The Chilhowee echo. [volume], January 20, 1900, Image 1

About The Chilhowee echo. [volume] (Knoxville, Tenn.) 1899-19??

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VOL. 1.
KNOXVILLE, TENNESSE
E, JANUARY 20, 1900.
NO. 12.
II I I ... X'IWA li I 1 I ' I LAlyl7iliKi',-X IvrA lufzhd I I' 'WW
UNREST.
MAY PITT ANDES.
THE days are growing shorter,
And the years are creeping by;
' MethinkB I hear .the echo,
Of a wav'ring, wistful sigh.
Be still, oh heart, and listen I
Will the echo come again?
And will the life be brighter
In the far oft distant then?
Will all the sad forebodings,
The uncertainty and pain,
Of longing, thinking, won'dring
What the future will contain
Be cleared away in sunshine,
Of a life so full of bliss.
That all the cares will vanish,
In a world as sweet as this.
Be still, oh heart, and listen I
What the future will contain,
And bid farewell to shadows
And a life so full of pain.
Nor listen yet to echoes
That will chill and grieve the heart,
But only feel the sunshine
And the shadows will depart.
- DANNY.
HORTENSE BOOTH GILLESPIE.
IjHEY were both gentlemen, it
was plain to be seen, though
one wore the uniform of the
electric car service, and the
other, a very soiled blue-checked ging
ham dress.
It was the motorman's first trip on
his new route in fact, it was only this
morning, that he had been pronounced
efficient enough to have a route at all.
Heretofore he had been a "learner,"
bnt now he had a car of his own. True,
it was not a very desirable trip, the
passengers were few, the time, slow,
and the streets slower; then too, it was
not considered important enough to
have a conductor, so the motorman had
to fill two offices.
There was a five minutes wait at the
out-of-town end of the line, and as he
swung the trolley round and fastened
up the gate at' the rear platform, the
, aforesaid blue gingham caught his eye.
asked the motorman.
Thus encouraged, the baby, for he
was little more, moved out of the
shadow of the bush us.
"I'm well, thaak you," he replied,
gravely eyeing the man. After a wist
ful pause, he continued, "Where's the
other car man?"
"O, he's got a better trip now. I'm
a green one, you know. Come out and
let's have a look at you."
The child gave him a scrutinizing
stare, and the young man smiled reas
suringly; the little fellow opened the
rickety gate and went out, climbed up
on the platform and seated himself.
"What's your name, kid?" question
ed the motorman.
"Danny," replied the boy.
"That so? Well, mine's Danny too.
Guess you must be Danny Ditto."
"Not Danny Ditto Danny Hall," a
little indignantly.
"Well, Danny Hall, who lives with
you?"
"Only papa and Nancy, the cook."
"What, haven't any brothers or sis
ters?" The little fellow shook his head
sadly.
"No, only papa and Nancy," he reit
erated. "Mamma, you know, has gone
off for her health, and when I'm big
I'm going to see her," confidentially.
"Well, time's up, young man, off
with you," and the older Danny snap
ped his watch to, lifted the child out,
and saw him safely inside the big gate
before making his return trip.
Half an hour later, Danny Hall was
at the gate again, waiting for the sum
mons, which he hoped would come, but
he was too shyly polite to anticipate.
He was not disappointed.
The merry face of the other Danny
lighted up as he saw the pathetic little
figure with its sadly unchildlike face.
"Hello, Ditto, bless me, if I don't be
lieve you're the only inhabitant out
this way. Where's all the folks?"
"Papa's studying, and I don't know
any of the others."
"Studying? What's he studying?"
curiously.
"Butterflies, and worms and things,"
sedately.
The motorman laughed immoderately.
"My papa's a natrist," explained lit
tle Danny.
"Well, it's a mighty silly thing for a
man to do, seems to me. But then, car
men don't know about nutrists, do
tjhey?" he added hastily, seeing the
look of puzzled indignation, that any
one should question his father's occu
pation. , '
"Well, Ditto, come on and take a
ride," said Danny, as he prepared to
go.
"O, Mr. Car-man! will you take me?
I want to go so much," cried the little
boy excitedly, his face fairly brimming
with pleasure at a treat long promised,
but often denied him.
"Why certainly; you just sit right
here and keep quiet, and we'll take a
ride." Danny placed the child com
fortably on the seat, near the forward
door, tipped his wide sun-shade a little,
and started the car.
It was the beginning of a happy sum
mer for little Danny. Day by day he
watched and waited for Danny's hours,
and gradually got to know them well,
so each trip the motorman found the
lonely little figure awaiting his wel
coming hail, and they became com
rades. The child had a sad life; shut off
from all other company of his own age
by his father's nerves; he played day in
and day out by himself in the big,
shady yard. He was about four years
old, sober and sedate beyond his age;
a sweet little face, with big, timid
brown eyes, that seemed constantly
seeking something never to be found.
The look had been there since his frail
young mother died the year before,
and Danay missed her so. His little
life was so changed, and so checkered.
His father, who was all theory, and no
practice, as regards children, had carer
fully taught the child (the only thing
he ever did teach him,) that his mother
was off for her health, and that when
he was older, and good "very good"
he might be allowed to visit her.
Meanwhile he was to be very quiet, and
not touch anything, and not worry any
body, and
"There, there, run along now,"
usually wound up the professor, seeing
the tears rising in the boy's eyes. He
was so tired of hearing always "Be
quiet," and "Don't worry." He was in
everybody's way that waa evident.
Old Nancy generally found time to
dress the child in the morning and to
see that he had his meals at the proper
time, but that was all. With the best
intentions in the world, she was too
old to do more than attend to the
housekeeping and cleaning. So it was,
generally, ,,
UiiRuu. ttoBghat-ffoMldrjtpj-comfjy-feitag if fey wave ww
and here's a cookie for you," when the
little one's loneliness tempted him to
invade her domain. So the motor
man's friendship became a very pre
ciousa sacred thing in Danny's eyes
something to love and ponder over
at nights, with his eyes shut tight to
keep out the dark in the big, silent
room up-stairs.
Many a trip they had together on the
car; many a continued story the child
listened to, different to the fairy tales
his mother had told him, but fascinat
ing too. Danny senior learned all
about "mamma," what she said and
did, and best of all, how she used to
look.
On one of old Nancy's periodical
marketing trips to town, he asked,
"How's Mrs. Hall's health now?"
glancing back through the open door
at his old passenger.
Old Nancy stared vacantly at him.
"Because," continued Danny, "seems
to me, it would be a mighty good thing
to send the little one along to her.
He don't seem overly strong, and his
eyes go all through one at times."
"Mrs. Hall died last summer, young
man," finally answered the woman.
"Well, why in the name of goodness
do you deceive that poor little child?"
Danny asked indignantly. "His mind
is dead set on her, and when he's go
ing to see her and all that, and it's a
shame, that it is."
"I know 'tain't right," said Nancy,
unbending a little, "I said so from the
first, when his father would send him
away till it was all over. But 'twasn't
any good. The professor will have it
that children hadn't oughter know
about such things, and bound me up so
I can't speak. But I know 'tain't right."
Danny's tenderness toward the child
increased, if possible, after this. He
missed him sorely if the familiar little
voice didn't cry out to him in the
morning, "Hello, Danny," while the
child swung on the gate, or perhaps on
the lowest limb of the gnarled old tree,
whose branches hung over the fence.
Thus the summer passed. It was late
in August that low murmurs and mut
terings foretold the big strike. Danny
confided to Ditto one day his grave
fears of such. On the child's inquiry
as to what that was, he patiently and
laborously explained all about it. The
child's mouth quivered at the idea of
anything stopping his dear friend's
visits, for so he considered them; but
Danny re-assured him.
"No, little one, Danny won't stop if
every blamed man in the service quits.
Never you fear, we'll have our rides
just the same," but the boy's heart was
troubled already. :
"Strike's on Ditto," said Danny a
week or so later, "and here I am. I
told you I wouldn't quit," laughing
triumphantly.
"But Danny, won't the car men make
you?" querried Ditto, with a deep
knowledge gathered from his source of
information on all topics.
"O, they'll try to right enough, you
can bet, but that ain't doin? it," confi
dently answered the man, squaring his
fine broad shoulders for the fray.
Next day Danny's face was grave as
Ditto climbed on the car during the
first wait. "Ditto, Danny's got to leave
you for a while," he' said. There now,
brace up; only for a little while. It's
a big thing for us, little man; we're
the only line running, and though con
siderably short of passengers, we're
going, which is something. They've
asked me to try to run on another line;
one that more people can use, if they're
not afraid to ride on the cars. So you see,
it's a big promotion for us, Ditto, and
when the fight's over, you'll be so
proud, and rides! Just think of the
grand rides, on a nice, new car"
talking rapidly, as he saw the brown
eyes well up in tears.
So the rickety little gate swung no
more with the waiting figure, for the
child now spent his time, flat on his
back, in the grass, gazing up at the
big trees overhead, dreaming of Dan
ny and his grand new car.
Down town, the strikers had things
pretty much their own way. The older
heads warned Danny against the risk
he was taking in trying to run on the
new line, but he only smiled, and shook
his head resolutely.
"Of course, Danny, as long as you're
on the car, it's safe, no one ain't going
to touch you on it then, but just you
leave it, and it's done for sure," his
friends told him.
No one would harm Danny, they felt
sure of that; they all loved him. But
then
Still the car went on, doing no busi
ness it is true, for the people feared to
ride in the cars after a few had bee;
a nag of defiance in the face of the
strikers, so long as that shining new
blue and red car went spinning, clang
ing down the street, empty. And there
was big money in it for Danny, too. Of
course he could not run the car con
stantly, but he made several trips a day,
and guarded the car in between times.
Finally the strikers became amused at
his dogged determination, and almost
let him alone, especially, as he did not
hinder the strike in the least.
i
Meanwhile, Ditto was pondering in
the high, deep grass that was never cut,
on account of the professor's aversion
to the noise of the machine. Old Nancy
came and dug him out periodically, af
ter calling herself hoarse, to get his
meals, and to go to bed. Once in bed,
the dreams went on, till kind sleep
gently drove the fancies away. He
thought of the strike, only the vaguest
rumors of which had reached them, of
the excitement Danny was having, of
the fun he would have in the midst of it
all; only there were rocks, so Danny had
said, and smashed up cars, and some
times people hurt, then his little mind
wandered off to his mother, and he
wondered when he would be big enough
and good enough to visit her. Surely
he had been very good, and just as
quiet, he even tip-toed on the porch
and in the halls, and never dropped his
little shoes at night, as he used to.
So the next day, he slipped timidly
into his father's study, and stood still as
a mouse, till the professor looked up
and saw him,
"Papa, may I go to see mama now?"
asked the child breathlessly.
"Yes, yes, run along now Danny," an
swered his father, intent on arranging
a beautiful'and recently acquired speci
men. "When, papa?" excitedly.
"To-morrow, my child, and I will give
you the fare," answered the professor,
still intent on the work in hand, and
fancying the child had asked to take a
car ride, as he had a way of doing.
But Danny's heart was full to over
flowing. He slipped away to make his
preparations. Dragging out his one nice
dress, he wondered gravely if he had
better wear it on the train, for of course
he would have to ride on the train, or
whether he should save it to wear later.
A moment's thought decided him in
favor of the first, as mamma was sure
to have lots more waiting for him.
"She always makes me dresses and
things," he thought happily, carefully
piling his little possessions into a small
trunk in the corner of the room. All
day he worked arranging and re-arranging,
folding and unfolding till the
little frocks were a sad mass of wrin
kles. Then In the morning it was all to
ba gone over again, as somehow the
tMngs didn't look right.
'But mamma'll fix 'em," he thought,
with the beautiful faith of childhood,
so bothering no more about them, he
want out into the yard, and dreamed a
little of Danny, and was so sorry his
dear friend didn't know of his coming
tr'p, and pictured his happiness, when
he returned, if he returned, in telling
alT about his pleasure. Late in the af
ternoon, he begged Nancy to dress him
'cause he was going somewhere.
length, just to quiet him, she clothed
him in his best, and brushed him up,
til) he looked the dainty little body he
rejilly was. After his early tea, he ap
peared at the study door.
I'm ready, papa," he said, swinging
hat backward and forward, impa
tiently.
I'lleady for what?" asked the profes
sor, slightly dazed by the white vision
in the doorway. The child was singu
larly like his mother, with the same
wonderful eyes.
: 'Ready for my trip, papa," a little
anxiously, "you said last night I might
go to see mamma to-night, you know, so
I'ifl ready, and my trunk's packed."
w,'Well, well," ejaculated his father,
"well, now perhaps I did, but come to
thfnk of it, I believe you're too young
yt. Run along now, and play, and
another time we'll talk about it."
p, tender, confiding little soul! thus
early is your faith shattered.
J tn his trouble, his heart turned to
Danny, Danny would understand and
sympathize, if he could just find him
apd his big new car. He was too shock
ed to cry outright, but a queer little
throb kept coming up to his mouth, and
h:-bad to swallow hard to keep it from
Opining out. Now and then, below his
breath, he whispered, "Danny, Danny."
- .
' l ,
Danny was preparing to make a trip,
and in fact, had just sounded the gong,
when a little flying, white figure sprang
tow ard the glare of the car-light, and a
iliar voice cried out in a piping
O, Mr. Car-man, where's Danny?"
, 'Bless me if it ain't the little 'un,"
in ittered the motorman, beneath his
br oath, "can't those two old people look
afi er that child any better than that?"
But he reached down and lifted the litr
tl boy up by him.
'Now what are you doing here, Dit
toi a little sternly. "You know you
ougnsi by rights to be at home and in
bed.'
"Daniy I came by myself, all the way.
I couldn't go to see mamma, though I
was all ready packed up and dressed, so
I came to find you," cheerfully. "What
a fine, big car, Danny! How's the
strike?" He was using all his enticing
little baby ways to smooth Danny's ruf
fled feelings.
"Question is, what's to be done with
you now, kid?"
"Why, I'm going with you," re-assur-ingly.
"Oh! are you? Well, I guess you have
to now. I'll take you down and back,
and then carry you cross town home,"
decided Danny.
So once more the gong sounded and
the strange couple started on their
down town trip, the solitary occupants
of the car. The little boy was vastly
pleased with it all at first, the lights,
and the pretty bright windows they
passed. But soon they left the crowded
streets, and began to pass through a
darker, more deserted portion of the
city. Ditto's eyes began to blink, and
finally he nodded once or twice. So
Danny stopped the car, and covering
him up with his light coat, for the night
was chilly, carefully placed the little
fellow in a corner of a seat, and he was
soon fast asleep.
The man was greatly worried. While
the strikers had severely let him alone
lately, still they might try to blockade
the road anyway, but even that was
risky, with a baby aboard. He became
more and more indignant with the
child's father and nurse, and decided to
turn him over to the first policeman he
met, to be taken home.
But this quiet part of the city was
destitute of the guardians of the peace,
during these troublous times, as their
services were needed elsewhere.
As he drew near the old car station,
where a night clerk was at work, and
where he often received orders, he
slowed up, and a voice cried out, "Dan
ny, here's orders," and a young fellow
danced along beside the car. Just at
this minute the current was turned off.
"Hold the car a moment, Jim," said
Danny, stepping off, and moving toward
a near by electric light to read his or
ders. As he did so the current came on
again, and a rumbling caused him to
turn quickly around. The car was mak
ing off in the black night at full speed,
and the boy Jim was dancing up and
down in sheer delight.
"Said I could do it, said I could git
you ofen the car a minute," he shrieked
in his glee, but a stern voice stopped
him.
"Where's the kid? Shut up," and
Danny caught him by the collar, as he
turned to fly.
"Kid?" echoed Jim, blankly.
With a shout Danny flung the boy
from him and started down the track,
calling back as he ran, "Tell 'em to
'phone ahead to stop her, quick," and
was gone into the night. The boy stood
stock still a minute.
"Golly," he said under his breath, "I
didn't see no kid," then turned and ran
the other way, for he knew what the
other could not, that it was too late.
Suddenly there was a loud explosion,
a dreadful crash, then awful silence.
Danny from the top of the hill saw the
car speeding, rocking down, down the
hill, faster and faster, then the sudden
roar, and the car seemed to fly to bits
before his eyes. Sick and faint with
fear, he dashed wildly on. Before him
came a crowd of laughing, hurrahing
men, screaming to him to stop, and
that they had done for him this time.
But his white face and horrified eyes
silenced them as he drew near.
"Tfie kid! the little boy! find him!"
he gasped, dashing wildly about amidst
the wreck. Willing hands aided him,
as the dreadful truth penetrated their
brains.
Danny found him off to one side, on a
little grassy bank, where the shock had
thrown him. The coat had fallen par
tially off, and he lay huddled up limply.
They carefully lifted him and carried
him to the light. The smile of baby
sleep was still on his face, his little dim
pled hands still clutching the skirt of
his dress. On one temple was a faint
mark, where he had struck, but he nev
er knew it at all.
He had his dearest wish realized at
last, tired uncared for little Ditto he
had gone to see mamma.
ThQTnan washed Danny aflj.be ton-
derly folded the little form in his coat.
and strode away with it, then after a
silence the leader said: "Fellows, if
you're all willing, we'll consider the
compromise to-morrow."
Just one little life it took to accom
plish it, just one pure, sweet little soul
given back to its happiness, and the
world moved on thankfully.
The strike was over.
A SONG OF WOMEN.
WESTMINISTER GAZETTE.
VR lips shall sing the victory,
Vow vengeance for defeat.
Our gold we bring with willing hands,
Nor come with lagging feet.
With voices brave and kindling eyes,
We arm our men to fight.
And when the last fiireweil is said
We stand and face the night.
At night the little lumps go forth
To seek the newly slain,
The broken-into house of life,
That shall not stand again.
England I O splendid n-imel for thee,
With all we have we part.
Nor keep but woman's heritage
Tears and a breaking heart.
SUBURBANETCHINGS.
FRANCES NELSON WOBTHINGTON.
BOBBY.
NARROW suburban street
stretched its dusty length in
the morning sunshine of a
hot day in May. The odor of
boiling suds pervaded the air and an
nounced it, Monday. The Brown's cot
tage seemed positively to exude mois
ture from its very front door, though
the irritable voice of its tired mistress
might be heard every few minutes call
ing, "Shut the kitchen door," to each
of the five little Brown's who seemed to
keep up a perpetual march through the
house.
The worn carpet showed the pinch of
poverty, but the glimpse of handsome,
if shabby old furniture, told their tale
of better days.
Twelve o'clock was approaching and
Mrs. Brown, in a faded and not very
clean blue Mother Hubbard, with un
kempt hair, was assisting the servant
by setting the table, when the shrill
voice of her only son under the window
made her jump. "Ma, here comes pa
up the street, and he's bringin' com
pany." "O, Billy! ain't that just like
your pa, it may be only a neighbor,
but if it isn't, tell the children to come
here, for it means that Bobby's got to
lose his life at last, there's no help for
it. Now stop that crying, Billy, isn't it
hard enough for your poor mother to
have the work to do, and Sally, that
cross, I can't go near her, but you have
to set up such a howling. Run, call the
children, and watch whether the man
comes in the gate with your pa. Oh,
there they are, across the street. Yes,
it's your Cousin Levis, so he's coming
here and all we had for dinner was the
little bit of meat and potatoes left from
breakfast. Oh, the inconsiderateness
of men ! Wipe your eyes, Billy, and
tell your pa to take Cousin Lewis in
the sitting room, that ma is next door
and you'll call her, and mind, bring the
children around to the kitchen so lean
tell them about Bobby. Mercy knows
when we'll get dinner ! Stop that cry
ing, any one would think it was your
own little sister was going to be served
up for dinner, though I feel it myself,
Bobby's been around so long," with
which Mrs. Brown went into the kitch
en. While in a few moments wails
from the front of the house proclaimed
that Bobby's fate had been made
known to the children playing on the
porch. Sally most unwillingly took her
arms from the tub and was soon run
ning a rather ancient, but plucky roos
ter, around the yard with grim deter
mination. To his frightened cawking
was now added a chorus or five sobbing
voices, calling in every key, "0, Bobby !
Bobby! Bobby!"
"Children, come here this minute,
and stop your noise," called Mrs.
Brown, from the kitchen door and as
the sobbing group trooped in "We
must kill Bobby for Cousin Lewis' din
ner, we have nothing else, but if you
are good you shall have a funeral for
him this afternoon, and if one of you
say anything about him at the table,
you shall go to bed at once, without
any supper. It's hard on me, too," she
added, as through the door she saw
that the act of sacrifice was completed.
'Now all of you go up stairs, and,
Mary, you wash your own face and
hands, and the other children's, and
then go down the front way and speak
politely to Cousin Lewis, and say I'll
be in, and wink at pa, Mary, and say
dinner's late, and mind you, don't men
tion chicken there you go again, I de
clare I'll go wild, if you don't stop this
crying. Go right up stairs."
Mr& Brown whf.e4K2a,
self, but thinking of the tfrimy cloth,
she hurried back into the dining-room
to make the table more presentable,
while poor Bobby, still warm, was
plunged into boiling water and denud
ed of his feathers by the sulky servant.
"How can we cook him quickest," sigh
ed Mrs. Brown, "he'll have to be fried,
though I don't believe we can ever eat
him, he's so tough, but it would be two
o'clock before he'd get done any other
way, and none of us could eat Bobby
any way," she reflected.
Before the table was relaid the fumes
of frying lard vied for supremacy with
the soap suds, and Mrs. Brown, very
uneasy as to the conversation in the
sitting room, as she had heard the chil
dren trooping down the front stairs
some little while before, wiped her hot
face on the kitchen towel and tied a
white apron, far from fresh, around her
ample waist. Last directions were giv
en to the cook to ring the bell when
she thought Bobby was done, and hav
ing deposited some soda biscuits on the
table on her way through the dining
room, she went in to receive the guest.
"Cousin Lewis, why do you so seldom
drop in for meals," she exclaimed, "we
never would treat you like company,
pot-luck is my motto. I am sorry din
ner is a little late, but this has been
such a short morning. How are your
folks? I am glad they are well, you
must bring them along next time you
come. Haven't our children grown?
They are awfully red from the sun, and
their eyes are kind of weak to-day."
"My dear, what is the matter with din
ner," broke in Mr. Brown, "are we nev
er to have it? I expected to find it on
the table. Are we going to have a very
grand spread that it is so late?" "Oh,
my Bobby," sobbed the youngest
child." "What are you crying for, my
dear," said her father, "do you want to
show Bobby to Cousin Lewis you
can" "There's the bell," hastily ex
claimed Mrs. Brown, "come in, Cousin
Lewis, we've made no company of
you." Foor Mrs. Brown led the way
into the stuffy little dining room with
a sinking heart. She had made it as
dark as possible, in order to hide the
matting, which showed the marks of
dirty little feet. She might have saved
herself the trouble of pulling down the
blinds, for Mr. Brown, man-like, ex
claimed, "Why it's like night in here,
let in the merciless light to the full ex
tent of the windows. For what we are
about to receive," he commenced, then
catching sight of the skinny form of
Bobby on the dish before him, sat in
continently down, without adding, "O
Lord, make us truly thankful." The
tragedy which caused the red eyes of
his children was suddenly revealed to
him. Sniffs were heard from the chil
Continued on second page.
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