The Abbeville messenger. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1884-1887, 1886-04-20
JIM CHURCHILL.

Was ocaClHS cHcerlcSSiy aSalnSG Inc car
windows, and the damp, raw wind was
as fresh as the brown hills and ice COW
cred marshes it blew over. It was an ac-
commodation train on one of the trunk
lines in the central part of this State and
therefore q better condition of affairs
could not have been expected. No mat
ter how cold the weather or wet, it is al
ways hot and dusty on an accommoda-
ton train. The colder and wctter it is
outside, the hotter and dustier inside,
and the more unpleasant it is the slower
the train bumps over the rails, the more
frequent the stops it makes, the larger
the crowd of on-coming passengers, and
the greater the throng of goers-out. At
Palatine Bridge the train came to another
stop. On the uncovered platform of the
railway station there were gathered a few
shivering would be-passcngcrs, eager to
barter one condition of discomfort for
another almost equally as disagrccablc
and impatient at the delay, for whoever
knew an accommodation train to be on
time2 Among them were a man dressed
like a farmer and two little girls-the cl-
der less than six years old and the young
er her junior a year or so-with fresh,
smiling, dimpled faces and sweet, pratt
Ting voices, which ever the rumbling of
the train, the sticky dust, the FLASHING
rain, the smoke, the heat'and the crowd
ed load of ill-tempered passengers could
not cloud or silence. They came into
the car where I sat. The farmer and the
younger child found a vacant seat in
front of me. moved nearer the aisle to
let the other climb over the parcels by
my side next to the window, out of
which she gazed into the rain and
through the binding clouds of smoke
which covered the soggy fields with an
intensity OF delight hat was so unaffcct-
ed that the train ought to nave felt fiat
tered, had it had sense enough to feel
anything.
dess love to ride on the cars, don't
you2" she asked after the train had re-
sumed its tiresomc journey.
Sometimes, F" I replied.
81 do all the time. My papa is an en-
gineer."
''Then you ride a good deal?" 1 ven
tured.
mot very much" she answered with
a little sigh of discomfort; ''not as much
as want to. Since Mamma went away,
Papa won't let me and Grandma always
cries when l go on the cars"
"Ah?"
"Didn't you know that2 You know
my Papa?" she remarked with such con-
fdence in my knowledge that 1 was al
most ashamed to say that I didn't:
"Don't bother the gentleman" inter
rupted the farmer as he turned half
around in his scat and faced me. ''Shc
is a big talkcr.
"She doesn't bother me in the least,"I
made haste to say. So, treasured, the
little maiden turned her face to the win
dow, and in a moment was too much alb
sorbed in the feeting panorama to re-
member anything but the passing pleas
ure.
"Her father was an engineer,o on this
oad-Jim Churchill. Ever heard of
him." continued the farmer after a short
pause. "No. Well, I amt surprised.
Yet he deserved to be known more'n lots
of men that gets their names before the
public. Jim and I was schoolboys to-
gether up country near Palmyra. We
was both raised in the same township.
and we used to think when we was men
we'd be partners, and SO we was-almost.
Jim was bigger'n me, stronger and n year
or so older. / was always q runt among
the boys, and if it hadn't been for jim
q I'd probably been licked every day in my
life. But Jim wouldn' stand nothing of
that sort. He was as brave as a giant
and he never allowed anyone to be inn
posed upon while he could prevent it,
and when the boys learned that he meant
what he said thoy let INC alone. So we
grew up together like two brothers. He
loved me because / was weaker then nc
was, just as a father loves a baby, and /
just worahipped him. I'd ~ died for
him, stranger, ja.t IS ~easy--if he'd only
seid the word. Yguo tSt to have know
ed Jim thu hill. One Jim Churchill
would MAJ tor half q mt.iion such
fellows IS .me and the orcissry Of
folks.