Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1891-05-14

straight into the arms opened to receive
him.
81 am coming. mother" that became a
very familiar, cry among the neighbors.
And more than one eye filled up and ran
over as little Jack Connor's voice, thrilling
and hopeful, rang out on the frosty air OF
a winters morning.
One evening he was late returning from
an errand upon which his mother had sent
him. The clouds were heavy, as if they
might hold snow.
Mrs. Conner knew that Jack would be
cold and tired when he returned, so she
took the basket and went out to the wood
pile.
"I'll gather the chips" she said, land
save him that much work.
But she had scarcely begun her task
when Jack came painting up the hill.
"Why MOTHER" he called, "didn't you
know was coming"
He expected her to lean upon him; as he
grew older the feeling grew, and he was
always disappointed it she failed to do so.
One morning she went out to her milk
ing, and strange dog met her and sprang
upon her.
Scarcely knowing what she did she
threw the milking-pail at him and scream
cd for Jack.
He came with bound, selling club as
he passed the wood-pile.
"I'm coming, mother" Old Peter Glass
mar hoard orv RON
down to see what was the matter. There
he stood between his mother and the fe-
rocious mad beast fourishing his club and
bidding the dog BECOME.
Peter relieved the loyal little fellow by
killing the dog, which he afterward de-
clared to his wife was craving mad"
"But mad or not" he added, cit wouldn't
a hindered that boys pitching right in to
fight for his nanny. 1t always brings
the tears to my eyes somehow when come
in contact with that manful little chap of
Jack Connor's''
Peter Glass was not the only one whose
heart softened for Jack Connor's son.
Aye, many an eye wept and many a heart
bled for him when the little fellow ceased
to appear on the hill above the railroad
track.
Some lives there are that seem to run
amid perpetual sunshine and roses. Some
are rounded to darker lines and run always
beside the deeper abysses of tragedy.
1t was June, glad, sunshiny June, when
Jacks mother went one morning to call
on sick friend and old neighbor at the
station just above Antioch.
Jack thought he had never seen so fair 8
day-the sun shone, the birds sang and
the flowers were everywhere.
"You can come to meet me at IL O'clock
Jack" his mother said, as she kissed his
cheek. "I'll be sure to come on that trai1
unless something happens"
''Pll be here, mother" said Jack. "tt
every train until you come"
Tic sun still shone when the train cam,
in at noon. Jack thought the whistle
sounded mournful, somehow. And thu
engine SLOWED up" sooner than usual, ST
that the train came III Slow and solemn
like.
And the telegraph operator had laid hi
hand in very gentle way on the boy'
head as he hurried past him. And Engi
neer Robinson never once looked out tt
speak to him. The fireman, too, turned
his face the other way and was busy will
his shovel. The brakeman leaned on hi
brake and never lifted his eyes as thu
cars pulled up. Jack thought it all yer!
strange.
''Here am, mother"
The conductor cleared his throat as thu
well-known welcome rang through thu
train. Passengers turned from the win
dows and put their handkerchiefs to thei
eyes, as if the sight of an eager little fact
agIow with expectation and delight were
painful to them.
"Here am, mother" He was scanning
every face eagerly, longingly, when thu
conductor stepped out.
"Jack," be said, "she isn't aboard" 4
shadow fitted across the bright counte
nance. The conductor took the boy'
hand IN his and held it close.
slack, my boy" he said. "you must be ;
HAL. 1OuT luOGllCE IdS uOt GUILE, Will uO
come, Jack. Your mother is dead, my son.
And the sun still shone, but not fo
Jack.
He never knew the terrible story, how
in stepping from the train her foot Slipped
and she fell beneath the wheels which
passed over her body. He never knew
for from that day he never knew anything
except that she had never come back tt
him.
Day after day crept on, growing into
years. Day after day when the whistle
sounded little figure was seen to clint
the -pile-Jerry Cranes wood-pilt
then-to watch for his mother.
His eye seemed to search every window
as the trains pulled up.
"Here am, motherw the shrill, cleal
voice would ring out. And when the t1air
had passed, some one would explain:
"It's poor Jack Connor come to meet his
mother"
They grew accustomed to seeing hin
there as the days drifted on into years anf
he still kept his promise.