lb* RURAL NEW-YORKER 
1859 
was thinking of going homo, leaving the 
negro in charge, when into his smoky lit¬ 
tle office came the man, all dressed for a 
journey. 
“Buck,” he said, “I’ve got to go North 
tonight. There is no train from here, but 
across the country on the other road I 
can get a train 'at midnight. It’s 15 
miles, and you’ve got to get me there!” 
Buck had a pair of trotters that could 
make it in good weather, but no buggy 
could ever go 15 miles in the mud in time 
for that train. 
“But you’ve got to get me there!” 
“Well.” said Buck, “there’s only one 
way. That daybank mare can make it 
under a saddle. You’ll have to ride her 
through and leave her with .Tim Chambers 
—lives near the station. You can make 
it that way if you have to. but while I 
admire your pluck. I say darn your judg¬ 
ment.” 
So they brought out. the daybank mare, 
strapped the bag behind the saddle, and 
the man finally got into the seat. The 
mare was an ugly brute. She plunged 
and bucked for a while and then darted 
off into the blackness like a lost arrow. 
And through mud and sand, over brooks 
and across pools of water, through dark, 
lonely places, “Charlie” pressed on until 
in the dark the mare’s hoofs struck the 
steel rails of the track. He hunted out 
Jim Chambers, saw the tired mare stabled 
and caught the train, which stopped to 
take him on, and then went, rushing on 
toward Kentucky and home. 
They tell me that when this man 
reached the old Kentucky towu he would 
not wait, but started at once to walk 
out to the farm. About a mile from home 
he saw a woman standing by a fence on a 
little hill, “looking o’er the happy Au¬ 
tumn fields.” It was the school teacher, 
“the girl,” Lucy, and the old mean mis¬ 
understanding faded away. Let us walk 
off and leave them. We may be privileged 
to spy upon John and his family—but 
not here. And what a beautiful thing it 
was when Charlie and Lucy walked in to¬ 
gether find went straight to the old 
mother! Yes. indeed—and all because 
black, ragged John forgot to mail a letter! 
* * :> * * 
It is not likely that my own sin of 
omission will lead this family to such hap¬ 
piness—but here come the children rush¬ 
ing in for a game or a story. My daugh¬ 
ter brings a piece of her famous pumpkin 
pie. and here comes Mother with a little 
wad of money from the day’s sale of ap¬ 
ples. She should keep all of it as her 
commission. Outside the night grows 
darker—but what do we care for that— 
off here among the hills before the fire? 
Suppose we eat another apple. I have 
no doubt that some of you who will read 
this have not been back to see the old 
folks for years. They need you. Per¬ 
haps the outcome of John’s forgetfulness 
will prompt you to go this year. H. w. C. 
Some More Natural History Notes 
If “A Friend of the Weasel” had 
passed through the experience 1 did when 
a child. I think he would change his 
name. It happened a good many years 
ago. in Oldham County, Kentucky, and it 
was not in a wild and unsettled locality. 
It was in Summer time, doors closed and 
windows open; screens had not yet ar¬ 
rived. It was also in the day of trundle 
beds, and it was in a large room on the 
ground floor. My little brother and I 
slept in the trundle bed. By day it was j 
under my mother’s bed. hidden by a 
“valance.” At night it was drawn out 
. near an open window. One night my 
parents were awakened by my cries, and 
on lighting the lamp I was fouud to be 
bleeding from two wounds, one beside my 
thumb nail and the other at the base of 
my finger. As it could not be accounted 
for in any other way, everybody said it 
was the cats. 
I had a pretty sore hand for awhile 
and then one night I was bitten again, 
but on the other hand. That time my 
parents sprang out of bed in time to see 
a white animal spring from the bed and 
out of the window, and that exonerated 
the cats of the crime, as none of ours 
was white. Then the young chickens be¬ 
gan to disappear, or were fouud bitten 
through the throat and the blood sucked 
out. Finally the hired man saw a weasel 
running through the orchard, and then 
we knew what the animal was. A search 
was made, a weasel shot, and the trouble 
was thought to be over; but a week or 
so later the same thing occurred. I was 
agaiu bitten, this time through the flesh 
of my right arm, between the wrist, and 
elbow, a very ugly wound that caused 
such a bad condition of the whole arm 
that I had to be taken to Louisville for 
treatment. That was over (TO years ago. 
but I still bear the scars on my hands 
and arm. My little brother, sleeping at 
my side and next the window, was never 
disturbed. We were taken upstairs to 
sleep after that. 
A short time after I received the last 
bite my mother was feeding the young 
chickens one morning. One hen with 
about two dozen very small chicks was 
in a barrel, a board and a heavy rock 
over, only a email space for air being un¬ 
covered. As she threw off the rock and 
board a large weasel sprang up at her 
face, snapping viciously. Every one of 
the chicks was dead and the hen nearly 
so; she died soon afterwards. The hired 
man set traps and caught the big weasel 
and several young ones, and that was the 
last of our weasel troubles. 
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