Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 August 1876 — Our Young Readers. [ARTICLE]

Our Young Readers.

JEANNIE’S MARTYRDOM. Thb true, grand martyrs of history are, indeed, a “noble army”; but common, everyday people, who insist ujjon considering themselves martyrs, are not, usually, pleasant company. Jeannie certainly did not belong to tbe first class; but it did seem as if she were becoming a member of the second class very rapidly, “ and getting to he a regular bother,” Fred declared, emphatically. She had fallen into a fashion of thinking that rainy days came just when she him planned a visit -somewhere and particularly wanted sunny weather; that her teachers selected certain lessons because they knew she could'nt learn them; and that baby knew by instinct when she had an unusually interesting book, and cried on purpose to make her leave it. So all her little trials grew into premeditated persecutions, and were very hard to bear. " You're getting to he a real old affliction yourself, Jeannie Warred,” said Fred, impatiently, standing with one foot on the ground and one on the fence and looking hack over Ills shoulder. “ May be you’ll be sorry some day for the way you’ve talked,” answered Jeannie, with a mournful resignation that was exasperating. The children—five of them—had started in search of blackberries, and the expedition had proceeded merrily and in perfect harmony until they came to a large field. All but Jeannie wished to cross it; but she objected, witliout any special reason except a sudden fancy that the road seemed pleasanter. She was not willing to yield, however, and the majority paused to argue the case. “It’s .ever so much further round, Jeannie ; ana, besides, there are some berries in the field,” Fred urged. “I’d rather walk further, then; and A don’t care for such a few berries. I don’t want to go across the field,” said Jeannie, decidedly. “But why don’t you?” questioned Mabel. “ Oh!—because. Anyway, you never do the way I want to. I think you might sometimes,” answered Jeannie, with an injured air. “ Sometimes I” exclaimed Fred. ‘ ‘You want everybody to do it all the time; and you don’t know yourself why you want to go by the road.”- “ It’s harder walking across lots, and maybe it’s damp, too. But I s’pose you don’t care if I do catch cold.” “ Oh, it’s real dry. We played there Monday, and there hasn’t been any rain since,” interposed Jeannie’s peace-loving cousin, Annie. There was a long halt by the fence, while Annie coaxed, Fred scolded, Jimmy teased: and Jeannie grew more and more sure that everybody was very unkind. But she did not really wish to follow the road alone; and she finally clambered slowly over the fence, remarking, pensively : “Well, I can do as you want me to; and if I should get my feet damp and have diphtheria or something, I s’pose you’ll have just as good times without me.” “I’ll run for the doctor, Jeannie,” promised Jimmy, with an indifference that certainly was provoking. But then Jeannie was not usually so much alarmed about her health, and her brother and cousins were not very deeply impressed. The party were soon gay again; and even Jeannie presently forgot her tribulations so far as to run a race with Mabel. They had gathered the berries from the thicket of bushes in one comer, and were crossing the meadow, when, in a patch of tall grass, Jeannie’s foot touched something, and in an instant it sprang up and struck her leg, causing a quick, sharp paiu. “A snake! Oh! it’s asnake!” screamed Jearthie, in terror. “Where? Did it bite you?” questioned the others, in alarm. “ Yes. On my knee! Oh! come quick. It’s here now. I’m holding it!” cried Jeannie, grasping her dress with both hands and trying to hold the dreaded reptile' away from her. “My foot is on it, "too.** — -i —*— i - i ~—

“ Don’t let go, or it will wind around you!” exclaimed Mabel, pale with fear; while the boys hastily armed themselves with sticks and advanced with determined faces to the rescue. They carefully beat down the tall grass in which she stood, that they might have a clear field for action. Then Fred stooped to place his stick upon the creature; and suddenly rolled over the ground, with an explosive burst of laughter. “ Such a snake! O Jimmy ! look!” They all looked, and discovered in a moment that Jeannie had stepped upon a broken bavrel-hoop. The end springing up had struck her, and a rusty nail had inflicted the scratch which she had mistaken for a bite. The mistake had been natural euougk; but it was also natural that the children, so unexpectedly released from their fears, should grow merry over the whole affair. Jeannie herself laughed faintly at first; but her next feeling was—not exactly vexation that her imaginary serpent had not been a real one, but some thing very like that. She was in no mood to bear any jests or teasing good-natured-ly that day, and the remarks of the boys upon her “ great courage” and “narrow escape” drew her face into most doleful length, and she walked on stiffiy without speaking. When they had crossed the field and clambered down to what they called “ the old track”—a short branch of railroad, abandoned and grass-grown and with an old car standing upon it—Jeannie declared herself too tired to go any further. She wanted to sit down ana rest. “Used up by that fight with the anaconda,” suggested Jimmy. That remark did not help the matter any, and Jeannie very deliberately seated herself at the foot of a tree. “ Why, what ails you to-day ?” questioned Fred, half-impatient, half-wondering. “You know we are going as far as Craigle’s; and you’ve the whole way, easily enough, ever so many times.” “ You can go without me, if you are in such a hurry,” said Jeannie, coolly. “I don’t want to go until I get rested.” Then gentle little Annie suggested a compromise. “There are ( some berry bushes right over there in the woods, you know, boys. Wft might go and pick ail we can find there, until Jeannie is ready to go on.” Mabel assented at once; and, though the boys scolded a little about “ hunting over bare bushes,” they yielded, and the four went over to the wood. Jeannie watched them until they were out of sight. She had gained her point; but she did not feel particularly cheerful about it or about anything, as she sal there alone. She began to think they were very unkind to have left her alone. Some one might have stayed for company. But they had all gone as gayly as if she were with them. Even ired,Tier own brother, didn’t seem

to care. Maybe they were really glad to be without her. There certainly was some reason for such a suspicion; bat Jeannie did not stop to investigate that. She only thought how hard it was that people did not love her more; and she recalled all the little provoking things that hail been said, and Bw more and more disconsolate and lorn, until the tears rolled down her cheeks., Fred had called her an “ old affliction.” Wouldn’t he have been sorry for that if a snake really had bitten her—a rattlesnake —and it had killed her? She pictured the remorse of her companions so vividly and took such satisfaction in it that she was ready to wish something tragic would really happen. What would they do, she wondered, if they ‘should come back and find her gone ancf no trace of her ? Wouldn’t they wish they had prized her more and treated her better ? Then a thought came suddenly to her. What if she should hide somewhere and make them think her lost ? She could see then v/liat they would do; and, quite forgetting how tired she was, she sprang up to look for a hiding-place. The door of the old freight car was pushed partly open, and, climbing in, Jeannie concealed herself behind an empty barrel in a dark comer. She had barely time to do it before she heard the children coming back.

“Jeannie! Aren’t you rested now?” Fred shouted. . Then the others came, and she heard exclamations of surprise. “Jeannie! Jennie!” called the different voices. But she did not answer. ‘* Where has she gone ? She’ll spoil our whole day yet. It’s too bad!” said Fred, in a tone of vexation. “ There couldn’t anything have carried her off?” questioned Annie, hesitatingly, with a troubled look in her eyes. “Pshaw! No! Indians and gypsies ain’t plenty around here!” answered Jimmy, carelessly. “Besides, she would have screamed fast enough if anything had happened, and we were near enough to have heard,” “ May be she followed us into the woods and missed us,” suggested Mabel. The others thought it scarcely probable; but they lingered, calling and calling again. Jeannie heard a great deal of wondering and conjecture, and many expressions of annoyance; but none of penitence. The only troubled conscience appeared to be her own. That would keep twinging uncomfortably, despite her efforts to silence it. “I shouldn’t wonder if she had started for Craigle’s,” said Jimmy, suddenly. “It’s likely, after she’d rested a little iHiile, she didn’t want to sit here alone, and started on, expecting us to overtake her.” “That must be it. I can’t think what else has become of her. We’d better be off, then,” answered Fred, in a tone of relief. The girls accepted this solution of the mystery, and, gathering up their baskets, the party started off, leaving Jeannie quite aghast at iter own success. She had not expected them to go on without her. In deed, site had not thought until then hos her plan was to end. She surely did not want to stay there, with no company but her own; neither did she want to go home, and explain why she came alone. She fancied that might be very unpleasant, with mamma’s gray eyes looking steadily into Jher face. As for running after the others and telling them that she had been hiding—that seemed too pitiful an ending for such a grand scheme for making them remorseful. Jeannie walked to the car-door, and stood there questioning and undecided. What should she do ? They might have known that she had not done such a stupid thing as to start for Craigle’s alone. Of course they knew better. Things never turned out as she wanted them.

“I haven’t had a speck of good time since I left home,” she murmured. “It’s such a lonely afternoon. I thought everything would be real nice.” And tears of vexation filled her eyes. But neither complaining nor weeping made her course any plainer. She must go at once, and walk fast, too, if she intended to overtake the children, for .they were already beyond sight and hearing. Were they, really! Jeannie bent her head to listen, as a slight sound reached her. No, that must be a footstep. They bad not gone; they were coming to look for her again. She flew back to her corner and bid once more behind the barrel. Tlic steps drew nearer; but no one called her name and she heard no talking. Had Fred come back alone, she wondered, or Jimmy. But the heavy, shuffling step did not sound like theirs as it came to the car and stopped. There was a rustling, scrambling noise, as of some one clambering into the car, and then a coarse voice muttered thickly a dreadful oath. A scream rose to Jeannie’s lips; but she checked it instinctively and crouched further into her corner, sick with sudden terror. Who could the terrible stranger be ? What had brought him there ? Not Jeannie’s presence. He did not know of that, as she soon discovered, peering out at him with wild, frightened eyes. He sat down on the car-floor, talking all the time in a rambling, incoherent way. Jeannie could only understand a word now and then of what seemed to be angry threats against something or somebody. By and by he stretched himself at full length upon the floor, while she watched him despairingly. What did it mean? Would he never go away ? she questioned, in agony. What if lie should find her there. Her heart beat so loudly that she feared he must hear it. She thought he had done so when lie rolled over upon his side and turned his face toward her—a rough, bloated face, that she shuddered to look upon. But he did not see her. The corner where she crouched v/ks comparatively dark, and his eyes w ere too heavy to see very clearly. The mutterings grew lower and more indistinct; and at last the man’s loud breathing told that he was asleep. Jeannie’s position was painfully cramped; but she scarcely dared move, lest she should awaken him. If she could only escape! But her terrible jailer lay directly in front of the door, and an attempt to pass qver him was quite beyond poor Jeannie’s courage. A drunken man was her great horror—rarely seen in her quiet village home; and shfi did not doubt that a man who could use such horrible language as ‘she had heard would kill her in a moment if lie discovered her trying to escape from him. She leaned her head against the side of the car and almost stopped her breathing to listen,, in hope of catching some sound that would tell her the children were returning. Oh! If Fred would conic! She quite iorgot how provoking and unkind she had called him, and thought only how quick and he was, and how certainly he would plan some way to save her, u only he knew where she was. But he would never dream of her being a prisoner. They were all traveling mexrily toward Craigle’s now; and when they did not find her there thev would think she had gone rr *77 r ~rr?:l f ‘ T7.- : 'i', vdi, . ,'vet?

home, and they would stay to gather the berries they had intended. She might have been with them, safe and happy, but for her own fault. She acknowledged that to herself then, with the silent tears beginning to rain over her pale face. Perhaps they would not come back by the old car, at last; but go home some other way. May be she could never get away from that wicked man at all. And with that fear there came to Jeannie a sudden thquglit more bitter than all the rest, pile had said in her anger that she “ most hoped something would happen.” Had God let this come because of her dreadful wish? What if she never saw home, or mamma, or any of them again? Oh! she had never meant that: She did so really, truly love them, every one; and she could recall nothing of that dear home then that was not tender and sweet, except some acts of her own. She had said many a hurried “Our Father” and sleepy “Now I lay me” — and some more reverent ones too—in all the days and nights gone by; but she had never so really prayed in "her whole life before as she did then. She had a long time for thinking, for one, two, three hours went by— r ages it seemed to her—while that terrilile sleeper still held her a prisoner. At last he sat up, shook himself, then slowly got upon his feet and staggered from the car. Long after the sound of his unsteady feet had died away Jeannie, dreading his return, dared not leave her hiding-place; and when she finally crept forth she waited, fearing to leave the car, lest he might still be near. -The gathering shadows, warning her that daylight would soon be gone, nerved her to action, at last; and springing from the car, without stopping to look around her, she ran at full speed. Suddenly Fred and Jimmy met her, and with a wild burst of tears she flew into her brother’s arms. “ Holloa! Where in the world have you been?” exclaitoed Fred, in mingled relief and surprise. “Why, we looked for you everywhere and thought you’d gone home; and when we went home and -told mamma, she was real anxious and sent us back to look. What is it? What is the matter, Jeannie?” he questioned, alarmed again by her wild, excited manner. Sobbing and trembling still, Jeannie told her story, and the boys pitied and comforted, and wished they had been there, until before she reached home she became calmer. - But she was wearied and worn and fit only to be put to bed. Even the next day found her weak and languid; but she was soon herself again—her better self, for that miserable afternoon proved a great check to Jeannie’s propensity to make great persecutions out of every little trouble. She explained confidentially to Annie, a few days afterward: “ I’d thought how other folks would feel if I died; but I never thought how I’d feel myself. Anybody don’t know what that’s like till it seems as if it were really, truly coming; and then one don’t think so much about other people feeling sorry for what they’ve done as one does about feeling sorry for what she’s clone herself. It makes a difference.” —Kate W. Hamilton, in N. Y. Independent.