Engineer Connor's Son.

Te Aroha News, Volume VIII, Issue 485, 5 July 1890, Page 3

Engineer Connor's Son.

By Will Allen Dro.wgoole. Author of Stories in ‘ Youth’s Companion,’ Etc. (Copyright 1890 by S. S. McClure.) Some lives there are that seem to run in perpetual sunshine and roses. Some are rounded to darker lines, running always beside the deeper abysses of tragedy. Some there are who live their threescore and drop out of existence, and the memory of them, for good or ill, ceases with the tolling of the bell that tells their going. And there are some short little lives to be sure, but so brim full of sweetness that the very sunshine of them lingers in the hearts of thoso who know them long after the little lives are ended.

'Vhon Jack Connor was promoted to the position of engineer on the N. and C. road, which cuts the State of Tennessee from north to south, he moved his family into the pretty little cottage standing side by side with crippled Jerry Crane’s, on the hill just above the railroad tiack, in the little village of Antioch. For theengineer was from home most of the time, and Jerry boing a cripple, Jack know would insure his own wife considerable company and protection in Jerry’s wife.

The houses stood side by side, and both doors opened towards the railroad. The village, indeed, was built so, straight down the railroad, for the train was about the biggest thing about Antioch. Jack Connor’s cottage stood on a hill, so near to the track that he could speak to his wife from his engine when she stood in the door, as she usually did, to see No. 6 go by. The train men were pretty well acquainted with the Antioch people in general, but there was not one among them, from conductor down, who did not know Jack Conner’s son.

‘ Little Jack,’ they called him, and the train never whistled for Antioch bub they would look out for the little fellow hoisted on the wood-pile to see his fathor's engine go by. He seldom went further than the woodpile, that was his mother’s order, though tho brakeman and the train butcher would sometimes try to coax him down to the platform with apples and sticks of striped candy. Bub ho would shake his yellow curls and throw them a kiss as the long train pulled out.

Sometimes his mother would take him down to speak to his father, and the little fellow would go almost wild over the big engine, and the glowing furnace, the great bell clanging a hasty good-bye, and the Bhrill whistle, which more than once he had been permitted to ‘ pull.’ ‘ Just naturally takes to the engine,’ the fireman would often say ; ‘ gets that from his pappy.’ And Jack did seem to have a natural love for a locomotive.

Jerry Crane used to say of him : • I can alius tell when tho cyars are coming—there’s a shapbang of neighbour Connor’s door, a click of the gate, and in a minute a little yellow head top of a big pile of wood, and when I see it I always say to my wife : “ Mary, the cyars are coming.” And she looks out, not at tire railroad track, bub at the woodpile, and says she, “ Yes, they are coming, Jerry.”’ Sometimes a neighbour would pass and speak to him. * Any news to-day. Jack ?’ ‘ Father’s abroad to-day, sir,’ he would answer, or else, * There’s a bridge dam between here and Chattanooga, sir,’or * No. 6 will be fifteen minutes late to-day, sir.’ He always had something to tell, and it was mostly of the trains or the brack, engines or wrecks. Anything that concerned the railroad was interesting to Jack, for, aside from his admiration for the locomotive,little Jack’s father went up, then down, that long steel track just once each way everyday.

He had his father’s head, the trainmen said, but the neighbours declared he had his mother’s sunny, hopeful, helpful nature. But ono day trouble came to her door. Engineer Connor was brought homo in a caboose, both legs mashed and an arm gone, while his engine lay in a ruined heap under a broken bridge just beyond the Tennessee River. Every man bad jumped but he—fireman, brakoman, all but Jack. ‘Jump, Connor, for your life !’ tho fireman had called to him when the timber began to crack, and the man had laid his hand upon the throttle and said : ‘ You forget Pm engineer.’ And there he stood until the crash came.

He was not quite dead when the boys found him, and all the time they were working with him ho was praying just fer life to get home ; they heard him whisper, ‘ Just long enough to get home and die with my wife and boy.' His prayer was granted ; he reached home and the two he loved best on God’s earth. Just before he aiod he reached for his pocketbook under his pillow and handed it to bis wife.

‘lt i 3 all I’ve got, Annie,’ ho said, ‘ I wish it was more, wife.’ Then he laid his hand on the little head with its crown of yellow curls pressing his pillow. He seemed to forget the boy was only a baby. ‘ Jack,’ ho said ‘ I leave your mother to you. Take care of her, my man.’ Then his mind seemed to wander ; he was on the engine ono moment, the next with his family again. ‘ The company will do something for you by and by, Jack,’ ho said, ‘and always remember —don’t forget it, Jack —that any man in time of danger may desert, any man but the engineer. Ho must stick—stick —stick—to his post, Jack.’ The hand on the boy's head grew heavy; tho little fellow choked back his sobs and laid ono hand tenderly on his father's brow. The dying engineer opened his eyes and smiled.

• Stick to the engine and stand by your mother, Jack,’ he whispered. The hand on the boy’s head grew cold, and when they lifted it and laid it back upon the dead man’s breast, Jack turned to his mother. There was no childish outburst of grief, only an awakening, as it seemed, of the young manhood in him as he opened his arms.

‘Here I am, mother, ’ he said, and she understood.

It was then Jack’s life began in earnest. The pet name of * Baby Jack ’ no longer trembled upon his mother’s lips. She callod him instead ‘ My son,’ ‘ My boy,’ or else ’twas ‘ Mother’s man.’ So is the heart wont to clothe with strength that which it leans upon. She trusted him entirely, and his quick mind recognised it. The prohibition no longer confined him to the wood-pile, but every morning when the whistle sounded the cottage door would open, the gate click, and a pair of bright stockings flash for a moment in the sunlight, as a pair of nimble legs went hurrying down the platform. ‘ Pies ! pies ! fresh pies and cakes !’ He had turned pedlar. Such a tiny, industrious little pedlar as he was, too, and with so many roach-bearded, warm-hearted friends among the trainmen, Jack's business was bound to flourish.

One day the red stocnings went dancing down to the platform with unusual speed, so fast, indeed, that his mother, who was folio wing, had scarcely reached the platform when No. 6 pulled up, and Engineer Robinson dropped from his engine and caught the boy in his arms and tossed him up to the fireman. ‘Catch the little engineer, Sam,’ he shouted. ‘l’ve promised to let him run No. 6 to-day.’ There was a happy little laugh, and then a vision of golden curls at the window.

‘ Mother, mother ! Can you spare mo a whole day She smiled and nodded. ‘l'll come back at b.lo’ (the wheels began to turn), ‘and the wood is in, mother’(the train was moving), ‘and the kindling’—the rattle of the car drowned his voice—* box full ’ (how tho steam roared ! Nob one word of what he was saying could reach her now, but ho talked on, and when the steam ceased to roar, and the train glided smoothly out, he leaned from the window) —‘ Good-bye, mother.’ She heard, and waved her hand. And then Engineer Robinson pulled him to look at some roasted chestnuts the train hitcher had sent up for him. It was a wonderful ride to the boy, who never ceased to wonder at the proud old engine and its magnificent strength. But for all the pleasure and freedom there was a shadow all day on the boyish face, which neither tho good things nor the wonderful stories which Engineer Robinson brought to hia entertainment could quite dispol. He would climb up to tho engineer’s velvet cushion and lean his elbow on the win-dow-sill, and dropping his cheek into his hand, fall to dreaming, while lie watched the clouds or the trees flitting by. Once the train stopped to wait for a delayed freight, and the engineer spoke to the boy sitting silent at the window. ‘ Hello, Jack !’ ho said. ‘ You’re nob asleep, are you ? Engineers can't sleep, sir : remember that. Whatever other folks may do, lie’s got to keep his eyes open.’ Jack’s eyes filled as lie looked at his old friend.

«Yes, sir,' he said, ‘ that’s just what father used to say. ’ Engineer Robinson turned to look out at the olher window down the track, the straight, treacherous track along which poor Jack Connor had travelled bo eternity The boy at the other window. Young Jack talked on ; poftly, but distinctly. ‘ And father said, the night they brought him home, sir, he said : “ Every man may jump but the engineer—the engineer must stick to the engine.” And he said, father said, away off it seemed to me, like you try bo speak when the brain’s a sizzing, sir ; he said : “Stick to the engine, and stand by your mother, Jack.” Apid I’ve been a-think-ing, Mr Robinson ’—the engineer leaned further out, the sleeve of his blue overalls brushed his face, while Jack talked on. «I’ve been a-thinking all day as maybe I ought nob to have left her by herself a whole day.’ The engineer answered without turning his head :

‘ Oh, she’s all right, Jack ; she’s safe.’ ‘ But you know what father said. “ Stand by your mother, Jack,” and here I am away off on your engine, sir.’ The delayed freight rattled by twenty minutes late ; the fireman threw in some coal, the steam began to puff and No. 6 sped on its way. The wind, could it have spoken, must have carried strange stories of what it saw and heard in its passage through tho enginebox that day. Strange stories of rough forms and gentle hearts, gruff voices and tender .words, bearded chin and childish cheek pressed together in sympathy ond love. No. 6 drew up on time at Antioch, 5.10. A door flew open as the whistle sounded four times, as it to say, ‘Here lam, mother,’

|- - [ A little form was lowered from the n and went flying through the mist and fog towards the lighted doorway. As tho tram pulled out Enginoor Robinson leaned from his window. ‘ Here I am, mother,’ the joyful greeting rang out, and tho engineer saw Jack go straight into the arms opened to receive him. ‘I am coming mother, that became a very familiar cry among the nearest neighbours. And more than one eye . filled up and ran over as little Jack Connors voice, thrilling and hopeful, rang out on the frosty air of a winter’s morning. One evening he was late returning from an errand upon which his mother had sent him. The clouds were heavy, as if they might hold snow. Mrs Connor knew that Jack would be cold and tired when he returned, so she took his basket and went out to tho woodpile. * I’ll gather tho chips,’ she said, * and save him that much work.’ But she had scarcely begun her task when Jack came panting up the hill. ‘ Why, mother,’ he called, * didn t you know I was coming ?’ He expected her to lean upon him ; as he grew older the feeling grew, and he was always disappointed if she failed to do so. One morning she went oub to her milking, and a strange dog mot her and sprang upon her. Scarcely knowing what sho did, she threw the milking pail at him and screamed for Jack. Ho came with a bound, seizing a club as he passed the woodpile. ‘l’m coming, mother,' Old Peter Glass passing near heard Jack’s cry and ran down to see what was the matter. There ha stood between his mother and the ferocious mad beast flourishing his club and bidding the dog begone. Pete relieved the loyal little fellow by killing the dog, which he afterwards declared to his wife, was ‘raving mad.’ • But mad or not,’ he added, ‘it wouldn t a-hindered that boy’s pitching right in to tight for his mammy. It always brings the tears to my eyes somehow when I come in contact with that manful little chap of Jack Connor’s.’ Peter Glass was not the only one whose heart softened for Jack Connor’s son. Aye, many an eye wept and many a heart bled for him when the little fellow ceased to appear on the hill above the railroad track.

Some lives there aro that seem to run amid perpetual sunshine and rose. Some are rounded to darker lines and run always beside the deeper abysses of tragedy. It was June, glad, sunshiny June, when Jack’s mother went one morning to call on a sick friend and old neighbour at tho station just above Antioch. Jack thought he had never seen so fair a day—tho sun shone, the birds sang, and the flowers were everywhere. ‘ You can come to meet me at 12 o’clock, Jack,’ his mother said, as she kissed his check. ‘ I’ll be sure to come on that train unless something happens.’ ‘ I’ll be there, mother,’ said Jack, *to every train until you come.’ The sun still shone when tho train came in at noon. Jack thought the whistle sounded mournful, somehow. And the engine * slowed up,’ sooner than usual, so that the train came in slow and solemn like.

And the telegraph operator had laid his hand in a very gentle way on the boy’s head as he hurried past him. And Engineer Robinson never once looked out to speak to him. Tho fireman, too, turned his face the other way and was busy with his shovel. The brakeman leaned on hia brake and never lifted his eyes as the cars pulled up. Jack thought it all very strange.

4 Here I am, mother.’ The conductor cleared his throat when the well-known welcome rang through the rain. Passengers turned from the windows and put their handkerchiefs to their eyes, as if the sight of an eager little face aglow with expectation and delight were painful to them.

‘Here I am, mother.’ He was scanning every face oagorly, longingly, when the conductor stepped out. ‘Jack,’ he said, ‘she isn’t aboard.’ A shadow flitted across the bright countenance. The conductor book the boy’s hand in his and held it close.

‘Jack, my boy,’ he said, * you must be a man. Your mother has not come, will not come, Jack. Your mother is dead, my son.’

And the sur. still shone, but not for Jack. He never knew the terrible story, how in stepping from the train her foot slipped and she fell beneath the wheels which passed ovGi her body. He never know—for from that day he never knew anything except that she had never come back to him.

Day after day crept on, growing into years. Day after day when the whistle sounded a little figure was seen to climb the wood-pile—Jerry Grane’s wood-pile then—to watch for his mother.

His eves seemed to search every window as the trains came up. ‘ Here I am, mother !’ the shrill, clear voice would ring out. And when the train had passed on some one would explain : ‘ It’s poor Jack Connor come to meet hia mother.’

They grew accustomed to seeing him there as the days drifted on into yeara and he still kept his promise. ‘ Every train until you come back,’ ho had said ; and day or night, winter or summer, the trainmen would see the cottage door open, and knew it was Jack waiting for his mother.

One day they missed him, he was ill, raving with fever. Jerry Crane’s wife bent over his pillow; the poor little life was going. At 11 o’clock he opened his eyes. ‘ Is No. 6 in yet?’ he asked. 4 Nob yet, Jack,’ they told him. He smiled and closed hia eyes again.

‘ She’ll be here on that train,’ he said. ‘ I must go down to meet her when No. 6 comes

At 11 he started and sat up in bed. ‘ls she in yet V he asked. *la No. 6

‘ Nob yet, Jack, dear,’ they told him, and he dropped back among his pillows, where he lay for an hour talking, first to the engine, then to Engineer Robinson. Then his mind wandered to his father and the night he died.

‘“Stick to your engine and stand by your mother, Jack,” ’ they heard him whisper.

At* midnight a whistle sounded sharp and shrill, and Jack raised himself in bed and gave a cry of joy : * She’s in 1* he shouted. * No. 6 is in. Here I am, mother !’ The train pulled up and stopped. It was only a freight stopping for water, but that was nothing to Jack. A smile flitted across nls face. * She’s come,’ he said, and with a look of unutterable peace held out his arms and went t® meet her. The next day old Engineer Robinson swung himself clear of his engine and went down the platform to Bpeak to the agent. When he climbed back to his seat at the engine window, he drew his sleeve across his eyes and told the fire man that little Jack Connor had gone to meet his mother. Will Allen Dromgooue* Murfreesboiro, Term.