The Washington critic., 1889-01-30
LITTLE DOLLY WAS LOST.


A staff correspondent Of the San Fran
cisco OdU relates this romantic and
pathetic story about himself, his little
girl and her doll: MY name is Anthony
Hunt. | am drover, and live miles
and miles away upon the Western prairie
There wasn't a house in sight when
first m owed there, my wife and l, 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, doll for my
oungcst-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 hur-
ried off to buy was Dolly's doll. / found
large one, with eyes that would open
and shut when you pulled wire, and
had it wrapped up in paper and tucked
IL 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. II 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 a steady going old
horse and pretty well loaded Night set
In before was mile from town, and
settled down as dark as pitch while was
in the darkest bit of road / know of. l
could have felt my way, though, re-
membered it so well, and when the
storm that had been brewing broke and
,pelted the rain in torrents, was five
miles or maybe six miles from home.
i rode as fast as | could, but all of
sud den heard little cry like a child's
voice. / stopped short and listened-I
heard it again. / called, and it answered
dark as pitch. Igot down and felt around
In the grass--called again, and again was
answered. Then l began to wonder.
I'm not timid, but was known to be a
drover and to have money about me. 1t
might be trap to catch me unawares,
and rob and murder me. am not super
stitious--not very-but how could a real
child be out on the prairie in such a
night, at such an hour? 1t might be
more than human. The bit of a coward
that hides itself in most men showed it.
self to me then, but once more heard
the cry, and said l:
"If any mans child is hereabouts,
Anthony Hunt is not the man to let it
de-"
searched again. At last 1 bethought
me of the hollow under the hill and
CROPPED that way. Sure enough, | found
the little dripping thing that moaned and
sobbed as / took it in my arms.
called my horse and the beast came to
me, and i mounted and tucked the little
soaked thing under my coat as well as
could, promising to take it home to
mamma II 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 ! supposed my wife
had lit them for my sake, but when /
had got into the doorway saw some
thing was the matter, and stood still with
dread fear of heart five minutes before
could lift the latch. At last did it.,
and saw the room full Of neighbors, and
my wife amid them weeping.
wien bno SAW ule sne nlu uer lace.
"oh. don't tell him." she said. 1T
will kill him."
"What is 1t, neighbors ?" cried.
Nothing now, hope--what's that
you have in your arms ?"
"a poor lost child" said 1; 81 found
it on the road. Take 1t, will you? I've
turned faint" And lifted the sleeping
thing and saw the face Of my own child,
my Dolly.
It was my own darling. and none
other. that I had picked up on the
drenching 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. /
thanked heaven ON my Bonded knees
before them. 1t Is not much of q story,
neighbors. but / think of 1t often in the
nights, and wonder how could bear to
live now If had not stopped when /
heard that cry for help upon the road,
hardly louder than squirrels chirrup.
That's Dolly, yonder with her mother in
the meadow. girl worth saving-I
think (but then I'm her father, and par.
tial, maybe) the prettiest and sweetest
| thing this side Of the Mississippi,