as true, our love as
great.
In the days which followed, and un
der their tender care, l grew rapidly
better, until at last | could frame nc
excuse for remaining longer. But moth.
ing could now tear me away from the
girl who had saved my life-whom ]
knew but too well loved.
[ never said one word of love to her
for | was only q tramp, and my love
was too honest, too sincere, to give it,
object needless pain.
Deep in my heart | had resolved tC
work up to something more worthy o.
her, more worthy myself. But mean
while, [ could not altogether leave her
and, finally, through their influence
with men upon the road, men who haC
worked with O'Neil before he was
killed, l received a position. 1t was
only that of brakeman upon the
night express. Not much, you think
Perhaps not to you, my scoffing friend
with your credit at the bank, but il
was everything to me. 1t was the frs
chance the world had given me. L
was my first step upward, and [ be
lieye [ was prouder in that brakeman
cap than l ever was in my first colo
and black law sign in the old days o.
my prohigacy and my profession.
ran on that road-it was the P, d
and G.-for nearly two months, making
every night the trip between Platts
mouth and Delaver, rain or shine.
Now and then of a Sunday 1 would
go down to the little cottage Of the
O'Neils, and thus spend many a pleas
ant afternoon in talking over the events
of my sickness with the mother, o.
wandering down by the river witt
Florence, my little love. I began tc
dream that she loved me, and it made
me better man.
One night, | think it was of {
Wednesday, we made up our train, al
unusually large one, and left Platts
mouth just before dark. 1t had beer
storming hard for two days, and it bic
| fair to be dark, tempestuous night
A special freight train left an hou
ahead of us, which we were to pass a
| Somerset.
The night, as it grew later. proved t.
be one of the toughest [ had ever ex
perienced the wind blew a perfcc
hurricane from the north, the glare o
the lightning was incessant, and tn,
heavy peals Of thunder rolled along thu
whole sky.
watch sharp for a red light a
Bridge No. o." I heard the trair
master say to the engineer Of the freigh
as his heavy train pulled out of th,
yard.