The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1882-07-26

bare feet clung to it like fingers. Step
by step she advanced, though the wind
seemed to snatch at her, and clutch her
limbs, and try to throw her into the
raging darkness below.
Once she almost stood still, afraid to
go back or forward. Then she felt the
timber culver, and with a desperate ef-
fort she broke into run that carried
her over the gulf She stumbled, but
had no time for more than one backward
glance, which showed her blank where
the beam had been.
A few steps more and her feet felt
the wet, gravelly earth OF the open
track down which she fairly few, in
the face of wind and rain.
! 1t had taken precious time-that
perilous passage-and she knew that un-
less she could reach the straight line of
track beyond the curve all she had done
would be in vain. And she did reach it,
just as a luminous glow at the far end
marked the approaching headlight of
the engine.
The sight gave her new strength and
she ran swiftly forward, waving the
lantern from side to side, till all at once
something seemed to give way within
her, and she fell heavily to the earth.
When after much painting and puff
ing the great engine stopped it
was half yard perhaps from little
heap that lay across the track, with q
broken lantern beside it.
"It's child" explained the engi-
neer to the men who came run
ming up. Why" looking more
closely, "it's old Craigie's girl. I've seen
her playing by the bridge. Something's
happened to bring her here"
A couple of brakeman hastily caught
up lanterns and ran ahead. When in
o few minutes they came back it was
with pale faces and voices shaken with
excitement that they told their story.
"How the child got over, 1 don't
know" said one; "for the middle of the
bridge is gone, cut clean out"
There was great stir at the junction
after the train had steamed back and
the reason made known. Rut silence
fell on all when big brakeman carried
tenderly into the waiting-room a limp,
childish figure, whose face, wet with
the rain, was deathly white, and whose
feet were bare and bleeding.
There was quite crowd of people,
but they fell back to give her air, while
the doctor and some ladies from the
train chafed her limbs and in every
way tried to rouse her from her faint.
They were so far successful that at
last her eyelids futtered, then slowly
opened, and she looked about her.
Big Jansen's face, near by, this time
full of an anxiety and grief that almost
transformed it, was nevertheless
familiar to her, and seemed to bring
her suddenly to the memory of what
had happened.
"Mr. Jansen" she said, softly,
father meant to max me luik nice.
We thought 1 did. Per'aps he didns
ken how, But"-afte seconds pause
he'll no be back. the water
The babyish voice trailed into silence.
The eyelids closed. The doctor, still
kneeling beside her, quickly put his
hand on her wrist, then over her heart.
When at length he looked up he tried
to speak, but could not. Then he turned
and walked abruptly out of the circle
to hide the tears that filled his eyes.
There was long silence, broken only
by sobbing from the ladies who stood
around.
You should have seen little Jenny's
face the next day, so smiling and white
in her coffin. Another long coffin stood
beside hers, but this was closed for
when they found Donald Oraigie's body,
half mile below the bridge, it was
crushed almost beyond recognition.
There is now a new bridge and a new
keeper, who is a popular man at Dick
sons. But there is no one who speaks
otherwise than gently of "poor Crai-
gle" and no one whose voice will not
tremble little when he tells you about
Jenny. Out in the village graveyard,
which slants up the nearest hill, is a
white stone on which is cut, not too ar
tistically, a weeping willow. Under the
willow are the words
"To the memory of Donald Oraigie,
and Jenny, his daughter, who died in
trying to save others. This stone is put
up by Henry Jansen, ~ YOUTHS Cam
pd1liOn.