The Northern Pacific farmer., 1885-04-16
ON A GATE POST,
CHAPTER I,

c
thinks is a valuable manuscript. He
thinks so, doubtless because it records
part of his life. One night recently,
while was at his house, he brought
out the manuscript and read it to me.
Although did not ask permission,
vet do not feel that violate his con-
fidence by giving, as nearly as can
remember, the contents of the paper
which he treasures with such affection:
The prospect was not cheerful. I
was riding horse across country
whose loneliness was as deep as a
sigh which bespeaks the long absence
OF some one. Night was coming on
and storm was gathering It's forces.
A frightened owl fitted past me.
screaming in my face. The time of
year was when nature hesitates
whether to continue winter or begin
spring. My horse almost shook me
of when he stopped and shivered.
The owl screamed in my face again.
Dead leaves, for moment would
whirl before me, and then fall, scatter
cd and torn as though they had, by an
angry hand, been swept from their
long, damp rest, only to be Knocked.
"What dreary, dreary place it is!' |
mused. II feel as though something
terrible is gong to happen. The air.
just before the great agitation which
must come, seems quivering in it's de-
sire to bear the sound of murder, mur-
der! AS live, yonder is light. Is
it possible that l shall receive shell
ter?''
Urging my horse forward, l soon
reached small house, near the sum-
NIT of desolate peak, overlooking
the Arkansaw river. 1 dismounted
near the doOr-there was no fence
around the house. My horse looked
appealingly at me and without asking
permission from any one within, led
the animal to stable close at hand
and took off saddle and bride. As
was returning, the storm burst upon
the river. When I approached the
door, heard a wall. 1 knocked and
L heard the wall coming slowly toward
me. The door was opened by girl
scarcely moro than twelve years old.
Her face was the picture of despair.
She said nothing, but pointed to bed.
upon which lay an old man, gaspin o
for breath! Approaching him, | saw
that he had but few moments to live,
The girl knelt beside the old man.
tie tried to put his hand upon her head.
Failing he looked at me and assisted
him. He tried to speak, but could
not. The girl sobbed frantically.
The rain poured down and the storm
shook the house.
HE will never get well!'' she cried.
"My grandpa will die.''
Eyes, her grandpa would die. His
life had passed away. The hand lv1ne
on her head was growing cold. She
looked at him and shrieked.
What night we spent in that house.
The storm howled and the rain fell
until nearly daylight. The girl, who
L saw was intelligent, with an i'm
Pressive face, said that her name was
Munette Loggemon, and that since
her earliest recollection she had lived
with the old man who had spent the
most OF his time, since she had begun
to talk, in teaching her.
IL have no relatlves,' she said in
answer to question.
"Any friends?'
''No friends.''
"You have neighborsp"
"None. The nearest house is nearly
eight miles away
l knew not what to do. Surely
the situation was serious. Earlv at
morning, we buried the old man in
the yard. As best 1 could, I made a
coffin OF trough which found in the
stable. After the burial, I went out
and found enough corn for my horse.
l left Munette at the grave, on which
she had, sobbing bitterly, thrown her.
self.
"Where are you going, little girl?'
! asked when returned, still finding
her on the grave.
"How can 1 go anywbere?" she
asked. II have no friends, I told
you.'
You cannot remain here"
Il cannot go away"
II will not leave YOU here. You
must 60 with me. My mother has no
little girl. She will receive you"
Still lying on the grave, and wit lout
looking up, she replied:
II will 60 and work for my board. ="
"You will not have to work. When
l tell my mother of the circumstances
under which [ found you, she will
take you in her arms. Come, get your
clothes. 1t is time we were eayling
here. See, the sun is shining beauti-
fully. 1t is new day for YOU"
Without replying, she arose and
turned toward me. Her face, even
aside from her grief, was so sad, and
her eyes wore a look of such tender
appeal that even though she had had
relatives l would have thought it my
duty to take her home with me. She
went into the house and soon returned
with small bundle.
II haven't much to take" she said.
''Grandpa and were very poor, and
you see, having inherited his poverty,
l am poorer than ever"
was not surprised to hear her make
such a remark, for I had discovered
that she had hever associated with
children, and was consequently wise
of her age.
"You shall have some nice dresses
after awhile" Ireplied.
''Prettv red ones?'
ne cnll1 was asserting ltSel
"Yes, and blue ones.
She wept anew as we mounted the
horse-she seated behind me. As long
as we were within sight of the house
she said nothing, but when we had de-
scended into tho thick woods, she
said:
II won't cry any more. if I can
help it,
''Your grandfather must have been
good to you?" :
"Yes, but he made me read many
books that were very dull-great law
books. don't like them. His eyes
for many years have been so bad that
I had to do all his reading for him.
He wrote book full of awful curious
things and murders, but one day when
he found me reading it, he took it
away from ME and burned it up. It
must have been bad and he must have
been sorry that be wrote it, What is