Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 May 1880 — Pipkin’s Story. [ARTICLE]

Pipkin’s Story.

“Mamme, please tell me a story.” A dear dirty face looks up into mine—to be sure, it is very sweet, for the cheeks and mouth are ornamented with dabs of molasses, and the hair is in mka snarl, as my little friend across the street would say, who always speaks in italics, and has a grown-up air generally, which I find is not pleasant on farther acquaintance. Let me whisper it I like boys the best I know they are noisy and rough, wilftal and reckless, yet brave and generous I have found them to be. Another puil at my arm, and an impatient, “Won’t you please tell me a story, mamma w* . The bright eyes conquer, and so I begin my story to Pipkin. By the way, I must tell yon that Pipkin is our pet name for Alfred. When he was three years old, he was as high, as round and as roly-poly a little fellow as yon ever saw, mere like a pipkin than anything else; so the name has clung to him ever since. “About fifteen or sixteen years ago when Lincoln was elected—you know who he was Pipkin?” (Pipkin nodded, too eager for the story to be anxious in regard to history) “everybody, or almost everybody, wanted that a republican president should be elected, and there was a great deal of talk about a large procession in which all trades should take part, and show that the stars and stripes should wave over the south as well as the north.

“Your papa, Pipkin, was one of the moot anxious and interested at the many roung men, and he, with some others in ils factory, decided to form into a company and represent their branch of trade, which is shoemaking, you khow,” (Pipkin nodded), “and being very determined, and knowing there was only a short time S' prepare it, they went quickly to work and cut out one of the largest shoes mortal eyes ever looked upon. It was soon done, and bright and shiny, it was carried to your papa’s room at his boarding-house to wait until the eventful night should come when it was to be exhibited in all its else to the many eyes in Boston, where the great procession was to take place. “The next evening when your papa went heme to tea, after locking up and seeing that everything was just as it should be” (‘Papa believes in seeing to everything himself,’ said Pipkin, a lesson which I try to impress on Pipkin’s mind, but which I fear is little heeded), “he was startled to hear loud, pitiful cries issuing from the front hall. As he drew near he could hear sobbing and loud cries erf, *0 Tuggie, Tuggie, me darlin’, where are you this night, away from your own mammy F Not knowing what to make of it, papa stepped into the front hall, where stood the Irish washerwoman, with all the boarders around looking with pale faces and tearful eyes at the poor woman’s misery. She had come that day to help in the autumn house-cleaning, and having no one to leave the baby with, had brought him with her; and he was gone, and had been missing since three o’clock, and now it was past six. They had hunted up stairs and down, in the garden and shea, but still could find no trace of year-and-a-half Tuggie. Ot course, something must be done, for the little red-haired baby boy was more precious than gold to that faithful mother’s heart. She looked at papa so pitifully, and implored him to find her darlin* Tugge.’ Papa felt very sorry, and insisted upon informing the'neighbors, and in a short time there were more than a d ozen men hunting for poor little Tuggie. “The clock struck eight, and the poor weeping mother said she must go home and tell Jim, her husband, for they lived more than a mile away from -the village, and sadly walking by the vine-draped door, poor Mrs. Malone went weeping away. “Now, what was to be done? Papa thought before going out again that he would find a thicker coat to wear, and stepping hurriedly to his room, he went to the closet, and in doing so, looked with a feeling of pride at the big boot which represented his company. He looked again; surely something must have fallen into it Stepping to it to look more closely, he puts his hand on to sleeping Tuggie’s little lead. What a shout he gave! so loud that all the inmates came rushing to the door to see what was the matter. How they laughed and cried, to know that poor little Tuggie should be found and in such a fanny place,yet safe and sound. A moment more, ana he was taken out and fed on bread and milk, folded close in a thick, warm shawl, and papa jumped into the buggy and drove swiftly to the edge of the village, where Tuggie was s?on clasped to his mother’s bosom. And even new,when Mrs. Malone meets papa, her face lights up as she remembers that he found her darling. “Now, Pipkin, you must go to bed.” “Tell me some more,'’ said ungrateful Pipkin, but the bright eyes are partly closed, and I wash away the dabs of molasses from the dimpled cheeks, and he is sweetly dreaming, for a soft smile is on his face as I khs him good night.—Anonymous