Year: 1869

My name is Anthony Hunt I am
drover, and I live miles and miles away
upon the western prairie. There wasn't
home Within sight when We move there,
my wife and 1, and now we haven't many
neighbors, though those We have are
good ones.


One day about ten years ago, 1 went
away from homo to sell some fifty head Of
cattle-finc creatures as ever you saw. I
was to buy some groceries and dry goods
before [ came back, and above all doll
for our youngest Dolly. She had never,
had store doll of her owu, only the rag
babies her mother had made her.


Dolly could talk of nothing else, and
went down to the very gate to call after
me to ''buy big one" Nobody but a
parent can understand how full my mind
was of that toy, and how, when the cattle
were sold, the first thing harried off to-
buy Dolly's doll. I found large one
with eyes that would open and shut when
you pulled a wire, and had it wrapped in
paper and tucked it under my arm while
| had the parcels of calico and delaines
and tea and sugar put up. Then, late as
it was, [ started for home. 1t might have.
been more prudent to stay until morning,
but | felt anxious to get back, and eager
to hear Dolly's prattle about her toy.


| was mounted on steady going old
horse of mine and was pretty well loaded
Night set in before [ was a mile from
town and settled down dark as pitch while
[ was in the middle of the widest
bit of road [ know of. I could have felt
my way, through, remembered it so we'll,
and it was almost that when the storm
that had been brewing broke and down pei
ted the rain in torrents, five miles, or, may
be, six, from home yet, too.


/ rode on as fast as could, but all of
sudden 1 heard little cry like child's
voice l stopped short and listened-I
heard it again. called and it answered
me. couldn't see thing, all was dark
as pitch. got down and felt about the.
grass-called again, and again was an.
swered Then l began to wonder I'm
not timid, but was known to be a drover
and to have money about me. It mil ght
be trap to catch me unawares and rob
and murder me.


I'm not uperstitious-not very. But
how could a real child be out on the prai-
rie in such a night, at such an hour. 1t
might be more than human.


The bit of coward that hides itself
in most men showed itself to me then,
and l was half inclined to run away, but
once more [ heard that cry, and said L.


'If any mans child is hereabouts An
thony Hunt is not the man to let it die"


searched again. At last bethoughs
me of a hollow under the hill, and CROP
ing that way, sure enough, l found lit
tie dripping thing that moaned and sob
bed as took it in my arms. couldn't
see it, but l thanked heaven. l called
my horse, and the beast came to me, and
l mounted, and tucked the little soaked
thing under my coat as well as 1 could,
promising to take it home to nanny. It
seemed tired to death and pretty soon
cried itself to sleep against my bosom.


1t had slept there over an hour when I
saw my own windows. There were lights
in them, and supposed my wife had lie
them for my sake, but when 1 got into,
the door yard l saw something was the,
matter, and stood still with a dead fear at
my heart, FIVE minutes before I could lift
the latch. AT last did it, and saw the
room full of neighbors, and my wife a.
midst them weeping.


"What is it, neighbors," I cried


And one said, nothing, now 1 hope.
what's that in your arms ?'


GA poor, lost child" said I. 81 found
it on the road. Take it, will you, I've.
turned faint" and lifted up the sleep
ing thing and saw the face of my own
child, my little Dolly.


My little child had wandered out to,
meet "daddy" and the doll, while her
mother was at work, and whom they were,
lamenting as one dead, thanked heaven
on my knees before them all. 1t is not.
much of a story, neighbors, but think
of it often in the nights, and wonder how
l could bear to live now if had not STOP
ped when | heard the cry for help upon
the road, the little baby cry, hardly loud
er than squirrels chirp.


That's Dolly yonder with her mother
in. the meadow, girl worth saving, I
think (but then, I'm her father, and
partial, may be.) The prettiest and
sweetest thing this side of the Mississippi.