The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1889-01-19
THERUNAWAY,

1 ~>S "Se@N SeaSAH SAV W oI
crazy. She stopped at the stone wal
to rest, and looked back timorously
Far behind her stretched the meadow,
a symphony of olive and green in the
late fall. Here and there by a sunken
boulder stood soldierly golden-rod
or berry bushes clothed low in scar
let and gold. At intervals in the long
slope stood solitary trees, where flut-
tering, brittle leaves fell in the gen.
tie chill air, In summer time she re.
membered well the hay makers rested
in the shade, and the jug with ginger
water she made for the men was kept
there to be cool. She seemed, as she
sat there to remember every thing
The house was all right, che was sure
of that; thekey was under the kitchen
door mat, the fire was out in the
stove, and the cat locked in the barn.
She held her work-hardened hand
to her side, painting a little, for it was
good bit of a walk across the
meadow, and she was eighty years
old ON her last irthday. The cows
feeding looked home-like and pleas
ant.
"Good-by, critters" hesafd aloud;
"meny's the time I've drv' ye home
an MIXED We, an l allus We eat by
the way, nor never hurried We as the
boys DONE"
With farewell glance she went ON
again, smoothing as she walked the
scattered looks of the gray hair fall
ing under the pumpkin hood, and
keeping her scant black gown out of
the reach of briars. Across another
field, then on through kafy lane
where the woed was hauled in winter,
then out through a gap in a stump
fence, with it's great branching arms
like d petrified octopus, to the dusty
high road. Not soul in sight in the
coming twilight, John, the children
and the seoldfng wife who made her
SO unhappy would not be home for
an hour yet, for East Mills was q
long drive.
GDown the steep hill went the brave
little figure, followed by an odd shad-
ow of itself in the waning light, and
by tiny stones that rolled SO swiftly
they passed her often and made her
look behind with start to see if a
pursuer were coming.
They'd put me in the asylum,
sure" she muttered wildly.
At the foot of the hill she sat down
upon on an old log and waited.
Across the road, guarded by a big
sign, "Look out for the Engine" ran
two parallel iron rails, that were to
be her road when the big monster
should come painting around the
curve. Atlast the dull rumble sound
ed, a shrill whistle, md she hurried
to the track, waving her shawl to
signal. This, in the conductors YER
nacular, was "a crossroads station"
where he was used to watch for peo-
pie waving articles frantically. The
train stopped, and this passenger
was helped aboad. He noticed she
was q bright-eyed old lady, very
neat and precise.
"How fur?" he asked.
"Bostin."
"Git there in the mornin" he said
kindly, waiting for the money, as she
opened queer little reticule, where,
under her knitting, trapped in q
clean cotton handkerchief, was her
purse with her savings of long years
the little sums Sam had sent her
when he first began to prosper in the
west, and some money she had earn
ed herself by Knitting and berry
picking,
At a crossroads, as they went
swiftly on, she saw the old sorrel
horse, the rafting wagon, and John
with his family driving homeward.
She drew back with little cry, fear
ing he might see her and stop the
train, but they went on so fast that
could not be, and the old horse logged
into the woods, and John never
thought his old Aunt Hannah, his
charge for twenty long years was
running away. At Boston kindly
conductor bought her ticket for
Denver.
cts long journeyfor an old lady
like you," he said.
"But I'm pert for my age," she
said anxiously; 81 never he'd a days
sickness since l was a gal"
"Going all the way alone?"
"With Providence" she answered
brightly, alert and eager to help her.
self, but silent and thoughtful as the
train took her into strange land
scapes where the miles went so swiftly
it seemed like the past years of her
life as she looked back on them.
"Thy works is marvellous" she muir
INJURED often, sitting with her hands
folded, and few idle days had there
been in her world where she had sat
and rested so long. In the day
coach the people were kind and gen.
erous, sharing their baskets with her
and seeing she changed cars right
and her carpet-bag was safe. She
was like any of the dear old grand
mas in Eastern homes, or to grizzled
men and weary women, like the
memory of a dead mother as faint
and far away as the scent of wild
roses in a hillside country burying-
ground. She tended babies for tired
women and talked to the men of
farming and crops, or told the chill
dren Bible stories; but never a word
she said of herself, not one.
On again, guided by kindly hands
through the great bewildering city
by the lake, and now through yet a
stranger land. Tired and worn by
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 a dre'ful big wurld," she said
to a gray-bearded old farmer near |
her; $50 big / feel e'enmost lost in it,
but" hopefully, "across them deserts |