Daily globe., 1882-01-29

Ben Miles raShneSS naQ saved tne lives
in his keeping.
ssHurrah We're safe !" shouted the
| fireman.
But not so Ben Miles. Just as he had
| raised the iron bar to cast it at the twist
/ ed rail, half dozen puffs of smoke arose
from as many clumps Of grass not far
from the track, and shower Of bullets
whizzed through the air. Ben fell back
on the cowcatcher. Was he struck? The
| fireman strained his eyes to get a glimpse
of his return. Presently Ben's head ap-
peared to view; then an arm and then
he worked himself up, turning his back
to the cab, the better to hold back
against the rushing air, which now
strove to hurl him to his retreat with as
| much force as before it had fought his
advance. All this time Ben used but
one arm, and Jake could see that the
| other was bloody and hung by his side.
With fearful struggle he finally reached
the cab and clambered inside.
cha, ha, ha p rang out the same di-
abolical laugh the devils thought to
throw us, but their scheme slipped up,
eh, Jake %
"But your arm, Ben p
event back on me; failed me at a
pinch-as it never did before"
"Why, here's bullet hole through
| the muscle above the elbow p
"Eh, hit? Well, wrap it with hand
kerchief. Jake. I know physician for
| wounds like that. You'll have to coal
up now. See how the dear old snorter
scurries along. We're only twenty miles
from home. She shall see how a ma
chine can run p And Ben thought no
more of his useless arm.
A few miles on the hither side of the
station they were now approaching,
| which formed the terminus of the divis-
ion on which Ben Miles had been run
| ming for some time there lived most
charming woman. Five years before
her husband had been wealthy and
prosperous man in Boston but reverses
in fortune came to him, and he saw with
deep pain the hollow side of that society
which had always till then courted his
favor. The sight shook his faith in the
| depth of human goodness ; he longed to
be Timon and turn his back upon this
Athens. He yearned for wild life in
the West, but he could not ask his wife
to forego the comforts and society in
which she had always lived. She, how
ever, observed this inclination Of his
mind, and, by insidious degrees, made it
her own proposition. "Come," said
she, "let us live on a farm, far away
from the world; we viii make paradise
for ourselves" They went, and her
words were in truth fulfilled. While he
planted wheat she planted flowers, and
in two years the house and grounds were
bower of loveliness.
It was a sad day to this young wife
when death took away the husband she
delighted to make contented. She would
| not show his corpse to her 3-year-old
girl but when the little one asked for
papa, she could only tell her that some
time she would see her papa again. So
the child was happy, and the widows
heart-during the three years that had
| now passed-was insensibly ightened
by its gleefu laugh.
Ben Miles saw this child in one of his
rambles, when it had strayed from the
house little farther than usual, and
| thought he had found an angel, till she
| told him she lived in the cottage UP by
the road While he was talking to her,
her mothers voice, in musical but pierre
| ing tones, called from over rising IN the
ground, and, taking her in his arms, Ben
strobe rapidly toward the sound, saying,
"There's anguish in that cry, my little
one you must hasten to drive it away. :"
Never had Ben forgotten the look in that
| young mothers eyes when he put her
child in her arms; and when she thanked
him, with her sweet, tremulous voice, she
robbed him, without knowing it, of one
of the kindest hearts that ever beat in
| mans breast.
Ben could only speak to her Of the
! child. "May come and see her again
and bring some-some-"
"Candy?" queried the little one at
the pause; "of course you may; I like
candy-and like you, too"
"Ah, I shall bear a charmed life here
| after, I know I shall and Ben raised
his broad-brimmed hat and strobe away
with genial laugh. He went often to
the cottage afterward. It stood within
twenty rods Of the track, and his COM
panions on the road had seen him there
as they passed by. They had noted
another fact-strange to them, but
which will not be to you, reader-Ben
| Miles never drank at this end Of his
route.
"Stokel stoke up, Jake! Well soon
see the cottage in the shrubbery She
says there's poetry in the grandeur Of a
swiftly moving train! Ha, ha, ha; I'll
show her the grandest poem she ever
saw!"
"He's worse than ever; strange how
the liquor hangs on to him" said Jake.
81 never knew him to speak of her I'M
| til to-day"
In fact, it seemed as if Ben Miles was
mad. He had run two hundred miles
In four hours track being cleared
for this train-including the few short
stops for water-and instead of SOLDERING,
the motion had seemed to keep the
liquor i'll his head. Jake made up his
mind to rebel, SO fearful was he of an
accident in the short distance yet to
run.
'You do not stoke, Jaker'
"She's got more than enough fire
| now"
"What l-Oh, confound this arm
But no matter stand aside-I can do it
| with one p
A thought struck the fireman. "She