Connecticut western news., 1884-03-05
VOL. XIII.

falling of powder, Lita, little more child of the camp. Later, when an ac- cidept shut out forever the light from her beautiful eyes, she seemed suddenly to have grown nearer and dearer to each one and to become the object of especial care; yet, in spite of their kindness, there were times when she grew sad and lonesome. She used then to fly for con- solation to her dear friend, the little organ, and draw from its bosom melo- dious response to her mood.
 In strong contrast with the gray and faded old woman who was her attendant, or the bronzed, weather-beaten men about her, was this child of seven years. Like Q rare, sweet blossom she was growing up in that wild place with a halo of beauty and purity about her young life that commanded almost adoration from the few rough, yet kind hearted people.
 Nature was kindly, too. The sun never kissed her soft little cheeks too roughly, and it's most scorching ray only added brighter tint to the long, fair hair which hung in waves below her waist, the pride and admiration of her friends.
 Yet it was hard, even for stranger, to look unmoved upon the great blue eyes, so pathetic in their blindness, and know that Lita Cohen could never see again.
 think Lita herself minded it most after Warren, the poet of the camp, bad been telling her of the rugged grandeur of the country about them, and de- scribed the singular beauty of the flowers which he brought her day after day, or when one of her big, burly friends laid in her hand the pictures of the children the children whom she had learned to love as brothers and sisters. She had known about them all long time, ever since she could remember, and they often sent her friendly messages and little presents which she used to sit holding in her hands, a strange wistful- ness in the big blue eyes, a great ache in the little tender heart, at thought that she must always feel but could never see
 The little girl cared great deal about all her friends; but lame Joe was her prime favorite, perhaps because he was lame. He had grown lamer than ever of late, and was failing very fast; yet nobody had told Lita of it; nobody could bear to break the news to her. She used to sit at his side by the hour, listening to him or repeating the childish stories which Warren had read to her. One day while she was sitting thus, pat ting his wrinkled cheeks with her soft hands, she stopped suddenly, with pug zled look in her face, as though a new thought had struck her.
 "The men say that the mines of this district don't pay well enough, and they will shortly break up and go into an- other country. What will you and do then, Uncle Joe?'
 A tear trickled down the old mans wan cheek. He, too, was thinking of a journey into another country, aud it wrenched his heart-strings to think of leaving Lita behind, but he wiped away the bright drops with the ragged sleeve of his coat, and choking down the sob in his throat made answer
 "You will go with them, Lita, my child"
 "And you, too, Uncle Joe. What would you do here without me ?" she asked, laughingly, as she clung tighter to his hand.
 "Not much, to be sure, little one not much." He stroked her long, silken hair tenderly, wishing that he might be able to tell her what no one else wanted to; but he had not the courage, and presently the little girl said
 ''It is getting chilly, Uncle Joe; let's go in."
 But the old man went away and did not see her again until evening. He bade her "good night" and slowly fol- lowed the retreating forms of the two gentlemen, Leyton and Spencer, won- dering why she looked so pale tonight and clung so tightly around his neck at parting.
 He felt a strange chill pass over him whenever he thought of the music, but, by-and-by, he fell asleep and forgot it all.
 The threatened storm came; such a tempest as had not swept the valley since its settlement, five years before. But the sun shone out brightly the next morning, and there was one, at least, who hailed its advent with sigh of re- lief; that one was Joe Minion. Crushed. bruised and sorely wounded, he dragged himself from a heap of debris and looked about him. No one was stirring. Near ly all the others had chosen safer places than he and were sleeping soundly, now that the wild strife which had taken place so lately between the elements had ceased.
 How was it with little Lita? With an effort poor Joe sat up and looked.
 Where had stood dwelling place last night was only a heap of ruins now.
 'Lita Lita p called the old man pit eously, but there came no answer.
 On his hands, with all his remaining strength mustered into the effort, he crept to the spot. No child was there. Slowly, every breath pain almost un- endurable, he drew himself to the top of a log to look. He saw her, and was not