Rensselaer Republican, Volume 13, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 May 1881 — How Betsey was Lost. [ARTICLE]

How Betsey was Lost.

“Is our Little Betoey here?” said Mr. Hathaway iratt ng hi® cold-imr-pled none into Um door of Um Chare torm-bouae. It was a bitter cold night in December, with enow lying deep on the ground,* frozen wind howling through the forest and a fire built ae high as they could pile the logs on the old iron fire-dogs. And the farmer and hia wife were roasting apples and cracking nuts on the hearth with the children, while a pitelier of cold, sparkling cider and a plate of home made ginger-bread was on the table. Charley and little Bell eat side by side on the big settee, in the very deepest angle of the chimney, where, by looking straight up, they could see the stars shining in the sky overhead, and watch the sparks go careering madly up the wide throat of the chimJohnny was on his knees, with the hammer, cracking away at the butternuts and hicknry-nuta, and Rosa was reading by the light of the shaded lamp. “Your little Betoey?” said Mr. Chase, the farmer. “No; certainly not! Come in and warm yourself, Mr. Hathaway. Isn't she over at her grandfather’s?” “No, she isn’t,” Mr. Hathaway, with a perturbed face. “She went away at three o’clock, and her mother supposed she was only gone to the saw-mill to play with Minnie Locke. But we’ve seen nor heard nothing of her since, and nobody seems to know where she is. No, Mr. Chase—thank’ee kindly all the same but I couldn't sit down nor rest until I know where my little gal is, this freezing winter night.” “You don’t think she’s lost?” said Mrs. Chase, involuntarily shuddering as she clasped litte Bell closer in her arms.

Mr. Chase got up. “Wife, where’s my big, shaggy overcoat?” said be. “l r m not going to sit here, warming, my feet at the fire, when, my neighbor’s little one is in danger of freezing to death. Get me the lantern Johnny.” “Father!” cried Johnny, “can’t I go and look'for ’ittle Betsey, too?” For Mrs. Hathaway’s “little Betsey” was a universal favorile in the neighborhood. ; A curly-headed, blue-eyed little elf of four years, who was always begging for fairy-stories, ginger-cookies and tiowern, who wandered up and down in summer time, with her sun-bonnet hanging down her ba k, and rode down hill on the boys’ sleds in winter, with a fur-edged hood tied tight around her blooming face—littig Betsey was everytfody’s pet. < She had a little difference of opinion with her mother that afternoon, it seemed. Bbe had been sitting up at the table, eating bread and butter and apple-jelly.

“Me want some jelly, mama,” said Betsey, at last. “You have had enough,” said Mrs. Hathaway. “Me will have some more,” said Betsey. “No, my dear, you will hot,” said the mother, who sometime found it necessary to govern the little willful creature with a firm yet gentle hand. “Then me’ll run away!” said Betsey defiantly. Mrs. Hathaway smiled a Jijtle at the threat, Betsey often ‘ ran away,” but she hail never as yet goue further than the steam saw-mill at the foot of thrjiill, where little Minnie Locke, a child of her own age, had a whole colony of dolls, made out of corn-cobs dressed up, and wooden blocks, with eyes, mouths and noses, marked with shoe-blacking, on their faces. She never even looked around when Betsey stood on a three-legged stool to reach down the scarlet hood, with the edging of gray fur around the face, and trudged off, with her little nose stuck up in the air. “She will l>e back long before supper,” the mother said to herself. But suppiT-tinie came, and no little Besgie, ;nd the darkness settled drearily over the many hills and frozen woods, and then they Imciiiuc frightened, ami Mr. Hathaway went in one direction amt l’i le-, the hired man, in another, and'Mrs. Locke, of the mill, caine to stay with the terrified mother until news, either good or bad, should arrive of the lost child. “The worst of it all is,” said Mrs. Hathaway, ‘‘that she may have strayed off into the woods and lost her way. And she’s such a little mite of a thing —and the show so deep, and drifted all about by the wind —and if she should drop down anywhere for a miuufe to rest, there’s that dreadful drowsiness that comes with cold. And 1 shall never see my poor little darling again I” • “Keep up a b r ave heart, neighbor Hathaway,” said Mr. Chase, although there were tears in his own eyes. “Never despair. We’ll find the little lass yet, God willing.” “And Hunter Gabriel was telling only last week, of a savage bear that Wis lurking somewhere among the Rattlesnake Rocks!" said Mr. Hathaway, with a troubled voice. “And every one knows how daring a bear will become when their is snow on the ground.” ' They tried to comfort the poor, panic stricken father as best they could, but to no avail. The country thereabouts was wild and desolate, with here and there a farm house, or a little settlement of buildings, and wide, wild stretches of forests around, where foxes and wolves crept about, panthers howled at night, and bears were shot every little while.

And if one of these savage creatures were to encounter little Betsey, making her bewildered way through the woods! Oh, it made Mr. Hathaway’s blood curdle to think of what would be her fate! The neighbors separated into little bands, each taking some particular route, with lanterns and sticks, to search for the lost child ; and Farmer Chase went with. Mr. Hathaway into the “Rattlesnake Woods,” so called from the fact that years ago those venomous reptiles made their nests amend the wild masses of rocks which were piled together in fantastic shapes in these woods. , ■ It was a lonely place, upon the side of a mountain, where people seldom cared to go, but it could be reached by a footpath from the mill, and Mr. Hathaway knew that little Betsey had always longed to stray into the wilderness and look into the mysterious caverns among the rocks. “Perhaps there are fairies living there,” little Betsey had said, solemnly; “or dear little squirrels or raccoons. I should like a raccoon to make a pet of.”

Before they had gone very far they came to the marks of tiny footsteps, obliterated here and there by the drifting snow which had piled Itself over-them. Wllh a cry of |oy they followed up the clue, which, failing them ever and anon, was still pretty steady, cun'in g it* way here and there, around the trunks of huge trees, and over piles of jagged locks, until suddenly it stopped at the mouth of a black and yawning aperture in the rocks, where a little bit of Betsey’s hood fluttered on a brambly, low-growing bush. , The two men stopped and looked at eachsother with palefisces. ''She it fAere/’ r said Mr. Hathaway, hoarsely. “Give me the lantern. I w 11 follow her.” “Stop,” said Farmer Chase; “the opening is so low and narrow that you cannot dam. “Wherever my little one has gone.” exclaimed the bereaved father, “I 1 «-iil go, also.” A 1 “Hut as he was snatching the lent- ’

era away Fanner Chase pointed to something wedged up against the side of the jagged rocka—a whitening bone. “Maa, am you mad?" be erkd. “As sure as you are alive that to the den of the very bear that Hunter Gabriel saw!” “All the more reason that I should follow my little Betsey,” presisted Mr. Hathaway, resolutely. “Let me mre into it first,” said Farmer Chase. “If the creature should be there—" But Mr. Hathaway struck the barrel of the gun aside. “And suppose little Betoey should be there, also!” he exclaimed, gasping for breath. * But the gun went off with a prodigious report, which echoed among the hills and rocks. The trigger had

struck against a branch of a tree, thus producing the very signal upon which they had agreed in case little Betsey should be found alive and well. And before the echoes had ceased to boom back and forth there came the sound of a shrill, childish cry inside: "Pape! Papa!" And then, also, there was alow, muffled sound like the growling of some animal. Flinging himself on his chest, and S inching the lantern in front of him, r. Hathaway made his way into the lair of the wild beast. It was only for a short distance that it was so narrow, aud then it became a rocky chamber of considerable size, with its uneven floor strewn with dry vines, and two young cubs crouching in the corner, while little Betov was curled up between them, her yellow curls mingling with the reddish brown of their far. “Little Betsey!” cried Mr. Hathaway, in a breathless pause, “how on earth came you here?" “It was so cold and dark,” said little Betoey, simply; '‘and I brawled in to get warm, and 1 hugged up against the dear little bearies, and we have all been asleep together. Papa, can’t I take one home with me?”

Mr. Hathaway, as can easily be imagined, lost no time in rescuing his little darling out of the hideous cavern, with its strange companionship of wild beasts, who were, luckily, too young to harm the confiding child wLio had invaded their haunt; and, as they carried her down the mountain side, wrapped in the shawl which farmer Chase had brought, they met hunter Gabriel sliding over the snow, with something thrown over bis shoulder.' He said: “Have you found the child?” “Yea—yes!” they both answered joyfully. “So have I found something,” said he, dhplaving the hea«l and claws of a huge wild animal. “I found this bear on Rocky Peak, and I’ve killed her." - It was the very she-bear in whose den little Betsey had sought refuge, and if it had not been for hunter Gabriel’s trusty knife, little Betsey’s bones would soon have mingled with the rest that strewed the cavern floor. So little Betsey Hathaway was found toward midnight of that bitter December night. - “I didn’t mean to fire off that signal gun," said farmer Chase, with a chuckle; but it was all right after all, wasn’t it?”— Golden Days.