The Washington herald., 1917-05-19

Most Of the letters that receive are
j from boys ana girls anywhere between
ten and twenty Then there seems to
come a gap. Perhaps people haven't
time even to ask questions until they're
past Afty.
1 met q queer old mountaIneer once,
when We were climbing up mountains
near Truckee in California 1t was an
awfully long, hard trail and we were
tired out before we reached the top. he
had little shack. perched like an
eagles eyrie against the mountain side
and we STOPPED to drink from q wonder
full natural spring there.
"Just keep on a-climbing," he said.
cheerfully. when you once hit the
other side, it's Just q gentle slide"
That's the way Ia like life to be
| after the fifties. Just a gentle slide
down the other side OF the mountain.
facing nfes sunset
But do really love the letters from
children. One of the great reasons
why I believe moving pictures should
uplift message, is because feel sure
that at least half of the nickles and
dimes are paid by children under six
teen.
Whenever we travel from coast 10
coast, I like to take the old Santa Fe
trail route. An over this country you
will ind how closely the white man has
followed the paths made by his red
brother I was told not long ago that
the Northern Pacific was an old-time
trail and also the Boston and Maine ana
the Pere Marquette. do not know
whether there are any others or not, but
II interested me ever so much to find
out even about these. We were down
somewhere in Arizona, 1 think IL was.
The train had stopped at a little way
side station, hardly more than a water
tank and an express office. / don't
know why we were delayed there.
Mother and I sat facing each other in
our section. and she noticed a group
OF people staring in at the windows. So
without saying anything to me, she
quietly pulled the shade.
few minutes afterwards my man
ager came into the car, and with him
was little girl about nine or ten
years old.
Here's a little friend of yours. Miss
Pickford. who got up around four
O'Clock this morning and walked Eve
miles just for the chance of seeing
you on the train. Her fathers with
her out on the platform. 1 knew you'd
like to see her. so I brought her in"
I put my arm around her and said:
Hello. honey. what's your name?"
But the little thing couldn't even
speak. She Just kept looking and
looking at me for all the world like
some wide-eyed squirrel. I petted her
and kissed her. and gave her her choice
of some OF my pictures. She Just man.
aged to whisper. Thank you" when II
was time to go, and our train moved
on.
I raised the curtain to wave good bye
to her and saw her held high in the
arms Of . big, stalwart man who
swung OFF his hat with one hand as /
waved to them both. My manager told
me afterwards that he had been stand
ing on the platform when mother
pulled the window curtain down. This
man, who seemed to be a miner, was
just coming along the platform, hunt
ing all the windows OF the train to
find me, so that his little girl could
wave her hand to me. Mr.. Hemmer,
heard her cry, There she is" and then
a long drawn oh oh-h" as the cur
tain went down.
Never you mind, honey" said her
father. She didn't mean TO do it She
didn't know you'd walked five miles
just TO get a peekaat her"
Well when the manager heard that,
he never stopped to ask permission
but just took the little girl in his arms
and brought her to me. He said when
he gave her back to her father, that
he was all smiles and happiness. and
he said:
There. Emory. I told you she didn't
mean to. didn't I?'
Wasn't that dear? can't tell you
how ii made me feel to think that
that little child should get up at dawn
and walk miles on a mere chance of
catching a glimpse of me. 1t is those
little things that surely play melodies
on our heartstrings. I would rather
have had that little brief visit with
Emory than have faced some vast
cosmopolitan audience. 1 suppose you
all know from reading 1t in the papers
that once last year when they did get
me out on the stage at the Hippo
drome. all could do was just bob my
head. You loose your perspective in a
crowd, but not on the old Santa Fe
trail