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■MVJ VOL IV J. H. &.W B. SEALS, ATLANTA, GA„ SATURDAY DECEMBER 7, 1878. TERMStfiF Bh'AXNTM ADVANCE NO.181 SUN DOWN. BY SHALEE G. HILLYER, Ja. CHAPTER L Think it not thy business, this orknowing thyself; thoti art an unknowable individual: know what thou canst work at, and work at it, like a Hercules!” Thomas Caki.yum. DESOLATION. In October, of the year 1870, I was employed by a merchant of Cuthbert, the county site of Randolph county, Georgia, to go through the rural districts and col lect for him such notes and accounts as were past due, and which he had learned to regard as of doubtful value. Some of these papers were worthless, and I was in structed to take for them any thing that was offered. My employer did an extensive credit business thrhonghont Randolph, and parts of adjoining counties. Hence 1 was often absent on these co-lecting tours from one to two weeks. Furnished with a good horse and buggy, and having no interest in Cuth bert to hasten my return, I went leisurely along, enjoying the pure air of the country, and vexed with no cares, save thos:- connected with the business I had in hand. I was traveling in the western portion of the country, and through a region that had once been very productive. Before the late civil war its farmers saw there property g r ov in value year b • year. Their homes, emrounded by smiling orchards and grassy meadows, looked the abotles of plenty, which they really were. In their wide pasture lands roamed flocks of sheep, and herds of swine a nd cattle; while their broad fields produced both cotton and the cereals in abundance. But their pros perity was more apparrent than real. This was owiDg to a short-sighted, sytin. cl a ricullure which had been generally adopt ed; a system which looked more to the acquisition of new lands than to the recu peration of those already possessed. Hence, as long as their .ands were frisk they a're prosperous, rather than thrifty farmers. But a sad change had come to these once flour ishing homes. There was no longer about them a look of comfort, nor any appearance of plenty. A few gnarled and broken trees marked the spot where orehards once bloomed. There were no green meadows now, dotted o'er with grazing sheep, or droves of swine, or browsing cattle. But now and then a mangy hog trotted past, as it looking for ilB mates, and here and there I would pass, at long intervals, a hungry-lcoking cow. The houses had a dingy appearance, as if long unused to paint ; the shrubbery in the yards looked neglected; the lences were fallen down, and the gates stood hingeless and ajar. Everywhere there is a touch of ruin . The own ers of these places hastening to decay once knew how to make them profitable, but they no longer know. It was sad to see on every side how desolation marked with mildew and'bligkt a land that once blossomed as the rose. The road that I was then on I was traveling for the first time. It was my intention to stop for the night at the house ol Mrs. Goldie, a widow lady, who I knew lived a short distance beyond the l’ataula creek. Wishing to obtain more definite knowledge of Mrs. Goldie’s local ity than 1 possessed, I stopped to make inqui ries of a lad who was plowing in a field close by the road. ‘Can you tell me where Mrs. Goldie lives? ’ I asked. ‘About three-quarters t’other side o’ Sun down,’ he answered, promptly. ‘Indeed !’ I rejoined, with a sarcastic accent, supposing, as I was traveling due west, that the lad was inclined to have Inn at my expense. ‘ You are such a bright hoy, perhaps you can tell me how far it is lrom sundown to sunrise?’ ‘ No, I can t,” he answered, «s promptly as be fore, ‘but when you get to Sundown y ou can ask the folks there, and they’ll tell yon.’ With these words he turned his horse about and started off, leaving me to follow his very ex plicit instructions. About a mile farther on I came to an old man picking cotton. ‘Can you tell me how tar it is to the Pataula?’ I asked, stopping my horse on coming opposite to him. ‘Just five miles,’ was his answer. ‘ Any roads to put me out ? ’ ‘None at all, sir, if you are going to Sun down.’ ‘Not if I know myself,’ I replied, eyeing the man Fosely, and beginning to suspect that thb people of that neighborhood had made a plot against strangers. ‘Then you re in the wrong road, sure.’ ‘ Oh, I suppose not,’ I suid, smiling, disposed by this time to humor the joke. ‘ At any iate, I have a through ticket to Sunrise.’ ‘Sun rise, hey ? Well, I leckon it’ll be some time after day-break tc-morrow morning belore you ge-t there.’ He turned to his work with a quiet chuckle at his brilliant repl; , while I went on my way wondering at the strange conceit which had possessed these two countrymen. Alter proceeding lourand a half miles over a rough road, I descended a steep Lilt, and enter ed a lane cut through the dense lorest. The branches of the trees on either side interlaced above the road, and were festooned with tke gray moss of the Southern swamp. Rut few rays ui the gun, now nearing the horizon, found heir way through the thick foliage. With each ttep of xuy horse forward the gloom seemed to Out Door Costumes for December. deepen. After preceeding through this natural avenue a halt mile or more, I reached a more open space, and then my horse suddenly stop ped at the edge ot a wide expanse of water. CHAPTER II. SUNSET AT SUNDOWN. | I knew that I had reached the Pataula, a | creek I had crossed before in my travels, but i never at this place. I expected to find a stream • about twenty yards in width, hut the one be fore me was at least one hundred, aDd a part of it flowing with great velocity. It was evidently ; swollen by recent rains, signs of which I had | observed for the last five or six miles, and | which must have fallen in torrents towards the I source of the stream. I knew not what to do. : It was at least six miles back, over a rough and 1 dreary road, to a house where I might obtain, I thought, tolerable accommodation for the night. I was equally disinclined to go forward, : and my horse, too, from the manner in which rather an awkward position, yet I managed to return her salutation and then, after we had looked at each other a few seconds in silence — though I believe she was scanning the situation rather than my person—I proceeded to intro duce myself. ‘I am traveling—or was a few minutes ago— I for Jonathan Greenleaf, of Cuthbert. I am Maurice Lockwood, at your service.’ ‘You are hardly in a position, Mr, Lockwood,’ she said, with a little smila, ‘to render much service. I am Kate Goldie, at your service. I suppose you are unacquainted with the ford?’ ‘I am.’ ‘Then I will help you through it.’ ‘You?—impossible!’ ‘You went too far to the left. I will ride in front of you, and lead the way. Your horse will follow mine, no doubt.’ ‘Impossible ! 1 again exclaimed, ‘You sure ly do not intend, Miss Goldie, to ride into this flood on horseback. ?' ‘Yes, I am a Naiad of this stream,’ she an- he pawed the water—for he was standing in the j sv ^ re d> quietly, ‘so you may safely trust your- edge of it—showed his unwillingness to trust ! t0 m Y guidance. _ Now, look the other way I himself to its untried depths, ! But looking Lack upon the dreary six miles behind me, upon the long and rough road that must be traversed in darkness, for night was near at hand, and then forward to the comforta ble home—so I put it—of Mrs. Goldie, only one mile ahead of mt, and conscious of my ability, from being a good swimmer, to extricate myself, and probably the horse, should he, from being forced to swim, become entangled in the har ness, I resolved to go forward. Tupping my horse with the lines, and speak ing to him encouragingly, he went forward. 1 noticed that the depth of the stream increased very rapidly. I was only two or three yards from the bank when the water began to flow through the buggy. I put my feet on the dash board, and continued to go forward, hoping that I was then passing through the bed of the stream, and that it would quickly become more shallow. But I was disappointed in this: the wa'er steadily rose on the flanks of the horse, until it reached tho crupper, and swept through the buggy within two inches of the cushion on which 1 sat. The horse stopped, and showed his uneasiness by pawing in the water. I stood up and tried to take soundings, on both sides of the vehicle, with the staff of my whip. These helped me to no conclusion. I knew not what to do, yet I must do something very quickly, for the restlessness of my horse was fast increasing, and he would scon become un manageable. I would gladly have turned him about, to traverse again the miserable road be hind me, had it been possible, but I had gone much too far either to back him out, or turn him around. There was nothing else hut to go forward—if I could. j Just as I had grasped more tightly the reins to execute my purpose, the sound of an ap proaching horse behind made me turn my head. fora moment while I change my position.’ I saw that it would be useless to oppose her further, so I looked towards my horse’s head, as she bid me. Presently I heard her horse moving through the water on my right. When she came opposite to me I saw that she was standing erect on her saddle. She held the reigns ot her bridle in one hand, while the other held up her riding skirt. The greyhound whom I afterwards heard her address as I}au- die, swam along on the other side of her. The first sight of her in this ncjvel position alarmed me, hut I dared not 'speak lest I thought, by withdrawing her attention from her horse, I might increase her peril. Again gathering up my lines I prepared to urge my horse forward when hers should pass in front ot him ; but he, reassured by the presence of llie other, needed to be restrained rather than urged. The depth of the water for some dis tance remained about the same, yet the young lady revealed no uneasiness, even when its sur face was but four or five inches below where her feet rested on the saddle. Presently, much to the reliet ot my life, the stream became suffi ciently shallow to allow the water to leave the buggy. And then, still to my greatrelief, I saw my guide pass safely from the water on to the firm bank. She drew up on one side of the road, and waited until I oame up. ‘It you will standstill justa moment,’ shesail coming close to the buggy, which had stopped, ‘I will alight on your front whoels and change my postion.’ While speaking she stepped down on the rim of my wheel, and the next second, ere I could offer to assist her, she was firmly seated in her saddle. ‘Mias Kate Goldie,’ I said, with a military salute, ‘accept my thanks for your invaluable service. You rescued me from a very unpleas- A young lady, mounted on a black horse, and 1 an .\w U< ^’ P er ^ a P 8 > dangerous position. . ,,5 , . . , ,1. . ’ ‘Were vou not rash in vant.nrincr l followed by a large dog of the greyhound species, was just emerging from the avenue into the open space I have l efore mentioned. I noticed that bhe sat on her horse with much grace; it needed hut a glance to see that she was at home in the saddle. 1 observed, too, as she drew near, that she had dark hair and eyes, and regular features. ‘Good evening, sir,’ she said quietly, as she stopped her horse in the edge of the water. 1 was kneciing on the seat of my buggy in the ere you not rash in venturing into storm when not knowing it?' she asked. ‘ies ; but there was some excuse for my rash ness,’ I answered. ‘I mast go back six miles over a rough road, most of it to be traversed in darkness, before I could find a stopping-place lor the night. By the time I reached it,’ I ar gued, ‘I would have bai to arouse its inmates from sleep. They would have got up in an ill humor, and if I obtained any supper at all it would have been cold corn bread warmed over, and a slice of fried bacon, wicnont coffee, milk or butter; on the other hand, if I could pass through that storm, there was Mrs. Goldie’s, only a mile further on, where, if she would take me in. I would arrive in ample time for supper. Mrs. Goldie is your mother, I presume.’ ‘ She is. I would invite you to stop with us, Mr. Lockwood, did I not know that yon would have for supper only that dreaded corn bread and slice of fried bacon, without coffee, milk or butter. Will you stop?’ ‘ Certainly I will.’ ‘And risk yonr bill cf far9?’ ‘I have had vour mother’s in view all day a3 a stopping place for the night, so will not be easily turned from my purpose. I have heard that Mrs. Goldie is a famous housekeeper.’ ‘ She may have been so once, when she had everything she wanted. In her present circum stances she will hardly make such a reputation as you speak of.’ ‘Shall we go on together? ’ I asked, gathering up the lines. ‘ No; I will ride ahead [and tell mother that you are coming.’ She was about to start off when I stopped her to make enquiry about the road. •Yon will easily find the way,’ she said, ‘when you pass beyond the Sundown,’ ‘Stop !’ I said, iterrupting her, ‘have the peo ple on this road conspired to harass travellers enquiring the way ? Bass beyond the Sundown indeed!” ‘Yes, the Sundown court-yard, or precinct,’ she answered laughing. ‘Ah! that is it,’ I said,* somewhat releived, ‘I understood it now, go on.’ ‘Sundown is about a quarter of a mile ahead of us. Just beyond it the road crosses this one. Take the left hand, which will lead you across Woathway bridge, the first house then on the left of the road will be the one that you have had in view all day.’ Saying this she put her horse into a quick gallop, and so was soon out of sight. In a little while I came in sight of the voting precinct, whose name had perplexed me so much. At that hour it was a dreary looking plaoe. To the left was just discernable, through the trees, an old ruin, which, I had no doubt, wss once a mill-house, for it stood close on the bank of a stream through which I had just passed. I could hear the war of the waters, and occasionally see their glimmer, as they rushed along by its base. To my sight, removed a few yards from the road, stood a small house, which was easily recognized as a store, while farther away to the right was still another, which, from its size and shape, I supposed to be tho neighborhood church. Near by it was a graveyard ; its graves inclosed sometimes by palings, sometimes by rails, and a few of them marked by marble tombstones, which glistened white through the trees. In front of the stone-house, already men tioned, was a white, shaggy dog, small in size, that had a wheezing cough, as if it had a cold. It coughed incessantly, and at intivals as regu lar as the ticking of a clock. In the doorway of the house stood a small, hump-backed man, with bow legs. He had round eyes and a large hooked nose, and these features, aided by some straggling tufts of hair on his upper lip a chin, gave t bis “nite an owlish expression. He leaned lazily against tue facing of the door, smoking a short-stemmed, dirty wood pipe, which had been in use until its bowl was half consumed. He stood there apparrently unconscious that I was passing, yet I felt that his black eyes were furtively observing me from under his feathery- look i n g eyebrows, and through the puffs of smoke that came from his ill shaped mouth. But presently he, and the mill, and the church are all behind me. I hear still the wheezing cough of the white dog, but it grows faint, and fainter still, and then dies away. After an in terval I seem to he ar it again, but per haps it was only a faucy. Now I reach another stream, nearly as broad as the one I had just passed through, but this is crossed by a log, substantial looking bridge. It was a dismal plaoe at that hour. The thick swamp on ei ther side shut out almost entirely the little light still left in the sky. A large owl, that I could see on the limb of a dead nee near by, welcomed with an occasional hoot the approaching night. ..bileI w■■ h startled by a wbLziog noise c ose at my head as t j6 long-winged hat swept by in the gloom. A short dis tance from the foot of the bridge I came to another stream, much narrower than either of the others. While passing through its dark waters, and observ ing how the dense growth of the semi-tropical forest encroached upon th e ad, on either hand, I could not but reflect how fit a place it was for murderous deeds. The hoot of an owl made me start, and instinctively put my hand on tho stock of my pistol. The next instant I laughed at the momentary alarm into whicu I had been betrayed, and giving my horse a gentle remind er that a whip was behind him, I was soon trotting briskly on towards Mrs. Goldie’s, jg CHAPTER III. THE BBEAD-ANT-BUTTER QUESTION. In five minutes more I came in sight of a large house, which stood on an eminence to the left of the road, and in an oak grove. I knew that this was the residence of Mrs. Goldie. By the dim light, which yet remained I tried to make some observations which might enable me to form an oponion of Mrs. Goldie’s finan cial condition, as I had among my papers for collection a note for four hundred dollars, which she had given Mr. Greenlief some two years before. I had naturally fallen into the habit of making such observations when ap proaching the homes of those against whom I had claims. And it was seldom that the expec tations based upon these observations deceived me. I was not only interested for my employer, but I had a selfish motive in looking to the surroundings oi a place where I expected to spend the night. How often had I foreseen a miserable supper and a comfortless bed in the absence of thrifs unmistakable signs out side ! Alas, for my expectations that night. As looked upon either side, at the stunted crops, at the falling fences, at the empty barns, at tho other dilapidated ont-houses at the different lots for stock, or rather where they should have been, my expectations fell rapidly, and I was forced to conclude with a sigh, or rather two, one for my employer and one for myself, that Mrs. Goldie might he, as my worthy old employer believed, ‘an honest woman’ and ‘famous house-keeper,’ but that here was one more illustration of the two faots, that honesty cannot pay debts, and that a famous housekeeper may be a very indif ferent farmer. After the lapse of a few minutes, I am sitting alone in a comfortable parlor, in front of a cheerful fire. The furniture in the room I notice is old-fashioned, yet of costly material. The damask wiudow curtains looked as if they mighi have hung just as they did then for the past twenty years. The Brussels carpet was f aded, and worn threadbare in plaoes. There was a piano in the room. I noticed that its cover, once a fine one, like the curtains and the carpet, was faded by age. On one side of the room was a heavy mahogany sofa; I left the chair I was in and sat down upon it, but its springs were no longer comfortable. I went next to a large arm chair on the right of the fire plaoe. I found its springs in the samecondition as those of the sofa. By the time these observations had been made, the door was opened and Kate returned, followed by hor mother. Mrs. Goldies age, apparently, was not more than fifty ^ ve > Yf*'’ like the black silk dress she had on, and furniture of the room, she had a faded look. After Kate bad introduced me to her mother, After Kate had introlaoed me to her mother, I handed the latter a letter from Mr. Greenleaf, which she proceeded at once to read, at the same time asking me to be seated. Having read the letter, which was short, she took a seat in fron t of me. ( to BE CONTINUED.' ■