The Jersey City news. (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1889-1906, 1890-04-19

Aud WneH y CLOCK came Mr. IrOtt
put the horse into the old fashioned red
cutter and climbed resolutely on the seat.
Lame or not lame" said he, "Oid
Whitefoot has got to take me over to
Marshall Hills tonight"
Its no USE said Mrs. Trott, dryly.
you'll find the bird has flown. He can
pick up a foolish girl anywhere, but fifty
dollar bills amt SO easy to get at"
'Father, can't / go, too?' piteously
urged Deborah, stung to the quick by
every malicious word and accent Of her
mother.
"No, daughter; no" said Mr.. Trott. 81
won't be long. And you're best off at
home"
He drove away into the white veil of
flying snow, the bells ringing with a
muffied sound, and Old Wlitefoot's
breath rising in a column OF steam
through the uncertain darkness.
''Isaiah?" said stout old Marshall Hill.
"Of course he's been here. Paid me that
there fifty-dollar interest money, and I
give him a receipt four good hours ago.
Amt he got home yet?'
And Thomas Trott scrambled once
more into the sleigh and drove rapidly
away.
Upon a dreary side Hill, where to the
left a steep precipice extended almost
perpendicularly downward, and a FIR
clothed slope seemed to reach upward to
the right, Old Whitefoot stopped sudden
ly. Thomas Trott caught up his whip
with energy.
THAT'S the second time you've done
it, old fellowr" cried he. "You SHE'D
just SO when we came by before"
But all in vain the whip descended.
Whitefoot stood with bristling name, dis
tended nostrils and four feet firmly i'm
planted in the snow, ~obstinately refusing
to proceed.
II declare" cried the farmer, scratch
ing his puzzled head, "if / was a believer
in such things, | should almost think
Whitefoot saw a ghost"
AT that moment there came a brief
lull in the storm and tempest, and as
Farmer Trott sat there he heard a groan.
sit amt the old pine tree creaking,"
said he, 'snor yet it amt the wind. It's
something human"
And straining his eyes through the
snow illuminated darkness he saw a
figure crouched in a crevice of rock half
way down the steep precipice, clinging
to a cluster of stunted savin bushes.
s'Help.s it cried feebly. "Helpl helpt"
.tBless me!D said Farmer Trott, sits
our Isaiah!''
And 80 it was. Flooding homeward
from his errand, his foot had slipped in
the storm and darkness, and falling half
way down the hill, he had broken his
leg and badly bruised himself, only es-
Gaping from q still more disastrous fate
by holding desperately to the savin roots.
81 don't know what / should have
done if you had not heard my voice."
said he. Il could not have held on
much longer"
"And you may thank old Whitefoot
for that" said Mr.. Trott, as he helped
Isaiah into the sleigh. "He'd a-stopped
on the way down il I would have let
him."
So Isaiah Blackburn reached the old
farm house safely at last, where Debby
and her mother were a~nxiously sitting
up, and told his tale.
Mrs. Trott burst into tears.
Isaiah. said she, 81 spoke evil Of
you, and I'm sorry for it."
And Deborah's blue, tear wet eyes
spoke all that was needed on her part.
They were married in the early spring,
and Isaiah rented half of the Trott farm,
and lives in the wing Of the old house, a
select tenement of three rooms, with his
blue eyed wife.
Il do believe, Debby," says her moth
er, you've got the best husband in the
world
And Debby, playfully parodying her
mother, says:
Didn't l tell you so"
The most obstinate cases of catarrh are