Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1882-07-12
From the Youths Companion.]
THE LITTLE KEEPER
BY ELEANOR c. LEWIS.

About forty miles inland from the
coast of California is long, narrow
valley, curving in and out to suit the va
carries of a boisterous little river-the
San Miguel.
A high-banked railroad adapts itself
just as faithfully to the undulating line
of water Twice, however. in the val
ley's length, it crosses the stream by
covered bridges, emerging from them to
wine. on as before by the waters edge.
The first bridge is within a quarter of
mile from the entrance of the valley.
and the little village of Dickson's juno
ton is III plain sight. The second bridge
is three miles from the first, in the lone
" heart OF the hills. The hills form a
sloping background for the keepers
house at the north end OF the bridge,
but IN front they rise so steep as to seem
almost perpendicular.
No other houses are in sight. The
nearest is at Dickson's Junction. A
number of trains pass day and night,
but none stop at the keepers house.
The "keeper" of the bridge, some
years ago, was Scotchman called Don
aid Craigie-a hard-featured, tall and
large boned man, with stopping should
eFS ana Weathor-Dedten face.
Ii his earlier days he had been a
miner, An adventures ONE and success
fuI one. But all at once misfortune
came upon him. The bank failed in
which heshad placed his earnings; there
were many sad hearts, but his, perhaps,
was saddest.
Not only was the work of lifetime
gone. but the hopes of a lifetime, too.
The old mother In Scotland, whom he
had left when a mere boy, he could not
now expect to see.
When the news of her death came a
few months afterward, he was hardly sur
prised, he had felt In his heart that it
would be so. But this was not the
worst; d few weeks more and his sweet
wife died, leaving him alone in the
world with helpless baby daughter.
And now for year or two he carried
on desperate struggle with fortune; so
desperate that it Is not much wonder he
grew bitter and gloomy. When at last,
through an old mining acquaintance,
who, more fortunate than himself, was
now wealthy director of the San Mig
ueI Railroad, he was offered the post of
bridgekeeper, he was glad to accept it.
The pay was small, but 1t was sure; and
above all. it gave him a home and the
chance of keeping little Jenny under his
own care.
SO here, in the rough cottage by the
bridge, he anchored, and was bridge
tender, housekeeper and father all In
one. He taught Jenny her alphabet
when she was old enough; he made her
clothes-and curious affairs they were;
he whitfield out little playthings for her;
he told her rambling and poorly-invented
stories, and found the interest of his life
in her daily pleasures and griefs.
One a fortnight in summer, once a
month, or less, in rainy season, he went
to the junction for provisions, matches,
thread, or whatever was needed In his
except those he had dealings with. His
old acquaintance ne quite passed by.
With bowed head and hasty steps he
went through the town, did the necessary
errands, and hurried away, breathing
more freely as he left the houses behind
him, and entering the valley, came
nearer to the bridge and Jenny. For
Jenny was such comfort
She was growing up into slender,
delicate little creature, warm hearted
and loving, but sensitive and grave be-
yond her years. The father and child
lived like two hermits, saying little to
each other, happy in the mere being to-
gether.
Tt was a great day when she first went
to the village, when she was IN her sixth
year. Part of the way her father car
ried her, part of the way she trotted by