The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1902-06-14
An Unrecognized Heroine.

The following editorial from the Washing
ton Post is based upon an article in the AD-
CATE last week, describing the long tramp of
Ellen Weisensale, of near Hanover, who was
sent to take his dinner to her father, mistook
the way and wandered to Westminster
Tucked in among the secondary press dis
patches the other day, and thrown into shadow
by the narratives of the world great happen
ings for twenty-four hours, was modest little
| story which may not obtain the notice it de.
serves We are very apt to pirate, in our age
of many interests, about the excellence of
doing ones duty even though no fame attaches
to the performance, but the illustrative cases
come and go before our eyes every day with
out our noticing their peculiar character and
drawing our lesson from them.
This story was of wee bit of girl in an
out-of.the- way village, who was sent one
morning to carry his luncheon to her father,
at work at a stone quarry at some distance
from his home. Not finding him there, it oc
Cured to her that he was probably working
somewhere farther along the road; SO she
pushed on. The road was rough and she was
barefooted, and the sharp gravel cut her feet.
Still, she had set out to find her father. and
she did not wish him to go hungry a minute
longer than necessary; SO she trudged along,
looking to the right and left, but seeing moth
ing of him. The noon sun beat down upon
her, but she rested not. The afternoon adj
yanced, the sun sank, the dusk crept over
everything, and her poor little feet weary and
blistered, almost refused to carry her farther.
But she was not discouraged.
Night came She had entered town she
did not know, miles and miles away from
home. The few persons she met in the high
way were strangers to her, and most of them
gave no more than passing glance to the
barefoot, dust stained child with her father
dinner pail on her arm. IF they considered
her at all, they doubtless assumed that she was
a member of one of the poor families in the
neighborhood, and doing some errand for her
parents. Possibly there was added to this
yirtuous comment or two on the willingness
of people of their class to let so small mid
get prowl about the streets after nightfall,
when she ought to be getting ready for bed I'M
der the eyes of her mother.
But one stranger gave her more of his
thought than this. Perhaps he was one of
those kind-hearted adults to whom all child
rem are as their own. At all events, he
stopped and questioned her, and drew forth
her story. Then, doubtless through his agency
the long sought father turned up and carried
his little one home. She was ready to drop
down with WEAKNESS when she was found, and
had had no food since early morning; but
to eat from the pail ON her arm, she opened
wide her baby eyes and exclaimed with sur
prise: "Why, that was papa's dinner r.
We do not know how the child was received
when she crossed the parental threshold on
her return. Was she caught to mothers
heart and kissed and Rugged, and her wound
ed little feet bathed and bound up2 Was she
put to bed with tender endearments, and told,
as well as the imperfect words of father and
mother could tell her, how glad was her well
come home? Or was was she treated to the
fate which well-meaning but short-sighted
parents decree for their children, who, how
ever unwittingly, have given them fright?
Rowan carried message to Garcia under
conditions which will make him an historic
figure; vet it was only, under another form,
the same indomitable purpose which moved
this little girl to continue her search for her
father in spite of hunger and fatigue and pain.
In romance, Dumas has given as the picture
of the old servant who guarded, through pow
erty and danger, the treasure he was bound
to preserve intact for the absent heir. Is the
picture of this chubby checked mite any less
romantic, foregoing food herself because the
contents of her pail was sacred to her father?
In her own diminutive way this little girl was
hero. Many an older person might well sit
at her feet and learn the lesson of duty honest
ly done for its own sake. She has in her the
stuff of which soldiers are made. If she were
boy, some enterprising Congressman would
watch for chance to send her to West Point
and pride himself on having discovered fu-
ture general Had she lived in Sparta, she
would have been marked by the state as flu
ture mother of whose sons great things were
to be expected.
As it is, she is only poor little girl who
tried to do right without giving thought TO
the incidents or consequences. We may never
hear of her again. But she deserves we'll.
Good luck to herp'