LOCAL COLOR
19th-century Regional Writing in the United States


"LOST" (1873)
by Philander Deming

vi

   And thus alone in the wilderness Logan solved the mystery. Through three miles of trackless forest, under the sombre, sighing trees of the great woods, through the fog and falling.rain and snow, the child had struggled on, feeling its way in the night along the margin of the river, until it grew weak and sick, and fell and died. There was a choking in Logan's throat as he lifted the cold little body, and carried it onward down the stream, and noted the places where the infant must have climbed and scrambled in its little battle for life. It was a strange two hours to him as he bore the pure, beautiful, frozen corpse toward the settlement.
   At eleven o'clock he reached the clearing. He saw the scattered groups of men gathered about John's house and barn. Some of the men seemed to be searching the barn to find the body of the boy they believed to be murdered. Logan felt his frame tremble, and his temples throb, realizing as he did the weight of life and death wrapped in the burden that he bore. He spoke no word, and made no gesture, but, holding the dead child in his arms, marched directly past the barn to the door-yard, and up in front of the house. There he stopped, and stood and looked with agitated face at the farmhouse door.
   The shock of Logan's sudden coming was so great that no one said, "The body is found;" but all the men stopped talking, and some, pale and agitated, gathered in a close huddle around Logan, and looked at the little, white, frosted face, and in hushed tones asked where Logan had found the body.
   A blanket was brought, and spread upon a dry place in the yard, and Logan laid his little burden upon it.
   John came out, and approached the spot where his little Willie was lying. There was a deeper hush as the crowd made way for the father; and the rough men, some of whom were now crying, looked hard at John "to see how he would take it." John stood and gazed, unmoved and lionlike: not a muscle of his strong face quivered as he saw his boy. He called in a tone of authority for his family to come, and said to his wife in a clear, calm voice, as she came trembling, weeping, fainting, "Mother, look upon your son."
   He turned, and surveyed the crowd with the same dauntless eye he had shown in making his Homeric speech at the schoolhouse. To some of the company that eye was now a dagger.
   John was cool, calm, and polite. He uttered no reproach, and was kind in his words to all. A half-hour passed. The crowd went away in groups, discussing,the amazing wonder, "how ever it could be that such a little feller as Willie could have got so far away from the house."
   The next day religious services were held, and in the afternoon little Willie was laid to rest upon a sunny knoll. John wept at the grave. A poisoned arrow was drawn from the strong man's heart, and a great grief was there in its stead.
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"Nineteenth-century Regional Writing in the United States" is the work of Dottie Webb. For suggestions, complaints, cattle-rustling schemes or gossiping over the fence in neighborly fashion, send your e-correspondence to drdotwebb@traverse.com

This document was last modified 12/26/97.

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