Camas Prairie chronicle. [volume] (Cottonwood, Idaho) 1901-1917, 1907-12-06

and held animated talk with Nature.
The gray-bearded man wandered
through the wood with his chin sunk upon
his breast and his eyes fixed upon the
ground. He was tall and gaunt and swar-
thy, and looked as if he had considera-
bic strain of the Jew in him. His nose
was like an eagles beak and ascetically
fine. His temples were followed like
those Of a death's-head, and his eyes,
which were large and brown and mourn
full to the verge of pathos, were the eyes
of a born dreamer and fanatic by ma
ture.
1t was already dusk when the old Nj
hilist turned his footsteps into the wood,
and having just remembered that he had
not broken his fast for seven or eight
hours, he had somewhat quickened his
usual thoughtful pace, when the sound
of a sob reached his ear and he stopped
suddenly to lcok about him. Within
yard or two sat the lost child on the
camp stool, with his back against broad
tree trunk. The old man knelt on the
grass and looked at the sleeping boy. His
straw hat had fallen off and lay beside
him, his golden hair was tumbled and
disordered, his long dark lashes were still
wet, and his rosy cheeks were blurred and
soiled with the traces of his tears.
"Eh La, la, 2" said the old fellow,
in a plying accent Lost Did we
sleep in despair, dear little heart? in
tears? in terror? And God sendeth q
hand, ere yet it Is night time. To the
child, rescue, and to the old man teach
ing"
Then he took the child softly in his
arms, and gathering up the hat and the
camp stool, entered the wood. As he did
so, faint and distant cry reached his
ears, and he stopped to listen. 1t was re-
peated once or twice, family and more
family, and then died away. He started
anew almost at run, but he was old.
and the lad was unusually solid and we'll
grown for his years, so that the burden
soon told on him, and brought him to a
walk again. 1t was full mile, from the
spot to which the child had wandered to
the Cheval Blanc, and when the little
hostel was reached the bearers back and
arms were aching rarely. The landlady
met him in the passage with cry.
"Oh, the little Anglais You have
found him, monsieur2 Jeanne, run to the
woods and tell them that the child is
found"
"You know hlmT' asked Dobroski.
"Who is he? Where does he live2''
HE is the child of the English at
the hotel des Postes," answered the WON
an, standing on tiptoe to kiss the boy.
HE has been lost this five hours" Do
brosH turned into the street, and the
woman followed him talking all the way
HE is the only child Of his parents, and
| their cherished. Imagine, then, the de
spair of the mother, the inquetude of his
father! They are rich. See how the child
is dressed. There is nothing you might
not ask for"
The old man smiled at this, but said
nothing. He surrendered his charge al
the hotel, where the boy was received
with such noisy demonstrations of pleas
ure that he awoke. Being awake, anC
recognizing his surroundings, he adapted
himself to them with an immediate phil
osophy, and demanded something 70 eat
A second messenger was dispatched tt
the wood to bring back the party who hat
gone in search Of him.
His mother kissed him frantically ant
cried over him, but his father set out
for the Cheval Blanc to thank his res
cuer. He found Dobroski seated in lit
tie room with a sanded floor, and bega1
to stammer his gratitude in broken anC
mutilated French.
ut was a piece of good fortune to fine
him." said Dobroski, speaking English
to the others great relief 81 am de
lighted that the pleasure was mine"
II don't know how to thank you
said the Englishman, little awkward
ly, Juggling a purse from his trouser
pocket For a moment Dobroski fanciet
the stranger meant to offer him money
but he merely produced a card, THAT
my name," said the Englishman, blum
deringly. Austin Farley. Upon m.
word, really don't know how to thanl
you"
My good, good sir" returned Dobro
ski, what would you have had? VIVA
was to do? He was. sure to be found
and it was my good fortune to have foun
him."
"You must let his mother come an
thank you, sir" said the Englishma1
Upon my word really don't know wha
to say to tell you how grateful and oblig
ed / am. His mother has been in tn
greatest anxiety. You must let her com
and thank you"
''Well, well, Mr.. Farley" the elder ma
answered himself a little shy at the ott
er's concealed emotion. "If you will thin
: so mere an accident worth thanks to any
! BODY But pray let as say no more.