Alpena argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1893-1909, 1894-02-14

lnere was no ram, Dut the CLOUDS
were scurrying swiftly across the
sky. And well they might with
such a wind at their heels. Such a
wind! IL Ben had not been the
broad, sturdy fellow that he was,
it would have blown him off his
feet. But as it was, he strobe up
and down the beach, with long,
fierce strides, and needed neither
the wind nor the roaring surf.
Was it strange that, with the fierce
storm raging within, Skipper Ben
should not have heard the shrieks
and cries of distress that night?
No so very strange, think; but
what was strange was, that, above
all the din commotion, he should
have heard feeble wail-the faint
est little wall in the world. But he
heard it, at any rate, and hurried
to the spot whence it came.
There, lying on the beach, with
its frock securely fastened to a
broken spar, was a little child.
"Why you poor, little critter," ex-
claimed Ben, as he unfastened the
dress, chow in the world did you
get out here?" The baby stopped
crying as soon as she saw him, and,
stretching out her tiny arms, gave
a little chuckle of delight. He
picked her up, tenderly, and wiring
ing out the soaked little garments,
which were like cobwebs, and were
trimmed with lace, he buttoned her
up inside his heavy jacket.
Then it was that he heard the
shouts and cries for the first time
and saw men running helplessly ur
and down the beach, and gazing
seward. What were they looking
at? Looking at nothing. They
were staring at the place where {
good ship had just gone to pieces
Could no one be saved? No, it wa'
impossible. No boat could live il
such a surf, and there is, moreover
no lifeboat at the Cove. The shil
went to pieces where she struck
OF all the crew, not one lived to tel
the tale, and of all the passenger
not one was saved-except the littl
baby buttoned up under Skippe
Ben's rough pilot-jacket. But tn
baby lived, and was like a sunbeam
in the little brown house, for no on
talked of putting her in the 'asy
lum." Nor was there any orphan
asylum at the Cove, though Their
are orphans in plenty, and many
good fellow goes to the banks neve
to return, not supposing that h
has said good-by for the last tim
to the youngsters at home.
The baby cried for mamma"
little at first, but she soon learne'
to say Ben" instead. And from
that day on, the little room neve
J became narrow and stuffy, and Ben
pipe was the pipe Of peace and com
fort. The next year, when he Wen
} to the banks, he left her in care o
'Lisha fuckers wife at the shop
but the year after, she cried so har
J when he was going that he too
her with him. And ever since, sh
has been his constant companion
And he named her-Dolly.
. Five years have passed since tina
stormy night, and Dolly is six year
old. She is a bright, happy littl
girl, and she loves the grim oil
ocean, dearly, even if it did so near
ly become her tomb. Sometime
in the evening, when the wind i
bowling and shaking the littl
brown house, and the fire is roarin
brightly and merrily up the chin
ney, Skipper Ben will tell Doll
how he found her lying on tn
beach, securely fastened to broke
spar. Then he will pull out lit
tie, old, worn leather trunk, an
. will take from it the once daint
baby clothes. They are yellow now
!, and still stained with sea-watel
He will hold the delicate fabric i
his hard, rough hand with rever
. entail awe, and look with wonde
at the little faded blue ribbons tina
once were shoulder-knots.
II wonder who your parent
wasp" he says to Dolly. "Onl
think what you might ha' been
Why, you might ha' been a mar
kisw Skipper Ben's round, blu
eyes become rounder and bluer a
j the thought, and he takes his pip
from his mouth. "You might h;
been dorchess!" But Dolly shake
her head with it's brown curls an
lays her cheek against Ben's rougl
coat saying, mo, no! I'd rattle
{ be Skipper Ben's girlw