Year: 1874

LITTLE WILLIE.


It frightened us good deal when we
found the little dead body. This is the
way it was. We were three country
lads going home across lots at noon
for our dinner. In passing a lonely
pasture ground we saw q little basket
lying ahead of us upon the grass. We
made a race for it and Ed captured the
prize: little farther on we picked up
a small hat which we at once recognized
as Willie Dedrick's. Then we turned
the angle of zig-zag rail fence, and
there in the corner, jammed clos under
the bottom rail, was beautiful little
Willie, only five years old.


His clothing was torn and bloody,
and he did not move; ; we felt a little
afraid because he was so still, but we
went up to him. He was dead, and his
plump little features were all blackened
with bruises.


1t shocked us very much. Only three
hours before we had been playing with
Willie at the pond. We felt that it was
a terrible thing to find him dead in this
unlocked for manner. We asked each
other what Walter and Mary would do
when they shonld hear of this Willie
vas the only boy they had. And then
the question came up what we ought to
do under such circumstances. There
was no one in sight to tell us. It
was suggested that we might take up
the body and carry it home to Walter
and Mary it was not far through the
lot and down the bank, to the pond
where their home was. It seemed nat
ural and right at first that we should
&o1x
him home. But we shrank from the
presence of death even in the form of
little Willie and, beside that, we had
certain dim and confused ideas, as coun-
try lads do who re id the city newspa-
pers, that somehow a coroner was nee
essary, and that it would not be lawful
or safe for us to meddle with Willie,
thus strangely found dead from an un-
known cause.


So we sat down upon the large stones
near by Willie, and held a council.
There was no chairman appointed, and
no secretary, and none of the surround
ings that ordinarily belong 70 deIibera-
tive bodies nevertheless, in all the es-
sentials of a great council this occasion
was very eminent. Here were three
lads, seated upon three fragments of
the ancient granite which strews the
northern slope of the Adirondack noun
tains, and below them stretched the
wild woods, away to the valley of the
mighty st. Lawrence: and in their
midst, upon that bright summer day,
sat the skeleton king, with his awful
seeptre and his iron crown, pressing
upon their young hearts those matchIess
terrOrs which have ruled the world
since time began.


It was an august presence, and the boys
felt their responsibility more than mem
bers of councils ordinarily do. Their
final conclusion was, that one of their
number must go and tell Walter and
Mary, while the other two watched the
body. It required quite as much cour-
age as wisdom to reach this conclusion,
for to tell the parents was a task the
boys dreaded.


The lot was cast, coUntry-boy fashion,
with three blades of grass, to determine
who should be the messenger of evil
tidings. The lot fell upon Phil, and he
Immediately rose up to start. Ed sug-
gested at this point that in sending word
the death ought to be ascribed to some
cause. The boys had been very much
puzzled from the first TO know what
could have done it. They gaEed about
the pasture ground to discover what
suggestion could be made. There were
a couple of horses, some COWS, and some
sheep grazing in a distant part of the
inclosUre. As soon as it was sugges-
| ted that one of the horses might perhaps
have done it by kicking Willie, the boys
| accepted that as the natural and un-
doubted solution of the mystery. Aud
so Phil took that word with him.
Phil went upon little trot through
| the lot and down the bank, moving rap
| idly, so that his heart might not have
! time to quail or shrink; and IL less
than five minutes he stood by the little
house near the pond.


| He looked at the door, which was
wide open upon this summer day, and
there he saw Walter and Mary. Wal
ter sat cleaning the lock of his rife,
while the gun itself was lying across
his lap. Doubtless Phil's face was
somewhat pale ae he went in at the
! door, for Mary looked at him as if she
| saw something there, and dreaded it.


The lad had good sense; he did not
blurt out the sad news suddenly. He
said to Walter, in quiet way, 'Will
! you please step ont of the door with
me; / wish to see you."


1t was the earnestness of the voice,
! perhaps, that caused the man to put
| aside his gun and obey so quickly.
| When they we're out of the house
| Phil said, "I have bad news for you
We have found your little son In the lot,
kicked by horse, and we are afraid
that he is so bad that he is dead"


Phil had thought OF this way of say
ing it before he got to the house. When
he said dead, Walter gave little start,
and said, g Is he dead ?"


Phil had to say, eyes, we are afraid
he is, and We think he is"


walter stepped into the cottage, and
Phil stood at the door to see how he
would tell Mary. Walter said. without
any preface, Mary, our little Willie is
/ dead?"


That was not prudent thing" the
/ boy thought, as the tragic words fell
upon his ear, and fixed themselves in
his memory.


The effect of the words upon Mary
reminded the boy of the way he had
seen q rifie-shot tell upon a rabbit OF
partridge. The woman passed through
a kind of hutter or shudder for mo-
ment, and then sank straight down in g
little heap upon the floor. Then fol
lowed series Of quick gasps and catch
ing for breath, and short exclamatiOns
OF . Oh, dear oh, dear % and then the
! stlhed shrieking began,