Newspaper Page Text
news
YOL. VII J. H. & W . B. SEAL }pROTRIETOR9.
ATLANTA, GA., DECEMBER 17. I8S1.
Terms in Adv3n:e.
One year $2.50.
single Copy 5e.
NO. 331
I
THE IMPATIENT FAVORITE.
stalks together with a gentle hashing sound
that was a soothing accompaniment.
She crossed the field and entered the swamp
and soon the water came in sight. The creek
was indeed low, and bid fair for splendid
pikefishing. Having adjusted her line to
suit and baited the hook, she threw in and at
once began operations; but for some time
was unsuccessful in ensnaring the wary pike.
Disappointed at this, she began to look
around her. All at once there was a great
cracking of dry twigs in the wood to her
right. Iiooking in that direction to ascertain
the cause of the unwonted occurrence, to her
great surprise Sue beheld a man, a fierce, ill—
looking, ugly man sitting on a log iu the cen
tre of a small open glade about a hundred
yarns away. His every look betokened deep
cunning, not to say villainy, Fortunately
for Sue be had not observed her.
The man was just taking something from
an old haversack when she first observed
him, and now he began to eat it ravenous
ly. Sue forgot her fishing pole, and stibd
still watching him. “Surely he must be a
tramp. Yes, a tramp indeed; but nothing
like that good, nice tramp who gave me my
pistoL”
The tramp, for such he was, soon finished
eating what he had taken from the haversack
and then sat there staring hungrily at the
trees and old dead logs about him. Just then
the man was hideous. His hair was red as
was his face and scanty beard. A livid scar
ran from his mouth all the way across the
right cheek. His clothes were none of the
best. The worn shirt he wore, not fastened
at the neck, lay open, disclosing his red.
hairy breast.
Sue was not timid, so she felt no fear, but
stood curiously regarding this frightful man
of the woods. Suddenly something palled
at her line, and then the tramp was remem
bered no more than if he had been the man
in the moon. It was a pike, and a large one.
By skillful maneuvering she soon succeeded
in landing it upon the shore; then batting
the hook again, she threw in. hoping for a
speedy success a second time. But disap
pointed in this, sbe presently remembered
the tramp again and looked np to so see what
he was about. He was gone.
This was strange. How could he disappear
so suddenly? Sue greatly wondered. She
even walked 'a little way toward the glade
and looked all around but saw nothing of
him, and so came back. She did not puzzle
her brain long, however. The pike began to
bite rapidly now, and sbe was soon ob
livions to eVerytbing except pulling them
to the shore.
In half an hour’s time she had caught a
nice string of pike. Then she bethought her
self to fish for perch. Fashing up her cork
so as to fish deeper, she threw into a dark,
shaded place near the centre of the stream,
and then sat down to take her ease. She had
not long to wait for a bite. Quick as thought
with an andible report, the cork went under
and was carried deep down oat of sight in
the dark water. She sprang np and gave her
pole a quick hard pull, but tne fish did not
move. Mercy I had she hang a whale? She
ailed again, this time with all her strength;
ut with no better success than before. Clear
ly it was a root and not a fish that held on
so obstinately.
Sue realizsd this with considerable anger.
Now all her fine sport was done unless she
could unloose the hook. It was not until af
ter half an hoar’s trial that she decided this
could not be accomplished. “Unless.” she
thought, “I wade in. Why not do that? The
creek is not deep.”
Scarcely sooner the thought than the act.
Quickly divesting herself of her shoes and
stockings, sbe gathered up her skirts and
proceeded to wade in regardless of what the
consequences might be. Holding to the line
and guided by it, she slowly approached the
place where the hook was fastened. The
water gradually deepened. By the time half
the distance was passed she stood in water
two feet deep. Not to be outdone, sbe cau
tiously approached. But all at once she put
her foot forward and felt no bottom; then
j down she went, and the remorseless water
j rose above her shoulders. What was to be
; done? Clearly nothing but to get out of the
' ludicrous predicament with all speed. This
! she at once hastened to do.
{ With her clothes clingiDg to her, and look-
' ing much like tbe stereotyped drowned rat,
Sue reached tbe bank—then sat down dis-
! consolately and shed a few tears of vexation.
Soon she rose np and broke a long forked
' stick, and then proceeded to string her fish
thereon. This done, sbe gathered np her pole
and started for home. Then for the first
time she perceived it was late; the sun was
low in the west—would be down in ten min
utes at the fartherest.
“What shall I do?” thought Sue in agony,
as she began to run through the woods, “it
j is long past six o’clock, and Philip must have
j arrived an hour ago. How can I manage to
g et to my room and change my clothes before
e sees me? Oh, dear, dear! It’s too bad.”
j With these and other like thoughts tor-
I meeting her, Sue, with frerzied haste, pro-
[ ceeded on her way. Jnst as she came oat of
{the creek swamp and approached the corn
field fence, she came suddenly upon Sophy,
tbe house girl, and a young mulatto fellow.
This was Ben, the son of the old negro whose
rooster Sue had shot, and Sophy’s dearly be
loved sweetheart. They had been standing
leaning upon the fence in close conversation,
Not in Vain.
There never yet was flower fair in Tain,
Let classic poets rhyme it as they will;
The seasons toil that it may blow again,
And summer’s heart doth feel its every ill:
Nor Is a true soul ever born for naught:
Wherever any such hath 'ived or died.
There hath been something for true freedom
wrought.
Pome bulwark levelled on the evil side:
Toil on, then, Greatness! thou art in the right.
However narrow souls may call thee wrong ;
Be as thou would be in thine own clear sight,
*nd so thou wilt in all the world's ere long ;
For worldlings cannot, struggle as they may,
From man’s great soul one great thought hide
away. —Lovell.
A REAL MAD-CAP;
-OR-
A Heroine in Spite of Herself.
B1 RICBAIU) PEKFIE1.B,
CHAPTER V.
IZAAK WALTON.
Sue expected a scolding that eight, but to
her surprise nothing was said either by her
uncle cr the boys about the wild masquerade
of the afternoon. Truth to tell, Mr. Chestnut
had cautioned his sons not to mention the
subject to Sue by the merest hint. He hud
long since come to t he wise conclusion that it
was by far the better plan to leave the girl
alone, to let time tame her of the irrepressi
ble, hoydenish propensities. Hence her pro
gress toward a better girl.
Though Frank and Will said no word on
that subject, Sue felt by their manner to
wards her that they were displeased. They
were scrupulously polite, but there wa9 a
mingling of iciness, of disdain that was op
pressive, and neither one of them was tne
least bit affectionate.
On the following day the newly-arrived
college boys, or more correctly the youi g
men, lolled indolently about the house the
greater part of the time. Mrs Chestnut,
mother.like, endeavored to keep them by
her. She could not see enough of her two
grown sons it seemed, Kate hovered around
them
Early on the morning of the My on wmeo
Philip Thorne was expected both boys went
to town. Mr. Chestnut had gone to a neigh
boring town the day before on business and
would not return until noon that day. In an
hour’s time Will returned home, bringing
with him the morning mail. He proceeded
at once to the sitting room and deposited it
upon his father’s desk. As it happened Sue
was in the room dusting at the time. Singling
out from among the pile of letters and pa
pers, a long.yellow envelope,dotted here and
there with circular, dark-red seals, Will held
it up to the light. This attracted Sue’s at
tention.
"Will, what is that?” she asked.
“Money,” was the answer.
“Money? How much?”
“One thousand dollars.”
“Oh I” cried Sue excitedly, running over
to him. “Where did it come from?”
“From Mr. Thorne. It is Philip’s. He did
not like to carry so much cash along wish
him for fear of pickpockets, so he had bis
father send it. A hundred dollars is to go to
Mann for Pail’s tuition; the remaining nine
hundred Phil will take with him on bis trip
to Cuba.
“Why, is he going to Cuba?”
“Yes, alter spending several weeks with
us.”
“Ah, how nice to have money and be able
to travel I”
Sue looked out of the window away across
the fields at nothing, yet thinking, oh, so
many things! This girl read and thought
and dreamed far more than anyone ever gave
her credit for. Among many other things
she had thought much about traveling. Just
now she was traversing Europe in the spirit,
but was suddenly aroused by a remark from
Wifi. Just as she was about to turn and an
swer she perceived Sophy, the house-girl,
peering in at them from the window with
g loating eyes. This was nothing unusual.
o Sue did not notice her, but she had occa
sion to remember it all afterward. In a few
minutes more Will had put the money in the
desk, locked it, hung the key in the accus
tomed place over the mantel piece, and left
the room. Sue went on with her dusting,
thinking of other things.
Mr. Chestnut arrived in time for dinner
that day, and at the table there was scarcely
a vs ord said about anything but Philip Thorne
and his money and his bright prospects, etc.
This was carried to such an extent that that
little rebellious gypsy, Sue, became quite
tired of it at last.
Philip was expected to arrive at five that
afternoon, and it bad been arranged that one
of the boys should take the carriage to the de
pot to meet him. Mrs. Chestnut wss quite a
mercenary woman. She was really, as she
bad often jokingly told her husband, raising
Kate for Philip. And now there were a thou
sand little things to be done and discussed
against the arrival of this great somebody,
which only a female mind can imagine.
Soon after dinner, tired of bearing Philip
Thorne’s name, Sue left the house. Wbat
was he to her that she should concern herself
about his comings or his goings? “I don’t
care for him,”she said, “neither does he care
for me for that matter. All I dread is that
he will remember that awful day when I
kicked him at school.”
But Sue had an impending fishing frolic in
her mind and soon forgot Philip. This un
tamed, fun-loving creature, though sbe had
given np most of the wilder sports of her
younger days, still continued to shoot her
pistol and go fishing. She was a second lzaak
Walton, or at least a thorough disciple of
that old gentleman. Like him, she had re
duced fishing almost to a science. The creek
at the bottom of the cornfield half a mile
away afforded ample opportunity for the
display of this art, and she frequently avail
ed herself of it. It was a well known fact
that catfish bit rapidly after a heavy rain, and
nothing pleased Sue better than to start out
before the rain had ceased, and then in a few
hours to return all wet and with a great long
string of wriggling fish. Bnt now the creek
was very low, there having been no rain for
some time, and Sue decided to go and try the
pike for an hour or so, and then return in
time to dress for Philip’s arrival,
Going into an out-house, she caught up her
fishing tackle and hurried away. It was a
bright, clear day, with a pleasant bieeze
blowing across the cornfield, laden with the
efreshing odor of damp,cool, flowery woods,
he path led across the cornfield, and as Sue
urried along bumming a lively air, the
freeze rustled the long leaves of the tall,greeB
| out at sight of Sue each started from the*
other in a guilty, nervous way that struck;
Sue as a little singular.
! "They have been making love,” was Sue’s*
| mental remark. “How unfortunate that If
' should have interrupted them. It is aH very
1 silly, all tomfoolery, this courting; but thati
I is nothing to me. I will endeavor to put them.'
j at their ease.” With this laudable intentioci
1 she approached.
j "Howdy, Ben,” she said pleasantly; “set?
j what a nice string of pike I have?”
I * Good tbenin’ ter yer, Miss Sue,” returned
l Ren. iiowing. "Yaas, I see you’se got some*
fine fish, miss ”
’ Unfortunately," continued Sue, laughings
"I fell into the creek; and ain’t 1 in a nice*
plight now ?” vj*--
• ■Ys s’m, y ou is—he—he—he I” Ben acknowl
edged with an unsuccessful attempt at mirth.
■ ’ I was jist a noticin’ uv yer drippin’clothes.”’
"My Lord! you're wringin’ wet," put in
Sophy. “You better make base borne ana:
take i ff dem wet tings. Hit’s gwine ter make*
yer sick, I’m ’feered.”
‘ Thank you for your good advice, Sophy.
I shall heed it at once.”
She passed through the bars that Brn IgA
down for her, and left the dusky love: s . o>
themselves.
Sue hurried along the path through the-
corn, hoping to be able to enter the house
through the back way and thus reaeh her
room unobserved. She had scarcely passed*
half tbe distance when up behind the eorsi
in front came the sound of Kate’s merry
laughing. In an instant it flashed upon Sue*
that. Kate would never be there alone. She>
stopped and stood trembling; and then in
another moment before the girl had time to
think or act, a merry group approached—
Kate, Philip, Frank and Will, all came out
for a walk through the farm. The sun was.
just setting, and cast a glamour of fovshe;
amber and rose light over tbe gronp. Kate-
was radiant, and Philip, now a grown up
man, with beantiful gray eyes and long,
dark-brown mustache, looked quite dts-
tingui.
Sue stood regarding them in 1
tivity. A i
and then 1
i
glance, I
misery, and.
heard Philip as he ran forward and gently
took her hand and smiled kindly yet merrily,,
and gladly in her face and said:
“Is this Sue? Yes, it is the same dear littte*
Sue.”
Sue gazed at Philip half vacantly for a mo
ment, then realizing her situation, the hot,
red flush of shame came up all over her face
and neck. A wild desire for flight seized heir
>md with a smothered cry she broke away,,
throwing her fish down, and dashed through
the growing corn with the speed of a wud
deer. On she went, never stopping until the-
width of the whole field was placed between
them. Tired ont with her loDg run, she fell
down upon the grass, hid her burning face
and wept tears of bitter mortification.
Deep, dark shadows came up out of the
black creek-swamp and spread over the silent*
fields. The great pines sobbed mournfully,
the breeze ceased to sport with the long,,
green corn blades. The dim, mysterious,
powerful hush of the night was upon the-
land, and—Sue slept 1 i
CHAPTER VL
ALL ALONE IN THE WILD, WHITE MOONLIGHT:
Sue awoke with a start. She was wet and
cold and shivering. Gradually ideas began,
to shape themselves in her mind. She sat up *
and looked about her. What did that belt of
dark woods over there mean—and the long
stretch of glistening fields, and all the grass?
And that great gteaming moon in the starry
sky overhead? What did it all mean?
The moon rose at eight o’clock. Now it
was high in tbe heavens. Clearly it was.
past twelve o’clock. Gradually the remem
brance of what had happened dawned upon*
her and sbe realized tier position. Here she-
was, »et, cold and shivering at twelve-
o’clock at night, away off in a lonely field a
quarter of a mile from home. A bad pre-
uicament surely for a young girl to be in—a
predicament that would strike terror to the
hearts of many. Bnt Sue was a plucky girk.
Although very much frightened, she at-
once decided that to run home as fast as pos- -
sible was the beet thing to be done under the
circumstances.
The girl was just in the act oi rising from
the grass with the intention of putting the
design into execution, when sbe was arrested
by the sound of voices in close proximity,
instead of rising now she lay flat down & ,
the long grass, then raised her head and
looked around.
Soon she beard the sound again, and look
ing in that direction, she beheld two men .
outside of the field walking along not .far
from the fence. Presently they stopped, .
and one of them leaned against an old dead
pine’, the other stood near. They were not
more than fifteen feet from where Sue lay.
The moonlight was bright, and she found no
difficulty in recognizing them. One was--
Ben, Sophy’s mulatto sweetheart; the other,
the one leaning against the pine, was th»
tramp she had seen that afternoon while fish
ing in the creek. Sue had no time for con
jecture as to why those two were there at
that time of nivht, and wbat they were
about. She did not stop for this. They were
bilking, and she strained every nerve to hear
what was said. At the moment sbe saw
them she felt a kind of presentiment of what
was to be. The first words that reached her
were these: —- ^
“Are you aare that the money vot there
to-day f'
"Haint I done told von so. Sophy say
she was standin’ on de piazza when Will
Chestnut come home wid it, an’ aha seen ’im
lock it up in de deek in de settin’ room, an’
he bang de key ober de mantle-piece.”
“Does Sophy sleep in tbe house?”
‘‘No; but she promised to leave the bade
door unlatched. There bain’t no trouble-
about it. Come on; IU fetch you through.”
“Go ahead, then.”
They moved away. With a wildly throb
bing heart Sue raised up to look after them.
Full well she knew now what they wera-
after.
“Stop!” sbe heard the tramp say before-
they bad gone ten paces. “I’ll swear I saw.
something moving in the grass over there.
What was it?”
“Tain’t nothin’” said Ben emphatically: *
“Go look over the fence and see,” com
manded the tramp, and Ben approached.
Sue lay still as If a Gorgon bad stared her .
young life into stone. We all know what'
odd, fantastic shapes the deceiving i
light can conjure up with tbe aid of our _
fertile imaginations. Thanks to this, wha*
■