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Show '1 was trembling as violently as the horses, and for a moment was unable to answer him. His face, when I had explained, turned ghastly white in the moonlight. Thoroughly sober, he sat silent for awhile, his lips moving convulsively con-vulsively as tho1 in prayer. " -You're all right now,' said I after awhile, giving him tho reins, -but be careful, my boy, of tho next crossing.' For answer he wrung my hand, saying never a word. I understood, of course, all that was in his heart, and so I stood, all unmindful of the cold, till long after tho wagon hud crossed the bridge and the sound of the wheels had very nearly died in the distance. 'It was a month or more after that, when one day a J'tving man stepped up to the sentry-box and cordially grsaped my hand. " 'You don't remember me,' he said a little bashfully, 'the young man whose life you saved almost on this very spot?' " 'Why, bless rac!' I returned heartily, and then we, of cause, fell to talking the thing over. " -Mr. Owens,' said ho earnestly, when about to leave, 'I feel as though I can never repiiy you for your noble deed that night, but,' passing me a shining silver quarter of a dollar which by courtesy, sir, I felt 1 shouldn't refuse -it would afford me great pleasure if you would some time drink to our further acquaintance.' " 'I can never do that, sir,' I answered, answer-ed, shaking my head. I never indulge in-dulge in spirits. I wouldn't always be fit for duty, young man. if I did.' " 'That's so,' said he, tho muscles about his chin quivering, ''if you had been in bed and us tipsy as I was that, night, why ' but No. 20 was due, I could only say good-by and leave him. "About a year after that," ho resumed resum-ed after a slight pause, "an old gentleman, gentle-man, standing hero idly one duy, engaged en-gaged mo in conversation. Something in his face und speech seemed familiar, tantalizingly familiar. Presently I asked his name Morrow, John Morrow, Mor-row, of . I knew then who stood defore me. Ho was the father of the young man I have been telling you about. Naturally enough I spoke of his son's peril that night. Tho old gentleman looked dumbfounded. " 'That accounts for the sudden change in my boy,' exclaimed he, when, at his request, I had told him nil. 'That accounts for the change in Ned about that time.' And then ho told mo of tho sorrow and trouble tho boy's love of liquor had given tho mother und him, and how unreliable he was generally in all matters of business busi-ness tho father, you see, sir, being a well-to-do lumber merchant of . Suddenly, in one day it seemed, a change hnd came over their son. a 'serious' change as the old man called it. Tho sight and smell of liquor turned him pale; his boon companions had no charm for him; he took to business, busi-ness, 'and,' said the old man, proudly, when about to depart; 'and to-day, Mr. Owens, there's not in the whole state of Ohio a steadier, better young man than Ned Morrow, my son, the boy you saved.' " |