Weekly Chillicothe crisis. (Chillicothe, Livingston Co., Mo.) 1878-19??, 1883-07-12
a LUCKY MISTAKE.

Tom said my father 10 me, ono
cold November afternoon, as we stood
in the ilag.paved hall Of our old-fash-
ioned farmhouse, you'd better put
the little bay mare in the dOe-cart and
90 in TO Worthington for that saddle
| clean forgot to call for it yesterday,
and if you want TO 80 out with the
hounds ON Saturday, you won't have
another chance of getting it,"
Thus said my stalwart, wcathcr.rcd-
dcncd, gray-haired old sire, as he put
on his rough hat and took his thick
walking-stick from the stand prcpara-
tory to going about the farm. 1t was
about three O'Clock, and dinner was
Just over; for the time of which | speak
was twenty years ago, and the farmer
had not then learned TO live according
to the laws of fashion unsuited to his
income and his occupation, or to ape
the style and expenditure of his land
lord. My father was and old-fashiOn-
ed yeoman, who titled tho land which
his great-grandfather had titled before
him; and even had he lived in these
days, when men of his typo are rare,
he would have keptto the Old-fashioned
ways.
was nothing 10th to act upon the
parental suggestion, although it meant
q long drive in the biting cold, and
although the return journey would
have TO be done in the dark or with
very Indifferent moonlight. We were
utterly isolated at the Mistlctoc Farm;
for we were seven miles from Worthing-
ton, our nearest town, and ten miles,
in the opposite direction, from the
nearest railway station. My father
farmed nearly five hundred acres, some
of the land-especially that lying to-
ward Worthington-being very poor
stuff, and only fit for sheep. There
was not even n village near; the labor
crS lived in cottages scattered over the
estate; and, in the depth of Winter,
when there was snow, or when the
floods were out, we were often n week
at Il time and never saw soul besides
ourselves and our employees.
But we always had n good bit of
horsc-ncSh in the stable; as, indeed,
was absolutely Unnecessary, when our only
means of communication with the out
cr world was by road, and when the
distances were so great and the roads
SO bad The little bay marc that !
was going to drive Fly-by-night was
the name we afterwards gave hcr--was
Il young one of our own breeding, clcv-
er rs u cat and docilc us II dog From
her infancy she was my playfellow;
would come to me when whiStlcd To
her, eat out of my hand or my pocket
and when the time came for backing
her and breaking her, there was
nothing TO be done. She had perfect
confidence and trust in us all, and
especially me; the cat by the iiresidC
could lot be more gentle or more easy
to control. If only people would learn
that horse can by kind treatment and
constant association, be made as tame
and aitCctiOnate us household pct
there would be fewer broken bone,
from back jumpers and runaways.
She was Il world too good for harness
| thought to myself, as | led her out o.
tho stable and proceeded to put her tC
the old-fashiOncd, square dog-cart
which turned up behind, and LOOKED
like u mail cart barring the color
which was II dingy gray. Tho littl,
mare was my hunter when tho hounds
were within reach andmy father woulC
let me 90; and she carried me rs gamcly
even after twenty miles of harness The
day before, us if she was one of tn,
squirc'S cracks and went out only one,
q week.
As we trotted quietly down the drive
my father put his head over the hedg,
and called to me:
"Maybe the saddle won't bo fin
ishcd," he said, his red face CLOWN,
with the cold, his scycsg glancing critical
ly at tho mare. "if so, you can put "
at the Angel and have your tea; bu
don't be later than you can help. HAY
you got your watch on youP"
"Yes," l said, wondering at tn
question.
You'd better give it to me-" sal
my father, stretching his arm over th
hedge. II heard yesterday, at the OIL
dinary, there was u gentleman stoppe
on Monday night on the road. Yo
haven't too much money on you,
suppose"
'No danger" said |, with a laugh
as put my watch and chain into m
fathers big, brown hand. "The
won't get much out of me if they tr
it.n
And of ho went, turned into tn
high road, and sped at quick trC
through tho gathering twilight in tn
, direction of Worthington.
, 1t was dark when we reached til
, outskirts of tho little town, and tn
lights, not very brilliant if tried b
modern standards, sparkled cheerful
: enough in the windows. Past tn
t blacksmlth's forge with the great be
: lows roaring and tho sparks flying wit
, the glowing cinders; past the butchers
with goodly display Of some of on
best beef; past the grocer's, where th
half-dozen children, who were flatter
ing their noses against the pane'
'"Tned to look at us; and so, clatterin
) over the uneven cobbles of tho pave
: ment, to the saddler's shop. The pr
: prietor himself, staid and portly pei
son, conscious of the Importance whic
attaches to his position in q countr
Q town, came out and nodded a greeting
!. "a cold night, Mr.. Tom,', says HI
a with shiver, as the wind took h
apron. "I'm not quite ready for yol
Your father didn't come in yesterda,
. so l thought you wouldn't want IL
o saddle till next week."
b ~ want it for Saturday." said
o leaning sidewise out of tho trap. "Tt
@ hounds are at the coppice, and the Il
tie mare and are going. Can you 3
y it for me II put upp'
The saddler thought for q momen