The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1883-01-26
SELECT STORY.
THE IDOL OF HOPEDALE.
BY S. ANNIE FROST.

| I1Opeuale
opened my sleepy eyes as the con-
ductors voice rang through the cars,
and, taking my carpet bag, spraug out
upon the platform, of the little station.
My brief holiday was over, and, with a
shrug, l prepared for my short walk
through the morning air, looking for
ward to the good fire and delicious cup
of coffee | was sure Mrs. Watson was
keeping for me.
1t was a very rare event for me to
leave the little village whose name
heads this story. My father had been
the only resident physician there, from
the time when | was bosterous
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 practice. Ten
years before, they had carried my dear
mother to the little churchyard, and in
stalled Mrs. Watson housekeeper in
her place. The villagers were willing
TO let the young doctor step into his
fathers place beside their sick beds,
and so for five years / had filled his
duties. In ali those five years l had
taken no holiday, so when an invitation
came from my old college friend and
since correspondent, Clement Payne, to
spend Christmas with him, at his
fathers place, on the Hudson, was
sorely tempted to accept, and finally
concluded to do so 1t was literally
CHRISTMAS | spent, leaving home at
midnight on the 2lth and my friends
house exactly twenty four hours later.
1t had been a pleasant break in the
monotony of my life, and as l stood at
sunrise on the Hopedale station plat
form, | was sure my recreation would
give me new vigor for my daily duties.
AS | turned to descend the steps
leading to the road, some impulse, nay,
Providence, let me to look in at the
window of the room, by courtesy
ladies Room" of the station. 1t
was cold and desolate. No fire was
lighted and there was no furniture, un-
less the hard wooden benches against
the wall 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 nit
tens spoke of wealth and care and the
pale face round which clustered short
curls of sunny brown, was round with
health and wonderfully beautiful. He
was no Hopedale child; | knew them
all. My professional instinct made my
heart thrill with sudden shock, as l
caught sight of the pale face, for well
| 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 l asked my.
self as | strobe across the room, and
lifted him in my arms. There was no
breath came from the white lips, no
throb at the wrist, only a faint, very
faint futttring under my fingers as |
pressed them over the baby heart
Mantlipg him warmly in my heavy
cloak tore down the steps and raced
along the road homeward at a pace
that would have considerably amazed
my patients, had any of them been
awake at that early hour.
Allowing Mrs. Watson no time for
amazement, ! pressed her into service,
and in what she called "jiffy,' we
had the little form undressed, in my
bed, aud undergoing the most vigorous
treatment. 1t 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 l had watched so
arXiously.
Only look of sleepy inquiry was
visible, as he stared a moment at me,
then obeying my order to drink the
warm food Mrs. Watson held to his
lips, my little patient closed his eyes
again and turned over to finish his nap.
lie was safe now, / knew; so leaving
him to Mr' Watson's care, who by this
time knew as much about him as | did,
| went to sleep myself, to be ready for
the days duties.
1T was nearly nine o'clock when my
honsekeeper reused me to say that
breakfast was ready, and the child
awake.
Very wide awake | found him, the
glorious brown eyes staring round my
room, taking in every detail of its ar
rangement,
"Who are you? How did / get
here? Am | nearly at Australia ?
Who's that man in the picture7" were
the questions poured rapidly forth, be-
fore | had time to frame one inquiry.
Il want to get up! Who's got my
clothes = came next; then, "Who put
me to bed without any nightgown7" 2"
Not sign of fear or word of
homesickness was puzzled.
"What is your name?' | asked, sit
ting down beside him.
"Trot! | want to get up!"
"Nou shall get up in a minute, but
ilrst tell me your name, and how you
came to be asleep in the station"