The Bridge

They played together as children on the banks oL the fitful Minnesauken. The Btream itselí had both joined them and parted them again and again. It was the boundary betweentheir homes. His íather's farm was on the west bank. and spread over a large tract of rough wooded hills. lier father's farm lay along the eastern bank, and was in every respect a more productive and valuable estáte. The flrst thing he remembered was the little girl from the Chase farm who came down to the edge of the shallow summer river to play among the smooth round yellow stones and brown pools. Her earliest recollections were of the boy who waded barefoot through the amber water to meet her. Then came the school -days, when they went together to the red school-house. From playmates they grew to school-mates, and from schoolraates to lovers. The Chases were well to do in the world, witta a farm clear of debt, and money iu the bank. The Lawsons had not prospered, for the hill farm was poor, and life seemed a trifle hard to them. For all that, there was a neighborly friendliness bet ween them, till one summer day young Thomas Lawson crossed the Minnesauken and boldly asked the hand of Laura Chase. Never was farmer Chase more surprised. Had the childien really grown up to manhood and womanhood, ready to ask and be given in marriage? He could not consider it for a moment. Laura would have souie little property, and it was proper her liusband should bring something more than his two hands and good intentions. As for any expectations from the Lawson farm, the father and mother aud niany children would need i t all for a long time to come. When tlie young man crossed the stream that afternoon, it had threatenedrain; heavy thunder-clouds were already in the west. The stream was low, and he had leaped from stone to stone, and crossed dry-shod. The storm burst over the mountain while he was in the house, and when he started for home it was raiing fast. Laura met hun on the damp and dripping piazza, and saw from his face that things had gone wrong. She urged him to stay till the rain ceaseil, but he would not. The river, as was often its fashion, would rise suddenly, and he would not be able to cross She told him it made no difference in her heart; and he on his part said he would go away, win a fortune, and como back and claim her. She cried a little over it, and said she would wait - years if she must. So it was tl.ey parted, and ho went away in the rain toward home. He was too late. The fltful river was i a passion. The mountain bad sent üovrr. a sudden flood, and it was impossible to cross at the old ford. "A bridge is needed here. If ever Fin rieh, l'll build one." The improbable is generally the most likely thing to happen. As he said this, there seemed not the faintest hint or suggestion that a bridge would ever be built between the farms. Wiien a boy, he carried her over the stream in tüs arms. Now that he was a man, there was no need of even a bridge. He liad to walk down the stream two miles, to the town bridge before he could cross, and finally reachedhome (lrenelied, discouraged, ind miserable. It was his flrst disappointroent. Would it bmik or make Mm ? The fanrily received the refusal of their son with beeonring pride. ïhey might be poor, but they were quite as good as the purae-proud people over the river. Somo day they might be glad to accept Thomas Lavrson as a son. lio had the making of a man and a fortune in him, and they should live to see it. "That's very well, mother,1' said the young man, "but for once I wish there had been a bridge over the river. I had to walk four miles in the rain to get home." "My son, there will neverbea bridge between the Chase and Lawson farms." "Don't say that, mother, for gome day I'm going over the river for Lama, and a bridge would be very convenient for the procession." Clearly he had a good spirit. The next he announced hig intention of leaving home to seek a fortune. Thereupon theie were great lainentations, but he only said, "Give me a little money, that I inay live wiiile I leain i trade, and toen I'll take care of myself - and Laura too." The storm passed quickly, and in a day the capricious river showed a gentIer mood. ïhey met upon tlm bank, and he dragged down soine fence rails, and laid them from stone to stone. till he could ero s to her side. Perhaps there was something prophetic in it, for he said, "111 build a bridge over every obstaele to reach you, Laura." She was greatly pleaaed, and said she would wait for him and the bridge. So it was they parted, he going next day to the city, she stayiug at home, patiënt, hopeful and conlident. Between the families there was little communieation. The seasons seemed to be ahvays rainy, and the fitful Minnesauken was rarely passable for child or lover. The summer grew to winter, and winter changed through spring to summer again. Once amonth theie carne a letter. Farmer Chase secretly admired the young man's spirit in going off to learn a trade and permitted the correspondence on the condition that no more than twelve letters came in a year. He little knew the ingenuity of lovers. Every letter contained thirty pages. With the spring had come a hint of great changes. Surveyors had appeared with rod and chain. ïhey had tramped all up and down the rocky valley ot the Minnesauken, and at last iuvaded the Chase and Lawson farms. A railroad would cross that country, and af ter several weeks of investigation on the part of the surveyors, and rather feverisli suspence on the part of the farming people, it was decided that the line wuuld strike the river on the two farms just where the child-lovers had played. Farmer Chase had barely time to get an early erop of grass from his bet tield before it was destroyed by heaps of stone and gravel cartea down from the hills. The Lawson farm was on a much higher level, and in place of building a lofty viaduct on his land, Farmer Lawson saw it torn up for a cutting. A rude wooden bridge was made, and part of the Lawson bowlders and gravel was strewn over the Chase ineadows - a queer irony of fate on the two families. The river-bank on the Chase side was low and sandy. and here came masons and stone-cutters, with huge derricks and great blocks of cut stone. A sol id wall of masonry forty feet high was erecteil facing the river, and on the opposite bank, high on the bluff, was a smaller wall, the two being level at the top. Between the stone abutraent on the Cliase mealows and the hill behind the bain grew up a vast embankment, a rnountain of gravel, directly in front of the house. The snow feil before this was fiuished, and then the work stopped for a long time. People said the company had failed, that the road would never be built, and so on. However, every man had been paid for his land, and they could not complain. The delay was really caused by a tunnel that had to be eut through the mountains about iive miles to the west of the river. Laura Chase received her twentysixth letter; seemed to grow in beauty and good spirits day by day. Then suddenly appeared the track-layers, and it was rumored that the tunnel was nearly tinished. In less than two weeks the lirst engine, a rusty, battered alïair, came up and halted on top of the great embankment. It liad brought up a long line of Hat cars loaded with heavy timbers. The neighbors said it was to build a bridge, for the temporary bridge was long ago swept away by the river floods. There carne also a swarm of carpenters and laboréis, and a stationary steam-engine. The Chase mansion began to be exceedingly undesirable as a residence, but the farmer did not care, for he drove a lively trade in hay for tlie horses, vegetables for the men, and fuel for the engine. He had even dreamed of cutting up the farm for house lots, for there was a hint in the air of a station nenr the bridge. Real estáte had already Is n, andsuitors began to seek the hauu of the pro able lieiresi. Her father welcoined them, in the hope that they might niake her forget the farmer Lul who went away to learn a trade. She refused them all, for she "knew her lover too well. When he left home he had gone at once to a technical school, and ofter two years' hard study he had joined himself to a company of that country who built iron bridges. Then carne more notable events and another letter. Tnen arrived, on the railroad, vast piece3 of iron-work. strange shapes i metal, and of unmeaning design. Square beams, hollow within anU closed on two sides with lattice-work, long bars with eyes like those ofdarning needies, rods, bolts, and blocks of iron of fantastic patterns, and every piece marked with peculiar letters and numbcrs in white paint. The people in all that country-side carne in flocks to see the great heaps oí metal, and to inspect the huge wooden structure that had been erected in the river between the abutments on either shore. Suddenly in their midst came the bridge engineer - Thomas Lawson. The improbable had come true. With Mm came the bridge building company and about twenty workmen. The officers inspeeted everything, .tiid tlien wemt a'vay, leaving the young man in charge of the work. In tuis they feit quite safe. They knew Uio young farmer lad from the day he left home and took up the hammer and lik; by day, and his books by night. They knew hitn as a hard student and a competent worknm. BeSidea this, the vvork was all linished, lie had seen it put together once in the shops, all the parta were plainly marked, and he had only to join together penuanently what he had assisted to erect temporarily. The only mistake was in putting the young man on his first important piece ot' wprk just at that particular spot. THE DRAST Kit. In twenty-four working days the bridge was flnished and ready for the rails. Every part had been accurately litted into place, and the timber scaffolding under the bridge was removed, lea ving it self-supported, a perfect whole, spanning the litl'ul Minnesauken, one hundred and eighty-four feet in one bold leap through the air. It was a "through truss" of the finest American desigh - lignt, airy, and yet flrm as the solid hills, strong enough to earry half a dozen locoinotives, and wonderfully beautiful. Farmer Chase was pleased and satislied. ïhe young man had done wel!. He should have his reward. Both families were reconciled and approved of the match, ltea.1 estáte liad risen on both sides of the river, and both learned, as if it were truly renyukable, that one family was quite as good as the other. As for the Reward herself, she could not keep away from that wonderful bridge. It was a mystery, a source of endless admiration, and he had built it. He tried to explain to her the charming details of the 'aw of strains in bridges, the truly beautiful way in which the strain of compression was taken up by the massive hollow beams, and the strains of tensión distributed with exact justice among the rods and eye-bars. He told her all the happy tlioughts developed in preparing for the strains under a moving load, and how wonderf ully large was the factor of safety. He took lier up on the abutnaent on the Lawson side of the rive , and pointed out the steel rollers placed under the bridge to give the beautiful creation a chance to stretch itself in warm weather. He also showed her how space had been left between the end of the bridge and the masonry to give it free room to contract and expand in the heat and cold. The Reward declared she understood everything perfectly, and that bridge-building was perfectly lovely. "Your father says we may be married as soon as the bridge is accepted. The officers of the company will be here tü-morrow to meet the president of the railroad. Rails will be laid over the bridge, and engines will be run out upon it to test it. If everything is all right, the president will accept the bridge, and then the coinpany are going to give me a permanent position at good salary." "Then we are within ono night of luippiness." Eiirly next morning the young man crossed the stream dry-shod by leaping from beam to beam of the great bridge he had assisted to erect. Already the workmen were gathering the materials to lay the rails over the finished bridge. He was glad and triumphant. Now all bis trials and waiting were over. il.s could claim his reward. As for die Reward, herself, she greeted him with a kiss, and led him in to breakast at her father's house. Peace had neen deelared between the families, for the modern Romeo had built fi railroad bridge to reach his Juliet. In the midst of the merry breakfast i man carne to the house, asking to see the young bridge-builder at once. The man was excited and frightened, and for a moment the young bridge builder could not understand him. "It's true, sir! it's as true as you live! Old Jimmy Walsh found it out when he laid the flrst tie. The bridge is out of place - four inches." The young ma.i ran like a deer up the steep embankment, and came to the bridge where the men were standing about idle, and with their tools on the ground. "We thought it best to teil you before the bosses came." "Give me a foot rule." His hands shook as he took the tooi and measured the space between the end of the bridge and the abutment. Then he crossed the bridge, accompanied by all the men. It was fortúnate, for twice he nearly lost Iris balance, and would have fallen to the river below. His hands were cold and cla'nmy, and his head seemed on fire. They all stopped on the ledge of the abutment in silence while he measured the free space between the bridge and the masonry. "Four inches." "Yes sir. It's four inches too f ar tliis way." "And the staging is down." "That's so; and it will take two weeks to put it up again." "And take a wuek more to move the bridge, if it can be moved, for it's a risky job anyway." "And it will cost two thousand dollars." The remarks of the men completely crushed him. Everything was lost - reputation, business, brido, and happiness. lt was past belief he eould have made such a mistake. An error of one minuto, of only four inches in length, had ruined his whole prospects in ufe. The men refused to go on with their work. The railroad people would never accept the bridge in its present posiüon. It would have to be taken down and rebuilt in its proper place, and it was úseles to lay tracks over a condemned bridge. At eleven o'clock four heavy locomotivea arrived. ïliey were t# be used in testing the bridge, but as the rails were not laid, nothing could be done. At noon the ofticeis of the bridge company and the president of the road arrived on a special engine. The truth could not be witliheld, and for ?ome moinents there were sorae pretty Bharp words en both sides. The young man had nothing to say. He had made a mistake. "Mistakes are not permitted in modern work. You maj go, sir. We have no farther need of your services." THE SUN' COMES TO THE RESCtHS. The next day was the Sabbath. For the young man the night had been one of sleepless misery and wretchedness. At four o'cloek he rose and went out in the sweet, cool air of the morningto look once more over the impassable river that forever separated him from his lengj-wlshedfor happinesS. There i stood the great bridge, a monument to I his stupendous folly and carelessness. He luid i'ridged the stream, and yet ii a moment all was los'e for ever. Only íour inches only four india from happiness. lie repeated th words mechanically as he brushec through the dewy grass and carne to the liver. The sky was rosy overhead hut thesun had not yetappoared above the hills. Tke day promised to be fair perhaps warm, yet he shiveied In the fresh breeze. Even the water below looked cold and chilly. Every rod and beam of the bridge was glisteuing heavy with dew. He went to the Bridge and stood with one hand resting on the iron looking over where he might not cross. Not a creature was stiirfug about the Chase farm. II expecteil bride slept over there - witl perhaps tears npon her pillow. He had made a highway to her hoine, a grand and noble road for the locomotive, a highway for a nation, and yet he could not cross the strearn where he liad walked a barefoot boy in golden water among the amber pebbles. How cold the iron. He looked down upon the steel rollers on whioh the bridge rested. They had turneil part way over since the day before. The bridge had eontracted, had shortened under the influence of the fallen teraperature. Yesterday the day was warm and fair. Kow the world ed pinched and cold - like the bridge, [t seeined also as if his heart had shrunken under the chili of bitter disappointment. Suddenly there was a shout - a load cry of joy and triumph. It echoed among the hills, anti startled the neighliors out of their early Sabbath rest. Half a second later the young man was learlng down the yillage road toward the bomling-faouse where the workmen lodged. shouting and gesticulating wildly as he ran. In reply to his calis a dozen frowzy heads were thrust out of the windows. "('ome down men! come down as quickly as you can. Ilurry! hurry before the sun rises! Come help me move the bridge into place." "Poor lad, it's preyed upon his mind. He's crazy Some otie ought to take hini home. The bridge won't be moved Mus day month." These were the commeñts of the men as they came out, half dressed, to see what had happened. Some were for taking the young man home to his aarents; but he cried the more veheinently, "Get your tools - cold chisels and wedges, your files and hammers. We can move the bridge to-day. Hurry! men, hurry! bef ore the sun strikes ït." "Oh ay lad;" saidold Jimmy Walsh, more thoughtfnl than the rest; "ye meantle sun will move the bridge arter we've jammed the free end." "Yes, Se's contracted now, for the ïight was cool." "I'm with tlie lad. It's a good Sablath-day's work and we'd best help him." The men did not see how it was to )e done, yet they with one accord got lieir tools and set out for the bridge. The story of the young man's disap)ointment had spread, as such news will, through the village, and the men were well disposed to help one who Bbowed himself so earnest to lielp nmself. When ih :y arrived at the bridge the sun was a ready up, though the bridge tself lay still in the cool shadow of he woods. Thero was yet time. " Jam up the free end so that it can not move, and then we'll cast off the other end. Then, when the sun strike he bridge it will expand, and some,hing will have to give way." In less than half an liour the space )etween the free end of the bridge and ;he miisonry was filled with solid blocks of iron, driven in hard and fast with wedges. Now, though the bridge was on rollers to allow it to move forward and backward as it expanded or contraeted in the changing temperature of day and night, it was prevented f rom Hoving; and when the fieree heat of the noon-day sun shone on it, the great nass of iron must "give" or move in soine other direction. The opposite end had been firmly fastened down, and it eould not move in that direction. It nust expand as soon as the sun struck t; and is soon as the temperatura rose t would spring upward in the centre or tear itself to pieces nnder the trenendous power of the placid sunbeams. The moment the free end of the bridge ïad been "jannned," or stopped froni noving in that direction, the entire xirty erossed the bridge ind began to ;ut away the fastenings that secured it to the masonry. The noise of the labor startled the Sabbath air, and both the Chases and Lawsons carne out to see what was gong on. Farmer Chase was shocked at the desecration of the Sabbath, but the young man only replied: "The road is ill tinished but this bridge. It must be opened. The people want it. liesides I must show I can movetheTaridge or my reputation is gone forever, and my business is ruined." As for the Iteward, she never lost Taith in her lover. She admitted lie had made a most unpardonable blunder, yet she had faith that he would extricate himself with lionor and credit. She fouud liim workingon tke bridge in a sort of feverish atixiety, pale, excited and harressed. She drew him away from bis work for a moment. 'You have eaten nothing. You must rest, and work more carefully, or you may have a sunstroke. It's going to be a very warm day.' 'Yes; bring me something. I'U eat it here; and then do you pray that it may be che hottest day of the seasen. I hope it will be ahundred in the shade for it is my only salvation. Farmer Chase said his daughter should have nothing to do with a Sabbath-breaker; but she refused to leiive the bridge, except to go to the house for food for her lover. lier father objeeted even to this, but her mother, being wiser, gave her both meat and drink. 'He is doing it all for my sake, mother. He is going to put the bridge back, and I shall stay with him.' It was nearly eleven o'clock before the last bit of metal wat torn off. The bridge had already begun to show signs of distress, as if pulled and strained by some invisible yet appalling power. Some of the beams began to show signs of distortion, and therods, when struck with a hammer, rang sharply Hke the strings of a piano strained up to concert pitch. The last bolt was almost off when it suddenly broke with a loud snap. T) e whole gigantic structure was in tiavail. An instant a f ter the end slipped, it moved and crept upon "" stone ledge of the abutment nearly half an inch. It was a gn at triumph for the young man. II e bad harnessed the sun te do more tlian many men and engmes. He had moved the bridge, and ail for iove's sake. "It will reach its f uil expansión about three o'clock. You had best gw to your dinner, men, and then we must anchor her faal before she begins to contract again at sundown." The men were wild with enthusiasm for the young englneer. lie liad brains. (Ie would move the bridge to its right place in three days. Oíd Jimmy Walsh said he had heard of sueh things, but he never rightly understood it till now, and ventured 6he opinión that it would take a power of chains and rivets to kold her back wlien she began to cool dowu. The sun shone clear all the moining, and at one o'clock it was very liot and sultry. ïhe people round about gatliered to see scienoe toiling for love, and the little meeting-house was quite deserted. The good man preached a mild reproof against the worldly people at work on the bridge, but the eiitire congregation to a woman said in their liearts that the young man was doitig just right. The bridge travailed again about two o'clock, and advanced another half-inch. If now it could be held there, if it could be prevented from eturning to its old position, the gain would be permanent, and the bridge would be moved without hands. "With blazing forges and resounding hamraers, the men worked on in a sort of frantic liaste. Iron bars were riveted to the bridge and elamped te tke stones of the abutment. Even chaina were bound round the beams of the bridge, and anchored to the ties and tracks of the railroad. It was half past two. The temperatura would be at its highest very soon, and then it would gradually fall, and keep falling through the night till the next morning. As the air cooled, the bridge would contract. Would it return to its old position, or remain in its new place? Would the ancbored end remain fast, and the contraction pull the other end forward ? So eager were the people gathered near to watch the work that they did not observe the west till a sudden peal of thunder startled them First the sun was obscured, and then the hot and sultry air was stirred by a fitful breeze. The people sought shelter in the neighboring houses, but the workmen only redoubled their exertions. The rain would cool the heated bridge quickly, and it would contract suddenly - p rhaps tear all their work to pieces. Eitherthe bridge must contract as a whole,and the f ree end move, or the fastenings would be torn apart. The rain carne down in a flood. The temperatura feil twenty degrees in a few moments, and they all ran over the lippery and dripping bridge. The young man sprang down on the ledge of the abutment. There was a clear pace between the bridge and the wedges they had driven in that morn"g- 'The bridge has moved.' At nine o'clock the next day an enfine came up, bringing the manager f the company and a number of carpenters and laborers. The scaffold must be rebuilt, and the bridge lifted n rollers, and forced over into its )lace by hydraulic jacks. They found the young man calmly alking to a young girl, and superinendingthe iaën who were drivine vedges into the narrow space between he bridge and tlie blocks put in the ay before. 'What are you doing, men?' said the manager. 'Moving the bridge, sir. What with he sun and the r:iin, we moved lier an nch yesterday, aad if it holds hot for few days more, w'll have her in lace.' The Reward stood there when it all appened. Farmer Chase was there, nd the Lawsons, and many of the eighbors. They all said they knew Thomas Lawson would be a credit to he town. It was quite proper that he bridge company should take him back on a good salary. Anybody could nove a bridge in that way. It was as asy as anything. Even the manager aid he could do it that way - if he had hought of it. 'Jes' so, jes' so.' said Farmer Chase; }ut iny son-in-law did think of it, and liat maltes the difference.'