He Got The Milk

Twenty yeaxs ago the writer, with bar B-year-old child was on her way t? Washington in midwinter. bastead, of teaching that beautiful city early in the morning, eis was expected, the train was stalled in the night by a terrible bli.zard. After the height of the storm was over it took honra to dig away the heavy snow that. buried, not only the rails, but the whole world apparently. Slowly and laboriously thé locomotivo erept on, and we were still 200 miles from Washington wheu the ehurch clock struck 8 in a village where we halted. Men jumped up to see if there were time to get a cup of cofifee; norvousand anxions women olamored for tea, and I criod with the rest, "Oh, if only I eould get a glass of milkformy littlcgirll" "Impossible, " said the brakeman, who was passing through the car; "we shau't be here but a minute." Paying no heed to his words, a gentleman of striking appearance, whose fine f ace and head I had been silently studying, hurriedly left the car and disappeared npon the snowy platform. "He'll get left," sneered the. brakeman. The train moved on, feeling its way throogh the hnge white banks on both eides. The gentleman had evidontly been traveliug alone, for no one seemed anxious because he did not como back. The cars were hardly in full swing, however, when he jumped aboard, a little out oí' breath, dusted with snow, but self possessed and calm, holding carefully a tall glass of milk, which he gave to tlie wee girl beside me. My stammered thanks for such uuexpected kindness from an nnkaown traveler hebrushed away with a waveof his hand. "But the glass?" I insisted, knowing it could not be retumed, ;ts we were now thundering onward. "Is youi-s, madam," he replied, settlitfg himself iuto his seat, paying no mom attention to us. But later in tho cottrse of the dreary forenoon he motioned to tlie little la.ss to come to him, whieh she willingly did. He lifted her to his side, and with his arm round her she cuddled up against him, and for two hours he whispered j stories into her ear, so low tliat no ono else could hear, but the delight of which was refleoted in her dancing eyes and smiling lips. At Baltimore the stranger disappeared, and a gentleman across the passage from us leaned over and said, "Do you know who has been entertaining your child so charrningly, as indeed only he could?" "I haven't the faintest idea. " "Professor Francis J. Child. " So many yeais have flown since then that the little lass herself writes stories now - perhaps faraway echoes of those she heard that wintry day when Professor Child made summer in her beurt, but the tall, thick depot tumbler st.ill stands 011 the high shelf of the cupboard, too sacred for any use, save as a memento of the kindly chivalry of a