The west Tennessee star. (Bolivar, Tenn.) 1888-1888, 1888-07-06
MOVED IN.
Fred's Dron Adventure and His
Novel Rescue.

Fred"
Four members Of the Bicycle Tour
fists Club were relating their adj
ventures Of the past season, and the
last addressed, tall, handsome athlete,
laughed slightly as he knocked the
ashes from his cigar before replying.
"a droller adventure than mine,
boys, never happened. There's the
pathetic, the ludicrous, the tragic, the
sentimental, all combined in this story
Of mine. and it's true, every word of it.
II happened, let me see, just six weeks
ago to-day.
Il went with Clark and Anderson,
you know, up to Bethlehem, from there
to the White Mountains, then to Lam
caster.
Now just before starting mother
said to me, coaxingly:
&" If you so rs far as Lancaster, don't
forget that Janet Harding, the only
cousin have in the world, lives in the
next town
q" AN right, I replied. Janet Hard
ing lives in the next town to Lane as
ter. I'll remember
Janet Harding unmarried would
have been bad enough, but with hus-
band, two giddy girls and an over
grown boy Of seventeen, could stand
it? Mother thought could, and moth
er rules our house.
when we started on our bicycle
trip to Dixville Notch planned to see
the Hardings, bowl leisurely up to the
door, introduce himself to Mrs. H.,
joke with the girls and then proceed;
but man proposes, etc.
GAS luck would have It my bicycle
broke down, and | had to leave it at
the Falls, little village five miles from
Lancaster, for repairs. Clark and An
derson went on without me to North
Stratford, where l was to meet them by
train, and I proceeded on foot to the
Harding farm, some two miles from the
Falls.
1.-The farm, a smooth interval dotted
with fields of ripening grain, and the
large vcrandahed house and great
roomy barns clustering about it, but
not too near, all bespoke plenty, com
fort and hospitality.
Hospitality, did l sayp Well, l
shan't take it back although l found
the door locked and not living thing
in sight except an old white hen. Mark
the exception, for that hen plays an
important part in my adventure.
81 noticed her, and in particular
marked the proud, complacent step,
the cOnceited .car-car' she uttered, as
she looked at me knowingly from the
corner OF her eye. Little did l think
but no matter. You will see by and
by the golden thread that binds all the
points together.
well, here we were, the white hen
and /, but Janet Harding was not, nor
the girls, nor the boy, nor Mr.. Hard
ing.
Il decided to go TO the barn and lie
down on the hay, the new-mOwn hay,
and await their coming.
For me TO think is to act. A few
minutes later had climbed to the NOW
and ensconced myself under brace in
the corner where the afternoon sun
glinted through long crack, making
slanting dustbeams across my breast.
Il made n few verses as l lay on the
fragrant hay, but 1 didn't poetize long.
l Tell asleep, and l dreamed, and my
dreams grew thicker and blacl1er and
heavier, until at last l dreamed that
Janet Harding and her whole family
were seated on my stomach, and oh,
the pressurel | grOaned and walked
myself up, but l wasn't much better off
then, for Egyptian darkness reigned
about me, except for the crack where
the light still sifted through.
Where was [? What was the mat
ter? l couldn't think, the horrible pres
sure was so maddening. All about,
around, above, was packed piles of
oats, not shelled oats, you know, but
oats before they are threshed, ON the
stock, or whatever you call it. While |
was asleep | had been moved in, and
that's all there was to it, except that
couldn't move hand or foot. Two or
three loads must have been thrown on
top of me, trod down, and clinched, so
to speak.
We'll I tumbled around bit and
got my hands free and poSed the grain
away from my face little. was in a
corner, as I told you, under n brace,
and this gave me a chance for my life,
that and the crack, which gave me a
breath of air in the hot sitting place.
was just as effectually immured as were
the monks in olden times when they
were walled up in their living tOmbs,
for no amount of strength served to lift
the burden a particle.
by and by something fluttered at
my feet and rose up and cackled.
sit was the white hen.
Il knew her and she knew me, but
bless you, she didn't want any thing OF
me nor my company. / could see that.
But she couldn't get out? Oh! but
couldn't she? She cooked her head inn
pudently to one side, stepped daintily
70 a tiny aperture about half as big as
her head, and saw at a glance that she
meant business. The less sense the
more instinct; l saw that the creature
would get out somewhere.
why not use her for carrier pigeon
and thus establish communication with
the outside world? I shouldn't care to
die here and be pitched out 10 the cattle
by forzfuls, or put through threshing
machine, although I might deserve
such treatment, and couldn't get out
myself
Il tore n leaf from my notebook and
wrote something like this.
Come 70 my rescue. 1 am buried fathoms
aeep ia oats, northwest corner OF the barn Just
opposite the house. My blue necktie is thrust
through the crack. Perhaps ven can see u. ]
FasP sOEHsOLL