Newspaper Page Text
VOL. XXVII.
dads Count]) |lctos.
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY.
OFFICE IN NEWS BUILDING,
BLAKELY, GEORGIA.
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Hereafter, all l<*gal advertisements must be paid for
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A. J. & W- W. FLEMING, JR.,
Editors and Publishers.
County Directory:
StPF.tUOB Couht.—Hou. Jikk T. Clarke, Judge. J.
11. Gtterry, Solicitor General. J. W. Alexander, Clerk.
1,. E. Black, Sheriff, lleg ular term, Ist Mouday in
April and October.
CouitT or Ordinart.— Thomas Henderson, Ordina
ry. Regular meeting, Ist Monday in each month.
County Commissioners.— H. C, Fryer, T. M. How
ard, W. C. Sheffield, It. IF. Bauier, J. L. Harris. lteg»
ular meeting Ist Tuesday in each mouth.
County Treasurer—ll. H. Buchanan,
Tax Collector—T. G. Johnson.
Tax Receiver—l». B. Taylor.
Coroner—James Butler.
Town Council of Blakely:
Chairman—R. H. Powell.
Aldermen—H. C. Fryer, T. M. Howard, W. A. Mc-
Dowell, A. J. Singletary.
Clerk and Treasurer —J. J. Smith.
Marihal— J. C. Chancy.
" BUSINESS DIBEOTORYr
R. II SHEFFIELD,
ATTORNEY AT LAW
AND REAL ESTATE AGENT. AH business will
receive prompt attention. Office in northwest
room of Court House,
lilukely, Ga., June 3,188 G.
Dr. T. M. HOWARD,
Dentist & Physician,
Blakely, - Georgia.
~ E(l.l7fryer,
PROPRIETOR OF
TIVERY, SALE & FEED STABLES, northenst cor-
J nor of public square. Best teams Ht lowest prices.
Ample accommodation to Traveling Salesmen. Atten
tive hostlers. Give him a trial.
Blakely, Ga., September 3, 1885. ly.
B. H. ROBINSON,
DEALER IN
General merchandise, comcß to the front
with one of the ino.st varied and best assorted
Stocks of Dry Goods, Groceries, Clothing, Boots,
Shoes, Hats, Hardware, tc., to be found m Blakely.
Htore one door north of News office. Try him.
September 3, 1885. ly.
Mrs. A. Y TIIOM PS ON,
MILLINER,
HAS JUST received her Spring A Summer Stock nf
Millinery Goods, and is uow prepared to accom
modate her customers with latest stylos of goods in
her Hue, at prices that defy competition. Store m the
Bass building, northwest corner of public square.
Blakely, Ga., September 8, 1885. ly.
S. H. POWELL, Agent,
DEALER IN
DRY GOODS, Notions, Groceries, Shoes, Toilet
Goods, Tinware, Glassware, Woodwarc and Wil
low-ware. Stock kept constantly replenished with
choice goods. Store on southwest corner of public
S<l ßPvkely, Ga., September, 3, 1885. ly.
SMITH & JAMES,
DEALERS IN
DRY GOODS, Groceries, Hardware, Notions, Cloth
ing Boots, Shoes, Hat s and General Merchandise
of all sorts, Stock kept up to the highest standard by
constant addition of fresh goods. Store on west side
Malt! Street.
Blakely, Ga., Sept. 3,1880. lj.
Dr. W. B. STANDI FEB.
PHYSICIAN fc APOTHECARY,
TENDERS Ills professional services to the public.
Prescriptions carefully compounded, and calls at
tended promptly day or niglit. Office cast side of the
Public Square, Blakely, Ga.
September 3, 1885. ly __ __
J. H. BUTLER,
AGENT FOR THE
ORDER DEPARTMENT of John Wanamakor’s
nothing House, Philadelphia. Spring & Hummer
nampies Just received, and he is now ready to take
orders. Suits guaranteed to fit. Headquartera at
H. C. Fryer & Son’s Store.
Dlekely, Ga., September 3,1885. ly»
"aL. BUSH,
BLACKSMITH,
GUNSMITH and Wood-workman. Will do all Work
left with him ill first-class style. Horse-shoeing
also done. Prices very low. A liberal share of the
public patronage solicited, Shop on west side of Cuth
bert Street. ,
Blakely, Ga., Sept, 3, 188.1. ly,
Will. \7 JORDAN,
attorney at law,
Wtt t PRACTICE in all the courts of the Pataula
circuit 'Collections made a specialty. Office in
the Court House.
Blakely, Ga,. April Btb, 18So. ly.
€arlfl CrnratD Jta.
T® AiLtL U M® PAY ration M@(R3[l©‘7 ®H ©MU Y@&D AKH 030©Klir™TO[5RO
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This powder never varies. A marvel of purity,
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the ordinary kinds, ai d cannot be Pold in competitioh
with the multitude of low’ test, short weight alum or
phosphate powders. Sold only in cans. Bo*al Bak
ing Powder Co., 10t> Wall street, New York.
Land for Sale.
TIIE UNDERSIGNED is offering for
sale Lots of Land Nos. 255 and 2GC,
in the sth District of Early county, embrac
ing the plantation known as the Hutchins,
or Barksdale place. There are on the place
about 150 acres of cleared land, which has
been lying out for several years. The fenc
ing and buildings on the place nre very in
ferior, except the dwelling, which is a good
double pen hewed log house. The location
is one of the rrost healthful in Southwest
Georgia. For further particulars inquire
of the undersigned.
\V. W. FLEMING, Trustee.
Blakely, Ga.. Oct. IG, 1884.
CLIIUCMAN’S
Tobacco
REMEDIES
the.
THE MOST KFFFOTIVE PH KPAR A
TION on the market for Piles. A .SURE (TK K
fur Itching Piles. Has never failed to give
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worms, Pimples, Sores and Boils. Price 50 ct*.
THE CLINGMAN TOBACCO CAKE
NATURE’S OWN RU.MEOY, tares nil
Wounds Outs, Bruises. Sprains, Erysipelas, Boils,
Carbuncles. Bone Felons, Ulcers, bores. Bore Eyes,
Sore Throat Bunions.Ooms, Neuralgia. Rheumatism,
Orchitis. Gout. Rheumatic Gout. Colds, Coughs,
Bronchitis, Milk Leg, Snake and Dog Bites. Stings
of Insects, &o. In fact allays all local Irritation atid
Inflammation from whatever cause. Price Mb cts.
THE CLINGEMAN TOBACCO PLASTER
Ingredients, compounded with the purest
Tobacco Flour, and is specially recommended for
Croup. Weed or Cake of the Breast, and for that class
of irritant or inflammatory maladies. Aches and
Pains where, from too delicate a state of the system,
the patient is unable to bear the stronger application
of the Tobacco Cake. For Head&phe or other Aches
and Pains, it is invaluable. Price 15 cts.
Ask your druggist for these remedies, or write to the
CLINGMAN TOBACCO CURE CO.
DURHAM, M. C., U. S. A.
~ HOOD^
Liver Medicine.
A perfect, faultless family medicine* gain
ing in popularity every day by its well de
served merit. A preparation that challeng
es anything ever prepared for the common
ills of life, and the moderate use of which
will insure you perfect health and immuni
ty from sickness. Medicine is no science,
you know; only a oonlectural art. But
llood’s EUREKA will always cure; and is
the successful part,
M. 1). HOOD & CO.,
COLUMBUS, GA.,
lv£an.\ifsLctvi.rers.
oct 22 ly
Road Notice.
GEORGIA—EARLY COUNTY;
Clerk’s Office, Commissioner’s CcUrt.
ALL PERSONS interested nre hereby
notified that, if no good cause be shown
to the contrary, an order will he granted
by said court, on.tlie first Tuesday in Sep
tember next, establishing a new road, as
marked out by the road commissioners, com
mencing where the Columbia and Blakely
road crosses the east line of lot of land So.
348 in the 28th district of said county, and
running a due northerly direction to the res
idence of 11. 11. Brooks, thence to the Blake
ly and Chancy mill road, thence cast along
said road passing the plantation of B. Chan
ey, thence -north to Washington Nobles’,
thence to the five mile post on the Fort
Gaines and Blakely road, thence to Cain’s
bridge, passing the residences of John Hud
speth, 11. J. Hayes and Dr. J. J. King.
Bv order of said court, this August 3d, 1880.
3 J. W. ALEXANDER, Clerk.
BLAKELY, GA., THURSDAY EVENING, AUGUST 19, 1880.
KEDIVIVUS.
[Helen T, Clark in Frank Leslie's.}
The furnishings of a back bed-room in a
third-rate city boarding house are not spe
cially adapted to raising low spirits, par
ticularly on a drizzling March evening when
one’s wet skirts will cling around one’s
ankles, and there is a leak in one’s over
shoes.
Miss Rayburn opened the door of “Num
ber 7,” in Mrs. King’s shil by-genteel estab
lishment, lighted one dim, discouraging gas
jet, and, with a weary sigh, removed her
wet garments.
She had seen a ghost, and the weird im
pression had not yet worn off. In the glare
of Cariy & Arnabauld’s great dry goods
store it had stood face to luce with her, ns
she deftly spread out shining silks for a cus
tomer to choose from, and mechanically
named the prices. For only nn instant the
eyes of the specter had met her own with a
glance of surprised half recognition, then it
had passed on and out.
M iss Rayburn SHt down in her little cane
rocking chuir, and warmed her chilled hands
at the small stove which she had prevailed
on Mrs. King to let her liuve instead of a
register, Mrs. King, for “a consideration,’’
had consented; and even now the step of the
“slavey” was heard on the stairs, and a
scrawny, unkempt girl of 15 entered with a
bucket of coal. Miss Rayburn spoke kindly
to her. There was a dreary pity in her soul
just then for all womankind.
“Sumo day she will sec a ghost, tool Hea
ven help her!” thought Miss llayburn.
When the supper bell rang, she said to
herself: “I cannot go down to-night. I
thought I was hungry an hour ago, but
now—”. She shivered, and drew a little
shawl around her; then, with dull, hopeless
eyes, gazed into the coals.
Isabel Rayburn in a Newport cottage, and
Isabel Rayburn earning her own living, are
two vastly different beings,” she murmured,
with a curled lip. Was it only sis months
since she had visited Mrs. Gershom lleid in
her charming cottage? Only sis months
since she had said a laughing good bye to
Leonard Whitney, Mrs. R-fid's cousin?
“We shall meet in the city, of course,” lie
had said, smilingly, lifting It is hat from his
broad forehead, with its crown of curling
chestnut hair glinting in the September
sunlight,
“Well,” thought Miss Rayburn with an
ironical smile, “we have met in the city, it
seems.”
Perhaps her irony was misplaced, Per
haps she was unjust in thinking that Leon
ard Whitney should have recognized her in
such an unlikely spot as the rear of Carey &
Arnabauld’s counter. Perhaps he did not
know that her father had died and left her
penniless, and that in less than two months
from the day the gay party broke up at Mrs.
Reid’s cottage, the gayest member of it was
installed ns a “saleslady,” and well nigh
dropped hitter tears on the ricli fabrics which
it was her province to handle.
“Pshaw! What earthly difference it
make? lam out of that world lorever. I
am a bread-winner. If ‘labor riots’ should
take place in New York, I might even be
come one of the mob.”
She turned up the gas, and, drawing her
rocking chair under it, read the daily paper,
and tried to interest herfelf in politics until
drowsiness overcame her.
* * * *
Nest day, when Isabel went out for her
lunch, she saw the ghost again. Itstood on
the pavement, in front of Carey & Arna
bauld’s as if waiting for some one; walked
directly up to her, and spoke, not in sepul
chral tones, hut with a decided mundane
voice and manner.
“Miss Rayburn—lsabel. I surely am not
mistaken?”
The hat was lifted from the broad fore
head at the same angle as of yore, the chest
nut curls glintod in the sun, the freshly
gloved hand Was held out expectantly.
Miss Rayburn’s presence of mind did not
forsake her.
“You are not mistaken, Mr. Whitney,
but—things nre different with me now',” she
said, touching the kidded fingers with her
cheap gloves.
“So I see,” answered Mr. Whitney, nnd
with a quiet persistence moved along beside
her. “I thought I recognised you yesterday,
but feared to embarrass you by conversation
then. 1 beg you to let me join you in lunab,
ns I surmise that is what you arc going for.
Surely you will not refuse an old friend the
privilege,’* and a half pleading look came
into his brown eyes-
Miss Rayburn smiled, in spite of herself.
“Are you such a very old friend? I am
under the impression that I only met you
last summer?”
A wistful expression came into her face
momentarily, but she continued:
“You are very kind, Mr. Whitney, more
Lind than I can say; but under the circuui- (
stances, 1 cannot possibly accept your invi
tation.”
“Under the circumstances?” he repeated,
slowly. Ido not quite understand. Why
should you be averse to —”
“Simply for this reason, Mr. Whitney, in
terrupted his companion. “I am an orphan,
without a penny except what I earn. Fol‘
several months I have been out of the gay
world—out of existence, socially speaking.
I must fight my own battles, win my own
way, in a treadmill occupation, nnd neither
expect ncr accept civilities from the people
with whom I mingled six months ago.”
If the girl had known it, she was infinite
ly more attractive to Leonard TV hitnoy at
that moment, in her proud yet mournlul in
dependence, than at any time during the
previous summer; yet be felt that her mood
must be respected. lie bowed gravely.
At lenst you will give me your address,
and allow- me to call. There is no reason
why you should object, unless my presence
should he distasteful to you per se.”
Isabel thought of Mrs. King’s parlor, with
its slippery sofa, Its hideous worsted-work
flowers under a glass case, Its tawdry cur
tains, its spindle-legged piano, from which
all harmony had been successfully ravished
by relays of young women boarders, and
laughed iuwardly at the thought of enter
taining the elegant Leonard Whitney there
in.'
“If you will insist on it—but, oh, dear!
you will find it so utterly different from oth
er places where you call!”
“I shall manage to survive the surround
ings. The permission is all I want.”
It is needless to say that he obtained it.
* * * *
“Will he come?” thought Isabel Rayburn,
skeptically. “If I could spare ten cents 1
might buy a small bunch of daisies at the
florist’s and question the petals, like Faust's
Gretehen. He will forget in twenty four
hours that he met mo.”
Whether Mr. Whitney fulfilled this pre
diction, the reader may judge. When Miss
Rayburn opened her door that night, an ex
quisite breath of holeotrope and roses greet
od her, and lo! on the little pine table, with
its coarsely fringed cotton cover, stood two
dainty pots of blooming flowers, and near
them a card bearing these words:
“Remember the etymology of the smaller
flower, and imitate its spirit. Behind the
clouds fia-thesun still shining. L. W.”
Miss Rayburn's weury eyes filled with
tears at this graceful reinemtjrance.
“lie will come,” she said softly. “A com
mon man would have sent baskets, which
would have withered in two days. He
knew that l would tend these plants, and
that they would become like living friends
to me.”
She did not shrink from going down to
tea that night. A kind act had transformed
her narrow world, and her pleasure was ra
diated on her fellow boarders; on tired,
drooping-mouthed, melancholy Mrs. King;
on the thin, grimy “slavey” whom Miss Ray
burn always compured mentally to Dick
Swiveller’a Marchioness, though her real
name was Mary Mnhala Higgins.
A few evenings later, Isabel, dressed in a
blue flannel wrapper, with her heavy hair
unbound and resting loosely in a net, sat be
side her pine table, engaged in the prosaic
tnsk of making out a laundry list. As she
glanced at her fragrant little treasures she
caressed then dainty little leaves, and spoke
loving words as if they were sentient crea
tures—and who can proye that they were
not. In the science of to day we learn that
there is no true dividing line between bloom
and breath.
“My pets! He was so good to send you to
me. lie will surely come-—and soon, 1 hope,
so I may thank him.” E"en as she spoke,
the grimy fingers of Mary Mahula were tap
ping at her door.
“A gentleman to see you in the parlor,
mum. Here’s his ticket.”
Isabel took the “ticket,” - nnd scarcely
needed to glance at it to know whose name
it bore. IVhat other friend had she?
“You fre a good girl, Mahala. Thank
you. Tell the gentleman I will be down
soon.”
The child still lingered, Wistfully gazing
nt the flowers. Brief glances at the bright*
ness tliut came into other people’s lives were
all that fell to her share. Some sucli idea
struggled mistily through her girlish brain,
and a tear stole down her sooty cheek.
Isabel who was making swift changes in
her toilet, saw the tear and divined its cause.
Suddenly breaking off a rose bud and a clus
ter of heliotrope, with a bright, sympathetic
look, she gave them ungrudgingly into the
bands of the little drudge.
“Oh, you are so good!” murmured the
child, breathlessly, and sped away, as if her
weary, coarsely-shod feet had not been ach
ing all day. “Site’s a horned lady. That’s
wlmt she is,” said Mahala; and in the seclu
sion of her chilly attic room she put the
flowers in water in an empty baking-powder
can, ond knelt before them like a devotee nt
a shrine. “I dassent stay long, or they’ll
be a hollerin’ for me to come finish the dish
es—but she’s made me ns happy ns a angel.
Mebby the po’try yerses will come again to
night!”
With this startling reflection, Mahala has
tened down-stilirs, and resumed her scouring
of tin pans.
*******
Leonard Whitney survived the shock of
j the slippery sofa, the worsted flowers nnd
the spindle legged piano. He survived it so
well that he made a second call in less than
a Week, and prevailed on Isabel to go to the
theatre. Ilis craftiness was Machnvellinn.
j He confronted her with the invitation nnd
I the tickets simultaneously, nnd what right
minded young woman could refflse?
She flew to her room to get ready, and her
pulse beat fast with pleasure.
“I am a silly creature to be so glad; but I
have had no outing for so many months.
It’s a comfort to think that it is my duty to
go, since he has bought the tickets.”
. Isabel’s Wardrobe was not yet in the de
pleted state usually associated with pnnni*
less orphanhood. Ilifd it been so, she would
have found more difficulty in retaining her
position at Carey & Arnahnuld’s.
You may want bread, oh! impecunious
young woman! You may be so faint from
hunger that you must hold on by the iron
railings of fine buildings, ns you pass along
the street; but, whatever your privations,
your griefs, your agonies, venture not in
shabby garments to apply for a “place!” If
you cannot dress well, even on “n iching a
year,” you have no business to be alive.
Isabel was temporarily happy ns she stood
before the glass, adjusting her hat on her
crown of dark braids. Her bluo gray eyes,
dark lashes, and flushed checks made nn at
tractive picture of girlhood —girlhood that
has a light to be happy, ns flowers have a
right to the sunlight nnd the dew. She fas
tened a cluster of rosebuds nt the neck of
her velvet jacket, shook out the drapings of
her skirts, and gathering up her gloves, made
n mocking courtesy to the image in the glass'
and ran lightly down the stairs.
* * * * * *
Mary Mahala in her chilly attic, with a
smoky lamp on the Washstnnd, nnd a sheet
of foolscap paper nnd a stumpy pencil in her
hands, was wrestling with a succession of
orthographical puzzles. She was making a
copy of the “po’try verses” that had come
to her the night Miss Rayburn gave her the
flowers.
“I feel as if I was in heaven when them
there verses comes to me,” said Mary Mahu
la.
The flowers had withered, but their re
mains were still cherished in the baking
powder can, and M-urj Mahala cast grateful
glances at them, as she tried to bite away
the thickening wood from the lead of the
stumpy pencil.
Late in the night her task was completed,
and, with a blissfully throbbing heart, she
stoic down the stairs and slipped the pnper
under the door of a certain room.
“She’ll find ’em in the mornin’. I won
der if she'll he g’prised?”
******
Three hours of glorious light nnd music,
and Sulvini! Isabel telt the old intoxication
with the refined pleasures of life stealing
over her senses. She forgot that she must
stand behiud Carey & Arnabauld’s dress
goods counter to morrow; forgot Mrs. King’s
tawdry parlor, and her own meanly appoint
ed room; forgot the inexorable Nemesis of
toil and weariness that would confront her
in the morning. When the curtain fell the
dream was over, and, with a sigh, she turn
ed to her companion and said:
“I have enjoyed it more than I can tell
you, but it would not do for me to come too
often.”
As if he read her thoughts, he gave her a
slow, sympathetic smile, and answered!
“Nemesis may relent some day—if you
meet her half way.”
She glanced up quickly at his peculiar
emphasis, and the meaning of the look he
bent upon her brought a deeper red to her
cheek than the excitement of the evening
had called forth *
That niglit, when she lit the gas, and
picked up the paper that hnJ rustled under
her feet at the door, tears of genuine feeling
j came iuto her eyes as she deciphered the ill
scrawled tribute:
“O lady fare, yurc hart is kind,
For to give me flours so sweet,
They cheer me wen I wake at morn,
They cawse my hart to beet.
“If ever yu are in trubble or care,
My prarcs shall riso for ju.
My pen is poor, my ink is pail,
But oh, iny hart is tru.
“M. M. 11.”
Isabel fulded the grimy sheet as reverent
ly as if it had been the sign-manual of‘a
NO. 10.
kihg, and laid it nwny with a tender smile
on her lips, and a thrill at her heart differ
ent from tiny that the magic of the drama
had produced.
******
The bolt that falls out of a clear sky st-ema
much more tragic than one for which clouda
and muttering thunder have prepared us.
One lovely morning in April Isabel, With a
specially light heart, Went to her post,
Leonard Whitney hnd called the night be*
fore, and had brought her a gilt—a book of
brave and noble words for toilers, some sen
tence of which w»re still ringing in her ears,
ns she opened the door at Carey & Arna*
banld’s.
It no longer seemed a prison to her. It
meant bread nnd independence, and the
grand chance to help turn the myiiad wheels
of the world’s activities. She Would be
faithful nnd patient, nnd ere long some bet*
ter opportunity Would present itself —she
would step into some higher niche for which
her education and social traihihg had fitted
her.
On her etitrance she Was met by a slim*
mons to the private office of the firm. They
were polite, regretful, decided and solicitous,
in a breath. Would it be convenient for
Miss Rayburn to find another situation with
out delay? They could furnish her excellent
testimonials, but tile business depression bad
so affected their interests that they would
be obliged to dispense with all their employ*
es save the most capable nnd of the longest
standing. In the meantimo, anything they
could do for Miss Rayburn would he most
cheerfully—
With a mute gesture she stopped them.
Her heart was too full for speech, and, how*
ing, she withdrew, nnd went to the hook*
keeper’s desk tor her salary.
She determined not to go back to Mrs,
King’s immediately, She must think it all
over, nnd devise some other mode of Hying,
She might hire an attic room, and do her
own cooking—when there was anything to
cook—working at whatever turned up; sew
ing, copying, envelope directing—anything.
But Leonard Whitney should not find her
in that attic-room. Just as his friendship
was becoming so pleasant to her, she sternly
resolved to relinquish it. He should not
lower himself further by Ins championship
of hert
All this wns very high-floWn nnd heroic,
oT course. No account was to be taken of
Mr. Whitney’s feelings in the matter, it
seemed
“l am a failure! A miserable, pitiable,
detestable failure!” she sobbed. There, in
the early morning, in the corner of a little
square where the new grass was springihg,
she leaned hel' hend on the top of the iron
scat nnd lifted up her voice and wept.
And there, in the early morning, some*
body, hurrying across that little square to
take the elevated railway, saw, recognised,
stopped.
He sat beside her on the iron bench, ha
questioned, he advised, he consoled, So
much so, that in lmlf an hour she had dried
her tears, and was strolling along with him
in the balmy spring morning to look at a
house which he thought of purchasing, and
his haste to catch the •‘elevated” seemed to
be among the things that were.
They entered a familiar neighborhood—
the houses looked at her with their friendly,
remembering eyes—surely, it could not he—-
yes, it was—lt wns her old home before
which they stopped.
She had not had the courage to go near it
sinco her father’s death, nnd now a great
wave of tender memories welled up her
heart, nnd the tears flowed anew.
Iler companion took her hands in his, very
gentTy, very tenderly,
‘‘l have already bought it, Isabel. It is
waiting for its mistress. Will she come?”
******
“Mnhala,” said Miss Rayburn, some hours
later, r.s the girl stared in astonishment at
her wonderful ayes, her flaming cheeks, her
tremulous white tiugers unsteadily loosening
her wrap; “Malinin! Don’t tell Mrs. King
—just yet, 1 mean—hut I—l am going to he
married, and you are going to live with me,
1 and go to school. And it will he soon, Ma
haln. In just one month.”
The child dropped the polishing rag with
which she had been operating on Miss Ray*
' burn’s stoye, claeped her thin, bluckcncd
fingers, and looked up appealingly.
“Oh, it hain’t no dream, is it? Did you
really say it? Is it a-goin’ to be true?”
“Yes, yes. It’s going to be true. It’s go*
ing to be true,” repeated Miss Rayburn, as
if it were the soft refruiu of a song; and tho
ehild, after a smile that transfigured her
old-young fentures, nnd an ecstatic sigh,
took up her stove-rag and went vigorously
to work ngiiin.
“I’ll work jest as faithful, though till tho
time comes. You’ve alwus been like a an*
gel to me, mum, and if 1 didn’t do fair by
Mis’ King, I might not do fair by you, an’
you’d he sorry you hefrieuded me,”