St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1884-06-12

lSh ngure, with a face all flushed with
haste, and blue eyes that were dark
and wide with fear. 1t was Ben Bal
lard. The. captains revelation con
cerning Judge Stanhope and his family
had given shape to the vague, wild
idea that had all the time been float
ing in the boys brain. Pretty, gentle
Lydia StanhOpe was his teacher in the
Sabbath school. She had always been
tenderly kind to the worse than or
phaned boy. Ben loved her for it,
and he would die to save her.
That was what lie said to himself as
he sped, painting, up to the house he
called home, and back again to the
scene of disaster, with pair of wretch
edly old skates in one hand, and the
deacon's lantern, which he had actually
snatched from the grasp of its aston
lshed owner, in the other. Captain
! Winter was the first to espy him, and
he FASTENED straightway down the low,
steep bank. Ben had the dilapidated
skates already on his feet, tied as Sc
curely as might be with bits of rope
yarn, and he rose as the captain came,
hait-sliding, down 70 here he stood.
Captain Winter laid hand on his
shoulder. "Ben-is it the deacon's
boy ?" he asked huskily. "Child-you
can't cross the rive" !"
80, let me try ~ cried Ben. His
nerves were strung to the highest pitch,
his heart seemed all on fire. 81 can
skate, and I'm little and awful light ;
and If | don't get over, sis-its no
! loss"
But, my boy"
/ nNl- Il. Il
| derous rumble With quick cry of
dismay, Ben slipped away from the
haud that detained him. A Mortified
groan sounded from the bank above,
where Deacon Wilson had at that mo-
ment arrived, red with the unwonted
exercise and wrathful ut the loss of his
lantern. His veXation vanished sud-
denly, however. He reverently barred
his head and fell upon his kuees. "Let
us pray" he uttered chOkingly.
And there are those who declare that
never before nor after, in church or
private assembly, was Deacon Wilson
heard to pray as he prayed that night.
| In truth, it was an extremely peril
Gus, though short, journey, that Ben
had undertaken. 1t was only his light
weight and swift movements that gave
him safety. The ice bent fearfully
beneath his quiet, steady strokes, and
once or twice he cut through to the
water. a puff OF wind caught his hat
from his head, but he dared not stop
to recover it and even in his excite
ment he wondered with a little feeling
of dread what Deacon Wilson would
say to the loss. Nearly over, one of
his skates lOOsened suddenly, and he
stumbled and the thin ice broke be-
meath him. But the water was scarce
! ly waIst-deep there and his footing
sure; and so he struggled bravely out
and gained the bank, holding his Ian
tern above his head all the while. A
wild, hoarSe shout reached his ears
from the shore he had left. He pulled
his worn boots from his feet-it was
the quickest and easiest method of tax
ing off his skates and then he sped
away up the track. The night was
bitterly chill, and his clothes were
| freezing around him, but he did not
feel the cold. On, on he went, flying
from sleeper to sleeper like a small,
terrified Mercury, hearing each instant
the rumble of coming train grow
more aud more distinct. On, till the
|
into the shadow of the forest. The
train was coming Away, far
away to the south, appeared IA tiny,
fiery eye. Larger grew, and larger /;
and still Ben ran on, painting now with
II adreadful weariness, his throat parched
and burning, his eyes almost starting
from their sockets, swinging his lantern
us he ran.
On came the train to meet him, thun-
dering over its iron road. 1t was late,
as it often was, and there would he no
slackening of speed ut the bridge. In
au instant of time the great headlight
of the locomotive was glowering upon
the boy. With terrified shrek, with
Il last despairing effort, he sprang aside,
and as he did so lie flung his lantern
with all the force he could muster
straight at the window of the cab.
And then he flung himself, with Il
shivering, disheartened cry, face down
ward upon the ground.
The train stopped, not more than a
hundred yards from destruction, amid
echOing cheer on cheer from the further
shore, where Captain Winter was sob
bing aloud and wiingiug the deacOn's
hand in an excess of joy; and then il
ran slowly back. Many of the passen-
gers crowded out to discover the cause
of the stoppage, and those who re-
manned were asking eager, excited
questions, and getting no replies. Pret
ty Ida Stanhope sat with her mother
in the warm, lighted car; and imme-
diately behind them was man, wei
dressed, whose dark hair was sprinkled
with silver, and kept his face resolute
ly turned to the wi1dO Y. He had uo
} left the car he asked no questions.
, Judge Stanhope entered, presently.
1--WE shall not probably get home to
night" he said, ard his voice shoOl
sadly in spite of his efforts to stead,
it. "The bridge is burned. Some
: brave fellow, God bless him, warned
: the train /; but how"
There was hustle about the crowd
| ed door at that minute, and an authori
: tative voice interrupted the judge.
''Take him right in, boys. Make wa,
5 there We can't get drop of brand.
< down his throat, and he's almost frozeI
to death"
; Ida Stanhope sprang up with al
E eager cry, as the stout brakeman
9 pushed his way through the door wit
: his burden, a boy, bareheadcd, shoe
= less and white and chilled, but smilin
o brightly as he caught sight of til
k judges daughter.
l 'Why, mamma, mamma It's Dea
:, con Wilson's bound boy It's littl
t Ben Ballard -
There was sudden movement be
=" hind her, and low, sharp cry, whethe
IS of JOY or pain Ida could never quit
= determine, and then a quick footste
e up the car. ..... ...
a ats my boy! O, Ben, my littl
1t Ben ="
Thank God for Ben was in his f,
,e theirs arms again at last, and Ruff
Ballard's tears, glad tears. were rain