THE OLD FARM.
��269
��Chamblee, in the old French war. I leaped upon the heads of the throng in the gateway and fortunately struck my breast upon the head of a soldier, who settled down under uie so that I came with my feet to the ground. Directly as I came to the ground a blow was aimed at me. with the butt of a gun, which missed my head but gave me a severe contusion on the right shoulder. Num- bers were trying to seize me by the arms but I broke from them, and with my el- bows and knees cleared the way so that at length I got through the fort. The last man I passed stood alone, and the thought struck me that he might kill me after I had passed him. As I ran by him I struck him a blow across the throat with the side of my hand. I saw his mouth open, and I have not seen him since. A shower of shot was falling all around me as I ran down the hill. One struck my hat, several marked my clothes, one struck me in the left hand, and serv- ed off the fore-finger. Our men were all
��in advance of me, and I was almost, if not entirely, alone, from the time I left the fort till I came to Charlestown Neck, on which there was not a man to be seen. I thought it might be some protection from the fire of the floating batteries, to go behind the buildings, but on turning the corner I found Col. Gerrish with a body of men posted there. I said to him, "Colonel Gerrish, are you here? I hope to God you will be killed, but I will not stay to die with you," and took the street again. By this time I grew very faint with fatigue and loss of blood. There was a horse tied by the side of the com- mon, and I made towards him. Colonel James Varnum saw me and came to me. He took me by the arm and led me to the horse. While he was with me, the ball of the last cannon I heard that day pass- ed within a foot or two of me and struck the ground, at a short distance before me. We found the owner of the horse by him, and he cheerfully offered him to me to ride to Cambridge.
��THE OLD FABM.
��A STORY IN THREE CHAPTERS.
��BY EARL ANDERSON.
��CHAP. III.
It was evening, when, at the end of his long journey of a thousand miles, Charles Bradley found himself in the great city he had so longed to reach. He was in Chicago at last ; yet as he walked out from the depot along the crowded streets, jostled here and there by the hurrying strangers whom he met, little of the spirit of exultation and confidence filled his bosom. A dejected, homesick feel- ing came over him as he forced his way through the busy crowd, realizing the great distance now separating him from home and friends, and the utter uncer- tainty of the attainment of his object. For the first time since he left his New Hampshire home he actually wished him- self back in it, and could he have flown there he would have done so at once, without making a single effort to secure
��that for which he had traveled so far and hoped so long. Finally he sought out a hotel, and, after a light supper, retired for the night.
He arose early in the morning, some- what refreshed, and with his courage in a measure revived. After an early break- fast and a long walk about the city, the opening of business hours found him at the store of the merchant to whom Mr vi Austin had given him a letter of intro- duction. His name was Johnson, and he was a wholesale hardware dealer with a large and prosperous business.
Enquiring for Mr. Johnson, Charles was directed to the counting-room, where he found him busily engaged in giving directions to a number of clerks. Wait- ing his opportunity Charles addressed him, presenting his letter of introduc- tion.
�� �
