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men, and how they had gone into the store, and just
after nightfall were to meet, coming from oppo
site directions, in the thicket-at the turn of the
road, the old woman grew rigid as she glated fit
hen
“An* did yOn know what dat itteail? Did you
kiioW who dat dey talkin * ’bout? No, ho! you prec
ious lamb!’’ she cried) snatching the child to het
bosotth “Yoh innocent) Weanlin’ lamb!” And
then she fell into silence so stern and
unapproachable that Polly ate her bread and
milk ahd fell asleep wondering and shuddering at
the recollection of the two men, and listening for the
fall of the horse’s hoofs, as the dusk deepened into
night and the Stars came out, and still Joe had not
returned.
Aunt Betty went to the door, then she walked
out to the road, where she looked up and down, and
listened, It was three miles to Graham’s, Mr. Hol
leman Would hardly be back under an hour yet.
Joe Was but a boy when he should come, If only
there Were some man she could trust for “sense and
jedgment, ’’ as she put it. As for Pete Nowell she
Would as soon have thought of looking to Polly in
such extremity, for all the respect she had for that
gentleman’s courage and ability. She went back:
and sat down on the door step. A light was burning
on Cherry Mountain. “Some more o’ dem doin’s
over dar,” she muttered. “It don’t bode no good
to somebody, whatever ’t is.” She called to mind
how the Widow Barton’s son had been taken for a
revenue man and shot, and Squire Doolittle when
getting too close on the trail of some illicit work
had disappeared, spirited away off the high road
at midday, and old Cowhorn—“But he warn’t noth
in’ but buckra,” she had said at the time, turning
a stony heart to the “buckra” wife and children,
as “the quality” negroes never failed to do. Jkt
the sharp crack of a rifle she started, alert like some
wild animal. The cry of a screech-owl had been the
only sound that broke the stillness. As the old
woman sat stiff and motionless with ear and eye
straining into the night, she felt Polly at her side.
The child had risen and dressed herself, even to
her beloved poke-bonnet. She shuddered as she sat
down on the step at her feet and clasped the faith
ful knees with clinging arms. “They said they
would kill him—the man with the money!” she
whispered, as fear quivered through her form.
Two horsemen w’ere approaching slowly, their
steeds walking, and neither rider making speech or
sound. As they emerged from the darkness and
their shadows took shape a most violent shaking
seized Polly. “It’s those men!” she gasped, under
her breath.
“Set still, chile!” said Aunt Betty, and rising
she sat down again, allowing the folds of her
voluminous cotton dress and apron completely to
envelop the little figure on the step. The two
horsemen stopped at the rack, and presently were
coming toward the house. As they advanced she
sat still, waiting, her hand touching that part of
her dress which covered Polly’s head.
“Why Betty, what in the world?” said the doc
tor’s voice.
“Lawd, Marse Audley, is dat you?” She had
been brave and fierce enough to meet any enemy
that might come, but at the sound of her master’s
voice she was weak as water. A poke-bonnet peer
ed out from under her skirts, and Polly struggled
forth.
“Polly! My little Polly! What can all this
mean?” said the doctor ift increasing amazement.
“But of that you can tell me later—it is enough
to see you well and safe. Betty, I must have some
refreshment at once, and this gentleman with me.
We must push right on. I expected Graham—is
be here? We must all three reach home to-night.”
“Well, I reckon not to-night, Marse Audley,”
said Aunt Betty, a little dryly. Fear having taken
something from her dignity, it was ready to reas
sert itself. “How did you yet here nohow—dat’s
what I want to know?”
“Came around the other way, by Glenn’s Mill,”
he answered, impatiently. “And there is no time
to lose—this man has an appointment some miles
on.”
Then she told him what Polly had overheard, t
and of the men then lying in wait in the thicket
The Golden Age for September 13, IDOG.
at the turn of the road) and Dolly described thettt
both, the tall and the short One, and the horses
they rbde—the oiie a dark bay, the other a gray.
The doctor and his companion looked at each other,
but drew aside as Graham, Holleman and Joe rode
up and joined them. After a short consultation
the doctor returned to where Aunt Betty and Polly
were still sitting,
“We will go on at once,” he said. “This man
with mo is a United States officer, and will have
business with those two men. He was expecting
to come on them ten miles further on. Holleman
and Graham will go with us.”
“Now, Maise Audley, es de good Lawd done spar
ed yer out o’ the han’ o’ de enemy once dis night,
dey ain’t no use in yo’ runnin’ ’im down, kase I
take if, Graham or Holleman ain’t neither one the
jawbone of an ass with which you gwine slew dem
Philistine. You gwine git kilt, dat’s what you
is!”
At this Polly clung to her father, and began to
sob convulsively. The truth was dawning upon her.
“Oh, father, let me go, too!” she cried. “I must
go—l will go!”
Without a word the doctor turned to his' son.
“Joe,” he said, “hitch the roan colt to Holleman’s
buggy and bring Polly and Aunt Betty. We will
all get home by midnight. We will wait for yon
just beyond the thicket at the turn of the road.”
And the four rode quietly away.
Joe’s disappointment at being thus left behind
made none the less quick his movements in getting
the horse to the buggy, and bundling Aunt Betty
and Polly in he seized the whip grumbling, “The
two worst men on Cherry Mountain caught right
here, and me left to take care of nurses and ba
bies! Golly! if I could get there!” and laying on
the lash at every step.
As they came within a few yards of the thicket
some one was coming back to meet them. It was
the doctor. He reined up beside the buggy and
took Polly in his arms, crushing the poke-bonnet
tight against his breast; then saying simply, “She
will ride with me,” rode ahead to where there were
five men instead of three awaiting him.
“Lawd!” mumbled Aunt Betty, “Jes’ sposin’ I
hadn’t er brung dat child! Whar’d Marse Audley
er been now?” —Florence L. Tucker.
Meeting of Methodist Superintendents
at Trinity Church, Atlanta.
An event of inestimable importance to the Sun
day Schools of the Methodist Church was the recent
meeting of the Superintendents of the various Sun
day Schools of the North Georgia Conference. There
were more than two hundred Superintendents pres
ent and the meeting developed into a sort of In
stitute in which the fundamentals of Sunday School
work were taught in the most approved and practi
cal manner. The proper conduct of a Sunday school
is a matter of vital importance to any denomination,
as the work done therein should inchide more than
mere Bible study and should reach the very founda
tion of the faith from both a spiritual and practical
point of view. That this cannot be reached save
through the most persistent effort, together with
various lines of experience, has long been accepted,
but reforms in Sunday School work are slow and
often the results reached are discouraging.
In the meeting just had, however, the speakers
were of a class who were in position to offer help
ful hints, practical suggestions and valuable instruc
tion to Sunday School workers. There were a large
number of these workers present and the programs
of the different meetings would form almost a com
pendium for Sunday School management and or
ganization if the addresses were compiled and
printed.
Prof. H. M. Hamil, D.D., Superintendent of train
ing work of the M. E. Church, South, conducted the
meeting and addressed the rallv on the following
subjects: “What the Sunday School is doing for
Methodism;” “How to Organize and Grade a Sun
day School;” “A Half Hour with Christ;” “The
Synoptic Gospels;” “Co-operation of Pastor and
Superintendent.” Dr. Hamil also led the Rural
Sunday School Conference, while Mrs. Hamil gave
a helpful and delightful talk on * ‘The Superintend
ent and the Primary Department.”
Other speakers were Rev. S. S. Belk, Mr. J. B.
Green, John R. Pepper, M. M. Davies and John D.
Walker. Prof. A. C. Boatman of Wesley Memorial
Sunday School led the song services which added
much to the impressiveness of the meetings.
The visiting delegates to the “Rally” numbered
about 200 and in addition to the meetings mention
ed there were social diversions prepared for them
by the citizens of Atlanta and of Decatur.
It is believed that the occasion will prove prac
tically helpful to all who were fortunate enough
to be in attendance.
Father Cummings, once superintendent of the
Little Wanderers’ Home, attended a watch-night
service and closed his testimony by saying: “It
may be but a month longer that I shall be here,
perhaps a week, or even before the close of another
day I may be gone.” He had hardly seated himself
when a young man in the back of the vestry start
ed the old song, “Oh, why do you wait, dear broth
er, oh, why do you tarry so long?”
Rather unusual maneuvering in the line of con
versational strategy is illustrated by the following
incident:
A lady, sending a green servant to answer the
doorbell, said: “If anybody asks if I am in, give
an evasive answer.” The servant scon returned.
“Who was it?” asked the mistress. “A gentleman
who wanted to see you. ma’am, and 1 gave him an
evasive answer.” “What did you say?” “I ask
ed him if his grandmother was a monkey?”
• "*
After paying attention to a lady’s pet lap-dog',
a gentleman asked its name. “I call the dear crea
ture ‘Perchance,’ ” she answered. “Surely a
strange name for your delightful pet, ma’am.”'
“D’yon think so, really? 1 named it after Byron’s
dog. Don’t you remember wrere he says, ‘Per
chance the dog will howl’?”—Selected.
“Is there anything you don’t need that 1 might
take?” asked the slovenly old junk man, watching
Subbubs packing his goods on the moving van.
“Yes,” snapped Subbubs, “a bath.”
Such a Grandfather.—A young man was being
examined by a life insurance official as to his fam
ily record. Among other questions the following
was asked: “Os what did your grandfather die?”
The applicant hesitated a few moments, and then
stammered out: “I-I’m not sure, bur I think he
died in infancy.”—Lippincott’s Magazine.
Properly Pious.— Pious propriety reached high
tide in the case of a man who was about to under
go an operation for appendicitis, and he declared
that he did not want the operation performed until
his pastor could be present.
“Why do you want your pastor present?” asked
the physician.
“Because I wish to be opened with prayer,” was
the reply.—Lippincott’s Magazine.
Her Contribution.— Visiting Philanthropist: Good
morning-, madam. I am collecting for the Drunk
ards’ Horne. Mrs. McGuire: Shure, I’m glad of it,
sor. If ye come around tonight yez can take my
husband.—Harper’s Week Iy.
The Last Plea— Last summer there died ar
\\ ashington a lawyer who for many years bad shock
ed a large number of his friends bv his rather lib
eral views touching religion, according to Harper’s
Weekly.
A friend of the deceased, who cut short a Cana
dian trip to hurry back to Washington for the
purpose of attending the last rites of his colleague,
entered the late lawyer’s home some minutes after
the .beginning of the service.
“What part of the service is this?” he inquired
in a whisper of another legal friend standing in
the crowded hallway.
“I’ve just come myself,” said the other, “but
I believe they’ve opened for the defease.”
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