Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1889-07-17

And when ye would enter its portals of light,
Wide, wide, she will hold back the door.
AS saint undefled God hath chosen your
child,
When he needed one angel the more.
Alton, Va. linda BARTON HAYES.
DISSY.
Certainly there is not, even in the
canyons of the Rocky mountains, or on the
vast rolling prairies of the northwest,
more absolutely lonely spot than that on
which stood the Cranberry Creek tele-
graph cabin of the Buffalo and Mississippi
River railroad. 1t was located right in the
heart of the dense forests of Putnam
county, o., and is, even to-day, miles re-
moved from habitation of any kind, to
say nothing about towns and villages.
A good many freight trains pass the
cabin each day, but they usually rattle by
Cranberry Creek without stopping though
cnce in great while it is found necessary
to hold the ''local, "or section of freight
train for orders. The cabin itself was an
old box car, set at the side of the track and
painted bright red, SO that the engineers
might see it long distance off. 1t was
partitioned into two compartments, one
end being the Office and the other end the
"boudoir" of Joe Denman, the operator.
Some eight or nine years ago, on Sun
day afternoon, in summer time, Joe took
his arm chair out and planted it between
the cabin and the track. Then he planted
himself in the chair, tilted it back against
the -ed wall of his cabin and commenced
to read the weekly paper which Ben Boil
ton, the conductor of the "local," always
left at Cranberry Creek on each recurring
Saturday evening.
For man who could not cross his legs
Joe only had one, having lost the other
when he was brakeman) our friend made
himself as comfortable as circumstances
would permit, and as it was pleasant
enough day Joe Denman was fairly well
contented and happy. Inside the cabin
could be heard the ceaseless "click, click,
clicketty, Click of the little hammer on
the telegraph table, as messages flew over
the circuit of wire that included Cranberry
Creek.
But Joe was such an old timer with the
s'ticker' that he could read and even
whistle and talk, when there was any one
to talk to, and still answer promptly
enough when he was called by the train
dispatcher or By some operator a hundred
miles away.
AS he unfolded his newspaper Joe
glanced up and down the track. He could
see nothing but the deserted railroad, cut
like q deep, narrow swath through the
thick forest. To the east and to the west
nothing was visible but the two lines Of
glittering steel rails stretching away until
track and forest and sky blended in the
hazy distance. 1t seemed SO lonesome that
Joe was really grateful to the white post a
fou dc nh ha - l.
characters, sc. 1885," for he was reminded
then that Chicago at least was only 255
miles distant.
Joe read on for more than an hour, and
was so engrossed in clever editorial that
he started almost out of his chair when he
felt the sleeve of his coat gently pulled,
while baby voice said, sweetly enough,
"Hello!'
The operator dropped his paper to gaze
upon little child-a girl-perhaps A or 5
years old. She was very pretty, with soft,
plump cheeks and hands ard with hair
that was more white than golden-it was
so very fair. The little one was evidently
the child of poor people, for her tiny dress
was of cotton, her shoes, SO dusty, were Of
the cheapest kind, and her large straw hat
was untrimmed.
"Hellop' she said again, with a sweet
baby smile, and with as much confidence
as if she had known the operator all hel
short life.
"Why, bless my soulp' exclaimed Joe
who was more surprised than he had beer
when he fell under the wheels years before
But Joe, old bachelor and hermit as h,
was, loved little children and was kind
hearted fellow.
"Why, little 'un, where did you bloy
a ha
sat on his one knee, and with his rel
bandanna handkerchief wiped the thicl
dust off the little shoes.
"That way" she answered promptly
pointing her chubby finger to the west
But Joe was puzzled. He knew Their
was no house within four miles in that di
rection.
"What is the baby's nameq'' askec
joe
''Dissy."
'sSissy?' repeated Joe, imagining tha
he could interpret baby language yer,
nicely.
"'Es, 'm," said the child, shaking he
head-"Dissy."
And in all the years that followed Jo
Denman never learned the history of tn,
baby girl nor where she came from on tina
summer Sunday afternoon. He had to re
maiu satisfied that her name was Dissy
and the only reasonable or probable expla
nation of the strange name came once from
tramp book agent, who suggested that il
might possibly be an abbreviation of Fury
dice. For Joe, the operator, took fancy
to the little waif, and, as there was no law,
Or even rule of the railroad, to prevent him,
he decided to adopt the tiny, fair-haired
stranger. He was SO generous that he
gave up bis private apartment to Miss
Dissy, and himself slept on camp cot in
the telegraph Office.
More than seven years passed away, and,
according to Joe Denman's calculations,
Dissy must have been we'll nigh - years
old. She was so old that, although it gave
Jce's heart big and painful wrench when
he thought about it, the operator had
made up his mind that he must soon send
the girl to good school, where she would
have all the benefits of an education and
womanly training. But as yet he had said
nothing of his plans to the girl herself.
One afternoon in the fall of the year
Dissy sat all alone in the barely-furnished
telegraph eff1ce, for Joe and his crutch had
gone away with a man who had begged
him TO show him to a stave factory, three
miles back in the woods. Strictly, Joe
should not have left his cabin, but Dissy
was as good telegraph operator as he
was, even better, and the girl did not mind
in the least being left alone for two hours
or so.
1t was dreary afternoon and getting
very near evening, and Dissy had begun to
feel exceedingly lonely. Even the enor.
nous, many colored poster that hung on the
wall of the room, proclaiming in startling
language the many good qualities of the
Buffalo and Mississippi River railroad, did
not cheer her very much. s'The Silver
Lining Route" she read rather disdainful-
", and thought to herself, swell, the
Cranberry Creek clouds don't have silver