Ladysmith news-budget. [volume] (Ladysmith, Rusk County, Wis.) 1907-1927, 1916-03-10
Continued From page y


A shout, then a chorus of cries
aroused him from his reverie. The
putting train was pulling swiftly to-
ward the open space. The unhappy
dog, casting reproachful glances over
his shoulder at his pitiless friend, was
galloping uncertainty, but directly
down the narrow track toward the on
coming train. Helen, seeing or heed
ing nothing of the train and fixed only
on her chase, ran after at top speed.
A dozen people saw her danger as the
train rounded the curve just in front
of her-only one of them made
move. Dropping his unsolds, the day
dreaming newsboy, waking sharply,
ran headlong after the needless girl.
It was none too soon. The dog,
dismayed alike by the cries and
second pursuit, sprang, almost in the
teeth of the engine pilot, right across
the track Helen fast on his heels
was ready to jump after, but it would
have been pretty certainly jump to
her death. The newsboy caught her
arm and whirled her from the engine
just at it shot past with brakes
screeching on the drivers. Helen
sprawled headlong beside the track,
and the boy, unbalanced rolled on the
gravel near her.
He was on his feet in a trice, stand
and breathless, and without speaking
he knelt by her. Her eyes began to
fill! with big tears. She sat confused
ly up as her companion brushed the
granite dust from her pique skirt and
with a coarse handkerchief began
wiping the blood from cut on one Of
her pink knees. Her rescuer made lit
tie of the accident He told her not
to cry. He even brushed the round
tears from her cheeks-Helen liked
him. What is your name, little boy?'
she faltered in a would-be command
ing tone.
I'm no little boy" returned her
rescuer gruff1y. A crowd had gathered
and he was already red in the face.
Helen gave the bystanders no heed.
what are you, them" she demanded
gravely.
I'm a big boy. My name is George
Storm: I'm named after my father
He was a railroad engineer. My father
got killed on a train. Who's your IA
ther?"
Where did that dog go?" quivered
Helen, not answering.
Gee! | didn't see. You pretty near
got killed That dog wasn't any good"
declared the boy scornfully Some
day" he stopped the blood on her
knee once more with his handker-
chief, and then added firmly: Il am
going to drive big engine sometime
myself like my father
A fAGntic governess, followed by an
open-mouthed chauffeur, came running
at that moment toward them.
The child parted reluctantly from
her new-found friend. Are you 60
ing to be a reallytruly engineer and
smokyed up?" she asked.
George faced her unabashed you
Setter believe | am"
Il don't care" declared Helen,
gulping solemnly while the governess
tried to hurry her away, 81 won't ever
forget you-no matter what you are"
At eighteen, Helen had lost none of
the characteristics of her childhood.
They were held in deeper reserve, but
they were just as persistent. Re-
strained by convention, she was still
adventurous in spirit and her fathers
one anxiety, old soldier though he
was, was that spirited horse or al
ocean undertoW would some day be his
daughters undoing. At that, he was
forced to admit, the reckless girl could
get more out of a horse than he himself
could.
Closest among her fathers friends,
was Amos Rhinelander, New York
man of large means, and General
Holmes, returning on Helen's eight
zenith birthday with Rhinelander and
Rhinelander's nephew-Robert Sea-
grue, himself a young and ambitious
railroad promoter-from a trip of in
spection of the tidewater terminals Of
Holmes road, was eagerly awaited
by his daughter at their country home
among the San Pablo foothills. A
message sent up to her from Signal,
the suburban station of the country
seat, had asked her to meet her father
that day on No. 20, the through
eastern passenger train.
The motor car had gone ahead and
Helen, taking Rocket, one Of her IA
vorite hunting horses, rode down at
her leisure to the station.
While far from being a spoiled child,
Helen felt very much at home any,
where on the Copper Range and Tide
water railroad. Reared at home, un-
der a discipline almost military, and
under teachers held sternly to account