I told him the people what owned the railroad was rich and wouldent care if he let a old man ride to Bayard. “No,” says he, “you must git off at Bedford. Ime not permitted to carry you.” Well, when they got to Bedford I jist sot still, thinkin he might forgit me. But when he come in I saw he was mad. He rang the bell, and the train stopped; then him and the brakesman come and took hold of me and dragged me out of that train, and when they got me out they give me a shove, jumped into the train, rang the bell and went. [Illustration: “He teched me on the shoulder.”] They shoved me so hard that I fell down and struck my knee agin a big iron pin that laid beside the track, and hurt it so bad that I can hardly walk. Then I come on till I got to Hudson; then I got onto a freight train between two cars and rode to Cuyahoga Falls; there they arrested me for it and was a goin to send me to the work-house agin. But when I told them all they let me go if I would agree to git out of town in thirty minits. They went through all my pockets, to see if I had any money, before they told me that. I got out, and now I am walkin. I will git there as soon as I can. The soles are off my boots, and my feet are wet nearly all the time. Hopin this will find you better, I am your lovin husband, JOBE GASKINS. [Illustration: “I got onto a freight train.”] CHAPTER XLIII. A FAMILY REUNION. TUSCARAWAS COUNTY POOR-HOUSE, NEAR NEW PHILADELPHIA, O., March 25, 1896. MR. EDITOR:—Your letter asking more about Betsy Gaskins received. I will tell you all I know. Whether Betsy Gaskins is living or dead I cannot say, and I never will know, though what I do know I never can forget. The strange things I have seen since I last wrote you are mysteries that can only be guessed at; they cannot be solved. Betsy had been growing worse every day till the night of that terrible storm. The rain and sleet and snow, the wind and hail, made it one of the most dismal nights I ever saw. The roaring in the woods on the hill back of the poor-house sounded like a storm on the ocean. In every direction cattle and sheep were bawling. It was so cold, and the noise, I suppose, kept them awake. That night Betsy was worse. She had smothering spells that it seemed she would die in, and her suffering was terrible. I couldn’t leave her, though my baby was fretful and kept awake till after ten o’clock. I was with her almost all the time. I had let the window down from the top to let in fresh air, as she seemed to need it. I had no light except what came in over the transom of the door from the hall. It was about two o’clock that I was sitting there all alone. Betsy seemed to be getting worse very fast.