Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1888-12-27
A CHILD's CRY.
just One ofThose Little Stories Which
Go TO the Heart.
Isun Francisco CALL

Oubt Ouc OA Inosc LhttiC btoEhco w htCh
Go TO the Heart.
lsAn Francisco Call
My name Is Anthony Hunt. / am a
drover aud live miles and miles away
upon the western prairie. There wasn't
house in sight when i first moved
there, my wife and ], and now we have
not many neighbors, though those we
have are good ones. One day about
ten years ago went away from home
to sell my fifty head of cattle-fine
creatures as ever saw. / was to buy
some groceries and dry goods before /
came back, and, above all, a doll for
my youngest-Dolly. She had never
had q store doll of her own-only rag
babies her mother had made her.
Dolly could talk nothing else, and
went down to the very gate to call after
me to get big one. Nobody but par
ent can understand how full my mind
was of that toy, and how when the cat
tie were sold the first thing l hurried
off to buy was Dolly's doll. 1 found q
large one with eyes that would open
and shut when you pulled wire, and
had 1t wrapped up In paper and tucked
IL under my arm while had the par
cells of calico and delaine and tea and
sugar put up. Then, late as IL was, /
started for home. It might have been
more prudent to stay until morning,
but / felt anxious to get back and eager
to hear Dolly's praises about her doll.
was mounted on O steady going old
horse and pretty we'll loaded. Night
set In before was mile from town
and settled down as dark as pitch while
was in the middle of the darkest bit
of road know of. 1 could have felt
my way, though, l remembered it SO
well; and when the storm that had been
brewing, broke, and pelted the rain in
torrents, was five miles or may be six
miles from home.
I rode as fast as could, but all of a
sudden I heard little cry like child's
voice. stopped short and listened-I
heard it again. l called and it answered
me. I couldn't see thing. All was as
dark as pitch. I got down and felt
around in the grass-called again, and
again was answered. Then l began to
wonder. Pm not timid, but I was
known to be a drover and to have mon
ey about me. 1t might be a trap to
catch me unawares and rob and murder
me. am not superstitious-not very;
but how could a real child be out on the
prairie in such a night, atsuch an hour?
It might be more than human. The
bit of coward that hides itself in most
men showed itself in me then: but once
more heard the cry, and said:
"Ifany mans child is hereabouts An
thony Hunt is not the man to let it
die"
l searched again. At last bethought
me of the hollow under the hill and
groped that way. Sure enough found
the dripping little thing, that moaned
and sobbed as 1 took it in my arms. /
called my horse and the beast came to
me and mounted and tucked the little
soaked thing under my coat as we'll as
could, promising to take it home to
mamma. 1t seemed so tired and pretty
soon cried itself to sleep on my bosom.
1t had slept there over an hour when I
saw my own windows. There were
lights in them, and supposed my wife
had lit them for my sake; but when I
got into the doorway saw something
was the matter, and stood still with a
dread fear of heart five minutes before /
could lift the latch. At last did itand
saw the room full of neighbors, and my
wife amid them weeping.
When she saw me she hid her face. \
"Oh, don't tell him." she said, lit will
kill him."
"What is it, neighbors?" l cried.
Nothing now, hope-what's that
you have in your arms?'
IA lost child" said l. II found it on
the road. Take it, will you? Nv turned
faint" And I lifted the sleeping thing
and saw the face of my own child, my
Dolly.
1t was my own darling and none
other that l had picked up on the
drenched road. My little child had
wandered out to meet papa and the doll
while the mother was at work, and they
were lamenting her as one dead. I
thanked heaven on my knees before
them. 1t is not much of story, neigh
bors, but I think of it often in the
nights and wonder how I could bear to
live now if had not stopped when !
heard the cry for help upon the road
hardly louder than squirrels chirrup.
That's Dolly yonder with her mother
in the meadow, girl worth saving,
think (but then Pm her father and par
tial, may be) the prettiest and sweetest
thing this side of the Mississippi.