The Dickinson press., 1891-10-10


5: g.: =: 8: !: :: $: 8: s: IS:
tiled floors and dreary rows OF sta
tionary settees, and crowds OF hurry
ang people, were not quite as familiar
to him and more homelike than his
small, bare house, which he
knew as little more than q place for
eating and sleeping.
At an age, when an ordinary baby
might have been frightened into con-
vulsions by the shrek ofalocomotive,
Joe, securely fastened INTO his cab,
would stare for hours through the
great window, undisturbed by the in
cessant rush and roar of arriving and
departing trains.
He had been only 6 months old
when the dreadful accident happened,
which, at one fell stroke, made HIM
fatherless and transformed him from
a strong, we'll developed infant to a
pitiful creature, which ave death re-
fused to take.
The older yard men told the story
even yet-how young Michael Bryan,
as straight and manly fellow as Yer
left his green, old native island for the
better chances of the new world this
side OF the sea, came whistling out Of
the round house that morning and
stepped hastily before an incoming
locomotive, neither seeing nor hearing
anotherrushing up the PARALLEL track.
His mates cried out to him-too latel
Nobody who saw it would ever forget
the look of agony which distorted his
handsome face in that one horrible
instant, when he recognized his doom,
or the perpendicular leap into theair,
from which he fell back beneath the
cruching wheels.
In the excitement and consterna-
tion of the time no messenger had
been sent in advance to prepare the
poor young wife for her trouble, and
she stood in the doorway with her
baby Growing in her arms, when the
stout bearers paused at her gate with
their mangled burden. She uttered a
terrible cry and fell fainting-the
child's tender back striking the sharp
edge of the door-stone.
"What a pity that 1t was not killed
outright" said everybody bat the
mother. She herself always insisted
that only her constant watching over
the little Pickering life kept her from
going mad in the first dreadful months
OF her bereavement.
The officers OF the railway company
were very kind to poor Mary Bryan.
They paid the expenses of the burial,
and, after little Joe had slowly mend
cd, employed her about the depot to
scrub the floors and keep the glass
and woodwork bright and neat.
When Joe was Z years old his moth
CT sent him to school. He went pa
tiently day after day, making no
complaint, but she awoke suddenly
one night to find himsobbin9h his heart
out on the pillow beside her. Only by
dint of long coaxing was she able to
find out the cause OF his grief. Some
of the rougher boys-more thought
less than cruel let us hope-had called
him "Humpy," and asked him if he
carried q bag of meal on his back.
Mary famed with the fierce anger OF
motherhood.
"You shan't go another day!" she
declared. 1.-THE rufians! / won't
have my darlin' put upon by the
likes of theml"
So Joe's schooling had come to an
untimely end. Yet, meager was his
stock OF b~ook-learning, the develop.
ment of his mind far outstripped the
growth Of his stunted and deformed
body. Everybody liked the patient
little fellow, tugging manfully at his
mothers heavy water buckets an6
running willingly at every call OF tn.
station men. At 10 years old he hat
picked up no small amount OF infor
nation, especially on railroad topics
He knew every locomotive on tn,
road, understood the intricacies o
sidetracks and switches, could tell tn
precise moment when any particula
train might be expected with the &C
curacy of a timetable.
Yet the very quickness and ardor O
his nature deepened his senses Of hi
infirmity. The glances cast upon hin
by stranger-eyes, some pitiful, som
curious, Others alas! expressive onl
OF annoyance or disgust, ranked lik
SO many arrows in his heart; not on
missed its mark. How wistfully hi
eyes followed boys of his own age
straight, handsome happy-wh
sprang lightly up and down the step
OF the coaches, or threaded their wa
along the crowded platforms. Fo
one day of such perfect untrammele
life he wouldhave bartered all thepo
sib]e years before him. Yet he neve
put his yearning into words, even t
his mother.
Crooked Joe's a rum'un," said OF
OF his rough acquaintance. "E
senses his trouble we'll enough, but
don't let On to nobody"
Mr.. Crump, the telegraph operate
was Joe's constant friend. It was
who, at odd moments had initiate
him into some Of the mysteries of IL
clicking instrument, which to Joe
imaginative mind seemed sou
strange creature with q hidden lite
its own.
1t was growing toward dark OF
November afternoon. Joe-never q
unwelcome visitor-sat curled in
S>'AaAcA VI WI. OIuIllp . ONCE, WalLll
for his mother to finish her work. +
was laboriously spelling out, by t.
fading light, the words upon the pa
OF an illustrated newspaper, quite O
lvious of the ticking, like that of
very jerky and rheumatic clock, viii,
sounded in the room.
MIR. Crump, too, had a paper befo
him, but his ears were alive. Sudde
ly he sprang to his feet, repeati
aloud the message which that nome
flashed along the wire.
engine No. ITO running wild. Gle
He rushed to the door, shouting t
news.
"Not a second to spare! She'll
down in seven minutes!"
The word passed like lightning.
a moment the yard was in wild co
motion. Men few hither and thith
yard engines steamed wildly aws
T H. --sAaLn- 1--.--L -l.