Like the bare blades of an army the keen, swift scythes went swinging, And golden in their wake lay piled the goodly spoils of earth. And I said: "Give thanks, O Heart of mine, as conquerors may do With sound of acclamation when the battling is through, To Him who gave us strength and skill to force the stubborn soil, For glory of the gaining and the triumphing of toil." At full noon in the orchard we heard the maidens' laughter Bare-armed among the laden trees they pulled the branches low; Home t twilight went the wains, with us to follow after, Light of step and gay of voice, as merry children go. And I said: "Give thanks, O Heart of mine, with very mirth for meed over, and the way he did it would have frightened an old-timer. I had wanted to fire a locomotive ever since the first day I saw one, and now was my opportunity. "Well," said the master mechanic, squinting and readjusting his spectacles, "if the engine were to stub her toe and start to bucking the ties, what would you do ?" "Firemen usually jump," I answered innocently. "Yes, usually," he grunted sarcastically. "That's the trouble with you fellows; the minute the old girl hoists her head a little and the tank gives a hopskip-and-a-jump, the fireboy drops his scoop and joins the birds-it's a fine way to get done up. The man who established the precedent ought to have been knocked in the head with a coal pick. Stay with To Him who gave us knowledge of the cunning of the seed, For beauty of the growing and the joy of blossoming And granting of the harvest from the promise of the Spring." The praise of words for things of earth, O tender Heart of mine, But never yet gave mouth of man meet thanks for gifts divine; Nor mirth nor acclamation but to Him who granted love The great, glad tears of gratitude and silences thereof. -Theodosia Garrison, in Harper's Bazar. "Dad" Ledsinger's Fireworks. BY JO CUSTER. They sent me down to see Bob Richards, the master mechanic, for him to look me They chalked my name under that of James Ledsinger. The boys called him "Dad "for short, and I afterwards learned that he was so christened on account of his marrying after he had passed the 50 mark, and because he made such a to-do over the advent of his little boy. The youngster was soon to celebrate his sixth anniversary, and "Dad" always purchased the trimmings in Center City, the end of his division. I reported for duty several hours before the yardmaster had made up the train. The hostler at the roundhouse told me I was too enthusiastic, and that it wouldn't be long until the call-boy would have to pull me out of bed when I was due out on a run. And when "Dad" Ledsinger saw my bundle of paraphernalia Sonny, all you need on this run is a cake of tar soap and a newspaper; you can wipe your hands on the paper and throw it away." I soon found that "Dad" was a fine fellow, and I warmed up to him. We got a delay of an hour waiting for the fast mail, and he pulled the coal down for me. Every chance he got he would fire for me and let me "look for cows," as he called it. With his assistance I made the run fairly well. My kid gloves were worn through and my hands were nearly in the same shape. He split his sides when he beheld those gloves. "Now, I guess you'll go and get yourself a pair of buckskins, he advised, good-humoredly. So I got the "buckskins," the regulation overalls, the cake of tar soap and the newspaper. When "Dad" returned he was loaded to the gunwales with packages. "What have you there, fishing poles ?" I asked. 66 Naw; Roman candles and sky-rockets. Tomorrow is the kid's birthday, an' I'm goin' to let him whoop 'em up.' "What's this?" I questioned, taking up a big round package; "must be a cheese." "Pinwheels, boy, pinwheels-half a dozen of them," he grunted, as he placed them in his seatbox and chuckled softly to himself. "That youngster will have a big time with these," he added, smiling. "I would like to see that boy," I said. I knew that the old fellow would appreciate it, and he did; I had struck him in the right spot-the boy was all the world to him. "Dad" commenced to take an unusual interest in me from that time. He showed me all the different tricks of the trade, and explained all the parts of the locomotive to me. He gave me a long lecture about what it took to make a successful engineer, and the "knack" of firing, the way to save coal and at the same time keep the gauge up to the standard. At Baker's we took the siding for the "Limited." When we got away we were one hour and forty minutes late. The engine of the "Limited " had broken down beyond the water tank at Shepard's and caused the delay. "Dad took it goodnaturedly. "It's no use to complain," he philosophized. You never know you 46 are going to get home until you see the hostler run your engine into the roundhouse." It was growing dark when we stopped for water at Shepard's. "Dad" turned on the headlight and got out for orders. He came back presently and gave the fluttering tissue to me: "Train No. 36, engine 663, and train 37, engine unknown, will meet at Mitchell ville. Train 37 will pull by and back in." "I'll bet a month's pay that McPherson is on 37; he's always running an engine unknown to the dispatcher," said "Dad," grinning. "I'm glad he's got to back in and give us the right of way, if he is on that preferred run. If he gets a layout of twenty minutes he will imagine those bananas and pineapples are going to spoil on his hands. So we will do all we can to keep him from worryin'." "Dad" hooked her up in the brotherhood notch and let her jog along. When he struck the Big Hatchie bottom, the GROUP OF ENGINEERS EMPLOYED ON THE CUBA CO.'S RAILROAD, CUBA.-COURTESY P. O. RICKMAN. big mogul was making the rails hum. Then the headlight went out. He took a wrench and went to remedy the trouble. He worked at it for a few minutes, and then came back, shaking his head. "It's no use," he muttered, "the old dynamo is worn out." He had just seated himself, when the darting rays of an electric headlight shot through the trees. "Gee whillikins!" he exclaimed, "there comes that fool McPherson. He has disregarded orders and run by Mitchellville. If we are not quick," he yelled, plugging the old mogul and throwing the air into emergency, "he will be running by us, or over us. I had dropped the scoop and was standing upon the step, ready "to join the birds," as the "old man " had put it. "Come back up here, you little idiot," he growled. THE STEAMER MURRAY BAY AT TADOUSAC WITH EXCURSIONISTS I came back and stood in the gangway. "What are you going to do?" I asked, shivering in every limb and my teeth chattering. "Do!" he thundered into my ear, and I fell over against the coal gate. "You take this Roman candle and touch it off when you see him whip around the curve. I'm going to lay this big rocket in the front window and aim it at him. I hope it will bust under his nose and make him think all the stars in heaven have fallen about his head." Right there we celebrated. "Dad" fired the rocket, then grabbed a pinwheel and ran down the boiler side. He hung it on the knob of the headlight and then applied the torch to the fuse. There was a whirling and a spitting of red, green and yellow fire for a few moments, and "Dad" hung up another one. "Save that one, Dad," velled Alex Suthers, the conductor, "he's got her stopped." All of us ran down to the other train. "Dad" was as mad as a yellow-jacket. "I thought you fellows a lawn party," said McPherson, sheepishly. "Where is your headlight?" "Lawd, we don't know how to What you does up dar'n de sky, From de cawn crib an' de smoke-house BROTHER T. P. FLEMMING, DIV. 603, AND BROS. WM. AND EUGENE Uv de summer time's bes' honey For de hones' nigger's use! An' we thank you, Lawd, for roasin' Years an' de yaller yam, Fer de cawn cake in de ashes An' de hambone in de ham! Wid de jowl and turnip greens: An' de rooster's lawdly crow! Fer de makin' us dis beas' Ez de covnant wid de nigger In dis heah Thanksgivin' feas'. An' de gravy in de skin! An' we thanks de Lawd fer givin' So's at dey can eat de 'possum W'dout a single drap of was'e ! Wid thanksgivin' at de feas'! Him from whom all blessin's flow, Him dat keeps the blackes' nigger Same as dem dat's white as snow! Lawd, we honors de traditions Uv de nigger to de end! Bless us while we takes de creases Out'n our stummacks now. Amen!" Lawdy mussy! Whar's dem 'possums? An' dem taters-dey's gone, too! B. OF R. T. PICNIC TRAIN, M., K & T., GREENVILLE TO HUGHES SPRINGS, TEX.-Bro. Joe Zingraft, Div. 573, at the throttle, R. Boatright, fireman, and group of the 1,500 picnickers. "Link, whut mek yo' mouf so greasy? M'randy, whut yo' munchin' on? Stop, yo' sackerligious varmint ! Whar's dat bigges' tater gone? Drop it back dar, Lizzy; heah me! Dis heah ain't no eatin' race! Now, ole 'oman, min' de chill'n While I finish sayin' grace! "Lawd, dey tells me dat de 'possum Am de oldes' critter yit. An' he knows dat you's preserved him An' we thanks you, Lawd, fer deze two, To de cold and naked tail, To de marrar bone and chitlins, An' de gravy done sopped out'n Leavin' nothin' but de tail! Thout yo' prayin' mighty fine! All dis heah Thanksgivin' feas' Uv de luxuries dat done gone, 'Fo' I blowed de dinner ho'n ! Deyn't gwine to be none hea hafter (Forgive me, Lawd, if dis is wrong) Er 'f I'se bound to ax it, 'Tain't gwine be so fetched long! -L. H. Penner, in the Nashville Banner. Bob was the twelve-year-old porter, whose duty it was to run errands, fill ink. wells, and save the busy clerks in a large terminal freight office as many steps as possible by making himself generally useful, and, in spite of his delinquencies, was a favorite with the boys. But his mind was not on his work, for his whole heart and soul was with the engines in the yard, and the moment he was unobserved he would slip away, either to stand around and watch the hostlers "rubbing down" the steaming panting locomotives that had just delivered their burdens and were being made ready for their well-earned rest in the roundhouse, or he would climb B. & O. ENGINE 1615, WITH BROTHERHOOD CREW.-Left to right: C. A. Beel, fireman, 432, B. of L. F., G. W. Seaman, engineer, 97, B. of L. E., A. J. Roberts, brakeman, 413, B. of R. T., J. H. Murphy, conductor, 453, B. of R. T., J. E. Moore, brakeman, 453, B. of R. T. The Fast Freight. BY RENE BOUCHELLE (From the Nashville Children's Visitor-A Story Without Truth or Moral.) "BOB, bring me the ink." Without looking up from his work, the clerk kept rapidly on with his waybills, that must be ready for the fast through train. No one appeared in answer to this command, and once more he called: "Bob, you little black scamp, bring me that ink, quick!" But safely ensconced in the driver's seat of one of the big switch engines in the yard, Bob, the small porter, neither saw nor heard; and after waiting several minutes, the tired clerk rose hastily and took the ink-well to the storeroom to fill it himself. on the driver's seat of some waiting switch engine and ask innumerable questions about every bolt and screw, lever and valve in sight, and the proudest moments of his life were when some soft-hearted engineer allowed him to grasp the lever in his little black paw and guide the engine across the yard. Two years passed, and Bob still managed to hold his job, attending to his duties when forced to by dire threats of what would happen if he neglected them another minute, but as usual slipping away to the yards at every opportunity and becoming more and more familiar with his beloved engines. The men treated his thirst for knowledge as a joke, and good-humoredly allowed him to stay around and on the engines a good deal more than the rules governing such matters permitted. |