1||H1^ ALONG 
 
 TH£ Track 
 

 i 
 
 97 
 
UjUyfJU /O. Zjdvv^yO-W, 
 
AND 
 
 Other Stories and Poems 
 
 By 
 Mrs. GEORGE J. CROSS 
 
 JAMES H. EARLE & COMPANY 
 178 \A^ASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON 
 
Copyright, 1906 
 By Mrs. George J. Cross 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 I. Lights Along the Track 7 
 
 II. Clouds and Sunshine 13 
 
 III. Vacation and Vocation 29 
 
 IV. Lois Lincoln's Mission 43 
 
 V. My Childhood 52 
 
 VI. Reunited 62 
 
 VII. A Glad Surprise 67 
 
 VIII. Glimpses Along the Way • 71 
 
 IX. By the Wayside 82 
 
 X. Unseen Power 84 
 
 XL Homeless 87 
 
 XII. Only a Tramp 91 
 
 XIII. The Last Act 96 
 
 XIV. A Fireman's Child lop 
 
 XV. Memorial Day 102 
 
 XVI. Saved from the Bar-room 103 
 
 XVII. Saved from the Fire 106 
 
 XVIII. Welcome to Boston 108 
 
 XIX. The Fatal Alarm 109 
 
 XX. Inspiration no 
 
 XXI. Extremely Obliging 112 
 
 XXII. Sympathy 113 
 
 XXIII. The Battle of Gettysburg 114 
 
 XXIV. In Memory of the Railroad Engineer . . 116 
 XXV. Welcome to the Grand Army ..... 117 
 
 XXVI. Retrospection 118 
 
 XXVII. Old Home Week 119 
 
 XXVIII. Good-bye Old Home 121 
 
 XXIX. My Village Home 123 
 
 XXX. My Horse 124 
 
 XXXI. Resignation of a Railroad Conductor . . 125 
 
Lights Along the Track 
 
 LIGHTS ALONG THE TRACK 
 
 I WILL take two yards of that turkey- 
 red cloth, please," said Mrs. Baker, 
 after keeping the clerk waiting some 
 time. She had meditated whether they could 
 afford it, and had decided to do without some 
 other things and purchase it instead. 
 
 ''Thank you," she said, as the patient sales- 
 man passed her the package and change. 
 Then she walked triumphantly away. It would 
 be a trivial matter to many, yet she had given 
 it much thought, and once or twice had even 
 passed the linen counter, looking askance at 
 the coveted cloth which now, at last, was hers. 
 
 In her mind's eye she saw her kitchen, 
 cheerful as a summer's sunrise, as she walked 
 along with her parcels. The oilcloth carpet 
 was designed in large, dark red checks; the 
 
8 Lights Along the Track 
 
 walls tinted a spruce-gum shade; the sash cur- 
 tains were white, enlivened with cardinal 
 sprays, and now this would finish the warm, 
 tender glow of their morning room. 
 
 When Mr. Baker came home that evening, 
 he found everything cheery. The aroma of tea 
 and other fragrant odors greeted him. His 
 little wife's face was prettier because of the 
 satisfied expression in the happy eyes. In re- 
 sponse to her questioning gaze he remarked: 
 
 'Tm glad you bought it, Mae, for now we 
 are better prepared to invite some of the train- 
 men up to tea." 
 
 Mr. Baker was only a brakeman, and like 
 others crossing the first milestones of wedded 
 years, they were obliged to make ''every cent 
 count." 
 
 Year after year passed quickly away, and yet 
 they had not afforded another tablecloth to 
 change while the other was being laundered. 
 So, from time to time, they dined upon the 
 table oilcloth. Mrs. Baker mended the red 
 cloth more and more, and finally laid it aside. 
 Those years behind it had dealt out their por- 
 tions of sickness and struggles and they were 
 still trying to economize. 
 
Lights Along the Track 
 
 "Isaac," she said, "I can braid that table- 
 cloth into a rug, or take the four corners for 
 napkins for you to use when you lunch at the 
 station. I guess I'll make them right away." 
 
 Without further thought, slash went the 
 scissors and soon the whirr of the sewing ma- 
 chine. 
 
 Later as she laid the napkin over her hus- 
 band's lunch, her mind traveled back through 
 the years. She seemed to live again those 
 peaceful days and those frugal meals. Her 
 eyes welled with tears as she remembered the 
 little face in the high chair. Then she gazed 
 Heavenward, and as it were, seemed to lift that 
 "mystic screen dividing soul from soul and life 
 from life," and see the beautiful Kingdom 
 where her little child had gone to Him who 
 gathereth these buds to blossom in that vast 
 region. It made the earthly pathway to her, 
 easy to climb, although it leadeth in darksome 
 ways. 
 
 She recalled each Christmas around the festal 
 board, and the united plans across it. Other 
 table coverings could be obtained which bore 
 the same design, but not one in all the uni- 
 verse that her angel boy could prattle o'er or 
 
lo Lights Along the Track 
 
 that would contain dormant memories of her 
 early wedded life. She felt as she put the cover 
 on the pail as if she had been talking with an 
 old friend. 
 
 A heavy storm had hung over the town for 
 many days, filling the road with streamlets, 
 and it was gulHed out on either side, but Mrs. 
 Baker was fully equipped with rainy day gar- 
 ments and rubber boots. As she took up the 
 dinner pail, full of warm, tempting food, she 
 said aloud, 
 
 "I guess I'll go across to-day, the road is so 
 bad." 
 
 She was but half-way to the station, when she 
 heard a strange, ominous sound, like that of 
 rushing water. She stepped out of the path, 
 and climbed a huge boulder in order to study 
 the mysterious elements. 
 
 Lo, to her startled eyes was revealed the 
 fact that the bridge was washed away. She 
 grew pallid with terror and was nearly bereft 
 of her senses. As ''in an awful dream" she 
 realized in a short time that the Passenger Ex- 
 press was due at Riverside. The bridge was 
 gone and she must save the train, laden with 
 precious humanity. 
 
Lights Along the Track ii 
 
 The hearts on yon swift coming train, 
 So light and so happy this moment, 
 Are rushing to terror and pain. 
 
 There was the red napkin in the dinner pail 
 that she could wave by crossing the field above 
 the bridge, and signal ''danger ahead." 
 
 She "prayed instantly" for God to give her 
 strength to save the train. Her breath nearly 
 left her as she saw the great monster engine 
 shooting around the distant curve. 
 
 The wind and sleet seemed to blind her, yet 
 she waved and waved the red napkin franti- 
 cally. She heard the engine slowing up. Now, 
 she felt its hot, steaming breath as it passed 
 her; it came to a halt. Falling to the ground, 
 she remembered no more until she found her- 
 self at home, and able to tell her story. 
 
 A few weeks later, the night before Christ- 
 mas, as they were about to retire, a special 
 letter was passed them, which read as follows: 
 
 Dear Stranger Friends: 
 
 I must express my gratitude to you for saving 
 the train, on which were my small children alone. 
 I feel greatly indebted to you for saving their lives. 
 
 I have learned that there is a sum of money, 
 coming from others to you, at headquarters, but I 
 
12 Lights Along the Track 
 
 wish to send mine individually. Enclosed find, 
 please, my check for six hundred dollars ($600.00), 
 as a Christmas gift, trusting that you may have a 
 memorable Christmas. 
 
 God bless you, and grant you many pleasant 
 Christmases to follow, crowned with loving deeds 
 from your fellowmen. 
 
 With this I send a nice red table-cloth, to serve 
 in case of emergency. 
 
 Yours from an appreciative heart, 
 
 Hon. James F. Dimmock. 
 
 Kansas City, Mo. 
 
 With tears in her eyes, as she put the missive 
 back in its envelope, her husband folded her in 
 his arms, and said: 
 
 "So this is our reward, little wife, for your 
 presence of mind. Let us retire, first thanking 
 God for his wonderful mercy, and then say 
 good-night." 
 
Clouds and Sunshine 
 
 13 
 
 II 
 
 CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE 
 
 Standing with reluctant feet 
 Where the brook and river meet, 
 Womanhood and childhood fleet. 
 
 MARION DOUGLAS stood on the 
 porch of an old-fashioned farm house 
 at Clematis Creek. She did not hear 
 the tinkling cow-bells o'er the lea, or the merry 
 whistle of the chore boy as he guided the kine 
 up the long green lane; she did not even hear 
 her grandmother's call, "Take the milking pails 
 to the barn, my dear." 
 
 The only sound she was not oblivious to was 
 the shrill shriek of the train engine, eight miles 
 away. Hitherto she had lived a quiet life with 
 her grandparents, although Boston had been 
 her birthplace. Her mother had died, leaving 
 baby Marion to dwell at Clematis Creek. She 
 had always been contented until now. She 
 looked away over the blue mountains with a 
 deep yearning to see dear, cultured Boston. 
 
14 Lights Along the Track 
 
 She pictured ''the Hub" in her heart, until 
 she longed to revisit the city of her birth. She 
 was awakened from her reverie by the supper 
 horn, and as she sat at the snowy table with 
 the hale and hearty farmers, partaking of the 
 temptingly rural supper, she unconsciously fell 
 into the spirit of the evening, and regretted 
 that she had day-dreamed of going to the dusty 
 city. 
 
 Caressed by gentle slumber early that night, 
 she forgot for a time the dormant desire. She 
 lived a consistent Christian life, surrounded by 
 the calm, subduing influence of her rural home. 
 She had adopted as her vocation teaching in 
 the district schools in adjoining towns, and al- 
 ways deemed it necessary to teach her pupils 
 of a higher self and the way to attain it, lending 
 the atmosphere of her own rearing until it was 
 instilled in them, and in later years was made 
 glad and happy as she saw the seed she had 
 sown bud and blossom along the varied path- 
 ways of life. 
 
 She anticipated that when the summer term 
 ended, she might be able to help at home, in- 
 doors and out. Having finished the term, the 
 
Clouds and Sunshine 15 
 
 interests of household duties were already 
 divided with her. 
 
 The months flew by so rapidly that she 
 could hardly realize that the harvest season had 
 come. She was now assisting her grandfather 
 to ''heap high the wintry hoard," after which 
 the fall house-cleaning was begun. They had 
 worked from "sun to sun," and grandmother 
 had asked her to procure the supply of kindling 
 wood for the morning fire. 
 
 As Marion was cheerily gathering the wood, 
 a young man drove swiftly up, so she dropped 
 her wood and hurried to the orchard where her 
 grandmother was spreading out her clothes, 
 and asked her to answer the young man's 
 knock. 
 
 'T think it may be the book agent," she said 
 by way of explanation. Mrs. Hope had been 
 expecting the agent for the book, "The Poets 
 of Maine," in which her latest poem had ap- 
 peared. 
 
 Marion felt quite positive that this gentle- 
 man had an atmosphere of Portland about him, 
 and even the horse had a dashing city trot. 
 Mrs. Hope urged Marion to open the door 
 and not keep him waiting. Miss Douglas pro- 
 
1 6 Lights Along the Track 
 
 tested, declaring emphatically that she would 
 not, because he had seen her sawing wood. 
 Grandmother responded, and soon returned, 
 ejaculating: 
 
 'Why, it isn't the book agent after all. It is 
 Mr. Allen's son from Boston. I knew his 
 father when we were children. Go in and en- 
 tertain him while I get some fruit." 
 
 Reluctantly Marion obeyed her request and 
 introduced herself to young Mr. Allen by say- 
 ing, ''Grandmother sent me in to talk with you 
 while she gets some fruit and starts the fires. 
 The evenings are very fall-like." 
 
 Glancing about the room, Mr. Allen saw a 
 high organ and asked Miss Douglas to play 
 for him, saying it would be quite a treat to hear 
 an organ again. Seating herself at the organ, 
 and to her own accompaniment, she sang: 
 
 After years of life together, 
 After fair and stormy weather — 
 After travel in far lands, 
 After touch of wedded hands: 
 Why thus joined — why ever met — 
 If we must be strangers yet? 
 
 The gentleman Hstened attentively, little 
 thinking that the sweet song just rendered had 
 
Clouds and Sunshine 17 
 
 "touched a chord in his memory that would 
 vibrate forevermore." 
 
 At length the singer was excused to serve 
 lunch. The biscuits, jam, cake and cheese were 
 enjoyed greatly, and Mr. Allen thought Mr. 
 and Mrs. Hope dear old people, ''growing old 
 gracefully, cheerfully and bright." 
 
 **I gladly sacrifice for them," Marion said. 
 "It is not any merit in me, only doing as they 
 have done for me. They cared for me when I 
 was helpless — just a baby — and now in their 
 declining years I should care for them." In 
 reply to a question of his, she said: 
 
 "Yes, I do often wish to see the famous 
 works of art, hear the wonderful musicians, and 
 attend the splendid lectures in Boston, but 
 since these pleasures are denied me, I choose 
 duty, and in this remote part of the country, I 
 am contented with that duty." 
 
 Still Mr. Allen wondered how the charming 
 little hostess could be contented, "way down 
 East," and pictured to her the delights of the 
 Hub, its many points of interest, its inner life 
 among the narrow ways where poverty reigned 
 supreme and made "even the little child com- 
 
1 8 Lights Along the Track 
 
 plain," arriving later to a description of his own 
 life. 
 
 He described the Boston Fire Department, 
 of which he was a member, until she could al- 
 most see the proud horses with their foaming 
 mouths, the long red ladders, the lurid skies, 
 and hear the dull humming of the engines. She 
 could hear the cries, "water, there," and ''well 
 done, boys," and see the alert firemen — brave 
 laddies all! Mr. Allen's silver badge, gleaming 
 in the firelight, glittered in her eyes as nothing 
 had ever sparkled before. 
 
 The time came for him to go. He promised 
 to come again when opportunity presented. As 
 he went to his carriage he turned back and 
 said to the young woman: 
 
 ''Miss Douglas, I appreciate your hospitality 
 and would like to write to you when I return." 
 Then, in a wondrously winning manner, he said 
 softly, "I hope to meet you again." 
 
 His horse ran at will that evening, crossing 
 the country. Its master was lost in thought, 
 and meditated how much he would like a home 
 of his own, with such a hostess presiding over 
 it as had entertained him so royally. Marion 
 seemed like a poetess of verse and song, a good 
 
Clouds and Sunshine 19 
 
 cook, painted some, and was a bright, merry 
 little person. He thought he could never make 
 a city girl his wife, if it were possible to win 
 this noble, talented girl. He admired her un- 
 assuming bearing; it was uppermost in his ad- 
 miration. 
 
 When he reached home he entered the coun- 
 try episode in his diary and wrote his first letter 
 to Clematis Creek. Marion did not imme- 
 diately respond, as he had anticipated. She 
 had apparently weighed every word carefully, 
 and the entire letter had evidently been com- 
 posed with great discretion. After a third pe- 
 rusal he decided that Miss Douglas was not to 
 be so easily won, and he was all the more de- 
 termined to win her. He wrote and told her 
 that he cared a great deal for her. As those 
 words were read by the recipient she smiled 
 satirically, for she doubted that it was love. 
 
 It might only be fancy — a fascination for the 
 time being. It might take its flight as it had 
 come — leaving not one bright spot in his busy 
 life, so she would not offer the slightest sug- 
 gestion of her regard for him. Her proud 
 spirit, inborn, seemed to check her, although 
 she often repeated to her heart: 
 
20 Lights Along the Track 
 
 I shall know when my king I meet, 
 
 My soul shall rise and his coming greet. 
 
 She knew she had met her king. She dwelt 
 in a new atmosphere and it was almost as if she 
 had never breathed before. There was another 
 star in her sky. How she wrestled to conquer 
 it. She was not blind to the new Hght in her 
 sombre sky. Although she lost no ray of in- 
 terest in her home life, her heart awaited 
 eagerly the letters from her king among men. 
 She did not weary of the correspondence, and 
 Alton Allen was not in danger of being de- 
 throned from the pedestal in her heart. 
 
 The harvest moon rose again over beautiful 
 Clematis Creek, as it lay embowered among the 
 hills. Again she greeted Alton Allen, not as a 
 stranger, but as a friend. He went gunning, 
 fishing and rowing during the vacation days, 
 and just before they expired he asked Marion 
 to promise to be his wife. In the sweet old 
 story he omitted the cloud, and she — now all 
 eager to tell him how much she did care for 
 him — accepted the ring that sealed her mar- 
 riage promise. 
 
 She forgot her desire to serve the dear home 
 circle, nor did she realize that, until in the 
 
Clouds and Sunshine 21 
 
 birthday of the spring came a letter bearing 
 these words: 
 
 ''My vacation is earlier than usual this year, 
 consequently I shall come for you in the month 
 of August, and bring you back to Boston, dear 
 Marion, as my wife. You are to have some of 
 your brightest day-dreams realized." 
 
 How vividly she saw the home leaving. She 
 wished to "bide a wee," but she had promised 
 and held that vow sacred. Something whis- 
 pered within her that he cared for her people, 
 and would doubtless arrange matters so that 
 she might visit them at the old homestead. She 
 could write them weekly letters, and rest in 
 the belief and knowledge that they were in the 
 care of Him "who careth for all." So in the 
 month of August, Alton Allen and Marion 
 Douglas were united in marriage by the pastor 
 who had baptized her many years before. She 
 visited her old haunts, favorite nooks and 
 meadows, feehng their silent farewells. She 
 appeared quite equal to the trying ordeal of 
 saying good-bye to her old home, leaving love 
 that was tender and had proven true for a home 
 and a love that was as yet all untried. 
 
 "She kissed the lips of kith and kin," and re- 
 
22 Lights Along the Track 
 
 ceived their solemn blessings. She walked 
 bravely down the path to the stage, for 
 
 Waiting her coming was one true heart, 
 
 Who had vowed to be true "till death do us part," 
 
 Down in her hillside home. 
 And that thought bore aloft her soul 
 Until her feeling she could control, 
 
 Down in her hillside home. 
 
 In the seat on the train she found a paper 
 and as she picked it up her eyes met, first of all, 
 these words, "Look through Paul's mighty 
 telescope to the heavens and you will see that 
 all things work together for good to them that 
 love the Lord." Comforted by these words, 
 she composed a poem, "Good-bye, Old Home." 
 She was awakened from her musing by the 
 trainman's loud call: "Boston, Boston, don't 
 leave any luggage in the car!" 
 
 Leaning on the stalwart arm of her husband, 
 she entered her city home. What a sweet 
 home it proved to be! The years flew by as 
 though winged, until three years were linked 
 on memory's golden chain. Marion sat in the 
 dim light of departing day, counting over the 
 many pleasant trips since her marriage, to the 
 homeland. 
 
Clouds and Sunshine 23 
 
 She treasured memories of entertainments, 
 concerts, excursions, lectures, and above all, 
 the peace of their little haven at this eventide. 
 Her girlhood's home was now in the hands of 
 strangers, and she fully adored her new home. 
 It had a double portion of her love, as she knelt 
 and prayed there alone as the golden sun 
 gilded her kitchen windows, throwing a halo of 
 light about the little form of the sweet woman 
 communing with her Maker. 
 
 How little she knew of the shadow that hov- 
 ered near, threateningly, or of how soon she 
 was to be thrown upon the world. On a bright 
 July morning, when all nature seemed exultant 
 and everything was at its gayest, a cloud came 
 to that clear, blue sky, and cast its dark shadow 
 over that home. It was not a false mirage, it 
 was cruelly real and destroyed the little haven. 
 The cloud- was the coming of a designing 
 woman, who, in her artful, practiced manner, 
 led Marion's husband from his own as he slept 
 — asleep to the pure and the true, to the home 
 he had been building, to the faithful wife, to his 
 duty, to the rich fullness of right living and the 
 reward in heaven. 
 
 The awakening was sure. He must awaken 
 
24 Lights Along the Track 
 
 from that restive sleep to a lifetime of regret. 
 
 For sins indulged while conscience slept, 
 For vows and promises unkept, 
 And reap from years of strife, 
 Nothing but leaves, nothing but leaves. 
 
 He had gone. A few penciled lines informed 
 the waiting wife, "Never to return." She was 
 alone, outside of the comforts which had been 
 her environment; alone, at the mercy of busy 
 Boston. Now the sterner realities of life cast 
 their mantle over her and although sick with 
 weeping, she determined to seek a little room 
 and see if work and time would not efface her 
 grief and sorrow. 
 
 She succeeded in finding a room, which she 
 shared with her landlady's young daughter, 
 Leslie Linwood. She was able to economize 
 by doing so, and felt pleased to have the 
 friendly girl rather than be alone with her 
 thoughts, memories and hopes. 
 
 One day she was returning from lunch, when 
 from an open church door she heard the choir 
 singing at the Sabbath service: 
 
 I'll live for Him, who died for me, 
 How happy, then, my life shall be. 
 
Clouds and Sunshine 25 
 
 Guided by unseen power she entered the 
 church, and it proved to be the beginning of a 
 new Hfe for her. At the close of the sermon 
 the minister announced that owing to the vaca- 
 tion season, teachers were needed in the Sab- 
 bath School. Mrs. Allen went up after the 
 service and offered to take a class, resolving 
 to ''live for Him." A class of ten little girls 
 was given her in the primary department. She 
 looked in those little upturned faces and 
 thought of the Master's words, "Suffer little 
 children to come unto me, and forbid them 
 not." And, ''Inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
 one of the least of these." She became organ- 
 ist, but each time she seated herself before the 
 organ it brought back to her vividly the scene 
 in the old homestead when she had first sung 
 for Alton Allen the old ballad: "After touch 
 of wedded hands, why thus joined, why ever 
 met, if we must be strangers yet." 
 
 Later on she became superintendent of the 
 Sunday School department. Children's Sab- 
 bath dawned joyously. Mrs. Allen, with fellow- 
 teachers, conducted the children in special cars 
 to the beautiful Brookline Reservoir, where 
 they gathered wild flowers after the long ride. 
 
26 Lights Along the Track 
 
 They went merrily through the fields, singing 
 one of their childish songs, 
 
 Daisies, daisies everywhere, 
 Daisies drifting through the air. 
 
 She forgot her grief and thanked the dear 
 Lord for the. blessed work of teaching His chil- 
 dren. The cars resembled flower gardens as 
 they re-entered the city. 
 
 Alton Allen, in the ladder house window, 
 entered in his diary: "Marion retains her 
 strength of character, even though I ruthlessly 
 cast her down. That scene carries me back to 
 the time when I saw her amid the daisies. 
 Hers is the same pure face to-day that it was 
 in the 'red letter days' of the past." 
 
 But for the alarm of Box 52, that broke the 
 spell, he would have spent a remorseful eve- 
 ning. The next morning he read the church 
 bulletin: "Concert this evening. Birds, Songs 
 and Flowers. Program arranged by Mrs. 
 Marion Allen, Primary Superintendent." 
 
 He was to all appearances absorbed in the 
 morning paper, and although pleased, did not 
 acknowledge that he had seen the notice. Al- 
 though he had forsaken her, he felt glad to 
 
Clouds and Sunshine 27 
 
 know that she was with God's children. They 
 never met, but she heard frequently that he 
 was far from being happy. She prayed con- 
 stantly that God might forgive him, and trusted 
 that He would with pardoning hands, reach out 
 and open a way for him to enter through the 
 gates ajar, the pearly portals, to meet the King 
 in His glory. 
 
 Marion enjoyed the companionship of Leslie 
 Linwood. Although but twelve years of age, 
 she was very womanly, and a good pianist, as 
 well as an omnivorous reader. She was always 
 trudging to the Public Library, choosing read- 
 ing matter. The child was so considerate — 
 always keeping a late magazine on the table, 
 and would have the gas burning brightly to 
 welcome Marion home. She would strive to 
 be at the piano playing a favorite piece or a 
 march from the March King. Oftentimes they 
 would sit in the quietude of their small sphere 
 while Leslie played nocturnes, sonatas and 
 sacred songs, in which both voices would 
 blend, until both were lulled to the land of Nod. 
 When the morning sun shone brightly in the 
 cosy room, Leslie would hastily get what they 
 called a rustic lunch. A white spread would be 
 
28 Lights Along the Track 
 
 laid on a small table, with dainty china, and 
 the breakfast, consisting of boiled eggs and 
 coffee and rolls from the bakery and fruit from 
 the corner stand, would be reHshed and deemed 
 lit to ''set before the king." 
 
 There would be a brief tete-a-tete before Mrs. 
 Allen started off to work. She dined at a down 
 town cafe, and there became acquainted with a 
 waitress. At the same table at which she al- 
 ways sat was a wealthy lady. She gleaned from 
 the conversation from day to day that Marion 
 desired a position as governess and after being 
 introduced by the waitress, she offered Marion 
 the position as companion to her young 
 daughter Priscilla. 
 
 Her principal study was to be music. Her 
 reci-eation was driving, either out to Chestnut 
 Hill or Franklin Park. When weary of drives 
 about the numerous park systems, they would 
 return and study Mother Nature. Priscilla 
 seemed hungry for the companionship of the 
 young girl, so Mrs. Allen interviewed Mrs. 
 Gregg and obtained permission to introduce 
 to her little Leslie, her boon companion. They 
 made a very congenial trio, Marion was in her 
 right sphere at last. As Priscilla merged into 
 
Vacation and Vocation 29 
 
 womanhood, she exercised careful training, lest 
 like Priscilla Alden, she have many admirers. 
 She was instructed to cultivate the habit of con- 
 sidering well before deciding, and especially 
 the decision that she might make, lest she 
 ''marry in haste and repent at leisure." 
 
 Ill 
 VACATION AND VOCATION 
 
 ANNA WESTON was an assistant teacher 
 in the Kindergarten of the College Set- 
 tlement. She had achieved great suc- 
 cess, but on account of her ill health the physi- 
 cians advised her to go into the country to 
 regain her normal condition that she might 
 resume her work. She had not a parental 
 home, with arms of parental love to encircle 
 her in this hour of frustration. Somewhere 
 she had read, ''Before the power of a mighty 
 resolve the hardest walls of difficulty must 
 weaken," and then Harriet Beecher Stowe had 
 said, she could not remember exactly the 
 words, but the gist of the saying was, "When- 
 
30 Lights Along the Track 
 
 ever things are hard and you think you cannot 
 endure any longer, hold on, for that is the very 
 place that the tide will turn." It was like a 
 tonic to her tired nerves, and she resolved to 
 adopt domestic duties. 
 
 She was offered a position as housekeeper 
 for a Mr. Frost and two sons in the country. 
 This avenue seemed providentially brought to 
 view, and, as she thought it was opened by the 
 hand of Providence, she exchanged references 
 and journeyed there very sanguine of restoring 
 her health by exercise, country food and air. 
 
 It was a gray, dismal day in October. The 
 rain poured incessantly. Mr. Frost piloted her 
 to her home — his home, from the depot, and 
 retreating, said, 'T have the noon train and 
 shall not be in again until three o'clock." 
 
 He had been a conductor of the N-. Y., N. 
 H. & H. R. R. for a number of years. As she 
 watched his train glide out of the station she 
 thought, 'T must interest myself in that work 
 as well as the home." Just then the boys en- 
 tered from school, the older one introducing 
 himself by saying: 
 
 ''Do you like dogs? Are you 'fraid of guns?" 
 
 The younger one stood with arms akimbo, 
 
Vacation and Vocation 31 
 
 and after a long, wistful gaze, sweetly said: ''I 
 — I — am glad to see you." Her whole being 
 seemed penetrated by that childish expression. 
 Somebody, in the form of a lonely heart of a 
 little child, was glad to see her — a child bereft 
 of that tender mother-love. She watched them 
 going of¥ to school with love kindling within 
 her for these boys, who were given under her 
 care, to train along the first roads to manhood. 
 
 Now that they had all gone out she felt a 
 strange homesickness coming on her, and she 
 gave vent to her feelings by a "good cry." 
 When Mr. Frost returned he found her curled 
 up on her Saratoga, weeping bitterly. The 
 tearful face did not freeze him, for he under- 
 stood how one must feel to lose health, posi- 
 tion, and to miss the dear faces of their many 
 friends. The rainy day did not add warmth to 
 her chilled spirits. At length Mr. Frost re- 
 marked: 
 
 "Cheer up — open the piano and cheer us. 
 We are lonely, too." 
 
 Inspired by his kind words, she at once 
 began a regular routine of work, a ''day for 
 everything, and everything in its day." The 
 winter came and went, teeming with happy 
 
32 Lights Along the Track 
 
 hours. Already the pussy-willows were nod- 
 ding by the gurgling brooks. The boys now 
 left their books and piano for outdoor sports. 
 John, the older, built a dog-house and painted 
 it green. A strip of canvas formed the door, 
 through which the little dog. Buster, might 
 dodge in and out at will. Then he excavated a 
 well and lowered a water pail, which he filled 
 with water every day. He attached a wire to 
 the huge old apple tree which sheltered the 
 Httle house, thence across to the cottage. 
 
 He fastened a chain to Buster's collar, which 
 reached to the wire, so that he could trot from 
 his house to the doorstep, where he would 
 salute invaders with his houndish bow-wow- 
 wow. His green house was situated in a green 
 spot so that Anna laughingly termed it ''Little 
 Ireland." 
 
 One bright summer's morning, Mr. Frost 
 unchained him so he could take his morning 
 run. He was frolicking on the bridge and did 
 not hear the locomotive thundering along the 
 track, and it struck the little dog, knocking him 
 into the river below. He only lived to swim 
 ashore. John did not weep. That would not 
 become a high school student, but Anna found 
 
Vacation and Vocation 
 
 33 
 
 in John's room a little collar and chain hanging 
 on the wall, suggestive of tender memories of 
 the little white dog. 
 
 Mr. Frost did not Hke to see the empty dog- 
 house without the little white figure running 
 in and out, so he had it removed to the back 
 orchard and transformed into a chicken coop, 
 and with a beautiful brood of chickens hopping 
 here and there it lost the sad appearance it had 
 been wont to bear. 
 
 John was too sensible to dwell on the un- 
 pleasant things of life and sought other amuse- 
 ments. He bought a white canoe and left it in 
 the orchard until he was ready to launch it in 
 the river below. One day in looking it over, 
 he found a leak in it and left it there, discour- 
 aged with his undertakings. How the roses 
 bloomed above it! How the tall grass grew 
 around it! 
 
 Bye-and-bye an old hen thought it safely 
 moored and strutted in under it, leaving a 
 beautiful nest of eggs. Anna had been wonder- 
 ing where the black hen had stolen her nest. 
 One baking day she needed one more ^gg and 
 went to the lady in the other side of the house 
 to borrow one. She met her coming to borrow 
 
34 Lights Along the Track 
 
 one from her. She, too, was in the same pre- 
 dicament. She had gotten the ingredients to- 
 gether in the larg€ yellow bowl and was minus 
 an egg. So they sat down on the doorsteps, 
 laughing merrily. They decided to wait for 
 the hens to lay. 
 
 Suddenly from under the canoe came the 
 welcome sound, *'cut-cut-caw-cut," and 'twas 
 hard to tell which won the race to get there 
 first, but they found a dozen eggs. The old 
 black hen cackled all the louder to think she 
 had laid her last egg without being disturbed. 
 Anna and Jennie ran like school girls back to 
 the cake board, declaring the eggs were made 
 to order. 
 
 It was an ancient cottage, embowered in an 
 amaranth of roses and vines, and Anna appre- 
 ciated these beautiful flowers, the ''robin's 
 sweet refrain," the sunny days and the kind 
 hearts of her cottage home. She went each 
 morning to cut roses for the sick, church or 
 home. She didn't look like the pale person 
 that came in the fall. A well-tanned face 
 peeped from under ''an old straw hat, with a 
 great broad rim," and she said to herself, "I am 
 
Vacation and Vocation 35 
 
 ever so glad I came into the country. It is 
 doing me great good! I am very happy!" 
 
 Just then her soHloquy was interrupted by a 
 messenger boy who passed her a yellow slip of 
 paper which read: ''G. J. Frost — You will be 
 changed to the Norton run, beginning work 
 Saturday. Orders to move before that time." 
 The telegram fell from her trembling hand to 
 the ground beside her basket of clipped roses. 
 That message was for Mr. Frost, but it seemed 
 to voice different words to her. Another trans- 
 formation scene on a larger scale than Buster's 
 dog house was paramount in her mind. The 
 time had come to put forth her sterling nature, 
 to smooth the rough edges of this trying ordeal 
 into which they were about to enter. She 
 thought, 'T have put my shoulder to the wheel, 
 and I shall not turn back." 
 
 A strong man would be disheartened when 
 he reads the message to leave his home where 
 he has lived so many, many years. It must be 
 her woman's heart, well schooled in life's bat- 
 tles, equipped with the helmet of Faith and 
 Courage to Hghten the burden, every step of 
 the way. 
 
 She gave him the telegram at noon, saying, 
 
36 Lights Along the Track 
 
 "Many hands make light work. We can all 
 lend a hand and we shall get along very nicely." 
 He didn't speak. He was so filled with grief. 
 She left him absorbed in his own thoughts and 
 soon began packing. It seemed to be con- 
 tagious, for soon they were all as busy as bees. 
 Ere long the great, high load was completed. 
 John and Russel begged permission to ride on 
 the load to see the country. Mr. Frost and 
 Miss Weston went by train to have the house 
 secured open when the load should arrive. 
 They seated themselves on the lawn to see if 
 they were in sight, but they were invisible. A 
 tempest was rapidly rising over the sea. 
 
 The air was stained with black: 
 
 Night had come early on the storm cloud's back. 
 
 Finally the storm compelled them to go in- 
 doors. There wasn't a chair to sit in and they 
 were very hungry, but the lunch was in the 
 load. Night had, in reality, thrown her mantle 
 over the little village of Norton. Mr. Frost 
 paced up and down the floor with anxious brow 
 and nervous step. He said: 
 
 ''Anna, do you suppose they have lost their 
 way or that Russel has fallen from the team? 
 
Vacation and Vocation 37 
 
 The goods must be ruined — but never mind 
 that if the boys are all right." 
 
 Just then their fears were quelled as they 
 heard the rumble of wheels close to the house. 
 As they went out into the yard, they found the 
 team stuck in a ditch, but a kind neighbor 
 loaned a team of oxen to help out, and after a 
 strenuous effort, they were stationed at the 
 door to begin unloading. 
 
 '^Midnight paused in the skies" when the last 
 thing was indoors. I will draw a veil over the 
 wreckage, except on the "little ark," as Anna 
 called a wooden box with slats nailed across it, 
 in which was imprisoned the house cat, Tim. 
 He was submerged in the flood, where he re- 
 mained until morning, when Mr. Frost unfas- 
 tened the prison bars, and out leaped poor old 
 Timmy like a wild cat. 
 
 The brown dog next door thought, 'T think 
 I shall not like that grizzly-looking neighbor. 
 Guess I will show him in the beginning that 
 he must fear me." Whereupon he bounded 
 across lots and bit harmless Timmy. With 
 good nursing Timmy survived. He soon be- 
 came acquainted with the highest limbs of a 
 pear tree, where he could flee in time of war. 
 
38 Lights Along the Track 
 
 Anna, with patient, persevering efforts, suc- 
 ceeding in getting the goods dry, at last had 
 everything in order and quoted Will Carleton's 
 words: 
 
 Out of the old house, Nancy, 
 
 Moved up into the new. 
 All of the hurry and worry, 
 
 Is just as good as through. 
 
 The salt sea air was invigorating, and her 
 health was improving every day. The town 
 afforded such facilities for rest. There was no 
 ding-dong of the electric cars and quietude 
 reigned supreme. The evenings were peaceful 
 and serene. Anna enjoyed going out every fine 
 evening to sit on the stone wall commanding 
 a view of the broad fields dotted with hay 
 stacks, and above, the full moon reflecting its 
 beauty in the still water below. 
 
 She would sit there for hours, breathing the 
 scent of new mown clover that pervaded the 
 air, and drinking in the grandeur of the night. 
 One night the man in the moon said, 'T often 
 wish I could leave this sphere and visit the 
 slumbering earth. This perpetual ethereal ex- 
 panse is wearisome. I was not here the night 
 you came or else you would have seen the way 
 
Vacation and Vocation 
 
 39 
 
 much better." The man in the moon had not 
 materialized. She had only been dreaming and 
 awoke to find that she was catching cold in **the 
 evening dews and damps." She hastened to 
 the house and closed the doors on her vision 
 of the gentleman of the moon and the mourn- 
 ful voices of the myriad crickets. These even- 
 ings were followed by long wintry evenings. 
 
 Mr. Frost did not get home until nine 
 o'clock. She and Russel used to enjoy literary 
 work. Russel delighted in composing that 
 which delights childish minds best, fairyland 
 adventures. When tired of composing, they 
 would tell each other stories, sing simple bal- 
 lads and draw. Russel had an inborn talent for 
 drawing. He had a large collection that he was 
 saving for a scrap-book, so that when he had 
 grown to manhood he could treasure them in 
 retrospection. 
 
 Russel never tired of telling the story of his 
 ride to Norton on the load of goods. 
 
 When storm frights found him at his best, 
 He always hid his white face on her breast. 
 
 Russel sat on the ottoman at her feet and 
 reiterated the story: 
 
40 Lights Along the Track 
 
 "It's great to tell now 'tis all over, but Anna, 
 'twas awful then, 'way up on that high load. I 
 thought I was nearer the clouds than the earth, 
 and that strange driver kept saying, 'Never 
 seed nothin' nowhere beat them black clouds. 
 Never see such clouds as them be. We're goin' 
 to git it now, I tell ye.' Just then a big bolt of 
 lightning and a peal of thunder went crashing 
 through the air and he lost control of the four 
 horses, and went bang against a rail fence on 
 the top of Norton Hill. 
 
 ''Oh, didn't that load just rock! I looked 
 down, and gracious — cliffs, banks and flowing 
 water! I grew dizzy with fright. We just came 
 within a hair's breadth of going over that steep 
 embankment. If we had, Anna, you'd a been 
 all alone in your chamber now, wouldn't you?" 
 
 Mr. Frost, returning home, interrupted the 
 response, and after lunch the evening was spent 
 in business writing for the railroad. Thus the 
 evenings glided into sweet Springtime that was 
 proclaimed by the frogs' annual jubilee. The 
 grass was shooting forth its tender blades, the 
 trees were budding, birds flitting from spray to 
 spray, and everything seemed inspired with new 
 life. ' 
 
Vacation and Vocation 41 
 
 It was soul thrilling after the severe winter. 
 Anna seemed resurrected from an anchorite 
 into the spirit of the newborn Spring, made 
 better by the burdens, heartaches and responsi- 
 bility. All Nature was beginning anew and 
 she, too, wanted to be clothed in a new and 
 better life, and molded by the hand of Spring 
 into a life of activity and service for the Master. 
 
 Suddenly, amid all these aspirations and reso- 
 lutions, when Nature was at her gayest, sad 
 news came to Norton. The train was rounding 
 the curve at WilHams' Crossing, and Conductor 
 Frost, in passing from one car to the next, was 
 thrown of¥. When they arrived at the next 
 station, they missed their conductor. 
 
 Later, the engineer, quick of discernment, 
 had gotten orders, put his hand on the lever, 
 and 317 backed out of the station. They found 
 Mr. Frost unconscious and apparently seriously 
 injured. He who started the train that morn- 
 ing, light-hearted and gay, little thinking of the 
 danger ahead, now lay prostrated in the car 
 that bore him to Norton. The doctor said the 
 muscles were strained, and that he feared he 
 was injured internally. The terrible shock had 
 brought on nervous prostration. Anna had 
 
42 Lights Along the Track 
 
 arrangements completed to go back to the Col- 
 lege Settlement. This scene lay before her as 
 in emigrating, and she must stand by her post. 
 
 Therefore, she remained many more weeks. 
 He recovered in a degree, but was advised to 
 go away and to give his nerves a rest. He went 
 to his mother's home in Vermont. He had not 
 been there more than a week when he chanced 
 to meet an old classmate whom he had favored 
 in boyhood. He thought her words were 
 weighty when she carelessly remarked that she 
 had never married. 
 
 An old love-light beamed in his eyes as he 
 thought once more of how "things work to- 
 gether for good." Now, just as vaUant Anna 
 was to leave, he had met a friend who had never 
 forgotten him and he thought he would be very 
 happy taking her back with him, if she would 
 wed him. The lady accepted his proposal, say- 
 ing: "My love for the country is inborn, and 
 there is not a ghost of an idea but that I shall 
 be contented in Norton with you and yours." 
 
 Anna had been faithful in every time of need, 
 and was delighted to leave them with such 
 pleasant environments. It was noticeable how 
 things shaped themselves, and the spring term 
 
Lois Lincoln's flission 45 
 
 opened just before they returned, so Anna was 
 happy as she thought, "They are on their wed- 
 ding tour, — their honeymoon," and then she 
 added to herself: "If they are alone with the 
 boys they will have a broader range to talk 
 over, the bridge of years, etc." 
 
 The bracing salt air restored her health, and 
 it was with thankful heart that she resumed her 
 vocation and became again wedded to her art. 
 Mr. Frost had met the one who had never tired 
 of his memory, and whom John and Russel 
 liked very much, and we leave them supremely 
 blessed, in the "cottage by the sea." 
 
 IV 
 LOIS LINCOLN'S MISSION 
 
 THERE was a farm in the country on 
 which stood a large, old-fashioned farm- 
 house, over which hung the drooping 
 branches of an ancient elm. In a chamber- 
 window sat a young girl of great beauty. 
 Hitherto she had lived a quiet life. She 
 had had the advantages which large country 
 
44 Lights Along the Track 
 
 towns afford: the district school, the village 
 academy, and good society. To-day was her 
 eighteenth birthday. Her thoughts ran in an 
 unwonted channel. As she mused it occurred 
 to her life ought to be one of greater useful- 
 ness. 
 
 Full of these thoughts, she entered the din- 
 ing-room where the faithful mother had been at 
 work since early dawn, preparing food for 
 breakfast, and numerous things that needed at- 
 tention at that early hour. She sat down, and 
 leaning on her arm, was lost in reveries. Her 
 father coming in, noticed her abstraction, and 
 said, ''What is my little daughter thinking 
 about?" 
 
 "I was thinking," she answered, ''if I could 
 be a foreign missionary, how much good I 
 might do. I have thought of it constantly since 
 Gracie Green sailed for India. She is only a 
 few years older than I. Of course I should 
 have to go away to prepare for the position, 
 but I feel, if I go about it in earnest, that I can 
 prepare for the new im.portant duties on which 
 I might enter." Before her father, in his sur- 
 prise, could reply, her mother, who reached 
 conclusions more rapidly, said: 
 
Lois Lincoln's flission 45 
 
 "Lois, have home duties no claim on you? I 
 have looked forward to the time when, your 
 education being finished, you could assist me in 
 the duties of life, which begin to press heavily 
 upon me. We are growing old while you are 
 young, and might be such a comfort in our de- 
 clining years. Many have no home ties to bind 
 them or have brothers and sisters to remain to 
 comfort their parents as cares and burdens 
 break them down so that they need to lean 
 on the arm of a dear child. Oh, Lois, in your 
 zeal, don't forget that you have a mission at 
 home." 
 
 Her father then spoke, saying: 
 
 "I think your mother is right. Home duties 
 should not be set aside. Take time for reflec- 
 tion. I think your heart will tell you not to 
 forsake your parents who have so cheerfully 
 toiled for you all through your life, and I think 
 God will bless you in your 'Home mission' with 
 as great blessings as anyone can find in leaving 
 home and country for labor in foreign lands. 
 Duty is duty. The question for you to decide, 
 my child, is what is duty. God blesses every 
 one in the conscientious performance of duty, 
 be it what it may." 
 
46 Lights Along the Track 
 
 Lois awoke next morning with a prayerful 
 desire to be directed aright. Never before had 
 she reaHzed as at this moment how much more 
 she could do to lighten her parents' burdens. 
 She seemed to see at once with clearer vision 
 how her mother had sacrificed her own ease 
 and comfort that she might have privileges and 
 education. Would it be duty? Would God 
 desire ''robbery for burnt offering?" And from 
 that time she resolved to stay at home and 
 make her parents happy. A week had passed, 
 and she went down the long, green lane swing- 
 ing a milking-pail in either hand, and singing: 
 
 Home, thy joys are passing lovely — 
 Joys no stranger hearts can tell. 
 
 Suddenly she paused, for lying on the ledge 
 was a stranger. She looked long and earnestly, 
 and was at first afraid to go on, but seeing that 
 he was in a weak and exhausted condition, she 
 went toward him and asked: 
 
 "Are you ill?" 
 
 "Oh, miss, I am very sick. Cannot you 
 assist me?" 
 
 She assured him that she would do all that 
 she possibly could, and hastened home. Mr. 
 
Lois Lincoln's flission 47 
 
 Lincoln and his workmen, after hearing Lois' 
 story, went with her, but on reaching the 
 stranger, found him in an unconscious state. 
 They bore him to the Lincoln cottage, and laid 
 him tenderly on the bed. The doctor was sum- 
 moned, and, after giving directions about his 
 medicine, said: 
 
 *'He now needs rest for a time," and de- 
 parted. Lois and her mother did all they could 
 to quiet him, but he would toss and turn, mur- 
 muring, "Oh, Phil, had I known — had I 
 known!" — but at last he slept. 
 
 Lois awakened early, and going to the win- 
 dow, raised it and gazed on the landscape. It 
 was a glorious summer morning. The birds 
 were singing — the air was laden with the per- 
 fume of the blossoms, and everything was ex- 
 hilarating. Suddenly a recollection of the sick 
 stranger dawned upon her, and she hastened 
 down. She gathered roses, rich with dew, and 
 went into the sitting-room. She was filling the 
 vases with bright, red roses, when the stranger 
 stirred, and Lois said: 'T am sorry to have 
 disturbed you. How do you feel this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 "You did not disturb me. I was awake when 
 
48 Lights Along the Track 
 
 you came in with those flowers. I was re- 
 minded of my own home in the country, where 
 the robins sang and flowers profusely bloomed; 
 where nature sent up songs of rejoicing from 
 mountain-top and valley; when I'd a happy 
 home, fond parents — " Here he said: ''Sit 
 down, Miss, while I relate to you a little of my 
 history." 
 
 "Won't it tire you?" questioned Lois. 
 
 ''No, I feel fully equal to it," and the stranger 
 began: "Once I was happy — enjoyed good 
 health, had a kind father and mother, and — a 
 twin brother." Here he shuddered, as if started 
 on a train of thought of some sad chapter in 
 his life, but he went on: "We were only twenty 
 when our parents died and left us alone, but. 
 Miss, there was something worse than death 
 came then. Phil and I, who had always played 
 together, thinking alike in everything, quar- 
 reled over the division of the property. We 
 had hard, cruel words, and parted in anger. 
 
 "He went in one direction and I in another. 
 In my calm moments, on thinking it over, I 
 saw too plainly that I was the most to blame. 
 It was too much for me. I was taken down 
 with a fever — was with strangers, and knowing 
 
Lois Lincoln's flission 
 
 49 
 
 that I must go to work. It was too soon, for 
 I began losing strength, and feeling I could die 
 happy if I could only see my brother and know 
 I was forgiven, I journeyed this way, hoping to 
 find some traces of him. I had got as far as I 
 could when you found me. Phil used to say 
 when we were boys that a fellow might do well 
 in Ohio. If I could only ask his forgiveness 
 and know I was forgiven, I could die happy," 
 he reiterated. 
 
 Lois felt he must not talk any more then, and 
 closing the shutters, told him that they would 
 endeavor to find his brother. Asking his and 
 his brother's full name, she left the room. 
 
 She went directly to the kitchen and told her 
 mother about it. Her mother said: 
 
 "Lois, send an advertisement to the Ohio 
 and other papers as quickly as possible." 
 
 So Lois went to her room and wrote as fol- 
 lows: "Wanted — That Phil Raymond should 
 come to Barbal Creek as soon as possible, as 
 his brother, Cecil Ra3^mond, is dying at said 
 place." Giving her father's address, she sealed 
 it, and sent it to the post-ofHce, returned to 
 the kitchen and assisted her mother until after- 
 noon. 
 
50 Lights Along the Track 
 
 After dinner she went again to the sick- 
 room. 
 
 "Lois, what a good name. May I call you 
 so?" asked Cecil Raymond. 
 
 '*Yes, you may," answered the girl. 
 
 ''Well, Lois, won't you sing something for 
 me? You know you were singing when I first 
 saw you." 
 
 ''With pleasure," assented Lois, and opening 
 the organ, she sang in her low, sweet voice: 
 
 When we turn aside from duty, 
 Comes the pain of doing wrong; 
 
 And a shadow creeping o'er us 
 Checks the rapture of our song. 
 
 Always cheerful, always cheerful, 
 
 Sunshine all around we see, 
 Full of beauty is the path of duty, 
 
 Cheerful we should always be. 
 
 « • • • • 
 
 It was now the first of September, and Cecil 
 Raymond was nearing the end. He seemed to 
 be trying to keep up his strength, hoping yet 
 that Phil might come. To-day he was worse. 
 Lois was sitting near his bedside. She was 
 pale and wan, after weeks of watching, but she 
 murmured not. The door opened and her 
 
Lois Lincoln's flission 51 
 
 father entered, and with him a stranger, whom 
 Lois recognized at once as Cecil's brother, only 
 that he was the picture of health. He seemed 
 to notice nothing about him, but threw himself 
 on the bedside beside his brother. Cecil opened 
 his eyes and said: 
 
 ''Oh, Phil — you have come, and my prayer 
 is answered. Have you forgiven me?" 
 
 "Oh, Cecil, there is nothing to forgive. I 
 love you." 
 
 "But, Phil, don't you hear the music? Hush, 
 'tis mother's voice. 'Tis all bright, now — 
 home, sweet home." And Cecil Raymond was 
 no more. Phil Raymond bowed himself in 
 agony. 
 
 A week had passed, and Lois was lying on 
 her bed, fully exhausted. The patient child was 
 entirely worn out. It was three weeks before 
 she could leave her room. Then Phil Ray- 
 mond thanked her for her kindness toward his 
 brother, and said: 
 
 "Lois, I have a greater favor to ask. Will 
 you give me your heart and hand?" It was 
 granted. Lois Lincoln had found her "mission" 
 at home. 
 
52 Lights Along the Track 
 
 V 
 
 MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 WHEN I was a little girl I had no young 
 playmates, so I talked to myself a 
 great deal. I dearly loved my little 
 white dog, Rex. I liked to take him to walk 
 through the fields, and see him roll and toss in 
 the burdock burrs, getting bunches of them 
 over his silky coat. He made us laugh over 
 his ludicrous appearance. Away in that ob- 
 scure hamlet I was contented with my books, 
 dog and dolls. I was delighted when mother 
 told me that the neighbor near by had married 
 a lady with a little girl just my age. She hoped 
 I would be happier with a little girl neighbor. 
 We were soon acquainted and began play- 
 days by erecting a play-house in the lane, con- 
 structed of two bricks, then a board, and thus 
 until there were five shelves. We gleaned 
 back yards for bits of broken crockery and for 
 dishes to fill our cupboards. Those bits of 
 broken glass and fragments of old-fashioned 
 
My Childhood 53 
 
 ware were as attractive to us then as beautiful 
 paintings are to-day. Mother Earth was our 
 table, brown paper the tablecloth, and rag 
 dolls were our guests. Thus, gypsyed, we sat 
 at our make-believe meals. 
 
 On the other side were our gardens, made in 
 small mounds, bordered with strips of green 
 sod. We gathered wildwood flowers and half 
 buried them in the earth. We imagined how 
 the people would gaze and wonder how our 
 garden grew so marvelously. They remained 
 fresh a long time, as we sprinkled them so often 
 with an old flour-dredger. We became so fond 
 of play that our parents became exercised lest 
 we would grow up unacquainted with work, so 
 working hours were set apart each day. 
 
 We were taught to knit, crochet, darn neatly, 
 and sew. One day, tired of work, we went 
 without permission to Clark's Hollow to gather 
 cat-o'-nine-tails for decorative purposes. 
 When we arrived, we saw a horse drinking at 
 the brook. Fearing he would crush our cov- 
 eted cat-tails, I cautiously stepped from stone 
 to stone and waved my stick, saying: 
 
 "Go home, old horse," whereupon my foot 
 slipped, and I fell in. Splash — splash! I ruined 
 
54 Lights Along the Track 
 
 my blue Thibet dress. Mother said it was a 
 punishment for disobedience. 
 
 On rainy days we explored the attic. If we 
 did not fully appreciate the ''patter on the roof," 
 then we can pause to-day and listen to hear the 
 lulling sounds which rest the weary souls of 
 humanity. We made bead rings of various 
 hues, told stories, and looked forward in antici- 
 pation to the years when we would be ''grown 
 up" women. In fact, we opened old trunks and 
 chests, and dressed up in silks and olden day 
 poke-bonnets, and played that we were "big 
 folks." 
 
 When weary of attic sport, we sought the 
 sitting-room, and begged my mother for a 
 poem. We loved her original lays far better 
 than fairy-tales or Mother Goose melodies. 
 She wrote these lines: 
 
 Two little friends with dark brown hair, 
 Going hand in hand everywhere; 
 Enjoying each moment as it flies, 
 Mirthfulness sparkling in their eyes. 
 
 Kind in their sports, and never rough, 
 
 At "Puss-in-the-Corner" or "Blind Man's Buflf." 
 
 Happy in going their friends to see, 
 
 Having nice times as ever might be. 
 
My Childhood 55 
 
 Trudging to the woods to get things for baby, 
 VVho, by the way, is a nice little lady, 
 Clapping her hands in pure delight, 
 Soon as their faces appear in sight. 
 
 Having each a kitty, and a dog 
 Who trots after them at a good, smart jog; 
 With a kind papa, and a dear mama, 
 Ready to please them wherever they are. 
 
 What can be wanting each little maid? 
 Naught to harm them or make them afraid; 
 Everyone ready to help them quick. 
 And a dear Saviour to pray to when sick. 
 
 Then another day she wrote these lines on 
 our school-days: 
 
 Mary, Annie and Isabelle, 
 
 A happy trio band; 
 Love each other, oh, so well, 
 
 And by each other stand. 
 
 Go on, brave little band, 
 
 Happy still as ever. 
 Wandering hand in hand. 
 
 In pleasant autumn weather. 
 
 In the pastures bright and green. 
 And the woodlands, so sweet, 
 
56 Lights Along the Track 
 
 Where little squirrels glean 
 Food, which tiny babies eat. 
 
 Oh, the happy little creatures, 
 
 How they run, chirp and play! 
 Joy beaming in their wee features, 
 
 Here we'd like with them to stay. 
 
 Here where the bright fox-berries shine, 
 Where the pine cones lay around, 
 
 Where trails the arbutus vine 
 And box berry over the ground. 
 
 The wind in the pines sings sweet. 
 
 In cadence soft and low. 
 The rabbits with flying feet. 
 
 Through the lonely wood-paths go. 
 
 Let us gather nuts and acorns, 
 
 Then homeward wend our way. 
 Weaving garlands of asters blue, 
 
 And immortelles so gay. 
 
 Little geologists are we. 
 
 Many a toumarline we find. 
 While garnets sparkling like the sea 
 
 We will, too, in our chaplets bind. 
 
 Farewell, my schoolmates dear. 
 May our pleasures last evermore; 
 
riy Childhood 57 
 
 When childhood shall disappear, 
 May youth come brimming o'er. 
 
 With friendship strong and sweet 
 
 May ours remain unbroken, 
 Time will go on pinions fleet, 
 
 But gives you this loving token. 
 
 I was made sad, suddenly, when I learned 
 that my playmate's parents were to move to 
 the city. Mother said I must help her; that 
 work was a panacea for loneliness, so I began 
 by waiting on Aunt Emma, who was ill. 
 
 First I carried her a lunch on a tray; she 
 asked me to read to her for a while, and said 
 she would write me a little poem for my collec- 
 tion of poem melodies. I was made happy by 
 these lines a short time afterwards: 
 
 As I lie upon the sofa, 
 
 Looking into the fire; 
 Thinking how my face does ache, 
 
 And what will next transpire. 
 
 Thinking of the drifting storm, 
 
 And wondering whether 
 The wind will get into the West, 
 
 And bring us pleasant weather. 
 
 Lo, a sudden change appears, 
 I look to see what it means. 
 
58 Lights Along the Track 
 
 While, on my pillow and my face 
 The cheerful sunshine streams. 
 
 Then I hear the patter of little feet, 
 
 Coming along the hall, 
 With a tray of goodies for my tea 
 
 And pleasant smile for all. 
 
 And this thought comes to my mind, 
 
 How can I lonely be. 
 While all so kind and cheerful are 
 
 And glad to wait on me? 
 
 Thus I became a constant helper in the 
 household, and was satisfied with weekly let- 
 ters from my childhood friend. Soon after her 
 departure a family moved in the old home who 
 had diphtheria, from which all died. A young 
 man returning from singing-school saw some 
 apparition, and fancied he heard uncanny 
 sounds in the old house. So, every one shud- 
 dered to pass it, and it was generally termed 
 the haunted house. 
 
 One of my schoolmates suggested that if I 
 would dare venture in at the window and open 
 the door, they would enter too. I was very 
 brave, as I did not believe in ghosts. And yet, 
 I confess that I felt creepy, as I lifted the win- 
 
My Childhood 59 
 
 dow and looked in through the musty rooms, 
 thickly veiled with cobwebs. However, I 
 passed in and soon lifted the rusty latch and 
 let in some very pale and trembling girls. We 
 clambered up the old time-worn staircase, and 
 were soon enjoying the dusty spinning wheels, 
 flax wheels and red cradle, when we heard a 
 groan from the rooms below. We exchanged 
 terror-stricken glances, and then sped two steps 
 at a time down the rickety stairs, passing a 
 burly tramp stretched upon the floor, ragged 
 and dirty. 
 
 Doubtless he had sought shelter for the 
 night, having entered by the back way, and our 
 chattering upstairs had wakened him. We hur- 
 ried down the lane, "more afraid of the living 
 than the dead." The old house has crumbled 
 to decay, and naught is left but the cellar and 
 the lilac tree. 
 
 In early womanhood, I, too, went to the city 
 to live. Again I was a neighbor to my child- 
 hood friend. Instead of the cupboard and rag 
 dolls in the country lane, she has a magnifi- 
 cent home. Instead of rag-babies, she has 
 beautiful golden-haired children to grace it, 
 happy in the luxuries of modern days. 
 
6o Lights Along the Track 
 
 I would not exchange the memories of the 
 attic, the school days in the commonplace ham- 
 let, and my mother's lay, for all the modern 
 amusements that wealth can buy. Her chil- 
 dren are clustering about my knee, begging me 
 for a little poem, such as mother made for me 
 when I was a little child. I cannot refuse them 
 that which delighted my childish mind so much. 
 
 As I look back along the years, 
 
 I see two small, childish faces. 
 Without a thought of guile or fears. 
 
 Teeming with childhood's graces. 
 
 I see them in the orchard green, 
 
 Building a playhouse high, 
 Or on the rocks they were seen, 
 
 In fields of gently moving rye. 
 
 Oft in the woodlands they did roam, 
 Gathering nuts or leaves so bright. 
 
 To carry to a cheerful home, 
 
 The nuts to crack some wintry night. 
 
 But alas those two were parted, 
 In the midst of their happy play. 
 
 'Twas then the teadrops started, 
 As they went their separate way. 
 
riy Childhood 6i 
 
 Many years like a bridge dividing, 
 Have ever kept friend from friend; 
 
 But God in his own way providing, 
 Brings them across to the end. 
 
 There you may see them meeting, 
 With clasped hands, face to face — 
 
 Recalling the years, so fleeting. 
 Trying their girlish ways to trace. 
 
 But they were vanished from view. 
 Lost in the cares of women grown, 
 
 Yet down in the heart they grew, 
 Although their childhood had flown. 
 
 It gave them very much joy, 
 Each other's loved ones to greet. 
 
 One with a baby girl and boy. 
 Prattling there at her feet. 
 
 They had learned the cross to bear — 
 Each received the baptismal rite; 
 
 Finding how sweet is the "hour of prayer," 
 At morning, noon and night. 
 
 May they walk the way so carefully. 
 That their own may see the way. 
 
 And learn to live more prayerfully, 
 In the light of their lamps' bright ray. 
 
 May they meet again when life is o'er, 
 Beyond that bridge that spans 
 
62 Lights Along the Track 
 
 This and the bright golden shore, — 
 Safe in God's redeeming hands. 
 
 VI 
 
 REUNITED 
 
 MARGARET WILDE stood at an iron 
 sink in a restaurant kitchen with a 
 heavy heart. She had always disliked 
 what she termed an "any how sink." It would 
 be difficult to wash the plates, cups and saucers 
 methodically, for the table-girls had hustled 
 trays of all shapes of dishes, whole and broken 
 together, into the kitchen. She was there to 
 wash them, so began murmuring in an under- 
 tone: 
 
 '"Have I come to this?" 
 
 She was a lady born and bred in the old 
 school. She lived with her family, at one time, 
 in England. It was a very sad day, when 
 perusing the evening paper, she found her hus- 
 band's name in the death list of those killed in 
 a horrible railroad accident. She had a son ill 
 with consumption, and baby Alice, six years of 
 age. She had closed her eyes in silent prayer 
 
Reunited 63 
 
 before performing the heart-rending mission of 
 telling the terrible news to her children. 
 
 The wreckage did not give up its dead, so the 
 wife and little daughter gazed sadly at the 
 debris, passed through a funeral service of 
 strange form, and returned to their desolate 
 home. How utterly lonely they were that night, 
 waiting and watching the only son and brother, 
 so soon to join the father who had just stepped 
 from the fireside. Only a few nights of tender 
 nursing and he was taken to that better 
 country. 
 
 Thus it was that Margaret Wilde, of high 
 birth and from a comfortable home, was de- 
 pendent upon her own resources. She learned 
 that she would probably be the recipient of 
 money from the railroad company in time, in 
 settlement for the loss of her husband's life, 
 but she thought she would not wait for that, 
 and quickly decided to go to America. 
 
 She packed essential articles for home com- 
 fort, and with little Alice, crossed the great 
 expanse of ocean. She was sanguine to earn 
 a livelihood by keeping boarders, and if any 
 money ever came to her, from the railroad com- 
 pany, she would put it in the bank at interest 
 
64 Lights Along the Track 
 
 for her only child. She made an excellent liv- 
 ing for many years until Alice had budded into 
 womanhood and married a worthy husband. 
 They freely ofifered her a home with them, but 
 she replied: 
 
 "I would rather live independently, and visit 
 you often." 
 
 There were many kinds of employment that 
 she was adapted to, but age, lameness and deaf- 
 ness were all against her labor-loving hands. 
 Therefore, to-night, despite her proud ambi- 
 tions, there was naught else she could do very 
 well, so she faced the **any how sink" in a large, 
 unhomelike kitchen. 
 
 Yes, to-night she had come to this humble 
 work; yet she enjoyed nursing independence. 
 As she entered her casement room, and lighted 
 her fire, she said: 
 
 "Yes, I am satisfied with this little home." 
 The lamp shed its rays over the room, showing 
 her well read Bible, open upon the table, the 
 log cabin quilt upon the bed, and in its flicker- 
 ing rays were seen the pictures of James and 
 Alice upon the wall. 
 
 As the fagots snapped and crackled, she 
 watched the old English scenes in the leaping 
 
Reunited 65 
 
 blaze. Suddenly she started from her rocking- 
 chair, exclaiming: 
 
 "I know it is he! I know it is he!" 
 
 Margaret did not sleep that night. She went 
 to work earlier than usual, so eager was she to 
 prove that she was not deceived. She felt as- 
 sured that the manager of the cafe was her 
 husband — that he was living. She looked at 
 him so searchingly that he inquired: 
 
 "Can I do anything for you this morning, 
 Margaret?" 
 
 ''Yes, please," Margaret replied; ''pardon me 
 — but have you a daughter Alice?" 
 
 That name, so precious in his memory, 
 aroused his suspicions, together with an old, 
 familiar voice, as he replied: 
 
 "Yes, many years ago." 
 
 By way of exclamation in answer to her next 
 question, he said: "Many years ago I went 
 away from home on business, to be gone an 
 indefinite time. When I returned, I found that 
 my son had died, and my wife and daughter 
 gone to America. They believed that I had 
 been killed in a great railroad disaster that oc- 
 curred the same day I started. It was very 
 strange that my name and address should be 
 
66 Lights Along the Track 
 
 given, yet I had, most fortunately, gone by the 
 early express. Learning that my family was in 
 this country, I came here, hoping to hear from 
 them some time. Margaret, beneath time's 
 rough hand, I see a resemblance to my wife in 
 you. Speak quickly, and tell me, am I to see 
 my lost ones again?" 
 
 Then she told him all. That night, Easter 
 eve, after twenty-five years, father and daughter 
 were introduced under the roof of Margaret's 
 humble apartments. He advised her to remove 
 to a more convenient suite, which he furnished 
 beautifully. Mrs. Wilde appreciates her true 
 home, also those days in the modest home, and 
 in the restaurant kitchen, for she considers that 
 they were the hinges of the doors of fatality 
 that opened at Eastertide for this sweet 
 reunion. 
 
A Glad Surprise 67 
 
 VII 
 
 A GLAD SURPRISE 
 
 Over the hills to the poorhouse, 
 I am trudging my weary way, 
 
 I, a woman of seventy, 
 And only a trifle grey. 
 
 THESE words from Carleton were ringing 
 in Rachel Gregory's mind as she was 
 returning from a call upon an old lady 
 that she dearly loved. She was seventy-one 
 years old, and lived in an attic room of a tene- 
 ment house. Rachel Gregory had been her 
 friend for many years, and to-day she had un- 
 folded a few pages of her Hfe to Rachel, offer- 
 ing to sell her an old-fashioned Italian breast- 
 pin for the paltry sum of five dollars, in order 
 to raise necessary funds. 
 
 Rachel was grieved to learn that the only 
 prospect the old lady had in sight was the poor- 
 house. She did not need the pin, and it seemed 
 like robbery to take it at that low price. She 
 had begun to save her money toward buying a 
 
68 Lights Along the Track 
 
 piano, yet if this would comfort the old lady, 
 she would sacrifice the piano and buy the pin. 
 
 So she bought it, but that night she could 
 not sleep, for she kept thinking of the poor 
 old woman and the pain it must have cost her 
 tO' part with the valuable jewel which, without 
 a doubt, had tender associations connected 
 with it. As plan after plan revolved in her 
 mind, a bright idea came as if borne on unseen 
 wings. 
 
 Why not take the pin to a jeweler in the 
 city, and then, if he gave a good price for it, 
 she could make her old friend very happy by 
 giving her more than her price. The following 
 Thursday she had occasion to go to the city. 
 She eagerly put Aunt Jane's brooch into her 
 small hand-bag. She had always called the old 
 lady "Aunt Jane." 
 
 "Mumbling like a prayer," was Rachel, "I 
 do hope I shall have success." 
 
 The jeweler did not care to purchase, but 
 courteously informed her that a "star actress," 
 who was stopping at The Ossipee, had been 
 there a few days ago for just the same kind of 
 a pin as the one Rachel was now showing. He 
 advised that if she were anxious to dispose of 
 
A QIad Surprise 69 
 
 it, that she go there at once. Rachel thanked 
 him, and borrowing his pencil, hastily wrote on 
 a card: ''Will Miss A. kindly interview the 
 bearer of an ItaHan breast-pin, with a view to 
 purchasing it?" Soon she was awaiting her 
 answer at the grand hotel, and later was ush- 
 ered into the beautiful apartment of the actress. 
 Upon looking at the pin the young woman 
 exclaimed: 
 
 ''Oh, that is just what I've been looking for 
 so long. How much do you want to take 
 for it?" 
 
 Rachel timidly answered: "I hardly know 
 its real worth. What will you give me for it?" 
 
 She turned it over and over in her hand, say- 
 ing: "It is valuable to me. It's wonderfully 
 carved, and it is old, too." Then she looked 
 askance at Rachel, and questioned her as to 
 why she wished to part with the pin. 
 
 Rachel replied that it was to save a worthy 
 old lady from the poor farm. The pin had been 
 hers when prosperity had been her lot, and now 
 adversity had compelled her to sell the treasure. 
 Then the stately actress crossed the room to 
 her desk, wiping a tear from her eye. Opening 
 
*jo Lights Along the Track 
 
 a drawer, she took out her check-book and tak- 
 ing up her pen, made out a check to Rachel 
 Gregory for the sum of two hundred dollars. 
 
 "Take this," she said, ''it will help the home- 
 less, and I am satisfied." Miss Gregory re- 
 ceived the check in astonishment. She could 
 only utter a "thank you" very trembUngly, and 
 retire. 
 
 She remembered the little white cottage at 
 the foot of the hill that Aunt Jane had so often 
 wished were hers. The cash price was two hun- 
 dred dollars. Why not invest this in a little 
 home? The next day she bought the cottage 
 and the question of furnishing it arose. The 
 matter was brought up before the King's 
 Daughters Society and they voted to accept the 
 duty "In His Name," and before many days 
 had elapsed, deft hands were making curtains, 
 cushions and tidies, looped with rich purple 
 ribbon. 
 
 They bought second-hand furniture with 
 treasury money. They were mindful of many 
 things from her room that she could add when 
 she became acquainted with this unexpected 
 pleasure. By the first of June the cottage was 
 ready for its occupant. Rachel Gregory had 
 
Glimpses Along the Way 71 
 
 the pleasure of seeing the dim eyes brighten as 
 the old lady exclaimed: 
 
 ''Law sakes, child, is this little home mine?" 
 Then Rachel related the story of the breast- 
 pin that had brought to her this ideal home. 
 There we will leave her amid the bright holly- 
 hocks and morning-glories, safely sheltered 
 from wintry blasts until she is called to jour- 
 ney to the many mansions prepared for those 
 who love God. 
 
 VIII 
 
 GLIMPSES ALONG THE WAY 
 
 ESTHER EARLE, employed as saleslady 
 in one of the large stores in Boston, had 
 not had her usual summer outing, as 
 there had been no lull in business. One day 
 she had learned that she might have a month's 
 vacation if she could arrange to leave immedi- 
 ately. She hastily packed her trunk and de- 
 parted for the hills of Maine. The day dawned 
 brightly, and as she sat in an open electric that 
 afternoon, bound for the Union Station, she 
 
72 Lights Along the Track 
 
 congratulated herself that it had proven so 
 perfect a day. When she alighted at the depot 
 she found to her dismay that the beautiful day 
 had developed into a dull, rainy one; such a 
 day as one likes to spend indoors, listening to 
 the rain's patter upon the roof and watch out 
 through the mists upon the dripping umbrellas 
 carried by disconsolate pedestrians. One feels 
 thankful to be indoors such days. 
 
 Esther thought, "Dear me, four hours' ride 
 to Portland, but I will study the characters 
 shown by the various faces, and the time won't 
 seem so long," Already the 'lights of the city 
 told that the night was near at hand," and it 
 looked rather a dreary journey; but she had to 
 press onward. She was soon nestling in a seat 
 near the door of the Portland-bound train. 
 
 The car was crowded and Esther found many 
 types of human nature to study interestedly. 
 An especially ludicrous sight was a lady with 
 a beautiful kitten in a black bag. She was very 
 prim-looking, and peeped over her gold-bowed 
 spectacles at the restive kitty. She held the 
 bag securely by two strings, drawn closely 
 around pussy's neck, forming a Mary Stuart 
 frill, making poor tabby the center of attrac- 
 
Qlimpses Along the Way 73 
 
 tion and occasioning much mirth among those 
 near by. 
 
 Weary of the kitten's plaintiff cries, Esther 
 noted that the New Hampshire line had been 
 crossed. The train stopped ten minutes for 
 refreshments, and an eager crowd jostled in, 
 anxious to find seats. Most of them passed 
 Esther, who shrank from sharing her seat with 
 a stranger, until a stalwart gentleman with a 
 deep voice said, ''I beg pardon, is this seat en- 
 gaged?" 
 
 Esther replied quietly that it was not. She 
 wished that it were daylight, so that she might 
 watch the panorama of scenery, but it was quite 
 dusk. She began nervously to peruse the 
 menu distributed at Rockingham Junction 
 when the voice at her side said: 
 
 ''Do you object to converse with strangers? 
 I like to meet people casually in journeying, 
 as time passes more rapidly. If you've no 
 objections, I will tell you about an interesting 
 trip I recently took. 
 
 "I have just been to a historical spot — 
 Whittier's birthplace, and I took my camera 
 with me and was privileged to take a picture 
 of the exterior and interior. To illustrate 
 
74 Lights Along the Track 
 
 'Snowbound,' I put 'apples on the clean-winged 
 hearth about,' " went on the affable traveler, 
 "and a basket of nuts from 'brown October's 
 woods,' hung my watch over the fireplace and 
 then placed a 'mug upon the hearth' between 
 the 'andirons' straddling feet.' I procured a 
 very good picture." 
 
 Esther wondered if he had carried his enthu- 
 siasm and esthetic notions to the extent of fill- 
 ing the mug with cider. She had studied 
 "Snowbound," but she did not enter into the 
 talkative stranger's conversation. 
 
 The train was filled with passengers, and 
 many of the men were intoxicated, hence the 
 conductor had all he could do in collecting 
 cash fares and answering crude questions. 
 Esther thought this too trivial a matter to 
 complain of to him, so she endured the poetical 
 conversation, but remained reticent. The gen- 
 tleman continued: 'Tt is a delightful spot. The 
 memory I shall ever retain." Then noticing the 
 valise at her feet he said, inquisitively: 
 
 "Strange you are taking your vacation late 
 this year. I usually meet people coming back 
 this time of year." 
 
dlimpses Along the Way 75 
 
 Esther paid no attention, and he began 
 anew, "I have just been to Lake Kineo and 
 Ingalls' Siding gunning." Our little saleslady 
 wished that he were there yet. 
 
 Her inattention did not squelch him, however, 
 and he told her that the Indian was no happier 
 than he as he lay listening to the 'Voices of 
 the night" and the "wild goose's cry," and in 
 the morning to the quail's whistle, "Bob White 
 —Bob White." He told her how he had 
 watched the timid deer and its keenness in de- 
 tecting the smothered campfire at a distance. 
 Once again waxing poetical, he remarked that 
 a writer had said that the deer's keenness was 
 from fear rather than love. 
 
 Esther was weary enough when he launched 
 again into remembrances of the letters he had 
 written his friends on birch bark, telling them 
 of the "goose feast," and Miss Earle decided 
 that he had partaken considerably of the nature 
 of the goose, as was plainly evident from his 
 conversation. But "silence is golden," and she 
 spoke not. At last, apparently awaking to the 
 fact that he had monopolized the conversation, 
 he said with a start, "Well, I have digressed. 
 
76 Lights Along the Track 
 
 I intended to ask you which poet you prefer, 
 Whittier or Longfellow?" 
 
 "I cannot say," Esther replied, "both are so 
 grand." 
 
 Then he repeated Longfellow's 
 
 Ships that pass in the night, 
 
 And speak each other in passing. 
 
 Only a signal shown, 
 
 And a distant voice in the darkness. 
 
 So on the ocean of life we glide, 
 
 And speak one another, 
 
 Only a look and a voice — 
 
 Then darkness again and silence. 
 
 To Esther's relief she found the train wind- 
 ing slowly into the station at Portland, and this 
 peculiar character and herself had met "casu- 
 ally," to use his own word, and then ''darkness 
 again and silence." 
 
 She stayed with friends in the Forest City, 
 and in the early morning took the train for 
 Hillsdale, there to connect with the stage for 
 Elm Village, five miles away. There were 
 three passengers in the stage beside herself. 
 Apparently they were father, mother and little 
 daughter. The little one had a tiny doll hugged 
 tightly in her arms. They had not gone far 
 
Glimpses Along the Way 77 
 
 when an outcry that Madeline had lost her hat 
 startled them. 
 
 The accommodating driver descended to 
 rescue the lost head piece, and, thinking of a 
 large hat, unconsciously trampled over Made- 
 line's hat. Then a shrill little voice cried out: 
 
 "Mamma, mamma, don't let him step on it." 
 
 Then her mother answered, soothingly, 
 "Hush, dearie," and to the driver said, "Mr. 
 Noble, it is the doll's hat; it is just beside your 
 foot." 
 
 The hat was then restored to its diminutive 
 owner with the words, "There, little girl, don't 
 cry," and the incident created a general laugh 
 in the stage. The driver described the route, 
 telling the time by the trees and clumps of 
 bushes without consulting his time-piece. 
 Knowing the road so well, he was able to tell 
 the time the stage should reach the various 
 points without his watch. He directed their 
 attention to the picnic grounds, where the 
 lightning had played havoc with some of the 
 ancient trees during recent tempests. From 
 time to time he stopped to deliver mail at rural 
 delivery boxes on some of the lawns. Occa- 
 sionally he would call at some small homestead 
 
78 Lights Along the Track 
 
 and drop a mail bag. The little girl was again 
 heard from. ■ She asked: 
 
 **Why did he go in to that lady's kitchen?" 
 
 The last call was at the village post-office, 
 where a crowd was eagerly waiting to see who 
 arrived in the stage. They were quite at sea 
 to know who Esther was, but one old man, with 
 his pipe in the corner of his mouth, said: 'T 
 kind o' think that young gal hes come here to 
 board, but I dunno." 
 
 This was the end of the route, where they 
 changed horses, and Miss Earle was trans- 
 ferred to the ''one hoss shay," and driven to 
 the Elm Hotel, there to rusticate for a month. 
 How delightful those days seemed! Esther 
 found pleasure in taking walks without her 
 hat, village fashion, so hatless and with her 
 pale blue parasol as a shelter from the midday 
 sun, she would seek out favorite haunts of 
 Mother Nature. One day she strayed up a 
 path leading to Mount Truman. Along the 
 rough way she walked until she could see the 
 mountain's crest, towering above huge bould- 
 ers, and the quiet, peaceful village below. 
 
 She collected some specimens of quartz, 
 then, seeing some beautiful goldenrod and 
 
Glimpses Along the Way 79 
 
 asters far below, she laid down her specimens 
 and parasol, devising a way to reach the spot. 
 One particular thought seemed in her mind — 
 how they grew side by side invariably, or in 
 the words of the poet, "The purple aster was 
 the goldenrod's bride." And again, ''They 
 live and love and die together." She thought 
 of taking some home to paint on a panel of 
 broken background. How beautiful they 
 would look from still life. What a pleasant 
 reminder when back in crowded Boston. 
 
 She started to turn back, but the problem 
 was, which way had she come, and what could 
 she do without her parasol? Just then, coming 
 down the slope, she recognized the High 
 School principal, who also boarded at the Elm 
 Hotel. Seeing her predicament, he offered to 
 shelter her with his umbrella. It was charac- 
 teristic of him to be prepared for the sudden 
 showers and miniature tempests that follow 
 the river's winding course. He had been with 
 his botany class to analyze a certain mountain 
 plant, and getting belated was crossing the 
 mountain path. They found both the speci- 
 mens and the blue parasol, and on leaving her 
 
8o Lights Along the Track 
 
 he courteously asked her to walk with him 
 about sunset. She accepted and thanked him 
 cordially for his shelter and his kindness. 
 
 As she entered the spacious dining room she 
 was gowned simply in white, relieved only by 
 a spray of goldenrod, with a purple aster in 
 her hair. The professor thought, 'What a 
 broad mind; how she loves the Hchen-covered 
 rocks, the wild flowers and the poet's sage." 
 He reluctantly taught the lessons that after- 
 noon, so eager and full of anticipation was he 
 for that sunset stroll. They walked toward the 
 parsonage, and talked of the city, hamlet, 
 school and store until the "shadows were 
 wide." Harry Vernon had a large class of 
 girls who were ready to captivate him, but he 
 had not cared for them. Now, however, 
 he seemed to have found a ''woman nobly 
 planned," who was his ideal. 
 
 The class recognized the fact, and became 
 agitated and one of them even ventured to 
 write him, kindly informing him that Miss 
 Earle had been seen on the train with a young 
 man of questionable character. The young 
 man's mother was a blue-stocking and a good 
 woman, but he was of doubtful character. The 
 
Glimpses Along the Way 8i 
 
 writer thought it her duty to inform him, as it 
 was village gossip. 
 
 Professor Vernon laughingly tossed the ugly 
 missive into the open grate. Esther had told 
 him of that forced conversation, and why she 
 had permitted it. He understood the matter 
 thoroughly, and also the motive that the writer 
 had in mind. 
 
 He and Miss Earle attended the weekly pray- 
 er-meetings together. The last evening she was 
 to be there, they walked to church as usual, 
 Hstening to the bell's half sad tone ring out the 
 vesper-air in the early twilight. The topic of the 
 hour was "Fidelity." Harry Vernon became 
 serious, and desired to be a Christian and live 
 out a glorious manhood. After the service he 
 asked Esther to become his wife. He urged that 
 they live a life of fidelity, with the great purpose 
 to help in the raising of fallen humanity, to walk 
 uprightly and to strive never to deviate from 
 the narrow way, and in true fidelity to live 
 again in that great kingdom which He has gone 
 to prepare. 
 
 After a long silence, she replied, softly, "You 
 protected me one morning, and I accept you as 
 my life's protector." 
 
82 Lights Along the Track 
 
 Esther Vernon journeys no more alone. She 
 often looks backward in happy reminiscence to 
 the ''gHmpses along the way" and with grati- 
 tude to the Great Father. Shall we not leave 
 her thus? 
 
 IX 
 
 BY THE WAYSIDE 
 
 I WAS selecting a seat in the South Terminal 
 Station, Boston, when a childish voice 
 singing, very softly, attracted my attention. 
 Listening, I caught the words: 
 
 There'll be something in heaven for children to do; 
 
 None are idle in that blessed land. 
 
 There'll be love for the heart, 
 
 And thoughts for the mind, 
 
 And employment for each little hand. 
 
 My heart rebounded to the days of earnest 
 work in the primary department of a Boston 
 church. I recalled the sunny little faces, up- 
 turned to mine, as I lovingly taught them that 
 melody: 
 
By the Wayside 83 
 
 There'll be something in heaven for children to do. 
 
 Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by 
 the little girl's exclamation, 
 
 "Why, mamma, there's the lady who taught 
 me that hymn!" 
 
 I then questioned the little girl, and learned 
 that she had been one of my pupils in the pri- 
 mary department a few years before. She had 
 been adopted by the lady with whom she was, 
 and was going to live with her foster-mother 
 in New York. 
 
 I'm sure she will' diffuse a halo of sunshine 
 o'er the lonely home of a childless woman who 
 had buried her own sweet child a little while be- 
 fore. Certainly, I have a fresh amount of cour- 
 age to teach the 'little ones," and I am satis- 
 fied that the fruits of our labor live — that we 
 are blessed with astonishing results in the com- 
 ing years, if not today. 
 
 There are opportunities all along the way- 
 side; let us grasp them while we may. They 
 will be mirrored back in some unknown avenue 
 of our lives, showering us with peace and rest, 
 when we most need those blessings. 
 
84 Lights Along the Track 
 
 X 
 
 UNSEEN POWER 
 
 LONG before the rising sun greeted the 
 day, the conductor's wife was bustUng 
 about preparing a warm breakfast, in or- 
 der that her husband might be on time to start 
 his morning train. A signal from his hand — 
 '*all aboard" — and they were off on schedule 
 time. His wife, listening in her kitchen, hears 
 the sound of a departing train and feels that re- 
 responsibility set aside for another day. The 
 children must be awakened in time for school, 
 and the cooking must be done, and other duties, 
 born unto each successive day, attended to in 
 their turn. Ere she is aware of it, night hovers 
 near, mantled with storm-clouds and dark fore- 
 bodings of coming tempest. 
 
 As usual, she gives attention to all the little 
 matters that are legion when a storm is impend- 
 ing and then replenishes the fire, Hghts the 
 lamp and sits down with her mending basket, 
 laden with garments to be patched, holes to be 
 
Unseen Power 85 
 
 darned and buttons to be sewed on. The clock 
 strikes eight, warning her that it is bed-time for 
 her little folks, who have been playing with 
 games and dolls. She wearily climbs the stairs 
 to be with them while their evening "Now I 
 Lay Me" and "Our Father" are said, after 
 which there is nothing to be done until he 
 whom she knows is not many towns away shall 
 have come. 
 
 Soon she will see his lantern's circling light 
 and flash, sending her an assurance that he has 
 returned to his home and family in safety. But 
 hark! The wind has arisen and now whistles 
 wildly among the trees surrounding the cottage. 
 The snow is blowing and drifting in great 
 white piles. She resolves to wait for him, 
 knowing that she must have a blazing fire and 
 warm lunch ready when with the snow-plough's 
 aid, the train should reach its destination. 
 
 She stands the lamp on the window sill so 
 that it's bright rays act as a beacon-light, throw- 
 ing a gleam across the snow embanked lawn. 
 The great sheets of snow blow village-ward, 
 and the watcher wonders whether it will be 
 possible for her loved one to make his way 
 through the bridge of cold, merciless snow. The 
 
86 Lights Along the Track 
 
 wind still rattles at the casement, but above the 
 tempest's ceaseless roar she hears the welcome 
 ringing of the engine-bell. The clang, clang re- 
 sounds above the roar of storm and wind, and 
 brings peace to her troubled spirit. She had 
 feared he might be snowbound. 
 
 Soon she will hear his familiar footstep, and 
 she must meet him cheerily. Knowing that he 
 will be weary of innumerable questions and an- 
 swers of many people, she nobly determines to 
 hide all her petty grievances and worries. 
 
 As he breaks his way through the path lead- 
 ing to the porch, she opens wide the door, 
 flooding the yard with the cheery glow of the 
 crackling fire, and greets him warmly. While 
 he shakes ofif the melting flakes from his great 
 coat and rubs his tingling hands, the busy 
 wife lays the warm lunch before him and for 
 company's sake, sips her cup of tea by his side, 
 and she tells him of the bright sayings of the 
 little ones, almost strangers to their father, and 
 reads the weekly letter ''from home" to him. 
 
 He listens attentively, interspersing her story 
 with the tale of the delays and hardships of the 
 run. She admires his honest face, the becoming 
 uniform of blue, and the buttons of brass, and 
 
Homeless 87 
 
 he regards affectionately his cheerful, tidy wife. 
 Of all the sea of faces he beholds daily, hers is 
 the best, the dearest and sweetest. He asserts 
 that the source of his success lies in his little 
 kingdom — home. 
 
 Is there a hand invisible that helps to start 
 the train? 
 
 XI 
 HOMELESS 
 
 SHE who once had a happy home and loved 
 ones, was to-night alone in Boston. She 
 had sought lodgings in the near town to 
 be near her work, but how she missed the com- 
 forts of home! As she was returning from 
 work, she thought of days when around her 
 father's hearth they had sung songs of glee and 
 her "mother's song and her father's smile were 
 in her heart to-night." She gazed toward the 
 starry heaven, pleadingly, as if to ask ''strength 
 for the day." Just then an elderly lady who was 
 passing, slipped and fell. Constance Meyer 
 hastened to her side, saying: 
 
88 Lights Along the Track 
 
 ''You are hurt? May I take you to your 
 home?" 
 
 "Yes, my child, I, fear I have sprained my 
 ankle." 
 
 That was the way things shaped themselves 
 and brought Constance Meyer to Mrs. Greg- 
 ory's lovely home. The old lady hked her hon- 
 est, kindly bearing, and offered her a home in 
 exchange for light duties. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Three years passed. Constance still dwelt in 
 the Gregory house, not as a dependent, but as 
 one of the family. She had formed a character, 
 gained the highest esteem of all who knew her. 
 Mrs. Gregory was such a dear old lady, "grow- 
 ing old gracefully, cheerful and bright." 
 
 Constance was privileged to read and sing to 
 her each evening. Mrs. Gregory never wearied 
 of listening to the dreamy song: 
 
 I have so loved thee, 
 
 But cannot, cannot hold thee, 
 
 Fading like a dream, 
 
 The shadows fold thee; 
 
 Slowly thy perfect beauty fades away, 
 
 Good bye, Sweet Day! 
 
 Good bye, Sweet Day! 
 
Homeless 89 
 
 Constance always sang with such pathos, and 
 it was well Mrs. Gregory did not know the pain 
 it cost her. One evening she was playing a fa- 
 vorite waltz when Mrs. Gregory's son George 
 entered, and interrupting, said: 
 
 "May I speak with you a few moments, Con- 
 tance?" 
 
 She arose quietly, and said, ''Certainly, with 
 pleasure. Be seated, Mr. Gregory." 
 
 "Constance, I want to declare my great love 
 for you, and beg you to be my wife, and fill 
 the place in our home which you deserve." 
 
 He then awaited her answer. Pained, he saw 
 all the contentment leave her eyes and sudden 
 anguish take its place. He had come in touch 
 with a part of her life which she had never 
 deemed it necessary to disclose. What should 
 she say? And how would she say it? She ex- 
 tended her hand and said: 
 
 "Dear friend, I thank you for the honor be- 
 stowed me by your ofifer and — and, I ask your 
 pardon for not having confided to such kind 
 people my shadowed life-story, but I can never 
 be your wife. Since an explanation will not 
 bring back vows I made before God and man, I 
 had best not unveil the past. Accept my noblest 
 
90 Lights Along the Track 
 
 efforts to lend a pervading influence to promote 
 the happiness of this household as in the past 
 three years, but I can be no more." 
 
 He did not prolong the agony, but said, 
 "God bless you, Constance," and left her alone. 
 He guessed the burden of her Hfe — that it was 
 a bitter disappointment, but he never again ap- 
 proached the subject which had brought to the 
 surface memories of a clouded life. Therefore 
 he never knew, nor did he wonder, when, 
 through some living grief which she had borne 
 so long, Constance Meyer grew pale and ill and 
 before long her pure soul forever found free- 
 dom, peace and rest in a home not made with 
 hands. 
 
 Her half day's work was done. 
 And that was all her part, 
 She had given a patient God, 
 A patient heart. 
 
Only a Tramp 91 
 
 XII 
 
 ONLY A TRAMP 
 
 HORTENSE HOLMES was putting the 
 last touch to the arrangement of her hair, 
 taking a glance at herself in the mirror, 
 and thinking: "I hope I shall sing my best at 
 the concert tonight, for the benefit is toward 
 the fund for aged women." She was particularly 
 interested in that. She hastened in order to be 
 ready when her father should return from town. 
 A loud knock on the kitchen door impelled her 
 to rush down the stairs. To her horror she 
 beheld a tramp who confronted her, saying, 
 "Please give me a lunch. I'm hungry." 
 
 Seeing her evident timidity, as she shrank 
 back terrified at his begrimmed countenance, he 
 grew bolder and said: 
 
 "You'd better hurry, or I might come right 
 in and help myself. Say, Miss, you look as if 
 you were going to a ball. Are you going 
 away?" 
 
 Hortense, during this time was reluctantly 
 
92 Lights Along the Track 
 
 obeying his command, and thinking: "I must 
 keep him until papa returns. If I go to rehearsal 
 before then, he will know that the house is un- 
 occupied. I will play and sing to him, and that 
 will detain his wicked designs." 
 
 After he had eaten the lunch, Hortense smil- 
 ingly asked if he would not like to rest, since he 
 had been traveling, to which suggestion he 
 willingly acquiesced. Then she ventured to en- 
 quire whether he would care to hear her play 
 and sing. He seemed to be losing his tramp 
 dialect, as he replied courteously: 
 
 ''I should be very grateful if you would be so 
 kind." 
 
 Miss Holmes sang tremblingly and made one 
 or two mistakes in her accompaniment because 
 of her unexpected and strange audience. As 
 she finished her ballad, ''Her Bright Smile 
 Haunts Me Still," she turned and saw tears in 
 the vagabond's eyes. He brushed them away 
 and said, 
 
 ''Thank you. You sang very nicely, but I 
 think you could do better to another's accom- 
 paniment. May I play for you?" 
 
 Hortense replied hesitatingly, 
 
 'T suppose I could, if you could play." 
 
Only a Tramp 93 
 
 Much to her surprise he arose, and turning 
 the stool around a few times, seated himself, 
 and there in his tattered garments, with grimy 
 hands and disheveled hair, he glanced at the 
 difficult music before him and then, as if to 
 make his fingers pliable, ran up and down the 
 scales with exquisite touch, distinct and acute. 
 He struck the prelude with such expression! 
 The young woman sang as never before, in- 
 spired because of the beautiful accompaniment 
 rendered. Her father, entering, stood spell- 
 bound. At the end of the song, he remarked 
 sternly, 
 
 "Hortense, explain this singular affair." 
 
 She beckoned him toward the kitchen, and 
 explained the strange proceedings, instructing 
 him to treat the stranger kindly — as we are 
 taught to do. When they re-entered the music- 
 room, the tramp seemed lost in musical reverie. 
 
 Mr. Holmes said, "Pardon me for intruding 
 into your private life, but why does a man of 
 your genius, — wonderful genius," he reiterated, 
 ''live the life of a mere hobo?" 
 
 "No intrusion at all, sir," he replied, "I would 
 just as soon tell such kind people why I am a 
 tramp. I deeply loved a young woman — a 
 
94 Lights Along the Track 
 
 musician — the fairest artist of the stage. I idol- 
 ized her accomplishment! While with an opera 
 company in Boston she fell in love with one of 
 the artists and ran away with him. That was the 
 last time I touched the piano until to-day. Your 
 daughter met me at the door. It carried me 
 back to the days of my stage career. She looks 
 and sings much like my lost sweetheart. Well, 
 sir, that is why I am a wretched vagabond to- 
 day. I took to tramping, begging, and sleep- 
 ing anywhere and everywhere, night and day. 
 Just tramping day by day to deaden the memory 
 of a false woman. This is the first time I have 
 exposed my true self since I learned the cruel 
 news." 
 
 Mr. Holmes was pleased with the story, so 
 common, expressively told in well chosen words 
 and in an honest tone. After he had considered 
 a few moments, he said, 
 
 'T am sorry for you. I would like to engage 
 you to play at the concert this evening. The 
 gentleman who had been engaged has fallen ill. 
 I came home to tell my daughter and see what 
 could be done. You can .substitute, wearing his 
 costume." 
 
 The audience fairly swayed in wonderment 
 
Only a Tramp 95 
 
 when the new light stepped from behmd the 
 scenes. His beautiful hair was neatly parted 
 from his high forehead, and he was attired in 
 rich costume. Excitement grew intense as the 
 grand piano vibrated as note after note rose 
 and fell at his masterly touch. Who was he? 
 How were they so fortunate as to secure such 
 rare talent? These were questions heard on 
 every side. The concert was a great success. 
 It was the voice of the people to secure the 
 young man for the winter. He was introduced 
 as a friend of the Holmes family, and a musi- 
 cian. 
 
 Mr. Holmes remained reticent regarding the 
 man's former life. Following a series of con- 
 certs there was a very quiet wedding at the 
 Holmes residence, the contracting parties be- 
 ing the German artist, Mr. Gerald Hardensett 
 and Miss Hortense Holmes. How happy they 
 looked as they came in to the merry strains of 
 Lohengrin's "Bridal Chorus." They were in- 
 deed merry and glad. 
 
 Of course it is a foregone conclusion that 
 they ''lived happy ever after." What story-book 
 people do not? So this little romance must 
 
9^ Lights Along the Track 
 
 have the same bright ending. Hortense has 
 never regretted having sung to a "tramp." 
 
 XIII 
 THE LAST ACT 
 
 THE villagers were greatly exercised over 
 the fact that Aunt Ruth Richards was 
 boarding a baby. Aunt Ruth, as the peo- 
 ple called her, was an aged widow in feeble 
 health, and the neighbors wondered why she 
 undertook this great care; who the child was, 
 and why it was sent to the country? They all 
 surmised differently but their curiosity was 
 never gratified. Year after year went by and 
 baby had never known any mother except 
 Aunt Ruth. 
 
 When she was twelve years of age, just 
 emerging from dollhood, there came a new 
 scene in the unfolding panorama of her life. 
 She and her foster-mother were sitting in their 
 warm, little, humble kitchen, when a gentle 
 knock came upon the door. Little Helen, re- 
 sponding, grew speechless at the sight of the 
 
The Last Act 97 
 
 wonderful creation of the striking figure before 
 her, who suddenly exclaimed: 
 
 *'I know my darling, I am your mamma! 
 The ocean has been between us for many years, 
 but now I have returned from abroad to claim 
 my own." 
 
 Helen was delighted with her new mamma, 
 and childlike, was eager to go out into the 
 great world, innocent of the temptations of 
 society-life. 
 
 Her mother was glad to reclaim her child, 
 and Helen, bewildered with the fascinating style 
 and beauty of her mother, was overjoyed to 
 accompany her. But one poor, lonely soul 
 cried out for the helpless little babe — the child 
 she had reared into budding girlhood, and now 
 old enough to lean on in her declining years. 
 Her heart ached with departing hopes, and as 
 she laid aside the plaid dresses and gingham 
 aprons, and packed her new wardrobe, of 
 French broad-cloth and dainty party dresses, 
 furnished by the mother, sorrow pierced her 
 heart's depths. She felt as if all the strings of 
 her life were breaking, and slumber would not 
 bring peace, so many heart strings were vi- 
 brating. 
 
98 Lights Along the Track 
 
 It was nearly night the following day when 
 Helen and her mother were ready to go. As 
 the sun sank in the golden sky, and the shad- 
 ows were deepening into night, poor Aunt 
 Ruth watched Helen go away forever. With 
 weeping eyes she watched the stately lady 
 leave — going out into the deepening night with 
 her darling child, nevermore to return. 
 
 At last she shut her door and went into her 
 home, robbed of its sunshine and love. 
 
 Six years went rapidly by, and Aunt Ruth 
 was still restive and sad, still yearning for the 
 unattainable. Finally the friendly neighbors 
 saw that she must have a change, and advised 
 her to visit her cousin, who had recently ex- 
 tended an urgent invitation, to come for a 
 month to the city. After much persuasion, 
 Aunt Ruth was willing to spend a month in the 
 city. She had been there but a week, when her 
 cousin insisted on her going to a theatre to 
 hear "From the Realm of Childhood." 
 
 She said it was the wickedest thing she'd 
 "ever hear'n tell", said it was "all false and a 
 waste of money." 
 
The Last Act 99 
 
 But at length they convinced Aunt Ruth how 
 pleased they would be if she would accompany 
 them, so a few evenings later they were all 
 comfortably seated in a box, and the curtain 
 rose on a beautiful young actress of about 
 eighteen, who sang, "You're as welcome as the 
 flowers in May." 
 
 Without warning. Aunt Ruth leaned out over 
 the railing of the box and called, "Helen, my 
 dear — come to Aunt Ruth!" 
 
 Her friends checked her, and told her that if 
 she would wait until the close of the play, she 
 could go behind the scenes and meet the singer. 
 The actress acquitted herself in her parts of 
 the play with the greatest success. One could 
 never have told that she had heard her old 
 friend's call, and recognized her voice; when 
 the curtain fell for the last time, she hurried to 
 Aunt Ruth and said, "Come with me, Auntie." 
 
 Soon they were driving quickly over the 
 city's pavements, to Helen's appartments in the 
 Grand Hotel. She told Aunt Ruth how her 
 mother had died soon after the completion of 
 her education, and that she did not like a stage 
 career. 
 
 "I love the birds, the hills of my childhood's 
 
loo Lights Along the Track 
 
 home, and I want to go back and up the long 
 lane to your little home. May I go back with 
 you, Aunt Ruth? Never to forsake you again!" 
 
 "Yes," sobbed Aunt Ruth. 
 
 And the last act was ended. 
 
 XIV 
 
 A FIREMAN'S CHILD 
 
 (Suggested by the death of a member of the San 
 Francisco Fire Department.) 
 
 LI E was dead. By the casket the watchers sat; 
 * * When his Httle daughter came into sight, 
 And said, "What's the matter with my papa?" 
 
 When told he slept, she said, "Papa, good-night." 
 
 Satisfied, she slept, as 'neath an angel's wing; 
 
 When the gong, which summoned him to duty 
 As before, began loud and sharply to ring; 
 
 Waking the child, in her innocent beauty. 
 
 It rang once, twice, and was repeating, now, 
 The alarm, when, flying into the room 
 
 Came the child, in her white robe, with pale brow. 
 Climbed up to her papa, all clad for the tomb. 
 
A Fireman's Child loi 
 
 Then shouted, "Wake up, papa, wake up, oh, wake! 
 
 There is a fire, oh! papa, don't you hear? 
 Please, papa, wake up!" She began to shake 
 
 With terror; then turned to the watchers near 
 
 With questioning face, persisting still, 
 "He always, always did get up before, 
 
 Why don't he wake at the sound of the bell?" 
 She kept still repeating o'er and o'er. 
 
 A watcher kindly said, "Never mind the bell. 
 Your papa won't go to the fire to-night." 
 
 "But what makes mamma cry so, why don't you-tell?" 
 Sad tears filling the little eyes bright. 
 
 They carried her away, to her little bed. 
 Weeping, because her papa did not wake. 
 
 She has yet to learn that her papa is dead; 
 And cannot return, e'en for sweet love's sake. 
 
 But there is a happy world, where none shall weep. 
 
 There the brave fireman will again behold 
 His precious family which God will keep, 
 
 'Till he greets them again at heaven's gates of gold. 
 
io2 Lights Along the Track 
 
 XV 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 I WOULD that a floral offering 
 * I could place on my father's grave. 
 For he fought in many battles, 
 And was a soldier true and brave. 
 
 But alas! He is quietly sleeping 
 
 In Denver, at far Riverside, 
 The Master, in His reaping, 
 
 Called home my loving guide. 
 
 Called for my own dear father 
 
 To come with him and live up higher. 
 
 Now he is with the angels of Heaven 
 Singing in the Heavenly choir. 
 
 The soldiers will march to-day 
 In that lone "City of the Dead" 
 
 All dressed in bright array, 
 Of the army blue — it is said. 
 
 Methinks I hear the soldiers' feet, 
 As with stately step and solemn tread. 
 
 They step to martial music sweet. 
 Bringing sweet laurels for the dead. 
 
Saved from the Bar-room^ 103 
 
 In Heaven no sound of battle comes, 
 Tho' those brave soldiers will be there; 
 
 No sound of cannonade or drums 
 Will ring out on the peaceful air. 
 
 Bright flowers in abundance grow, 
 And living waters sweetly glide. 
 
 No pain or fear they ever know. 
 With Christ their Saviour they abide. 
 
 XVI 
 SAVED FROM THE BAR-ROOM 
 
 (Suggested by an incident related in a temperance 
 lecture by J. G. Woolly.) 
 
 WAS lying in a drunken state, 
 
 When this message to me was read: 
 "Come quickly ere it be too late, 
 
 For your mother will soon be dead." 
 
 1 
 
 I roused me from my drunken sleep. 
 Hastened homeward to her side. 
 
 Where watchers did their vigil keep. 
 As she met death's incoming tide. 
 
 She said: "I am now dying, John." 
 On my finger a ring she placed, 
 
I04 Lights Along the Track 
 
 Saying, "Will you wear it when I'm gone? 
 A pledge that liquor you'll never take?" 
 
 I answered, with a decided voice, 
 
 "I never will drink any more." 
 It made her dying heart rejoice 
 
 As she left for the Heavenly shore. 
 
 I went away, resolved to keep 
 
 The vow I had in sorrow spoken. 
 But found, alas, that I was weak. 
 
 Before sunset the vow was broken. 
 
 One night, returning from my work, 
 A comrade hailed me, "Have a drink?" 
 
 'Twas then I took that mad'ning glass 
 Before I had stopped to think. 
 
 Next morning I was sober again, 
 
 Refreshed by a good night's sleep. 
 Yet wholly discouraged about myself, 
 
 And the promises I could not keep. 
 
 I called my wife and children dear, 
 
 And said, "I have made a new plan; 
 I am going, maybe, to the world's end — 
 
 Shall not return till a sober man." 
 
 I said good-bye, and donned my hat, 
 
 And to the depot quickly sped. 
 There, in the dingy depot, sat, 
 
 Thinking of my family and the dead. 
 
Saved from the Bar-room 105 
 
 When lo, Rachel came, saying, ''John, send 
 
 If you need me or our children. 
 Whether you are drunk or sober — 
 
 No matter if to the world's end." 
 
 Then the train came speeding o'er the track, 
 
 And I kissed my brave little wife. 
 Saying, "I shall not again come back 
 
 Until I can live a true and sober life." 
 
 After many struggles my foe was slain. 
 
 I longed to be at home once more. 
 So I started on a home-bound train. 
 
 To my "own, my native shore." 
 
 A comrade said, with a pleasant smile, 
 
 "For something, John, you're saved, I'm sure." 
 
 "I am," I answered, "to work a while, 
 To warn others of sorrows I endure." 
 
 I have to weep o'er wasted years 
 
 And o'er bright prospects blighted. 
 But a cheerful vision now appears — 
 
 At last my mistakes are righted. 
 
 The demon drink, my friend, is strong, 
 
 Too strong for one to conquer alone. 
 But God will help all the way along, 
 
 Till finally he is overthrown. 
 
io6 Lights Along the Track 
 
 XVII 
 SAVED FROM THE FIRE 
 
 >Tn WAS a night when the tempest raged — and cold 
 
 * the wintry sleet; 
 
 When all were glad to hasten home, their loving ones 
 
 to greet. 
 All prayed there'd be no fires, while the storm o'er 
 
 the city swept, 
 While the fireman, on "house patrol," his lonely vigil 
 
 kept. 
 
 When loudly clanged the bells, and faithful horses' 
 
 flying feet 
 With sparkling engines, came rumbling, dashing down 
 
 the street. 
 The busy street was vacated; the fearless firemen held 
 
 sway; 
 And the brave boys located in the firemen's right of 
 
 way. 
 
 It was a tenement building with precious souls within. 
 At once to quench the towering flames, the firemen 
 
 did begin. 
 And o'er the slippery ladders, the brave men mounted 
 
 high. 
 With not a thought of self, but of souls in there to 
 
 die. 
 
Saved from the Fire 107 
 
 In a fourth-story window, her face in pleading prayer, 
 Stood a young wife, by angry flames encompassed 
 
 there. 
 Not a ladder that would reach her, not a hope for her 
 
 life; 
 When a fireman shouted: "She must be saved, she is 
 
 my wife!" 
 
 With his courage buoyed by love, he climbed the 
 
 dizzy height. 
 And on "his own living shoulders he held a ladder 
 
 right," 
 'Mid the seething flames she sees him, and to the 
 
 rescue leaps; 
 Then down her husband's shoulders, she slowly, 
 
 safely creeps. 
 
 The crowd had speechless stood, beneath the lurid 
 
 sky, 
 But now they sent heavenward, a joyous, thankful 
 
 cry. 
 See! The fireman holds his fainting wife — his great 
 
 reward — 
 Unconscious of the scene around — his heart went up 
 
 to God. 
 
 There are as many brave hearts to-day, 'neath the suit 
 
 of blue. 
 And as many noble deeds are done the whole year 
 
 through. 
 
io8 Lights Along the Track 
 
 Let us all pray that God will bless, and take them 
 
 home to Heaven, 
 When all their work is o'er, and their "last alarm" is 
 
 given. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 WELCOME TO BOSTON 
 
 (Air: "Ring the Bells of Heaven.") 
 
 Ode to Christian Endeavorers, who met in Boston in 
 
 1905. 
 
 D ING the bells of Boston, there is joy to-day; 
 *^ Welcome them from near and from afar. 
 We'll all go out to meet them out upon the way, 
 And sing the gates of Boston are ajar. 
 
 Chorus 
 Glory, glory how the Endeavorers sing — 
 
 Glory, glory, what sweet news they bring. 
 'Tis a glorious army, come from strand to strand. 
 
 Flinging out their banners o'er the land. 
 
 Sing, oh, feathered songsters, sing your merriest lay, 
 While the garden flowers nod and thrive. 
 
 For souls shall be gathered for the realms of day 
 At meetings here in Boston, ninety-five. 
 
 We know that there's rejoicing of a "chorus" grand, 
 In that bright and happy world above; 
 
The Fatal Alarm 109 
 
 When they hear the music on this earthly strand 
 And the Christians teaching "God is Love." 
 
 We'll all meet in the homeland, where parting comes 
 no more, 
 
 Where the "many, many mansions be;" 
 And angels then shall meet us on the homeland shore, 
 
 When we anchor o'er the heavenly sea. 
 
 XIX 
 
 THE FATAL ALARM 
 
 ^^ N the shimmering air of leafy June, 
 ^^ When earth laughed out in nature's array, 
 Sounded the fire bell's solemn, warning tune, 
 Calling the firemen to arise and away. 
 
 In a home embowered in peace and rest, 
 
 Awaited a daughter and faithful wife, 
 Keeping vigil for one they loved best, 
 
 So soon to give to the city his life. 
 
 At the fire a command to him was said: 
 
 "The fire bars you off — leap into the water" — 
 
 His choice was the ocean for his death-bed, 
 But he thought of his dear wife and daughter. 
 
 For their strength he had strength for that trying 
 hour. 
 So he fearlessly met the flames' fiery breath. 
 
no Lights Along the Track 
 
 Trusting still in the Almighty Power, 
 
 He bravely went through the flames to his death. 
 
 Thus he sacrificed life for his fellow-men, 
 Leaving a record, we'll ever keep in view — 
 
 As a precious legacy, to guide us when 
 We are weak and err, and need example true. 
 
 His people yearn for his genial face to-day! 
 
 The city bends low in one united cry. 
 For his old-time step and gentle, noble way. 
 
 Heaven's portals swung behind him, while we sigh. 
 
 The home is dreary since from it he is riven. 
 But he is waiting for us in that clime afar. 
 
 He has lifted the veil 'twixt earth and Heaven, 
 And he sees "the God of things as they are." 
 
 XX 
 
 INSPIRATION 
 
 1 SAT by the window o'erlooking the rockbound 
 * shore, 
 
 Admiring God's autumn landscape in colors galore, 
 Wrought on a canvas, pinned back from hillcrest and 
 
 lea, 
 And it brought me nearer to God and inspired me. 
 
Inspiration 1 1 1 
 
 Afar in the background were the darksome woodlands 
 
 grey— 
 And the turbulent river winding adown the way. 
 But its borderland was touched with warmer colors 
 
 grand, 
 By the Great Painter's wonderful, artistic hand. 
 
 There were verdant tillage lands with cattle grazing 
 
 by, 
 And all was bounded by an ethereal, blue sky; 
 Lightened and blended by the sun's last Western 
 
 glow 
 And finished by the flitting sparrows He loved so. 
 
 An inspiration seems to have come to dwell. 
 That as the painting was shadowed — "all was well." 
 For above the inky river's monotonous sound 
 Burst forth resplendent brightness to abound. 
 
 Thus in our lives. When cares crowd out the happy 
 
 days, 
 We must look up to God and He will blend our ways. 
 He'll lighten our burdens and crown our Journey's 
 
 end. 
 By greeting us all in Heaven, as friend to friend. 
 
112 Lights Along the Track 
 
 XXI 
 "EXTREMELY OBLIGING" 
 
 IJ E was sight-seeing over the busy town, 
 * * A visitor from the country was he. 
 And now as he gazed with many a frown 
 An engine house he happened to see. 
 
 He enquired of a fireman at the door, 
 
 "Are there many fires here? Do you go to all?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, there are many in this district, 
 And we always run to a general call." 
 
 The querist kept on: "Do you ever hitch up to see 
 How quickly and well you could do such a thing?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," he replied, but just at that time 
 There came an alarm from the gong's loud ring. 
 
 The stall doors flew open, when each to his place 
 The horses responded and quickly were reined, 
 
 Towards duty's call, at a galloping pace; 
 
 But the old farmer thought he was much enter- 
 tained. 
 
 "Well, now," he soliloquized, "wasn't that clever? 
 
 There's not many towns where them feller's in 
 blue 
 Would take so much trouble this hot weather, 
 
 Just to show a mere stranger what they can doT* 
 
Sympathy ii; 
 
 XXII 
 SYMPATHY 
 
 TP HE Master, in reaping for Heaven's bright clime, 
 * Culls from earth's garden the choicest, the best; 
 From that region He saw with vision sublime 
 That one from your circle should find perfect rest. 
 
 Thus, He came in the stillness of the dim night 
 And gently carried him to that painless shore 
 
 Where angels, enbowered in ethereal light, 
 Whispered softly, "All thy sufferings are o'er." 
 
 God purposed to free thy dear one from pain, 
 And teach the broken band of unbounded love, 
 
 Where the pure of earth in Heaven shall ever reign 
 In faith's beautiful, myriad homes above. 
 
 The Saviour left for His own a sweet bequest: 
 There's "strength for the day" is the promise 
 given, 
 To solve life's problem, God is our guide and rest — 
 Our Pilot o'er the misty way 'twixt earth and 
 Heaven. 
 
 My friend and children, look above this earthly 
 sphere, 
 View the wide bloom of eternal springtime's shore. 
 
114 Lights Along the Track 
 
 Weave a life of faith and hope while you are here, 
 And you'll meet again, where hearts shall grieve no 
 more. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG 
 
 (Suggested by the memorable painting.) 
 
 OENEATH the sky one seems to stand, 
 *^ Upon a fearful battle-ground. 
 Gazing over the stricken land, 
 Yet one cannot hear a sound. 
 
 All is wrapped in silence, solemn; 
 
 And something of dread and fear, 
 Steals over us at the suffering 
 
 Of those some one loved so dear. 
 
 It gives us a realization 
 
 More plainly than words can tell. 
 Of the sorrows of our nation 
 
 And what to us then befell. 
 
 To see the brave and noble war-horse. 
 
 Struggling with the fatal shot, 
 And the dead being borne away 
 
 Where their friends could see them not. 
 
The Battle of Gettysburg 115 
 
 Lodged were fields of wheat, 
 
 With lovely, glistening sheen 
 Through which the army beat; 
 
 To the battle-field so green. 
 
 Each thought that he was right 
 
 Nor deemed he could be wrong; 
 All did most bravely fight, 
 
 Each within his army strong. 
 
 In this fierce and bloody battle, 
 
 The turning point had come. 
 The sound of strife and cannon's rattle 
 
 Soon were changed to "Home, Sweet Home." 
 
 As tourists visit Gettysburg; 
 
 They see at most graves a stone 
 That arises a dormant memory 
 
 For it bears the sad word, "Unknown." 
 
 Many are now gently sleeping 
 In those broad fields 'neath flowers white. 
 
 But their souls are in God's keeping; 
 In the "many mansions bright." 
 
 Now there is no North or South. 
 
 We are all brothers — united — 
 We'll meet no more at the cannon's mouth, 
 
 But in Heaven where wrongs are righted. 
 
 Let us give the painter homage 
 Who has made the battle so plain. 
 
1 16 Lights Along the Track 
 
 Who, with his brush and pallette 
 Has brought the past to us again. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 IN MEMORY OF A RAILROAD ENGINEER 
 
 IJ E hath reached the highlands of glory 
 * * Towering above this region of pain. 
 There he has heard the Saviour's story, 
 Why He was taken to Heaven to reign. 
 
 When he left the grand old engine, 
 
 He bravely said: "Take her, boys, I am through; 
 I find I must resign the work of years. 
 
 For, you see, I have not the strength to do." 
 
 Through all the weary weeks of painful test, 
 
 He murmured not, or feared to die; 
 But anticipated — the promised rest 
 
 And said: "The Lord will call me bye-and-bye." 
 
 He left a happy home where peace hovered near, 
 Left, too, the iron steed he had guided aright: 
 
 But it was well with Joe, the engineer. 
 For a heavenly home was ever in sight. 
 
 He has gained that wondrous station — grand — 
 At the end of earth's long and busy run. 
 
 There in rapture he waits on that bright strand, 
 To welcome you home when your work is done. 
 
Welcome to the Grand Army 117 
 
 XXV 
 
 WELCOME TO THE GRAND ARMY 
 
 I ONG, long years since the army disbanded; 
 *^ Long, long years since the cannon's loud roar; 
 Long, long years since the war-cry sounded; 
 And our soldiers returned to battle no more. 
 
 Listen! Is it the martial step and cannon's rattle 
 Sounding once again along the street? 
 
 Yes, 'tis our soldiers, but not in battle, 
 For in a land of blessed peace they meet. 
 
 See! the battle-scarred men, in coats of blue; 
 
 Marching 'neath the starry flags on high! 
 They are heroes who fought nobly and true 
 
 When the awful danger lingered nigh. 
 
 Oh, give the soldiers a royal welcome, 
 Those veterans grown grey with the years. 
 
 And their brave sons who are ready for war 
 Whenever that dreadful cloud appears. 
 
 May our Saviour watch over the nation, 
 
 Guard it and keep it from strife! 
 May He be a wall of salvation — 
 
 Lead and guide us, and protect each life. 
 
ii8 Lights Along the Track 
 
 In the beauteous land far above us; 
 
 There are our brave martyrs marching to-day; 
 Those who bravely fell; those who love us, 
 
 Killed in the battle-field's dread affray. 
 
 Soon there will be a reunion broad and grand, 
 When the bugle calls for the "grand review;" 
 
 For, saved from earth's battles on the peaceful strand, 
 Are waiting the soldiers we loved so true. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 RETROSPECTION 
 
 TP HERE'S a spot very pleasant to me, 
 * A shady green place by the river; 
 In whatever place I may happen to be 
 'Twill linger in memory forever. 
 
 A school-house I see, a storm-beaten thing, 
 Happy children were always there. 
 
 And fresh with dew of the morning bring 
 Flowers so beautiful, rich and rare. 
 
 I see, too, the river that turns the mill 
 Winding on toward the distant sea; 
 
 I know like that, we are going still 
 
 On to that Kingdom, stainless and free. 
 
 I have stood on the ledges wide, 
 And watched the sparkling waters flow, 
 
Old Home Week 119 
 
 And have seen the boatmen gently glide, 
 As with merry hearts they lightly row. 
 
 I have seen the sun set o'er the river. 
 
 No grander sight mortal eye will know, 
 As those gorgeous clouds reflected 
 
 Their beauty in the waters below. 
 
 I wonder if our deeds will shine forth 
 
 As clearly as the cloud's reflection. 
 And if we shall see them again, 
 
 In the future retrospection. 
 
 We must do kindly acts of love, » 
 
 That they may shine forth bright; 
 Then in the beautiful world above 
 
 They will beam again, in Heaven's own light. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 OLD HOME WEEK 
 
 IT'S a sacred legend of each heart — the going home 
 * again; 
 
 When the year has waxed into summer's mellow, 
 drowsy days; 
 And one hears the gentle falling of the warm, wel- 
 come rain — 
 The heart, untrammelled, returns to the parting of 
 the ways. 
 
120 Lights Along the Track 
 
 Back from the restless city to peaceful hamlet, glen 
 and glade; 
 Back to the old, old home .with dear mother waiting 
 at the door; 
 Within the shelves are bending with the good things 
 she has made. 
 As she gladly traveled to and fro, over the old 
 porch floor. 
 
 We often sigh for a view of the fair hill-crest's smoky 
 hue. 
 For the turbulent river winding along its woodsy 
 way; 
 For the clannish friends of youth who love their home 
 with hearts so true, 
 That during the Old Home Week, at the hillside 
 farm shall stay. 
 
 Dear, stainless spot! We treasure every visit and 
 thought of home. 
 As thy children are launched amidst the whirl of 
 life's career. 
 We yearn for that appointed week when we shall 
 backward roam 
 To receive the soothing influence of childhood's 
 home so dear. 
 
 Though many wanderers may find stranger hearts 
 within thy walls. 
 Or, perchance, rough hands may have thought- 
 lessly torn thee down, 
 
Qood-Bye Old Home 121 
 
 Thou standest still — a house in memory that never, 
 never falls — 
 So we'll return to friends of youth in the dear old 
 homestead town. 
 
 In God's own time, the week shall broaden into vast 
 eternity; 
 And countless trains shall speed along the heavenly 
 track 
 To the terminal of the new home that now in faith we 
 see, 
 Where we shall not count a few bright days till we 
 must journey back. 
 
 There to live aeons and aeons — heart to heart shall 
 meet at last; 
 And when beyond earth's last station we have fear- 
 lessly gone, 
 And the good-byes and tearful eyes are ordeals of the 
 past, 
 We shall meet at Jesus' feet, when the New Home 
 Week is born. 
 
 XXVIII 
 GOOD-BYE OLD HOME 
 
 TT HE blue-bells all were ringing, 
 * And all the birds were singing, 
 When I left my hill-side home. 
 
122 Lights Along the Track 
 
 I heard the lowing of the kine, 
 And the sweet music of the pine, 
 When I left my hill-side home. 
 
 Oh how brightly shone the sun, 
 O'er the hills of Limington, 
 When I left my hill-side home. 
 The sweet arbutus was seen, 
 Running along the dells, so green, 
 When I left my hill-side home. 
 
 Gently the zephyrs swept along, 
 Keeping time to the birds' sweet song, 
 When I left my hill-side home. 
 All my friends came to bid adieu, 
 Saying they'd miss me, they knew, 
 When I left my hill-side home. 
 
 The tall elm seemed to wave his hand, 
 And say, stay in this verdant land. 
 When I left my hill-side home. 
 My friends would say, "Leave us not, 
 Why do you leave this lovely spot?" 
 When I left my hill-side home. 
 
 But waiting my coming was one true heart. 
 
 Who vowed to be true, "till Death do us part," 
 
 Down in my hill-side home. 
 
 And that thought bore aloft my soul, 
 
 Until my feelings I could control, 
 
 When I left my hill-side home. 
 
riy Village Home 123 
 
 I shall often think of the pretty view, 
 Of old Ossipee hill with its smoky hue, 
 Just beyond my hill-side home. 
 The ridge and the woodlands bright. 
 And the ponds forever in sight. 
 Just beyond my hill-side home. 
 
 I can see as plain as can be, 
 
 My friends of youth so kind to me, 
 
 Down in my hill-side home. 
 
 I feel they are not forsaken quite, 
 
 For God will be with them the darkest night, 
 
 Down in my hill-side home. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 MY VILLAGE HOME 
 
 F\ EAR hamlet, embowered by wide-spreading trees. 
 
 ^^ How pleasing thy bright aspect to the eye; 
 As gently fanned by Summer's breeze, — 
 
 We view the scenes that about us lie. 
 We list to the tone of the old church bell. 
 
 Telling out on the vespertime air. 
 As plainly as ever words can tell. 
 
 That 'tis the hour of praise and prayer. 
 
 It brings to each and every heart sweet peace. 
 Peace of subduing, infinite calm, 
 
124 Lights Along the Track 
 
 That sweeps the heart till its worries cease, 
 As the night is cleared after the storm. 
 
 Many cannot enter the chancel at the hour 
 When praises soar the lofty arches grand; 
 
 Yet the bell's tone wafts the melodious spirit 
 To every receptive heart and hand. 
 
 By the wayside in a rose-covered cot 
 
 Where my soul has loved to abide. 
 Kind friends dwelt near 'mid the roses' bloom 
 
 And for dearth of friends I was not denied. 
 But farewell, dear rural cottage home, 
 
 Teeming with roses and vines climbing high. 
 I'm going to leave your summer glories. 
 
 Yes, leave you forever, dear home, good-bye. 
 
 XXX 
 
 MY HORSE 
 
 'IJU^'HEN a boy in the pasture green; 
 • '^ I found a tiny colt one day, 
 
 I thought it the loveliest ever seen 
 And for it left all work and play. 
 
 How I loved to see her run, 
 
 How proud was I of her shining coat: 
 A happier life I had begun 
 
 Since I'd a pet on which to dote. 
 
Resignation of a Railroad Conductor 125 
 
 No king was happier than I 
 To see her in her harness stand, 
 
 Over the ground how swift she'd fly, 
 'Till we'd at the homestead land. 
 
 All is now changed. She is dead, 
 Grown old and glad at last to rest 
 
 Quiet and peaceful is her bed 
 In the pasture she loved best. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 RESIGNATION OF A RAILROAD 
 CONDUCTOR 
 
 THEY told him he had better resign— 
 It was thought best that he should. 
 They thanked him for service time, 
 But the old man ne'er understood. 
 
 He had worn the protecting blue, 
 Since he was very, very young, 
 
 To his orders he'd been true 
 
 And oft his praises had been sung. 
 
 He liked the daily sea of faces, 
 
 Teeming the train alway; 
 All proffered morning graces, 
 
 To him every new-born day. 
 
126 Lights Along the Track 
 
 He resigned with an aching heart, 
 
 In the evening of his days, 
 To abide from the world apart, 
 
 In his cottage by the ways. 
 
 In his home he lay ill and sad, 
 
 As the vesper-bells were tolled. 
 For nothing more he cared 
 
 Since he was retired for growing old. 
 
 He missed the surging crowd. 
 
 In sleep he murmured "All Aboard!" 
 He listened for the bell so loud, 
 
 When only the night wind soared. 
 
 He had laid down his buttons gold. 
 But he'd a pass from earth to Heaven. 
 
 There he will see the gates unfold, 
 Where the eternal robe is given. 
 
 Where age cannot dim the eye, 
 And memory groweth strong, 
 
 And then, he will see the faces, 
 That he has missed so long. 
 
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