News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1890-06-05


go through college, you know have
never regretted it, but then wanted
to be an engineer. That seemed the
only place worth having
'Then you went abroad and mar
ried. have always SO regretted that
you never knew Mary"
The doctor interrupted: You must
not tell me this if it will distress you"
''It does not | want to tell you;
have so many times wanted to tell you
about her, and all. 1t is easy to see
her now as she used to sit sometimes
with her head upon my keee and her
big blue eyes looking in mine SO trust
fully She had faith in me-" And he
paused a little.
''Of course, " said the doctor land it
was deserved, too"
Eyes, and it gladdens me SO now to
think it was Matters, too, locked well
for us then. Success seemed worth
striving for Mary was jealous little
of my love for the railroad. | always
loved it, as | said | was in business
then, but our little home was close by
the line. | could hear the trains go by
all night if | happened to be awake.
You can see the house now from the
window yonder Lift me up little
so. Mary at first hated the railroad, but
she grew used to the noise, and think
after a little she paid no attention to it.
She furnished our house prettily, and
we were very happy; but she would
ask me to conquer my liking for the
railroad She feared that | could not
be fit for anything else, my thoughts
were SO occupied with it, but laughed
gently at her and went on in the same
way and with the same hopes. She
never doubted my love, and she used
to say that some time l would obey her
slightest wish and follow her wherever
she might lead. 1t may be there was
little complaint in her manner
when the baby was born love OF
the railroad seemed to have been born
in her She would as soon as she could
clap her little hands at the sound OF
the engine whistle. As she grew older
we called her Mary, too-she would
ask me in her baby way to come early
to see the trains go | needed no urg-
ing, and when | could | would. Out
there on the grass we would sit, and
would tell her Of all the strange places
we sometimes would go on the cars to
see. Even then in fancy little Mary
and would go with the trains all over
the world. 1t was rare sport to her
Dorsey had spoken as rapidly as he
could, but now he talked more slowly
"One day was i'll at ease. Nothing
that had to do seemed worth while.
| only wanted to be at home; l only
wanted to feel them near Inc, and safe.
But, try as | would, it was late in the
long afternoon before could get away.
1t w2s warm, but as | hurried home
gentle breeze met Inc. 1t was a bright,
beautiful day, just such Il summers day
as this. 1t was 50 peaceful, and the
leaves so kissed one another in the
light breeze that 1 was calIned, and the
feeling l had suffered from all day left
me. l was glad that we lived in the
country. | was glad to be GIive at all.
The sun was almost behind the western
hills, and all that side of the valley was
in shadow, but on our side it was light
and everything was rarely beautiful in
the sunlight. The slanting rays made
our house brilliant and glorious in its
color.
LAS | neared home Mary came to the
door, and | could see her welcoming
smile Then, shading her eyes with hel
hand, she looked over toward the rail
road, and in minute screamed and
ran rapidly from the house. Alarmed
and wondering, ran after her. Down
below on the track stood little Mary,
her curls and all her pretty ribbons
fiuttering in the wind. Around the
short curve came suddenly the fast ex,
press, and the child, as she saw the
great engine bearing down upon hel
and heard the startling whistle, waved
her little hat as though in greeting.
Another minute and Mary would
have been in time. Her dress caught
in something, or she stumbled, and was
so delayed; but she recovered herself
quickly, and hurrying on caught little
Mary in her arms, and then-it ought
to be easy to tell it now"
For some little time Dorsey was 81
lent. The doctor did not ask him to
continue nor did he urge him to stop
when Dorsey began again:
For Mary it was over at once, but
our child, held firmly in its dead moth
er's arms, lived little while. Think she
must have been hurt as | have been.
She could speak, and when they
brought her to me she put her little
arms about my neck and said: L am
going with the cars now
1T may seem strange to you" Dor
sey went on shortly, but the railroad
had q greater fascination for me than
ever. l stayed about the cars and trains
as 1 had in my boyhood. l almost
feared they would order me away from
the yard.
''lIy business went to nothing just
then. Perhaps my neglect hurt it, but
I think not. At all events l gave it up.
Then | secured a place as brakeman
without much trouble.
''Was that pleasantY the doctor
asked. 1t was easier to interrupt Dor
sey now.
eyes, to me, he answered; "but still
was glad when was promoted, as
was through the various grades to be
conductor"
"Has there been no chance for further
promotion in all these years9"
ooh, yes; but | have never wanted
TO leave my train. After a long while
applied for the place in the sleeping
cars"
For a while neither spoke. The doc
tor, keenly observant, thought that Dor
sew had more to tell; but he waited pa
tiently.
Life has gone very evenly and
smoothly with me since then until last
night. Until last night" he repeated
slowly.
'sWen, what happened then2" the
doctor asked as Dorsey paused.
''The train had been made up with
the sleepers first, nearest the engine. l
was standing on the platform waiting
for the starting signal to be given, when
suddenly a woman passed me. Some
thing about her-her disOrdcred hair
maybe-attracted my attention; but
before could look more closely at her
an engine behind me whistled sharply
and | turned to see what was the trOu-
bic. Later, as l passed her on the
train, her face seemed to bear n strange,