St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1882-04-28

which hour we stopped at small sta
ton, where there was delay of TWEEN
ty minutes, to take on coal or water
As we slowed up, | noticed standing
on the platform a young woman, hold
ing neatly-cOvered basket, and
clinging to her skirts little child,
some three years of age.
"Papa papa :" the little one scream
ed, in delight; and, glancing at my
companions face, needed not to ques-
ton if he were the one thus called.
Another moment, we had stopped,
and wife and child were pressed to his
breast, while a look of wonderful ten
derness crept into his eyes.
"My wife and child, sir" he said,
turning to me. ~ have only one day
week off with them; but Mary al
and now and then | get an hour or
two with her.
at is a hard life" | said. "You
must miss them sOrely."
''No matter where | am, sir" he re-
piled, ''they are with me. Sv hear the
little On-'s voice above the loudest
wind, and | see my Mary's smile in the
darkest night, although | stand alone
on my engine, with my life in my
hand. It's hard life, may be, sir, but
| ought not to complain. 1t gave me
my happiness, since it won me my
wife"
When we were on our way again,
and had seen the tears fill the wife's
bright blue eyes AS she fondly kissed
her husband goOdby, while | had slip
ped into the little ones chubby hand a
golden gift from the strange gentle
man riding with papa, asked my
companion what he meant.
81 don't know as you'd care to hear,
sir, and there's not many as I'd care
to tell. You read so many book sto-
ries of the people who make up your
world, that you have not much time to
look dozen to mine. There are people
who think such as we have no time to
love, but you have seen Mary and my
boy, and--yOull tell me if tire you p
81 was "a careless fellow enough six
years ago, not neglecting my work
when at my post, but fond of a good
time with my companions when off
duty, always ready to accept Il friend
ly glass, and sometimes with my head
not quite steady when | mounted my
engine, though the air always set me
right before we had gone far on our
way.
Gone evening, at ii dance, | met
Mary Morton. She was the prettiest
girl in the room, sir, and little bit of
IA coquet in those days, though no
more than was natural, with all the
young fellows trying their best to turn
her head.
Il was not long behind the rest.
couldn't get her out of my thoughts,
but it did not take me a great while to
find out the truth of the matter. | had
lost my heart. The only question
was, Would she turn me adrift, or give
me hers for that she had stolen ? 1t
was many Il week before got up my
courage enough to determine to ask
her to he my wife. Every moment off
duty | would spend with her, until |
grew to fancy she used to watch and
wait for my coming.
but | was not without my Jealous
hours, for all that. How did | know
how she spent the time, was so con-
stantly away from her ?
AT last | heard of another dance,
to he given on the night | would be off
'nty. | could not see Mary until then,
but felt sure she would know would
come for her, and would go with no
one else.
''But when the evening arrived,
found, when | called for her, that she
had already gone. Perhaps, sir, in
your rank of life, you know, too, what
it is to be jealous, and how many Il
man destroys his future happiness by it..
"My first words to Mary were those
of reprOach, while her smile at my en-
trance died away and her face grew
white.
" Il did not know you were coming,
John. How could ?''
" 'Iou might have waited, then =
exclaimed.
And stayed at home, perhaps to
have had you laugh at me, with the
rest. Besides, am quite satisfied
with my escort, and | believe | am the
only person to be consulted i'll the
matter
AS you WILL | said, turning on
my heal, muttering the word 'COquet y
between my teeth, and unheeding the
little pleading glance she sent from
time to time across the room to where
| stood.
"She was not without pride, and if
she suffered from my coldness, she
only smiled the brighter on others,
until | grew mad with jealous anger.
That night began IL series of dissipa-
tions with which | employed every
leisure moment. | drank more deeply
than | had ever done i'll my life-not
as before, for sO-called goodwill and
good fellowship, but to drown memory.
II did not 90 near Mary for "A month.
To me it seemed year. Once, after a
nights carousal, | passed her on the
street but not until long after did
learn of the bitter tears my haggard
face and disSipated air had cost her.
Finally my better nature triumphed,
and | went to her, repentant, to ask
her forgive ness, and perhaps her love.
son long, lonely night ride | made
up my mind to do this, though like a
thousand mOcking devils, memories OF
the moments | had spent in the last
few weeks crowded around me, as
though taunting me in contrast to hel
purity but with Gods help would
make myself worthy, said aloud, and
thought the hours would never drag
along, until | could find myself once
more in her presence. She came in to
see me, holding out her hand with a
sweet smile of welcome, as though we
had parted only yesterday, and yet
and yet there was a change. All,
learned it, all too soon In those first
few moments | told her the story ot
my life for the past few months, o
what it had been before | knew her
of what it should be if she would Civ,
me the assurance and promise of hel
love. Then paused. For a moment
| silence fell between us; then She spOk