Newspaper Page Text
SAVED by a lightning flash.
Mvname is Hunt. Yes, sir; Anthony
Hunt. lam a settler and drover on this
Western prairie. Wilds? Yes, 8 * r ’ * tß
little else than wilds now, but you. should
Jiave seen it when I and my wilo first
moved up here. There was not a house
within sight for miles. Even now we have
not many neighbors; but those w e have
are downright good ones To appreciate
your neighbors as you ought sir. you must
live in these lonelv places, so far removed
from the haunts of man. ...
What I am about to tell of happened
ten years ago. I was going to the distant
town, or settlement, to sell some fifty head
of cattle fine creatures, sir, as ever you
saw The journey was a more rare event
with me than it is now ; and my wife had
always plenty of commissions to charge
me with in the shape of dry goods and gro
ceries and such like tilings.
Our youngest child was a sweet little
gentle thing, who had been named after her
aunt, Dorothy, Wo called the child Dolly.
This time my commission included one for
}, er —a doll. She had never had a real
doll; that is, a bought doll; only the rag
bundles her mother made for her. For
some days before my departure the child
could talk of nothing else—or we, either,
for the matter of that—for she was a great
pet, the darling of us all. It was to he a
big, big doll, with golden hair and blue
eyes. I shall never forget the child's
words the morning I was starting, as she
run after me to the gate, or the pretty pic
ture she made. There are some children
sweeter and prettier than others, sir, as
you can’t but have noticed, and Dolly was
one.
“Avery great big doll, please, daddy, ’’
she called out after me ; “ and please bring
it very soon.”
1 turned to nod a yes to her as she stood
in her clean, withey-brown pinafore against
the gate, her nut-brown nair falling in
curls about her neck, and the light breeze
stirring them.
“ A brave doll,” I answered, “ for my
little one—almost as big as Dolly.”
Nobody would believe, I dare say, bow
full my thoughts were of that promised
doll, as I rode along, or what a nice one 1
meant to buy. It was not often I spent
money in what my good thrifty wife would
have called waste ; but Dolly was Dolly,
and I meant to do it now.
The cattle sold, I went about my pur
chases, and soon had no end of parcels to
be packed in the saddle-bags. Tea, sugar,
rice, candles —but 1 need not weary you,
sir, with telling of them, together with the
calico for shirts and nightgowns, and the
delaine for the children’s new frocks. Last
of all, l went about the doll—and found a
beauty. It was not as big as Dolly, or
half as big; but it had flaxen curls and
sky-blue eyes ; and by dint of pulling a
wire you could open or shut the eyes at
will.
“ Do it up carefully,” I said to the store
keeper. 44 My little* daughter would cry
sadly if any harm comes to it.”
The day was prett} r well ended before all
my work was done; and just for a moment
or two I hesitated whether 1 should not
stay in the town ami start for luun in thy
morning. It would have been the more
prudent course. But I thought of poor
Dolly's anxiety to get her treasure, and of
my own happiness in watching the rapture
in her delighted eyes. So with my parcels
packed in the best way they could be, I
mounted my horse and started.
It was as good and steady a horse as you
ever rode, sir; but night began to set in
before I was well a mile away from the
town ; it seemed as if it were going to be
an ugly night, too. Again the thought
struck me—should I turn back and wait
till morning? 1 had the price of the cat
tle, you see, sir, in my breast pocket; and
robberies, aye, murders also, were not
quite unknown things on the prairies. But
1 had my brace of sure pistols with me
and decided to press onward.
The night came on as dark as pitch, and
part of the way my road would be pitch
dark besides. But on that score I had no
fear; 1 knew the road well, every inch of
it, though I could not ride so fast as I
should have done in the light. I was about
six miles from home, I suppose, and I
knew the time must be close upon mid
night, when the storm which had been
brewing broke. The thunder roared, the
rain fell in torrents; the best I could do
was to press onward in it.
All at once, as I rode on, a cry startled
me; a faint, wailing sound, like the cry of
a child. Reining up, I sat still and listen
ed. Had I been mistaken? No, there it
was again. But in what direction 1 could
not tell. I couldn't see a thing. It was,
as I have said, as dark as pitch. Getting
off my horse, I felt about, but could find
nothing. And while I was seeking the
cry came again—the faint moan of a child
in pain. Then I began to wonder. 1 am
not superstitious, but 1 asked myself how
it was possible that a child could be out on
the prairie at such an hour and in such a
night. No ; real child it could not be.
Upon that, came another thought, one
less welcome —was it a trap to hinder me
on my way and ensnare me? There might
be midnight robbers who would easily hear
of my almost certain ride home that night
and of the money I should have about me.
I don't think, sir, I am more timid than
than other people ; not as much so, per
haps, as some ; but I confess the idea made
me uneasy. My best plan was to ride on
as fast as I could and get out of the mys
tery into safe quarters. Just here was
about the darkest bit of road in all the
route. Mounting my horse, I was about
to urge him on, when the cry came again.
It did sound like a child's; the plaintive
wail of a child nearly exhausted.
“ God guide me !” I said, undecided
what to do. And as I sat another moment
listening, I once more heard the cry,
fainter and more faint. I threw myself ofl
my horse with an exclamation.
“ Be it ghost or be it robber, Anthony
Hunt is not one to abandon a child to die
without trying to save it.”
But how was I to save it?—how find it?
The more I searched about, the less could
my hands light on anything, save the
sloppy earth. The voice had quite ceased
now, so I had no guide from that. W hile
I stood trying to peer into the darkness,
all my ears alert, a Hood of sheet lightning
suddenly illumined the plain. At a little
distance, just beyond a kind of ridge or
gentle hill, I caught a glimpse of some
thing white. It was dark again in a mo-
81.30 A VKAIt.
nient, but 1 made my way with unerring
instinct. Sure enough, there la v a poor lit
tle child. Whether hov or girl I could not
tell. It seemed to be three parts insensi
ble now, as I took it up, dripping with
wet, from the sloppy earth.
“My poor little thing!” I said, as 1
hushed it to me. “ We’ll go and find
mammy. You arc safe now.”
And, in answer, the child just put out
its feeble hand, moaned once and nestled
close to me.
With the child hushed to my breast I
rode on. Its perfect silence soon showed
me that it slept. And, sir, 1 thanked God
that lie had let me save it. and 1 thought
how grateful some poor mother would he !
But I was full of wonder for all that, won
dering what extraordinary fate had taken
any young child to that solitary spot.
Getting sight of home I saw all the win
dows alight. Deborah had done it for me,
I thought, to guide me home in safety
through the darkness. But presently I
vnew that something must be the matter
for the very few neighbors we had were
gathered there. My heart stood still with
fear, I thought of some calamnity to one
or other of the children. I had saved a
like one from perishing, but what might
not have happened to my own.
Hardly daring to lift the latch, while my
poor tired horse stood still and mute out
side, I went slowly in, the child in my
arms covered over with the flap of my long
coat. My wife was weeping bitterly.
“What’s amiss?” I asked in a faint
voice. And it seemed that a whole chorus
of voices answered me.
44 Dolly's lost!”
Dolly lost! Just for a moment my heart
turned sick. Then some instinct like a ray
of light and hope, seized upon me. Pull
ing the coat off the face of the child I held,
I lifted the little sleeping thing to the light,
and saw Dolly 1
Yes, sir. The child T had saved was no
other than my own—my little Dolly. And
I knew that God’s good angels had guided
me to save her, and that the first flash of
the summer lightning had shone just at
the right moment to show me where she
lay. It was her white son-bonnet that had
caught my eye. My darling it was, and
none other, that I had picked up on the
drenched road.
Dolly, anxious for her doll, had wander
ed out unseen to meet mein the afternoon.
For some hours she was not missed. It
chanced that my two elder girls had gone
over to our nearest neighbor’s, and my
wife, missing the child just afterward took
rt -for granted she vas with them. The Tit
tle on* had come on and on, until night
and the storm overtook her. when she fell
down frightened and utterly exhausted.
I thanked Heaven aloud before them all,
sir; as I said that none but God and his
holy angels had guided me to her. It’s
not much of a story to listen to, sir, I am
aware of that. But I often think of it in
the long nights, lying awake; and 1 ask
myself how I could bear to live on now,
had I run away from the poor little cry in
the road, hardly louder than a squirrel’s
chirp, and left my child to die.
l r es, sir, you are right; that’s Dolly out
yonder with her mother, picking fruit; the
little trim light figure in pink—with just
the same sort of white sunbonnet on her
head that she wore that night ten years
ago. She is a girl that was just worth
saving, sir, though I say it; and God knows
that as long as my life lasts I shall be
thankful that I came home that night in
stead of staying in the town.
Jolm nt (In.* Auction.
Virginia (Xev.) Chronicle.
This morning, at an auction sale on C
street, a lot of worn-out household furni
ture was under the hammer, when a China
man, who had been carefully watching op
erations for some time, put in a bid of " hit
tee ” for an old dilapidated washstand.
“Two bits—do I hear the three?” shout
ed the auctioneer.
There was a long pause, broken at last
by the Chinaman bidding again :
“ Tree bittce.”
The crowd laughed at the Celestial for
raising his own bid, and the auctioneer
taking in the situation, sang out:
“ Three bittee—do I hear the four?” and
looked over at John.
There was another long pause, but at last
4 Fo bittee ’’came from the Chinaman, and
a roar of laughter went up, in which even
a number of old women joined so heartily
as to almost shake their false teeth out.
Still the auctioneer held on to the wash
stand, and the Chinaman determined to se
cure it, bid five, six.|seven, eight 44 bittee ”
successively, and it was finally passed over
to him for a dollar, lie received it with a
smile of awful dimensions, remarking :
44 Me ketchec washstand, you betce—
heap cheapee.”
A Cash Transaction.
A Detroit man hired a boy to walk home
beside him and carry a bundle, having first
agreed to pay the lad 15 cents. Reaching
the house, the man found he had no small
er change than a quarter, and he said :
“ If you will call at my office at 2 o'clock
I'll have the change.”
“ But it was to be cash down,” protest
ed the boy.
“ So it was ; but l haven't the change,
you see. You'll have to call at my office.”
“ I'll call." growled the boy, as he turn
ed away ; “ but I know just how it will
work. When 1 knock at the door a cross
eyed clerk will yank it open, ask me what
I want, and when I tell him he will yell
out: “ That man went into bankruptcy
last September, and now you git !” That
is the way they alius play it on me, sir,
and I druther lose the 15 cents than to call
the clerk a dodo, .and have to dodge coal
scuttles all the way down stairs.”
The gentleman walked with him to the
nearest grocery and made change.
HARTWELL, GA„ WEDNESDAY, JULY J 1877.
Com mil ii ten t lon.
In your last issue, there appears a com
munication over the signature of one “M.,”
to which we have this to say : In our com
munication, following one from him from
Bay's district, we made no reply to his ar
ticle. but merely as a matter of informa
tion to the good people of this Cbunty,
gave them a few indisputable facts regard
ing the Singer Manufacturing Company to
correct, as we thought, the impressions
that might grow out of his violent denun
ciation of that Company made by him in
that communication. *’
The unwarranted attack that lie is en
deavoring to make on us in his “ last chap
ter from Moses," wo shall not reply to,
but will treat it with that silence tiiat all
good people should do to idle newspaper
scribblers, who want to get up newspaper
controversies from which no good can re
sult.
We have lived long enough in this
Comity to be pretty well known, and are
perfectly willing for the people to take us
for just what we are worth and no more,
without any effort on our part to contro
vert the impression endeavored to be raised
by “M.” in his last letter. His first ar
ticle from Bay’s, was an attack on the
Singer Company, v pieh in a courteous
manner we laid dowisteertain facts concern
ing the Company, to show his mistake in
using those very harsh words in that ar
ticle.
Ilis second communication was an attack
on ourselves principally, and also a denun
ciation of the same Company; in reply to
which article, we merely quoted from the
poet what we thought an apt comparison,
and we shall now leave him battling with
that “frog of .Esop,” from a similarity of
whose fate his danglrs are much nearer
tlian ours would be, in collecting an hon
est debt from a fraudulent debtor who,
after giving his note and a lien on a sewing
machine, seeks through his attorney, to get
rid of the same by an action of trover.
Now with regard toKlie sewing machines :
It is true that the Batcliclder patent ex
pired on the Bth of May, 1877, but some
time before that the Singer Manufacturing
Company reduced the prices of machines
a little. ’This Company, and several others,
some years since found that the large roy
alty which they had to pay for the use of
the Batchelder patent would compel them
to increase the price of machines, and in
! order to ohviaAc-uuch' . course they cotn-
I billed together and purchased the patent at
'an immense cost, and continued to sell at
i the old prices. The Batchelder patent is
by no means the only one which has been
used by machine companies and upon
which they pay large royalties, and which
I other patents have not expired and will
not for several years to come, and which
i are equally as important to the machine as
I the Batchelder. These patents now run
! ning on other parts of the machine prevent
any one else from making and selling them,
and also show that the Batchelder patent
had but very little to do with the slight re
duction in price. The Singer Company is
simply a manufacturing company ; and has
never made more than a manufacturer’s
profit on their goods; but it. and all other
companies of this kind, that have done
business in the South, have lost money on
that portion of their business, because of
the enormous taxes (SSOO special, one per
cent, of gross sales, whether good or bad,
advalorem taxes for State and County, and
special and other city taxes), also the ex
pense of selling in the Soutli on account of
large territory and sparsely settled coun
try, as well as the losses from bad debts,
&c., have all caused them to lose money
on this part of their trade.
The machines which used to sell for S7O,
SBO and SBS, time, now sell for $45, SSO and
SOO, time, and $35, S4O and SSO, cash—ex
tra attachments not included in either
price, which were formerly included, thus
showing that there has not been the great
deduction, as claimed by some, over the
old prices.
A good test of the fairness of their busi
ness, and that they have given value re
ceived for what they sell, would be right
at home from persons using the machine.
There are in use in Hart County at least
100 of these machines, and if they were an
imposition or a fraud, there would be a
tremendous cry from all parts of the land
to that effect, but we have not yet seen the
first man, woman or child who fail to say
that this is not the best and cheapest ma
chine, and one they would not be without
for three times the cost; they also unite
in saying that this Company gives the easi
est terms for paying their indebtedness of
any corporation or individual in the land.
Last year the sales of the Singer were
202.31 ( machines in the United States, and
that of all other companies combined,
being some 12 or 15, amounted to 54,000
machines, thereby showing that this is
comparatively the only machine in use.
\Ve could go on indefinitely to bring the
proofs in justification of our position,
which is, that the Singer Company is no
fraudulent concern, neither is it "vampire
like going over the country, pouncing upon
the citizens and preparing to sacrifice what
little property they have accumulated by
hard toil and industry,” but is as fair, and
honest, and legitimate a business as that
of any individual, merchant, or farmer, in
Hart County. C. W. Seidel.
Tiie Oame or I,lf.
Man's life is a game of cards. First, it
is a “cribbage.” Next he tries to “go it
alone ” at a sort of a cut, shuffle and deal
I pace. Then he “ gambols on the green.”
Then he “ raises ” the “deuce ” when his
mother “ takes a hand in ” and, contrary to
j Hoyle, “beats the little joker with her
j five.” Then, with his “diamonds” he
,“wins” the “ queen of hearts.” Tired
of 44 playing a lone hand,” he expresses a
desire to “ assist ” his fair “ partner,”
“ throws out his cards,” mid tho clergyman
takes a $lO bill out of him “on a pair.”
She “ orders him up ” to build a lire.
Like “ knave ” he joins the “ clubs,” where
he often gets “ high.” which is “ low ” too.
If he keeps “straight” lie is oftentimes
“flush.” He grows old and “bluff,” sees
a “deal” of trouble when at last he
“shulfles” ofl’liis mortal coil, and "pass
es in his checks.” As ho is “ raked in ’’
by a “ spade.” life's fitful "game ” is end
ed, and lie waits the summons of Gabriel’s
“ trump” which shall “'order up.”— Ex.
A lilt ol Ilnrrlnl IA |cr 1,-ii<-|
1 married my wife about thirty-five years
ago. The ceremony was performed about
seven o'clock in tho morning. Before re
tiring that evening wo had a good talk with
each other, and tho result sweetened our
entire lives. We agreed with each other
that each should always be watchful and
careful never, by word or act to hurt the
feelings of the other. We were both young,
both hot-tempered, both positive m our
likes and dislikes, both somewhat exacting
and inflexible—just the material for a life
of conjugal warfare. Well, for a few years
we found it very hard work to live by our
agreement. Occasionally a word or a look
would slip oil’ the tongue or face before it
could be caught or suppressed; but we
never allowed the sun to go down upon our
wrath. Before retiring at night on such
occasions there was always confessions and
forgiveness, and the culprit would be more
careful in future. Our tempers and dispo
sitions became more and more congenial,
so after a few years wo became one in real
ity, as the marital ceremony had pronounc
ed us nominally. In thinking back, we
find that for more than twenty years our
little agreement has been unbroken, ami
that there has been no occasion for confes
sion or forgiveness.
In business we have had adversity and
failure and success. We have raised a fam
ily of children and have our grandchildren
about ns ; and we are simple enough to be
lieve that our grandchildren have been
made better by our little agreement. Un
der such a contract religiously kept, no ill
natured children will be reared and no boys
will tind the bar-rooms more pleasant than
home.
To make a good wife or a good husband
requires the co-operation of both. Some
women are more dexterous than others in
changing the nature of a morose, ill-tem
pered man. This power seems to be a
gift rather the result of early culture, pos
sessed only by few. Asa general rule,
such a temper persisted in by a husband,
will either heget a like temper in the wife,
or else she will silently submit to what she
cannot help.
A linn Wlio A over Nmv a Woman.
A Chinese who had been disappointed
in marriage, and had grievously suffered
through women in many other ways, re
tired with his infant son to the peaks of a
mountain range in Kweichoo; to a spot
quite inaccessible to little-footed Chinese
women.
He trained his boy to worship the gods
and stand in abhorrence and awe of the
devils ; but he never mentioned women to
him, always descending the mountain alone
to buy food.
At length, however, the infirmities of
age compelled him to take the young
man with him to carry the heavy bag of
rice.
As they were leaving the market town
together, the son suddenly stopped short,
and, pointing to three approaching objects,
cried :
44 Father, what are those things? Look 1
look ! what are they ?”
The father instantly answered, with per
emptory firmness :
"Turn away vonr head ; they are devils,
I tell ye !”
The son in some alarm, turned away,
seeing that the evil things were gazing at
him with surprise from behind their fans.
lie walked to the mountain in silence,
ate no supper, from that day lost his appe
tite, and was afflicted with melancholy.
For some time his puzzled and anxious
parent could get no satisfactory answer to
liis inquiries, but at length the young man
burst out, crying with inexplicable pain :
“ Oh father, that tallest devil—that tall
est devil, father.”
lie ('nine Hark.
A story is told of Gov. Duval, of Flor
ida, which will never wear out. He was
the son of a “ poor white” in Virginia, a
stern, strong taciturn man, the boy, a huge
youth of fifteen. At the cabin fire, at bed
time, according to the custom of putting
on a back-log, the old man said, between
whiffs of his silent pipe—“ 'fab,” (the
boy’s nickname) “go out and bring in that
gum back log and put it on the fire.”
'J ab went out and surveyed the log. He
knew it was no use explaining that it was
too heavy, nor prudent fi>r him to return
without having it on his shoulder. His
little sister passing, was not surprised that
he requested her to bring him out the gun
and powder-horn, as a ’possom or coon
might have passed, or the brother might
have seen near signs. She brought the
gun and Tab started. He found his way
through the woods into Kentucky—this
was about 1791—whence some years after
he was elected to Congress. After an ab
sence of eight years, then a man of im
mense size and strength, long given up as
slain by a bear, he started for Washington
by way of his old home, to see the folks.
Entering the little cabin yard near bed
time, he saw the identical gum log. He
shouldered it, pulled the latch string, and
with his load stood before the old man,
pipe in mouth, and quiet as usual. “ Here
is the back log, father!” “Better late
than never—put it on the fire and go to
bed.”
SPOKE A MOMENT TOO LATE.
Portland Transcript.
BY FREDERICK 11 ASTI NOS.
Arriving one day, a few years ago. at
Annapolis in Nova Scotia, I wished with
several other friends, to cross the penin
sula. We hired two vehicles for the jour
ney of seventy miles. Six of our number
rode in the larger two-horse vehicle, and
two in the smaller, one-horse trap of old
Tomkins, the carrier of her Majesty's
mails. Old Tomkins led the way at llrst,
until his horse becoming weary, lie was
obliged to drop behind, lie told us to go
ahead, but said, “ Don’t leave me too far.”
On we went, hut he could not keep up.
Wo found ourselves at eleven o'clock at
night waiting in a dense wood for him to
come up. One or two went back to find
him. After an hour's detention he came
up. Wo then learned that one of the
hinder wheels had come oil', owing to the
loss of the 1 inch-pin. The old man had
put tho wheel in tno cart. He then fast
ened by cords (of which he always carried
a good supply) a young larch tree, cut
from the forest, in such a way that, trailing
behind, it kept the vehicle from upsetting.
We had to relieve him of his passengers
and drive on. Ere we reached the ruilo
inti where we were to stop that night, the
driver of our vehicle gave us some account
of Old Tomkins. It seems that for many
years he had carried the mails, and was
known ns a strong, determined old man.
lie prided himself on never breaking his
word, lie was a very stern husband ami
father. One day lie went home much
earlier than usual and, because his dinner
was not ready, lie began to upbraid his wife.
She answered him warmly and he went out,
saving: “I'll never speak to you again?”
and said the driver, “he has kept his
word.” •
“ 1 suppose ;ho does not live with liis
wife, now?”
“ Yes, they live together just the same,
but lie never speaks to her.”
“ What, not at table?”
“No. He does not even say 4 How are
you ’ when lie comes home, or 4 Good
night ’ when ho lies down by her side in
bed.”
44 Has he then learned tho dumb alpha
bet and does he communicate his wishes by
linger signal ?”
44 No, lie has a slate hanging by the fire
side, on which ho writes his wants and
wishes. If he desires to have meat, or
any article of apparel, or wishes to tell
her anything, lie writes it down and hands
it to her. Generally there is no need for
him to use the slate, as his wife anticipates
nearly all his wants, and he gives her a
certain allowance of money. He comes
and goes, time after time, and never opens
his mouth to her.”
NUMBER 45.
44 And how long has this lasted?”
“ About seventeen years.”
“ And has he any sons and daughters?”
“ Yes, and he speaks to them, but never
to their mother.”
“ How painful for them !”
“ Yes, and they have all gone wrong
through his treatment.”
44 Do you think he will preserve this re
solve to the end of life?”
“Most likely; and when lie is joked
about liis rash oath by others he only re
torts, ‘better no talking than incessant
quarreling.’ ”
The next morning we passed the house
of old Tomkins. It was a pleasant looking
wooden house, painted black with blue
shutters, 'flic old man baited and entered
for a few moments only. When lie came
back the driver said :
44 How’s the missus?”
“ All right.”
“ Has she gained her voice yet?”
“ Drive ahead, and don’t ask stupid
questions,” retorted old Tomkins. And
the old man gave a smart stroke with the
whip to his own poor horse and dashed
away.
Hi; would not speak again all that jour
ney to the driver of our vehicle and hardly
to any of our party.
+ + + * * + *
Returning to Annapolis after an absence
of several years, 1 made enquiries for the
old man. lie was still driving mails, but
his poor wife no longer lived. He went
home one day as lie passed, mid found her
lying very ill in bed, bis daughter told him
that the doctor had been there and said she
| could not recover.
The old man went into his wife’s bed
room, and standing by her bedside he
| gazed long and intently at her, Ihe strug
gle in his soul was severe. Should lie
break the long silence? He took at length
her hand in his. Still the silence was
maintained. The daughter sat with her
eyes fixed on her father, wondering at his
continued hardness.
After a quarter of an hour, (a very long
period under such circumstances) tho sink
ing woman said, 44 John, goodbye, I am
going.”
The old man went for his slate and be
gan writing something. He handed it to
her. She took it, but turned away, her
face overspread with unutterable anguish.
A few moments more of silence, then a
gurgling sound was heard. The daughter
hastened to lift her mother’s head. The
attempt was useless. Life was ebbing
rapidly. The old inan saw it and could
restrain no longer his tongue. He said,
44 Susan, I’m sorry for you.”
There was no sign that she heard.
44 I hope you'll lie better soon.”
Still no sign. The poor woman was fast
sinking now in death. Tomkins saw the
pallor gathering over her face. Now,
thoughts of old days rushed through his
mind and he said again, “ Susan, can I do
anything for you?”
She heard not the inquiry. In the sol
emn presence of death the old man bent
over her and cried, “ Susan, speak once
more !”
It was too late. The spirit had gone to
its Maker, and to old Tomkins, alas re
mained the bitter memory of his rash vow
and harsh treatment of a frail woman.
Another Problem.
Given an open field through which runs
a stream of water. A dog, 80 yards from
the stream, sights a fox 60 yards ahead and
gives chase. The fox runs for the stream,
crosses it, followed by the dog, and is
caught 200 yards on the other side. The
dog's speed in running is to the fox’s as 2
to 1, but the fox swims faster than the dog
as 3 to 2. What was the width of the
stream ?