Year: 1878

Ii was near Chadd's Ford, Pa, and al
beautiful romantic spot, There is a
turbulent stream running between high
banks, on which stunted willows grow
while further down, at the waters edge,
the weeping variety of the same tree
dips its greenish tresses in the musical
water, which has hushed its riotous
noise TO almost requiem since the
death of George Ricketts, and Mollie
Dolbell-''as fine young man and as
pretty a GIRL" the farmers say, ''as you
will find in all Chester county. This is
how they met their death. Mollie was
one of those pink-and-white dairy
maids that you sometimes meet in the
grazing regions of Pennsylvania. Her
hair was bonny brown, but with just a
CLINT of black in 1t, as if it had been
gently touched by araven's wing. She
was light hearted and as merry as the
lark with which she arose, the lark that
caroled above her head as she looped
her neat dress about her enhancing
ankles, and skinned into the stone
dairy where the painted pans were
ranged in rows and the yellow pots OF
butter fiecked the cool water.


The trouble with Mollie was that she
had two lovers-one George Ricketts,, a
stalwart Farmland, and the other Hugh
O'Donnell, sullen, red-whiskered
man, employed on the small drawbridge
over the Fox Run that we have spoken
of. This draw was seldom used save
for lazy schooner that came up to get
terra-cotta pipe from a manufactory
above.


The two men knew that they were
rivals, and Mollie knew it, too, being
sore troubled in her white soul as she
stood Saturday evening before Lent
in the porch of the house where she
lived, and promised to take ride on the
morrow with George-not a ride in q
buggy nor a sail in boat, but rattling
ride on a hand-car, practice which is
frequent on these lonely lines. whose
rails vibrate but seldom under the
crunching advance of the engine.


1t is unnecessary to describe the hand.
car, that fits the rails, is worked by 8
crank, and when stared goes like wind
The car had been loaned George by q
band of laborers who were making re-
pairs about a mile above. He had
busted it neatly, and when the pretty
girl reached him by short path
through the woods, he had arranged
the vehicle so cleverly, with a cushion
for Mollle, that it did not seem unlike
Cleopatra's barge. She was in her
Sunday best, and she laughed lightly
in the sunshine as George swung her
into her seat and then leaped to the
handles.


There were no Sunday trains; there
was no danger.


Mollie crossed her tiny feet, felt the
exhilaration of the movement, as
Georges swelling arms produced the
terrible momentum, and saw her neal
skirts blown about by the rushing WIND
beneath the platform. On, on they
wen:, the glistening rails ringing, the
bonny brown hair blown about, and the
Fox Run bridge near at hand.


On that bridge Hugh O'Donnell sal
smoking his pipe The draw was open
although no drifting schooner was in
sight. Some evil bird mad whispered
TO Hugh the Sunday trip of his riva
with Mollie. He determined on murder
at once. This is the reason the rusty
draw was open, while Hugh sat in hi:
sentry-box on the other side, smoking
his pipe, and watching up the converg
ing lines of metal that seemed like satin
ribbons tied in bow by the perspective


He did not have to wait long. FRS
came the rumble-the far off SOUND
that dies away while it increases-and
then, swinging suddenly around {
curve, the hand-car, bearing the girl hi
loved and the man he hated. He drew
another Whit of smoke, and looked
calmly at the tumbril of death, witt
its arms whirling wildly, since GeOrg,
had trusted to the steep grade and tn,
appalling acceleration he had given the
machine to accomplish the passage o.
the bridge, and had sat down alongsid,
! of Mollie with his arm around her.


Just as they neared the draw, which
was never legally allowed open on sun
day, he turned his head, and his fac'
became white. Mollie felt the chill
circle her waist as his blood froze in hi
arms. He sprang to his feet and triet
to seize those revolving handles, which
were only a blur and a mist. H