Of Jobe Gaskins I know very little, unless it was he that came with the little girl.
In yesterday’s daily paper, however, I noticed this item:
“New Philadelphia, O., March 22, 1896.—Last night a supposed tramp entered the Canal Dover rolling-mill in an almost frozen condition and asked for shelter from the storm. In accordance with his instruction from the company, the night watchman ejected him. In the morning there was found a white-haired man, apparently sixty years of age, lying cold in death on the ash-heap. The initials ‘J. G.’ were marked on his shirt. His face was burned so that it scarcely looked like a human countenance. His feet and body were covered with ice and snow.
“The coroner’s jury, judging from the time the man was refused shelter in the mill and from the amount of snow on his feet and body, decided that he must have died between two and three o’clock the night before.”
Could this tramp, Mr. Editor, have been the old man who was trying to get back to his sick wife?
Hattie Moore.
P. S.—The rose-bush which I found pinned to poor Betsy’s skirt I have planted on her grave.
