I tell you, George, that was a child to be noticed. She was rounder and
prettier made'n a wax figger; her eyes was bigger and blacker'n any grown
woman's you ever saw, set like stars under her forehead, and her hair was
that light kind that all runs to curls and glitter.
Soon's she could toddle, she used to come dancin' to meet me. I've soiled
a-many of her white pinafores buryin' my face in them before I was washed,
and sort of prayin' soft like under the roof of my heart, "God bless my
baby! God bless my little lamb!"
As she grew older, I used to talk to her about engin'--even took her into
my cab, and showed the 'tachments of the engin', and learned her signals
and such things. She tuk such an interest, and was the smartest little
thing! Seemed as if she had always knowed 'em. She loved the road. Remember
once hearing her say to a playmate: "There's my papa. He's an engineer.
Don't you wish he was your papa?"
My home was close by the track. Often and often the little girl stood in
our green yard, waving her mite of a hand as we rushed by.
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