Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1893-01-31
a soups VALuE.
We're the world one ehrysolite,
The .earsh . golden bail,
And almonds all the stars of night
ons soal outweighs them All.
CROOKED JOE.


best school for a boy, yet poor little Joe
Bryan had scarcely known any other,
He could not remember when the long
waiting rooms, with their tiled floors
and dreary rows of stationary settees,
and crowds of hurry1ng people, were
not quite as familiar to him and more
homelike than his mothers small, bare
house, which he knew as little more
than a place for eating and sleeping.
AT an age when an ordinary baby
might have been frightened into convul-
sions by the shrek of a locomotive Joe,
for hours through the great window,
roar of arriving and departing trains
He had been only six months old when
the dreadful accident happened which,
ut one fell stroke, made him fatherless
and transformed him from strong,
well-developed infant to a pitiful creae
ure. which even death refused to take.
The old yarlmen tell the story even
yet how young Michael Bryan, rs
straight and manly fellow as ever left
his green, old. native island for the bet
ter chances of the new world this side
the sea, came whistling out the round,
house that morning and stepped hastily
from before an incoming locomotive.
neither seeing nor hearing another rush
ing up the parallel track. His mates
cried ont to him-too late Nobody who
saw it would ever forget the look of
agony which distorted his handsome face
In that horrible instant when he recog-
nized his doom. or the perpendicular leap
into the air, from which he fell back be,
meath the crushing wheels.
In the excitement and CONSERVATION
of the time no messenger had been sent
in advance toprepare 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 terrible cry and fell faint
ing-the child's tender back striking
the sharp edge of the door stone.
What pity that it was not killed
outrightl" said everybody but 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 kind to poor Mary Bryan. They
paid the expenses of the burial, and
after little Joe had slowly mended, en-
ployed her about the depot to scrub the
bright and neat.
When Joe was seven years old his
mother sent him to school. He went
patiently, day after day, making no
complaint, but she awoke suddenly one
night to find him sobbing on the pillow
beside her, Only by dint of long coax
ing was she able to find out the cause of
his grief. Some of the rougher boys
more thoughtless than cruel, let us hope
had called him Humpy, and asked II
he carried bag of meal on his back.
Mary famed with the fierce anger of
motherhood.
e You shan't go another day /" she de.
clared. The ruffiansl / won't have
my darlin' put upon by the likes of
theml''
So Joe's schooling had come to an un-
timely end. Yet, meagre as was his
stock of book learning, the development
of his mind far outstripped the growth
of his stuuted and deformed body.
Everybody liked the patient little fellow,
tugging manfully at his mothers heavy
water buckets aud running willingly at
every call of the station men. At twelve
years old he had picked up no small
amount of information, especially ON
railroad topics. He knew every 1ocomo-
tive on the road, understood the intrica-
cies of sidetracks and switches, and
could tell the precise moment when any
particular train might be expected with
the accuracy of time table.
Yet the very quickness and ardor of
his nature deepened his sense of his In
trinity The glances cast upon him by
stranger eyes, some pitiful, some curious,
others, alas expressive only of annoy
ance or disgust, rankled like so many
arrows in his heart; not one missed its
mark. How wistfully his eyes followed
boys of his own age-straight handsome,
happy-who sprang lightly up and down
the steps of the coaches, or threaded
thsir way along the crowded platforms.
For one day of such perfect, untram-
melled life he would have bartered all
the possible years before him. Yet he
never put his yearning INTO words, even
to his mother.
Crooked Joe's rum 'un," said one
of his rough acquaintance. Hesenses
his trouble well enough, but he don't let
ON to nobody"
Mr.. Crump. the telegraph operator.
was Joe's constant friend. It was he
who, at. odd nom rents, had taught the
boy to read, and had initiated him into
some of the mysteries of the clicking In
strument, which to Joe's imaginative
mind seemed some strange creature with
hidden life OF its own.
It was growing toward dark one No
yember afternoon. Joe-neyer an un-
welcome visitor-sat cur1ed in a corner
of Mr.. Crump's office, waiting for his
mother to finish her work he was Ia
boriously spelling ont, by the fading
light. the words upon page of an Illus
trated newspaper, quite obHvious OF the
ticking. like that of very jerky and
rheumatic clock, which sounded IN the
room.
Mr.. Crump. too. had paper before
him. but his ears were alive. Suddenly
he sprang to his feet. repeating aloud
the message which that moment flashed
along the wire.
g. Engine No. 11O running wild. Clear
track y
Herushed to the door. shouting the
news
aNot second to spare She'll b.
| down In seven minutes .
1 The words passed Like lightning. In 9
/ moment the yard was in wild eommo.
ton. Men flew hither and thither, yard
i engines steamed wildly away thf
4 II II