Idaho news. (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1887-1891, 1888-12-15

I ETr lNgtr laaG. Itr-d uad WGrh ny
nights in the uncomfortable seats
her brave spirit began to fail little
As the wide, level plains, lonely and
drear, dawned ON her sight she sighed
often.
"It's dre'ful big wurld, she said
to u gray-bearded old farmer near
her; so big | feel e'enmost lost in it,
but, " hopefully, across them deserts
like this long ago Providence sent q
star to guide them wise men of the
East, an | hain't lost my faith.
But as the day wore on, and still
the long, monotonous land showed
no human habitation, no oasis oil
green, her eyes dimmed, something
| like a sob rose under the black kerr
| chief on the bowed shoulders, and the
| spectacles were taken off with trem-
bling hand and put away in the tin
case.
| 'sBe We goin' fur, mother?s said the
old farmer. He had brought her a
cup of coffee at the last station, and
had pointed out on the way things he
thought might interest her.
"To Denver"
| "Wal, wal; an you're from New
England, III be bound?"
From Maine" she answered.; and
then she grew communicative, for
| she was always a chatty old lady,
and she had possessed her soul in ST.
lence so long. She told him all the
relations she had were two grand
nepheWs and their families. That
| twenty years ago Sam tor she had
brought them both up when their
! parents died of consumption, chat
| takes SO many of our iolks1 Sam
went out West, ne was always adj
yenturons, and for ten years she did
not hear from him; but John vas
different and steady, and when he
came of age she had given him her
| farm, with the provision she should
always have home, otherwise he
would have gone away too. Well,
for five years they were happy, then
John married, and his wife had grown
to think her a burden as the years
went on, and the children when they
grew big did not care for her, and
she felt she had lived too long.
Il growed so lonesome. she said
pathetically, 1T seems l couldn't
take up heart to live day by day. an
Wit | Enowed our folks was longlived.
Ten Years back, when Sam wrote he
was doin' fair an sent me money.
begun to think of him; fur he was
allus generous an kind, an the CRATE
fullest boy, an so begun TO save to
go to him for knowed | could work
my board fur a good meny wears to
come. Fur three year he amt hardly
wrote. but | laid that to the wild
kentry he lived in. | said bars an
iniuns don't skeer me none fur when
was a gal up in Aroostuk keutry
there was plenty oi both, an as fur
bUfTalers them horned cattle don't
skeer me none, fur I've been used to
farm allus. But the lonesomeuess
OF these medders has scrter upset me
an made me think Sam was further
of than | ever calculated on.
But what win YOU do il Sam amt
in Denyer?p asked the farmer.
Il hev put my faith in Proyi-
dence," she answered simply, ard
the stranger could not mar that
trust hy any warming. He gave her
his address as lie got of mt the Ne
braslEa line, and told her to send
him word il she needed help. With Il
warm Handicapped he parted from
her to join the phantoms iii her mem
DRY of folks tibet had bin kind to
her, God bless EN-, and then the
train went rumblin9 on. But MANY
OF the passengers had listend to hen
story and were interested and they
ca me to sit with her and cheer her
way. One pale lad in the seat in
front turned to look at her now and
then and to answer her smile. He
was going to the new country for
health and wealth, poor lad, only
to find eternal rest in the sunny
land, but his last days were bright |
ened by thereward for an act of kind |
ness.
'1She probably brought those boys |
up" he thought "and denied her life |
for them. Is she to die unrewarded, |
| wonder. There can not be any
good in the world if that be so.' He
thought of her and took out his |
poor purse; there was little money in
it, too, every cent made n big hole |
in his store; but the consciousness of |
a good deed was worth something. |
Il mayn't have the chance to do |
many more" thought the lad, but
toning his worn overcoat. He slip
ped off at station and sent tele-
gram to Denver.
'"To Samual Blair"-for he had |
caught the name from her talk
"Your Aunt Hannah from Maine is
on the w. & w. train coming to
you"
1t was only straw, but kindly
wind might blow it to the right one
after all.
When he was sitting there after his
message had gone on it's way, she
leaned over and handed him a pep
permint drop.
"You don't look strong, dearie,"
she said; "hain't yeno folks with yer"
''None on earth"
We're both lone ones, shesmiled;