St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1882-01-07
A DROVER'S STORY.

Ny name is Anthony Hunt.
am a drover and I live miles and
miles away upon the Western prai-
rie. There wasn't house within
sight when we moved there-my
wife and I; and now we have not
many neighbors, though those we
have are good ones.
One day. about ten years ago,
went away from home to sell some
fifty head of cattle-fne creatures
as ever 1 saw. I was to buy some
groceries and dry goods before |
came back. and, above all, a doll
for our youngest Dolly. She never
had shop doll of her own, only
the rag babies her mother had
made her. Dolly could talk of
nothing else, and went down to the
very gate to call after me, buy a
big one.' Nobody but a parent
can understand how much my mind
was on that toy, and how, when
the cattle were sold, the first thing
I hurried off to buy was Dolly's
doll. I found q large one, with
eyes that would open and shut when
you pulled a wire, and had it
wrapped up in paper and tucked
it under my arm, while I had the
parcels of calico and delaine, and
tea and sugar put up. 1t might
have been more prudent to stay un-
til morning, but l felt anxious to
get back and eager to hear Dolly's
prattle about the doll she was 30
anxiously expecting.
/ mounted on steady-going old
horse of mine, and was pretty
well loaded. Night set in before
was nile from town, and settled
down dark as pitch while was in
the midst of the widest bit OF road
know OF. I could have felt my
way through. I remembered it so
we'll; and it was almost ten when
the storm that was brewing broke
and pelted the rain in torrents.
five miles or Eaybe six, from home
too. I rode on as fast as I could,
but suddenly I heard little cry like
q child's voice. I stopped short
and listened. I heard it again. |
called and it answered me. l
couldn't see thing-all was dark,
as 1 got down and felt about in the
grass; 1 called again, and again was
answered. Then l began to wonder.
, I'm not timi1, but then I was known
to be a drover, and to have money
about me. I am not superstitious
not very; but how could a real
) child be out on the prairie in such
! stormy night, and at such
an hour? 1t might be more than
human. The bit of a coward that
} hides itself in most men showed it
self to me then, and I was half
inclined to run away; but once more
I heard that piteous cry, and, said
1, eff any mans child is hereabouts
Anthony Hunt is not the man to
> let it lie here to die" I searched
again. At last, 1 bethought me OF
, a hollow under the hill, and groped
, that way. Sure enough, I found a
little dripping thing that moaned
and sobbed as I took it in my arms.
{ I called my horse, and the beast
came to me; and I mounted and
, tucked d the little soaked thing under
, my coat as we'll as I could, promis-
ing to take it home to nanny. II
5 seemed tired to death, and pretty
: soon cried itself to sleep against my
bosom. 1t had slept there over an
: hour, when l saw my own windows
: There were lights in them, and !
supposed my wife had lit them, fo1
3 my sake; but when I got into the
! yard, I saw something was the mat
ter, and stood still, with dread feal
r of heart five minutes before I coulo
: lift the latch. At last I did it, and
saw the room full of neighbors, and
: my wife amid them weeping. Wher
D she saw me, she hid her face.
"Ob, don't tell him. she cried
]. cit will kill him"
= "What is it, neighbors?" / cried
: And one said: >"Nothing, now
Ihope. What's that in yo1r armsl
"a poor lost child" said l, 6,
found it on the road. Take it, vii
,, YOU? I've turned faint" And l lift
$ ed the sleeping thing and saw th'
!, . face of my own child-my httt
:. 4 Dolly.
q It was my darling. and no other
} that I had picked up upon tn
.: .: drenched road. My little darlin
IL had wandered out to meet daddy
= and the doll, while her mother wa
y y at work, and whom they were 10