Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1888-11-19
A CHILD'S CRY.
A Curious Story Told by q Prairie
DrOver.

From the San Francisco Call.
My name is Anthony Hunt. arm q drover
and live miles and miles away upon the west
ern prairie. There wasn't house in sight
when first moved there, my wife and I, 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-fne creatures as I ever
saw. ! was to buy some groceries and dry
goods before / came back, and, above all,
doll for my youngest-Dolly. She had never
had 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 parent can understand how
full my mind was Of that toy, and how, when
the cattle were sold. the first thing I hur-
ried off to buy was Dolly's doll found a large
one with eyes that would open and shut when
you pulled wire, and had it wrapped up in
paper, and tucked it under my arm, while
had the parcels OF calico and delaine and tea
and sugar put up. Then, late as it was,
started for home. 1t might have been more
prudent to stay until morning, but felt anx-
ious to get back, and eager to hear Dolly's
praises about her doll
was mounted on a steady-going old horse
and pretty well loaded Night set in before 1
was mile from town, and settled down as dark
as pitch while was in the middle of the dark
est bit OF road know of. I 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 miles
or may be miles from home
rode as fast as could. but all of sudden
heard little cry like child's voice. Istopped
short and istened-I heard it again. l called
and 1t answered me. / couldn't see a thing.
All was as dark as pitch. l got down and felt
around in the grass-called again. and again
was answered. Then began to wonder. I'm
not tlmid, but was known to be drover and
to have money about me. 1t might he a trap
to catch me unawares and rob and murder me-
am not superintendent very; but how
could real child be out on the prairie in such
night, at such an hour? 1t might be more
than human. The bit of coward that hides
itself In most men showed itself to me then:
but once more heard the cry, and said /:
II any mans child is hereabouts, Anthony
Hunt Is not the man to let it die"
l searched again. At last bethought me of
a hollow under the hill and CROPPED that way
Sure enough l found little dripping thing.
that mOaned and sobbed as took it in my arms
L called my horse and the beast came to me-
and l mounted and tucked the little soaked
thlng under my coat as we'll as could promis-
ing TO take 1t 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 saw my own windows. There were
lights in Them and l supposed my wife had lit
them for my sake; but when got into the door
still with dread fear of heart five minutes be-
fore l could lift the latch At last / did it, and
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?' cried
Nothing now, hope-what's that you have
in your arma?'
a poor lost child" said I; II found it on the
road. Take it, will you? I've turned faint"
And 1 lifted the sleeping thing and saw the
face OF my own child my Dolly.
1t was my own darling. and none other. that
| had picked up on the drenched road. My lit
tie child had wandered out to meet papa and
the doll, while the mother was at work, and
they were lamenting her as one dead 1
thanked heaven on my knees before them. 1t
Is not much of a story. neighbors. but L think
OF 1t often in the nights. and wonder how
could bear to live now if l had not stopped
when heard the cry for help upon the road
hardly louder than squirrels chirp. That's
Dolly. yonder with her mother in the meadow.
girl worth saving-I think (but then I'm her
father, and partial, maybe) the prettiest and
sweetest thing this side of the Mississippi