Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1889-11-23
WEEN ROCKED HIM mo- sLEEp.
Pathetic Story of Little Seventeen Old
Boys Innocence.


A few years ago Swedish family named
Olson left the fatherland and sought a
home and fortune in America, the prom
ised land, SAYS the Minneapolis journal.
They were poor, but their hearts were
stout, and they feared not for the future so
long as they had health and strength.
From the confusion and strangeness of
Castle Garden they set their faces to the
West the golden Northwest. Others
might stay and starve in the crowded
cities, they said, but they would go where
they could claim bit of land as their
own, and find health and happiness. The
broad prairles of Dakota beckoned them
onward, and at last they rested on I'M
broken soil near Long Lake. The Olsons
were amazed at the wealth of the land that
spread out before them, with the virgin
soil waiting for the touch of the husband
man, and they set to work with a will. A
year or two passed away. The Olsons had
not become rich, but they had home
that, however humble, was theirs, and
they were happy.
Harvest time came. The golden grain
stood ripe and heavy in the fields. The
mother and the eldest children went to
help the father with the harvest lest the
rain might come and catch them mapping.
So it happened one morning little Ween,
aged Z, was left all alone to care for his
little brother, who was just able to toddle
about the house. For an hour or two
they amused themselves with their toys,
and then the little one, in childish glee,
ran about the room playing horse" The
floor was built of rough, undried boards,
and in some places had become Sprung"
Careless of danger, little Ole ran about
until he stepped into crack and fell.
The merciless boards closed fast about his
foot and held him prisoner. Shrieking
with pain he called to his brother for help.
Ween tugged away at the boards, but they
refused to release their prey. Little Ole's
appeals became more and more frantic.
Ween went to the door and shouted for
help, but no one heard him. AT last,
frantic with fear, he seized dull ak that
stood in the shed and rushed to the little
sufferer. Still he could not pry up the
boards. There was one way now, he must
cut off the little ones foot. So he raised
the dull ak and brought it down. A
grew louder. Don't cry, Ole; l will
SOOH nave you Tree. Anu uO VII came Tie
cruel ak again. Again and again it fell,
until at last the prisoner was free. The
blood frightened Ween, and he took the
little one in his arms and sought to soothe
it with song he had heard his mother
sing:
Rock-a-by, rock-a-by, baby, to sleep.
Little Ole's cries became fainter and
fainter. His head fell lower in his broth
er's arms and his eyes closed. Ween
thought the baby was very white, but still
he sat there grooming the cradle song and
waiting for the return of his father and
mother. High noon came and the mother
returned to prepare the frugal MONDAY
meal. No little voices came to greet her
with shouts of joy, and her mothers heart
stood still with nameless terror. Into
the house she rushed. "Shl sh p whisp-
cred Ween. "Ole got hurried, but rocked
him to sleep"
Yes, Ole was asleep. His eyes would
never open again upon earthly scenes.
And little Ween rocked to and fro, singing
softly:
Rock-a-by, rocE-e-by, baby, to sleep