The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1882-12-23
Select STORY,
THE IDOL OF HoPEDALE.
A STORY FOR CHRISTMAS.
BY s. ANNIE FROST

taking my carpet-bag, sprang out upon tht
platform of the little station. MY briel
holiday was over, and, with shrug, lpre
pared for my short walk through the morn
ing air, looking forward to the good hr'
and delicious cup of coffee | was sure Mrs
Watson was keeping for me-
1t wos very rare event for me to leave
the little village whose name heads TINS
story. My father had been the only resi-,
dent physician there, from the time when
was boisterous school-boy, up to the
hour when, in his professional rounds, he
fell dead with heart disease in the main
street, leaving me, his heretofore assistant
sole heir to his name, property, and prac,
tice. Ten years before, they had carried
nv dear mother to the little churchyard
and installed Mrs. Watson housekeeper In
her place. The villagers were willing to let
the Young doctor step into his father s
nlace beside their sick beds, and so for five
wears | had filed his duties. In all those
five wears l had taken no holiday, SO when
an invitation came from my old college
friend and since correspondent, Clement
Pavne, to spend Christmas with him, at his
fathers place, on the Hudson, was sorely
tempted to accept, and finally concluded to
do 50. 1t was literally Christmas | spent
leaving home at midnight on the 24th, and
nv friends house exactly twenty-four hours
later. 1t had been a pleasant break in the
monotony of my life, and as stood at sun
rise on the Hopedale station platform, was
sure nv recreation would give me new
vigor for my daily duties.
As [ turned to descend the steps leading
to the road some impulse, nay, Provl-
dence led me to look in at the window OF
the room, by courtesy Ladies Room" OF
the station. It was cold and desolate. No
fire was lighted, and there was no furnl-
ture. unless the hard, wooden benches
against the walls could be so denominated.
But curled up on one of these benches,
sleeping soundly, lay strange child. His
dress Of rich fur-trimmed velvet, the warm
fur cap, long CATERS and mittens, spoke OF
wealth and care, and the pale face, round
which clustered short curls Of sunny
brown, was round with health and wonder
fully beautiful He was no Hopedale
child; knew them all My professional
instinct made my heart thrill with sud
den shock, as I caught sight Of the pale
face. for we'll I knew the danger of that
deep sleep in the biting winter air. How
long had he been there? Was he already
dead were the questions [ asked myself
as strobe across the room, and lifted him
in nv arms. There was no breath came
from the white lips, no throb at the wrist,
only faint, very faint Auttering under my
fingers as I pressed them over the baby
heart. Mantling him warmly in my heavy
cloak, I tore down the steps, and raced
along the road honeward at pace that
would have considerably amazed my pa
tients, had any of them been awake at that
early hour.
Allowing Mrs. Watson no time fol
amazement, l pressed her into service, and
in what she called a '.jify," we had the
little form undressed, in my bed, and un-
dergoing the most vigorous treatment. Ii
was so long before we were successful, that
my heart almost failed me; but at last the
faint heart throbs grew stronger; color came
to the pale lips and cheeks, and pair OF
large brown eyes appeared from under the
heavily -fringed lids had watched so anx
iously.
Only a look of sleepy inquiry was visible
as he stared moment at me, then obeylne
nv order to drink the warm food Mrs
Watson held to his lips, my little patient
closed his eyes again, and turned over te
finish his nap. He was safe now, knew
so leaving him to Mrs. Watson's care, who
by this time knew as much about him as ]
did, went to sleep myself, to be ready fol-
the days duties.
1t was nearly nine o'clock when my
housekeeper reused me to say that break
fast was ready, and the child awake.
Very wide awake [ found him, the glo
rious brown eyes staring round my room
taking in every detail of its arrangement.
"Who are you? How did get here
Am [ nearly at Australia? Who's that
man in the picture p were the questions
poured rapidly forth, before [ had time te
frame one inquiry. II want to get up
Who's got my clothes ?" came next; then
'Who put me to bed without any night
gown?"
! Not sign of fear or word of home
sickness was puzzled.
"What is your name?" I asked, sitting
down beside him.
'Trot! I want to get up!'
"You shall get up in minute, but frs
tell me your name, and how you came to
be asleep in the station ?"
"My names Trot, and the plaguy cars
started off without me when [ got out. L
was dark night, and | could not catcf
them, so went into the room and went t.
sleep till they came again.
"Was your mother in the train-in the
carp"
"No; nobody but just me- I'm going t.
Australia
"Going to Australian"
eyes; Ellen's there? They have rose
there at Christmas, and we wanted som,
for our tree"
''But, my child, you did not leave hom'
alone?"
eyes did | amt afraid I'm goin,
back right away, as soon as I find Ellen
and get the roses"
"But, don't you know you will have tt
sail in great ship for months to get tt
Australian"
"Ellen went in the cars. We saw he
go, mamma and I. We went in the car
riage and said good-by, and she got il
there with Mr.. Williams"
"Who is Mr.. Williams?" l said, eager
ly catching at name.
"Ellen's husband. Our milkman h
was, before he went off to Australia. He
jolly always filed my cup for nothing
when [ was up"
sAnd who was Ellen 2"
"My nurse"
whats your fathers name p
"Papa !"
''But his other name?''
lluorrxy door - tsMomroo oluavc no llor