Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1895-06-11

dimpled fists.
you've hurt mer' said o childish
voice reproachfully.
"Have /, thought" the man answer.
ed penitently. II didn't 60 for to dc
it." As he spoke he unwrapped tho gray
shawl and extricated pretty little girl
Of about 8 years Of age, whose dainty
shoes and smart pink frock, with its lit.
tie linen apron, all bespoke mothers
care. The child was pale and wan, but
her healthy arms and legs showed that
she had suffered less than her compan.
ion.
"How Is it now?' he answered anx.
iously, for she was still rubbing the
towsy golden curls which covered the
back Of her head.
kiss it and make it well, she said,
with perfect gravity, showing tho in
jured part up to him. That's what
mother used to do. Where's mother!"
Mothers gone. / guess you'll see
her before long"
"Gone, eh?' said the little girl
"Funny she didn't say goodby. She
most always did If she was just goin
over TO auntie's for tea, and now she's
been away for three days. Say, it's aw-
ful dry. amt it? Amt there no water
nor nothin 10 eati"
"No. there amt nothing, dearie.
You'll just need to be patient awhile,
and then you'll be all right. Put your
hand up agin me like that, and then
you'll feel better. 1t amt easy to talk
when your lips is like leather, but l
guess I'd best let you know how the
cards lie. What's that you've gotg'
Pretty thingsl Fine things!' cried
the little girl enthusiastically, holding
up two glittering fragments Of mica
when wo goes back to home, I'll give
them TO Brother Bob "
You'll see prettier things than them
soon, " said the man confidently. "You
Just wait hit was goin 10 tell you,
though-you remember when We left
the rivcr!"
"Oh, yes.
"Well, we reckoned we'd strike an
other river soon, dye see' But there
was somcthin wrong, compassos or
map or somethin. and it didn't turn mp
Water ran out, just except little drop
for the likes Of you, and-and''-
"And you couldn't wash yourself. "
interrupted his companion gravely, star
ing up ut his grimy visage.
"No, nor drink. And Mr.. Bender. he
was the first to 60, and then Indian
Pete, and then Mrs McGroeor, and then
Johnny Homes. and then. dearie, your
mother.
Then mothers deader, too, cried
the little girl, dropping her face IN her
pinaforc and sobbing bitterly.
"Yes. they all went except you and
me. Then | thought there was somo
chance Of water in this direction, so !
heaved you over my shoulder, and we
tramped it together. 1t don't seem as
though we've improved matters. There g
an almighty small chance for US nowf'
"Do you mean that we are goin to
die, too:" asked the child, checking her
sobs and raising her tear stained face.
IL guess that's about tine size of IT, "
"why didn't you say so before;" she
said, laughing g!eefully. "You gave me
such fright. Why, Of course, now as
long as we die we'll be with mother
again"
ayes, You will, dearie."
"And you too III tell her how awful
good you've been. III bet she meets us
at the door Of heaven with big pitcher
of water and a lot Of buckwheat cakes,
hot and toasted on both sides, like Bob
and mo was fond Of How long will IL
DO first!'
Il don't know-not very long. p" The
mans eyes were fixed upon tho northern
horizon. In the blue vault Of tho heaven
there appeared three little specks, which
increased in size every moment, go rap
idly did they approach. They speedily
resolved themselves into three large
brown birds, which circled over the
heads Of the two wanderers and then
settled upon some rocks which over
looked them. They were buzzards, the
vultures Of the west, whose coming Is
the forerunner of death.
Cocks and hens" cried the little
girl gleefully. pointing at their i'll
omened forms and clapping her hands
TO make them rise. Say, did God make
this country"
''In course no did," said the compan-
ion, rather startled by this unexpected
question.
"He made the country down in Hi
nois, an he made the Missouri, the lit
tie girl continued. Il guess somebody
else made the country in these parts. It's
not nearly so well done. They forgot
the water and the trees. r"
"What would ye think Of offering up
prayer" the man asked difiidently.
ut amt night yet, +" she answered.
1T don't matter. 1t amt quite reg
ular, but he won't mind that, you bet.
You say over them ones that you used to
say every night in the wagon when we
was on the plains. "
"Why don't you say some yourself!
the child asked, with wondering eye
81 disremember them, he answered.
II hain't said none since Twas half the
height O. that gun. guess it's never
too late. You say them out. and I'll
stand by and come in on the choruses. +"
"Then you'll need to kneel down. and
me, too, she said, laying the shawl out
for that purpose. You've got to put
your hands up like this. 1t makes you
feel kind Of good.
Itwas strange sight, had there been
anything but the buzzards to see it. Side
by side on the narrow shawl knelt the
two wanderers. the little prattling child
and the reckless, hardened adventurer.
Her chubby face and his haggard, an
gular visage were both turned up to the
cloudless heaven in heartfelt entreaty tc
that dread being with whom they were
face to face, while the two voices-the
one thin and clear, the other deep and
harsh-united in the entreaty for mercy
and forgiveness. The prayer finished,
they resumed their seat in the shadow
Of the bowlder, until the child fell
asleep, nesting upon the broad breast OF
her protector. He watched over her
slumber for some time, but nature proved
to be too strong for him. For three days
and three nights he had allowed him
self neither rest nor repose. Slowly the
eyelids drooped over the tired eyes, and
the head sunk lower and lower upon the
breast until the mans grizzled beard
was mixed with the golden tresses Of his