Herald and news. [volume] (West Randolph, Vt.) 1878-1943, 1893-11-16
CROOKED JOE.

waiting rooms, with their tiled floors
and dreary rows of stationary ssttees,
and crowds of hurrying people, were
not quite as familiar TO him and more
bomelike than his mothers small, bare
house. which he knew as little more
than place for eating and sleep ing.
At an age when an ordinary baby
might Eave been frightened into convul-
sions by the shrek of locomotive Joe,
securely fastened in his cab, would stare
for hours through the great window,
undisturbed by the incessant rush and
roar of prriving and departing trains.
He had been only six months old when
the dreadful accident happened which,
at one fell stroke, made him fatherless
and transformed him from strong,
well developed infant TO pitiful Great
ure. which even death refused to take.
The old yardmen tell the story even
vet = how young Michael Bryan, as
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 ont the round
house that morning and stepped hastily
from before an incoming locomotive,
neither seeing nor hearing another rush
ing up the parallel track. bis mates
cried out to him-too late Nobody who
saw it would ever forget the look Of
agony which dis orted 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 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 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
outright 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
floors and keep the glass and woodwork
bright and neat
When Joe was seven years old his
L. to c,4lAA1 10
pfsiently, 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 MS hope
had called him Hunpy, and asked if
he CARED bag of meal ON his back,
Mary famed with the fierce anger of
motherhood.
You shan go another day she de
clared. The rufians l won't have
my dsuhn put upon by the likes of
thcaf'
So Joe's schooling had come to an nm
timely end. Yet. meagre as was his
stock OF book learning. the development
Of his mind far outstripped the growth
of his stunted and deformed body.
Everybody liked the patient little fellow,
tngging manfully at his mothers heavy
water buckets and 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 locomo-
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. ranked like so many
arrows in his heart; not one missed its
mark. How wistfully his eyes followed
bows of his own age-straight handsome.
happy-who sprang lightly mp and down
the steps of the coaches, or threaded
their way along the crowded platforms.
For one day of such perfect, untram-
melted life he would have bartered all
the possible years before HIM Yet he
never put his yesrning INTO words, even
to his mother.
Crooked Joes a rum un. said one
of his rough acquaintance. Hesenses
his trouble well enough. but he don let
ON to nobody.
Mr. Crump, the telegraph operator.
was Joe's constant friend. 1t was he
who, at odd moments, had taught the
boy to read. and had initiated him into
some of the mysteries of the clicking in
strument. which to Joes imaginative
mind seemed some strange creature with
a hidden life of its own.
1t was growing toward dark one No
yember afternoon Joe-never an I'M
welcome visitor-sat curled in corner
of Mr. Crump's Office, waiting for his
mother to finish her work He was la
boriously spelling ont, by the fading