The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-11-29
THE WEE CRY IN THE NIGHT.
Finding Lost Child in the Night, Taking 1t
Home and Finding 1t His Own Little One.
st Iouis Globe Democrat

Finding a Lost Child in the Night, Taking 1t
Home and Finding 1t His Own Little One.
St. Louis Globe Democrat.
My name is Anthony Hunt 1 am a drover,
and live nine miles away upon the Western prai-
RE. There wasn't house in sight when first
moved there, my wife and l, and now we have
not many neighbors though those We have are
good ones.
One day, about ten years ago 1 went away
from home to sell about ffty head of eattle-fne
creatures as l ever saw / was to buy some gro
ceries and dry goods before l came back, and,
above all, doll for our youngest, Dolly. She
had never had a store doll Of her own-only rag
babies her mother had made her.
Dolly could talk nothing else, and went down
to the very gate to call after me to get big one.
Nobody but parent can understand how full
my mind was of that toy, and how, when the
cattle were sold the first thing l hurried off to
buy was Dolly's doll. found large one with
eyes that would open and shut when you pulled
a wire, and had it wrapped up in a paper and
tucked it under my arm while had the parcels
of calico, and delaine and tea, and sugar put up.
Then, late as it was, l started for home. 1t
might have been more prudent to stay until
morning but felt anxious to get back and
eager to hear Dollys praises about her doll
l was mounted on a steady going old horse
and pretty well loaded. Night set in before
was mile from town, and settled down as dark
as pitch while l was in the middle of the darkest
bit ofFoad know of. | could have felt my
way, though, ! remembered it so we'll; and
when the storm that had been brewing broke
and pelted the rain in torrents, was five miles
or maybe six miles from home.
l rode as fast as could but all of sudden
heard little cry like chi4d's voice. l stopped
short and listened. I heard it again. l called
and it answered me. l couldn't see firing; all
around in theg~ SCALED again. and again was
answered Then [ began to wonder. I'm not
tinid, but was known to be drover and to
have money about nae. 1t might be trap to
ooRa,, IN I'd
am not supersGtious, not very, but how could a
real child be out on the prairle in such night,
at such an hour' It might be more than human.
The bit of coward that hides itself in most
men showed itself to me then, but once more
heard the cry, and said |:
eff any mans child is hereabouts Anthony
Hunt is not the man TO let it die
l searched again. At last | bethought me of
hollow under the hill and CROPPED that way.
Sure enough l found little dripping thing
that moaned and sobbed l took it in my
arms. l called my horse and the beast came to
me and l mounted and tucked the little soaked
thing under my coat as well as l could promis-
ing to take it home to mamma 1t seemed so
tired, and pretty soon cried itself to sleep on
my bosom.
1t had slept there over an hour when 1 saw
my own windows. There were lights in them,
and l supposed my wife had lit them for my
sake, but when got into the doorway | saw
something was the matter, and stood still with
dread fear of heart five minutes before could
lift the latch At last did it and saw the
room full of neighbors and my wife amid them
weeping. When she saw me she hid her face.
''Oh don't tell him." she cried. 1T will kill
him
what is it neighbours" cried.
Nothing now, l hope. What's that you have
in your arml'
"A poor lost child" said l. II found it on the
road. Take it, will you9 I've turned faint"
And lifted the sleeping thing and saw the face
of my own child my Dolly.
1t was my own darling and none other that L
had picked up on the drenched road. My little
child had wandered out to meet papa and the
doll while the mother was at work, and they
were lamenting her as one dead l thanked
Heaven on my knees before them.
1t is not much of q story, neighbors, but I
think of it often in the nights and wonder how L
could bear to live now if had not stopped when
heard the cry for help upon the road, hardly
louder than squirrels chirp
That's Dolly yonder with her mother in the
meadow; girl worth saving, think; but, then,
I'm her father and partial, maybe; the prettiesf
and sweetest thing this side Of the Mississippi.