The silver messenger. (Challis, Idaho) 1890-1912, 1899-04-18
A FATHER AND MOTHER.
BY anDie Flint.

Il beat down upon the river and shone
vertically along the palisades, throwing
its binding glare over the hills of the
east shore and on the rails Of the Hud-
son River road. In the distance sound
ed the whistle of train that had just
passed. The man at the switch lifted
his head to listen. One of the group by
the rivers edge came forward hastily.
Look a-here, Willet, what did you
go back there for? That train amt
comm this way. You're of duty; do
you understand It's my time now.
That's al right, old feiler; gimme here"
Tears streamed down the speakers
face. The man at the switch turned
to him inquiringly, then stared beyond
at the others who drew together as if to
screen something that he must not see.
There WIS a fogginess in his head,
which made understanding difficult. OF
course. Mitchell could take the switch;
it was Mitchelrs time. He had feeling
that he would never be clear-hcaded
again, never be worth anything more TO
the road. He took an unsteady step in
the direction Of the men, and two of
them sprang to his side in an instant,
while one hung back before the some
thing that he must rot be allowed to see.
Their features worked and their voices
trcmbled in explaining how. at the little
railway station and at the boatbouse
few RODS OF, they, too. had heard the
boys cry, had seen his struggle in the
water. Run as they would, they had
not been il time to save him. Then
they broke down utterly and sobbed.
and the fog lifted somewhat from VIII
let's brain so that he could hear their
voices. while his hand was wrung Wig
oTorsly many times. The fog shut down
again. and he was puzzled. What was
/; they kept saying had happened?
What had they tried to do? Day in and
day out the boy had ducked and
spiashed in the few feet OF water near
the bridge where his father had his
post. There'd never any harm come
to him. But now he'd cried aloud for
help, and his father'd had to hear him.
had 10 see him Giel The horror of the
thing, the terrible shock to the mans
nervous system, isolated him for the
time being from any appreciation OF
human sympathy. he attempted TO
walk and staggered, shivering under
the intense heat OF the sun. lie had
she instinct of q wounded animal to go
home. On the brow Of the hill above
stood his neat frame cottage with path
roughly worn between the bridge and
his own door. The high road, much
the longer way, wound leisurely down
the hill. Willet shambled in the direc-
ton of the road; he and the boy always
went by the path.
With a sensation of the greatest re-
lief, the men followed, ere carrying the
little drowned body, aud two others so
moving that they could sti.l manage TO
shield it from its fathers eyes.
Mitchell stayed behind on duty at the
switch. The air was full of the happy
twitter of birds, the hum of insects,
the distant rumble of wagon wheels
and the lazy padding of river craft,
which make up the thousand and one
sounds along the Hudson in summer
time. The sad little procession had
gone two-thirds of their way. when
suddenly other music burst upon their
ears. a woman's voice, round and
comfortable. with touch of the brogue
in it, was singing cheeriiy:
"Oh, wkin will my lo-ove come ba-ack TO
me2
Some bright summer day in the mor-orn-
1t was Hannah wiIet-uannah GO
ing about her household duties, ard.
perhaps, ready to step to the kitchen
porch and signal her man Jim and her
boy. as she usually did at the hour
when Mitchell or Dougherty took VIII
let's place at the switch. If she came
on the porch now she would see them.
Dougherty. numbering along at Wi.let's
heels, turned sick a the thought.
For the love o the Lord, Connolly
bhoy," he whispered thicS,y over his
shoulder, run up to the house. viii We
an sthop the singin'. Do it widout
KILN her. She's got TO have the news
broke before her heart is"
Connolly handed the dead child to
the inaa nearest him and nodded. Then
came fresh burst of song. louder than
the first, clearer, nearer, which seemed
20 swing down the hillside and strike
the men fun across their faces:
"oh, whin VIII my lo-ove come back TO
me9
Sor1e bright"
The voice stopped. 1t neither broke
into a shrek nor a moan. 1t simply
stopped short, as If ruthless fingers had
seized the poor singer by the throat and
held her. Hannah Willet stood on her
kitchen porch.