The Sunday tatler and Jersey City express. (Jersey City, N.J.) 1883-1886, 1885-04-05
ON A GATE POST.


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, yet do not teel that / violate
his confidence by giving, as nearly as [ can
remember, the contents of the paper which
he treasures with such affection.
The prospect was not cheerful. was
riding horse across country whose lone
illness was as deep as sigh which bespeaks
the long absence of some one. Night was
coming on and a 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 con-
tinue winter or begin spring. My horse
almost shook me off when he stopped and
shivered The owl screamed in my face
again Dead leaves for moment would
whirl before me and then f Ill, scattered
and torn as though they had, by an angry
hand, been torn from their long, damp
rest, only to be Knocked. ''What a dreary.
dreary place it Is p unused. 81 feel as
though something terrible is going to hap
pen. The air, just before the great agita
ton which must come, seems quivering in
its desire to bear the sound of murder! AS
shall receive shelter I"
Urging my horse forward, l soon reached
q small house near the summit of a desolate
peak, overlooking the Arkansaw river. I
dismounted near the door-there was no
fence around thu house. My horse looked
appealingly at me, and without asking per-
mission from anyone within, led the ami
NAL to a stable close at hand, took off sad
die and bride. AS l was returning, the
storm burst upon the river. When 1 APP
preached the door | heard a wall ] knock
ed and heard the wall coming slowly to-
ward me. The door was opened by girl
scarcely more than twelve years old. Her
face was the picture of despair. She said
nothing, but pointed to bed upon which
lay an old man. He 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"
Yes, her grandpa would die. His life.
life had already passed away. The hand
lying 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 1 saw was
intelligent, with an impressive face, said
that her name was Munette Loggem on,
and that since her earliest recollection she
had lived with the old man, who had spent
most of his time, since she had begun to
talk, in teaching her.
81 have no relatives, she said, in answer
to question.
''Any friends ?"
ssNo friends
"You have nelghbors?"
s'Nons. The nearest house is nearly
eight miles away"
knew not what to do. Surely the sit
nation was serious. Early the next morn
ing we buried the old man in the yard AS
best / could made coffin of trough
which I found in the stable. After the
burial I went on and found enough corn
for my horse. l left Munette at the grave,
on which she had, sobbing bitterly, thrown
herself
"Where are you going, little girl?" I ask
ed, when | returned, still finding her on
the grave.
Chow can go anywhere?" she asked.
have no friends, told you"
"You can not remain here"
81 can not go away"
81 will not leave you here. You must go
with me. My mother has no little girl
She will receive you"
Still lying on the grave, and without look
ing up, she replied:
ST will work for my board"
"You will not have to work. When 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 leaving I.ere See, the sun is
shining beautifully. 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 look
of such tender appeal that even though she
had had relatives I would have thought it
my duty to take her home with me. She
went into the house and soon returned
with o small bundle.
81 haven't much to take" she said.
"Grandpa and were very poor, and you
see, having inherited his poverty, am
poorer than ever"
81 was not surprised to hear her make
such remark, for had discovered that
she had never associated with children, and
was consequently wise of her age.
"You shall have some nice dresses after
while, replied.
sPretty red ones ?"
The child was asserting itself.
eyes, 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 descended into
the thick woods she said:
81 won't cry any more if can help it. !"
s'Your grandfather must have been good
to your"
eyes, 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 / 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
itaway from me and burned it up. Unjust
have been bad, and he must have been
sorry that he wrote it. I"
The day passed rather pleasantly, with
the exception of the influence of the night
before, which naturally enough she could
not dispel and which could not keep from
arising occasionally. We sat on a log and
ate dinner, and Munette's remarks gave me
additional insight into her close habit of
observation. When evening came we stop
ped at farm house, where the sad story of
the little girl awoke such sympathy that
the kind hearted housewife begged me to
allow the child to remain with her.
SIT is a question that she must decide, I
rejoined. What do you say, Munette9"