About The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907 | View Entire Issue (July 2, 1887)
THE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GA.. SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 2, 1887. THE QUEEN’S SCARF, OE THE STORY OF A SCARECROW. BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY, Author ot "J.~ph-. Co...” B.chol,” "B.iubow Goia." Etc. CHAPTER VII. It was evening, and the greAt™ *» ‘ Bta, “ °oUhe SlWSoSS ^ the world, S-S^is laid it down upon the clm'r-th's cha „ „i,„„ | r**tiiriiP(l ft Uiomeilt lfttcr u> j. W --«;oner> Baid her ladyship. The tone indi cated wrath and despair at once. “A relic,"--r r ge, r e,,heo = i_ is hardly known to cxlK ' • lhe possession ful in itself, which has been in the P^ „ &3S“- s own emotions. „ said the naval cap- “Out* thing is cv 1 . . w :f.,» s waist and tain, sliding his arm ^outh s wd drawing her to his sale, ,, „,. r lady- disappeared of its own (urtlicr comment slop groaned \>utrfto*a™ ^ taken It „ lie -"•> «- ingly.mlvancing towards her.^ ^““P ^tntt f > r o.?edin^ JSz&S&z&isss the house, and from the do . ouli ’ a ,„l boys, who entered the ha Wjd.h lh( . ir out . having disencumber, themse v drawing _ them hack :~th^i;« elder “You had Utter not go m just jet, M ^W11at’s^ln; 0 matter'.”’ enquired the arrivals, Ki, " U n,e'‘uautU..l scarf that belonged to the genuine sorrow she had for the loss, w. -*»« impetuously by the arm, f> I saj. 1 know who's done iliat; you know. .. . *|„ pr - ‘•Why, liow can you know, Master AL, n °‘ n Wb"y k the"^TeCwho'd do it,’’re plied' the boy. “It’s that old ^. Arthur Don’t you remember how k ' V saw his fingers itching for it the day he brought the Franz IIols home. “Ob,” said the younger. I hope ne dld “Ihopebe did,” returned the elder, with that inexorable logic of seliishness which char acterises boys often*, r than ? r <>wii-up people “If he did, tliey can catcli lnm and g.t it hack again ” The two companions burst past the housekeeper, who made no further atmrnp to oppose them,"and Master Algernon, entering * At lliis unexpected announcement the four oesupants of the drawing-room advanced eager ly towards him, all questioning together. “It’s old Brandt, the .lew, the picture cleaner.” he announced withceitainty. ‘‘Don t you remember. Arthur, the night we went there with the Franz Hols. That kill who lives at old Mother Brice’s carried the picture for us.” , , . .. . “Algernon,” said her ladyship, wherever did you learn such dreadful language. “Go on,” said the General, who was perhaps less shocked at his nephew's erratic idioms than her ladyship. “We went in afterwards, Arthur and I, tue boy continued. “Tin* old fellow' was hehind the counter, and he leered at the kid, didn t he, Arthur? And he said, ‘What have \ou got there, my clever little boy?’ I know he thought he had stolen it. I was sure of it at the time. And then,” turning to her ladyship, “you showed him the scarf when he brought the pictures home.” “There was a boy,” said Captain Chetwynd, “a laboring boy, sweeping up leaves upon the lawn when you were showing me the scarf, Adelaide. I saw him looking in at the window for a moment; and you laid the scarf upon the chair close to the window.” “That is the boy Algernon spoke of,” said her ladyship. . _ .. “He’s always at old Brandt’s,” cried Alger non. ( -JIe*a}8 Brandt teaches him to draw. That’s a likely yarn, isn’t it?” “I saw him,” said the younger boy reluc tantly, “going into Brandi’s shop just now as we drove from the railway station.” “Chetwynd,” said the General, “come with me. We \\;il call at the poiiee station on our way.” The boys would fain have followed, but being imperiously bidden to remain behind, obeyed. The two gentlemen left the house and walked swiftly towards the town. < >n their way they called at the police station and secured the ser vices of an officer. Moise, unexpectant of the impending visit, was seated in the back room with the big pipe between his lips, and was looking with a be nevolent and fatherly air upon young .John, who was hard at work upon a copy-book im proving his clumsy text-hand. General Sir George Berny entered the ill-lighted little shop so hastily that the bell— which hung by a strip of springy wire to the door—tinkled madly for a full m inute afterwards. The owner of tli« establishment arose from his seat in some sur prise and opened the door which stood between the shop and his living room. Sir George, closely followed by Captain Chetwynd, passed through the shop ami entered the little cham ber, and Moise, in some bewilderment at this unusual proceeding, looked from one to the other. “That is the boy of whom Algernon spoke,” said the General, indicating young .John, who stood up with J»n air which might have be longed to guilt or shyness. “That is the boy I saw near the window, returned Captain Chetwynd. At this moment Moisr* caught sight of the policeman in the half dusk ot the shop, sum a sudden qualm of fear shook his heart—not for himself, but. lor his protege. What had young .John been doing? “Chentlemcii,” said Moise with a trembling voice, “vot is the madder? V’oi gun 1 do for you?” “A scarf,” said the General, tugging at his gray mustache, “a valuable scarf of old hire has been stolen. This boy was seen in toe im mediate neighborhood of the room from which it was stolen. Boy, what have you to say?” Young John had nothing to say, apparently, or if he had he did not say it. Moise, looking strickenly from the General to the boy, and fr< m the b >y to the General, felt his own heart sink and sicken more and more. Was this thing possible of young John whom he had loved like a child of his own? “Chon,’’ he said shakily, and with a hoarse voice, “you hear?” Young John heard, but he said nothing. “Officer,” said the General, “come here.” The officer advanced. The room behind the shop was so small that the live people seemed to crowd it. “Boy. have you anything to say? You will be charged with stealing this scarf. Have you anything to say?” Young John had not a word lo say, but covered his scarlet face with botli hands and stood in desperate silence. “Chon,” cried Moise appealingly, “you year. Oh, Chon, you hear?” “As for you,” said the General, turning on Moise, convinced by the boy's silence, “you will be charged with receiving the stolen scarf.” “Me?” cried Moise, with almost a scream. “You,” said the General. “No, no, no,” screamed young John, falling on his knees. “No, I took it for myself. Mr. Brandt didn’t know. Nobody knew. I didn't think it was worth anything. I didn’t. Oh, indeed I didn’t.” lie was dragging madly at liis smock frock and kneeling on it at the same time. Ilia eyes were wild with terror and his hands trembled. When he had contrived to free his smMk from his knees, he rolled it in a great bundle beneath his chin, and the two gentlemen, Moise and the officer, all saw a clumsy, ill- folded little parcel of brown paper stuck be- tween his trousers and his coarse calico shirt. Withdrawing this, and holding it out with shaking hands towards the General, lie sur rendered it, and then fell to crying with his hands at his face again. “Officer,” said the General, “you will not lose sight of this fellow.” indicating Moise. “I do not know whether her ladyship will de cide to prosecute,” he continued, turning to Captain Chetwynd. He knew very well that she would not, and was himself a man of great tenderness, but he was bent on frightening both the criminals, and to his mind Moise was as evidently guilty as John had proved to be by his own confession. “I will myself leave the boy at the police station,” added the Gen eral. “John,” cried Moise, falling in the extremi ty of his emotion into his native tongue. “Why did you take the scarf? Tell them why you took it. They may have pity upon you. Tell them why you took it.” “GV/c nefam bus," said poor John, in the only accent he knew. u Chc nefaux bits.’' At this unexpected colloquy the two gentle men stared at each other. Neither could have imagined anything that would have surprised him more than to hear this smock-frocked lit tle scarer of birds talking French. “Chentlemen,” cried Moise, 4 I am sure, I am zertain the boor poy never took the thing like a thief. He is the pest poy in the vorlt. There is not so goot a poy, not so giever, not so nice, anywhere. Chentlemen, have bity. He is fery young. Look at him, chentlemen. I Zee how young he is.” | The General*8 preconceptions concerning Moise robbed this speech of the effect it might otherwise have had. “I am inclined to think,” he said, sternly, “that the boy was set on to steal the scarf by ; you. I do not see what other temptation he | could have had, or how he could have discov ered its value.” At this, John, who, when the words were spoken, was still kneeling on the lloor with his fase hidden, scrambled to his feet, and stretch ing forth both hands cried: “No, no, no.” j “Why did you steal it?” asked the General, who, though he would nat permit it to be seen, was a good deal moved by the boy’s distress. He had a strong sense of public duty, had the General, but when public duty meant private suffering of the sort which threatened young John, he would have preferred, if left to him- ; self, to leave it unperformed. “I didn’t know that it was good for any- ; thine,” sobbed the boy. “Indeed, 1 didn’t ! sir.” 1 “Who told you to steal it?” demanded the ! General. “Nobody, sir. Nobody,” said young John, i in an agony of tears. “I didn’t think it was i good for anything. 1 didn’t think it ever would | be missed.” I “There is zometbing at the boddom of it all,” said Moise, which I gannot underztand. The I poy is a good poy.” He was so moved that he almost forgot the General’s charge against him- ! self, bitterly as it had outraged him. “Why do you have the boy here'” asked i Chetwynd, who was much bepuzzled. To his mind the old man looked honest. ! “He gomes here for his lessons,” returned Moise. 1 “What do you teach him?” “I deacli him Yrench and aichebra,” said . uitu in unriivt. mo * ;tpuur, asaeu. “He vos boor and giever,” said the old man. “II is father vos a master of ards.” “A master of arts?” cried Chetwynd. “The poy,” said Moise, renewing the form with which lie had once amused a passenger or two in the High Street, “is a poy of cbenius. And he is as honest as the zan. There is zoiiuthing here I gannot gomprebend.” Chetwynd and the General entered the shop and conferred apart. They were both a good deal bewildered. “1 will take him home,” said the General, “and frighten him well. 1 think the oid fel low's honest. Eh?” “I think so, too. He looks it. I can’t un derstand the iad at all.” General Sir George Berny, however inclined he might be to believe in the innocence of Moise, felt the necessity of retiring from the scene with dignity, and in self-defence he did a thing which was much more cruel than he thought it, though lie had but a mean opinion . of it when he did it. lie took the boy under his own charge, and he left the po iceman in charge of Moise. “I do not give either the man or the boy in charge at present,” he said. “Bit you will keep an eye on this man, if yon please.” This was irregular, bill Sir George was not only the greatest man in the parish, buta mag istrate into the bargain. The policeman sat down in Moise’s back room like a man in pos session, and the old man sat, angry, grieved, and humiliated on the other side of the fire place, and awaited in bitterness of spirit the upshot of this painful adventure. “Walk od in front,” said Chetwynd to young John. ‘1 suppose you know that it will be of no use to try to run away?” Young John knew that well enough, and walked along crying bitterly but quietly, and wiping his eyes on bis smock frock as he went. “There is something more here than the scarf,” said the General, weighing the little packet in his baud as he spoke. “I hope the young scoundrel has been picking up no other unconsidered trifles. I shall have to deal se verely with him if he has.” When the great house was readied young John, still weeping, was bestowed in the ball, under care of a footman, and the General and his son-in-law entered the drawi ig-room to gether. CHAPTER VIII. When the door was closed the General raised the little brown packet slightly above his shoulders with an air of triumph. “You have found it?” said her ladyship ea gerly. “I have f mud it,” replied the General, and | laying the packet on the table he unfolded it carefully. At the firs! sight of its contents her ladyship gave way. The precious scarf was crushed barbarously tog *t her, and turned any how about a dirty-looking brownish block. The dirty brownish block being uncovered, turned out to be a book, and the book being ooened proved to be tL • poetical works of Al exander Pope, in small octavo, a cheap edition in blunt type. “The b »y is a jackdaw,” said Captain Chet wynd. “I suppose he stole this from somc- | body.” As he handled the book there fell from it to the table a loose sheet of paper, and ] as Chetwynd picked it up, lie saw that it was ' headed iii a clumsy text band “To Claelia,” that it was signed “John Arbuthnot,” and dated but a month back. “Verses,” sail Chetwynd, oddly. “Let us see if he steals them as well.” Her ladyship was busily engaged in smooth- ; mg out the scarf, whilst the General related the I manner of its recovery. Chetwynd left the room, and coming upon young John who stood under guard still weeping in the ball, lib tap ped him with one linger on the shoulder. “Where did you get this book?” he asked. “Mr. Brandt gave it to me,” returned John, in a voice broken with sobs. 4 Oh, please, sir.” “•Well,” said the gentleman, not unkindly. “Mr. Brandt didn’t know anything about that necktie. Oh, please sir, he diiu’t, he re ally didn't ” ‘•Where did you get this?” pursued Chet wynd, displaying the soiled paper and the ver ses in text hand. Atthis query young John recoiled like a guilty thing and hid his face in bjth hands. “Did you wr.te this? Come. l).d you write it?” “Yes, sir,” in a guilty whisper. “YVhere did you copy it from?” No answer. •‘Come. Where did you copy it from?” “Nowhere, sir.” The whisper scarcely aud- ible. “Oh, you made the verses? ’ Captain Chet- wynd’s eyes were sparkling with amusement. Tnere was obviously a jest for him somewhere in the midst of this strange little adventure. John did not answer the question a* to the au thorship of the verses. “Come,” said Chet wynd, in a tone of authority, “look at me.” The boy lifted a tear-stained face, and for a mere instant looked at his examiner. In that instaut the examiner asked another question, “Who is Claelia?” At this young John’s knees gave way beneath him. He hid his face with a swift gesture and, kneeling on the hall lluor, drew back inio himself, as a snail whose horns are wounded shrinks into its shell. Chetwynd re entered the room where every body was talking at once. There was a pecu liarly mear ing smile upon his face, and his wife, the General, her ladyship, and the two boys went silent one by one and looked to wards him. !. “You two young gentlemen,” said Chet wynd, “can leave us for a little while.” The boys withdrew with a reluctant air, and indem nified themselves by mounting guard, together with the footman, over young John, who, by this time, was crying quite silently. ‘ La dies,” said Chetwynd, with a broadening smile, “I think I have news for you. Here,” producing young John's verses with a flourish, “is a document in the hand-writing of the pris oner.” He cleared his throat, set one foot^ be fore the other, and declaimed the title—“To Claelia.’’ [to he continued.] DREW’S HOLE. BY MONTGOMERY M. FOLSOM, A uthor of “ Southern Scenes," “ Urockton Farm" “Lillie hick" Etc , Etc. [continued from last week.] Did she love Frank, or was it simply a fascinated admiration? It was hard to tell. Nevertheless she hhd promised him. Father and mother would be pleased, highly gratified, to know it. They had already spoken time and again of the spot where they wished their daughter’s husband to build his log-house. Strange, but that spot was on a beautiful ridge, midway between the Varner home and the Parnell homestead. Still, they had not picked out a husband for her. o, no, they never intended to do that. They were willing to let her do her own choosing. “If she makes her bed hard she must lie on it,” Mrs. Varner often said, and yet, uncon sciously, the girl had been schooled in the one idea of uniting the two homesteads in her marriage. Grandpa need not die until his time. There was no hurry. 1’ienty to start the young people off to house-keeping. But as the golden head tossed restlessly about on the pillow that night, the scene at Drew’s Hole came vividly boiore her time and again, and the handsome face, burnished locks and the sparkling eyes of her lover always faded, and in their stead a pair of earnest eyes and a homely face confronted her. Each time the broad white brow grew nobler, and the kindly mouth grew tenderer in expression. Poor girl! So unhappy amid her happiness. “I’ll lix him. I’ll bring his pride down a button-hole lower. ’Twon’t do to kill him nor burn him out; that won’t do no good. I n lix him;” .and Bill Blake’s black brows drew themselves into a still deeper scowl above his blazing black eyes in which there was a fixed look that boded no good to the welfare of Frank Parnell. “Wher’ have you ben’, pap?” lie asked, as the blacksmith emerged from a thicket near where the son was sitting on the old worm fence. “Be’n to the still ■” , “Hush, pap, don’t talk so loud. You don t know who’se a listening.” “Let listen. I’ll bet you ef tliey fool with in 1 1 stop their ears for ’em. I have been t< h still, and I tell you it’s jest a doin’ bully. Did Sandy’s made some brandy there that would make them gover’ment feller’s mouths water.” “Pap, why ain’t we a-gitt’n rich off n that still? Don’t you know ef we had some good feller to sell it for us on sheers, we could jest make money, hand over fist?” “’Hit’s too resky. I’d rather git it off on the sly, so’s nobody ham’t got no chance to squeal.” “Well, I hadn’t. It’s a desp’rate game any how, and I’m a-goin' to make money out’n it.” «'•* _ ... The blacksmith s».. bird* with—- ayreentr at' imnWs* f. III. It’s a pity people have to suffer so much. It is sad that people will persist in doing wrori Why should the stout, the sturdy oak, gre rotien at the heart an i drop its leaves and have its withered branches torn off, while the stunted pine renews its coa* of duil grey bark and keeps its waving boughs green through all the centuries? “Pm afeard Frank has been a-drinkin’too much. Something is wrong. Ite done well the first year, but last summer l begun to see he was not right. He seems oneasy at times, and then again lie’s over-joyful.” Ah, tender soliiitiule. Who but a mother could guess that some deep under-current had set against the prosperous young merchant’s career? “I reckon it’s because he’s a-goin’ to git married in December, and you know it’s Oc tober no a. It’s enough t> make a feller feel fidgety;” and with a chuckle Mr. Parnell turned a way. Frank had been prosperous. The little country store furnished cloth and cearse hats and other goods for the farmers’ outer needs; and coffee, sugar, tobacco and salt, and the other little requirements of the inner man, and liquor, o, there was the rub! He didn’t ap pear to sell much li juor, however, for he gen erally bought about three ten-gallon kegs full, one of whisky, one of rum and one of brandy, twice a year, and that was not, much. The boys used to come there and drink Saturdays until they would get lively, and then they would joke him on the lasting qualities of his stock, and swear it looked like the more he watered it. the better it got. “W’y, w’en he fust gits in ths load, hit’s as mean as pizen, but in a few day s, a week or s.ch a matter, it begins to get better; an’ 1 have drunk some here that tasted as new’s if it’d just left the still.” “it’s ali in knowing how to run it,” Frank would say; and to this they would all agree that‘‘Frank Parnell was ca’rect, an’a sharp young feller, to boot.” Poor Sadie! Her maidenly heart had re ceived some keen thrusts lately. When they weat t.o the last Fourth of July picnic at. Drew’s Hole, Frank had been drinking and Bill Blake had taken him off to a shady place and left him to sleep it off. Then Bill, grown bigger, stronger and coarser, had come and sympathized with Sadie. “I'm afeard lie’s a nibblin’ too much at the cork.” (“Bait,” he might have said.) “Pm sorry fur it, too, ’cause 1 al’us liked Frank. Whisky has mint many a good lookin’ feller afore now,” ani then Lis black eyes would gaze into hers in such a vengeful and gloating way. What wonder if the tears came in her own blue eyes, the starry eyes that Frank had loved so fondly. But she had avoided Frank somewhat of late. He was almost rude at times, and she had begun to half diead his ap proach. He bad got, so that lie would lose his temper and was ready to flare up, and would eye her suspiciously when she modestly and timidly ventured to speak of the danger of dis sipation. Bert? O, I had almost lest sight of him. The world had not however, for, thirty miles away, in tin; market town, he was toiling away in a lawyer’s office. In looking over his father’s legacy, which consisted of a Lunula or musty, moth-eaten papers, he had come upon a faded document hidden in a mass of rubbish, and by the worm- eaten seal attached to it, he discovered that, it was the title deed to a tract of land with the original State grant attached. Curious to know wha the old deed referred to, lie turned it to the light and found that it was the title deed to lot No. i»s7 in the Ninth district of county. Then lie sat down and tried to remember; he had a vague recollec-ion of some trouble be tween his father and old Bill Blake in years gone by, and he thought it was about some land; but bis father got the worst of the suit, and being such a “shiftless” fellow, he had abandoned the fight after this feeble effort and had made up with Blake, and the matter was dropped. Surely this had no bearing on the case. Yet Bert resolved to visit the little coanty town of his oid county and examine the rec ords and see what the old deed amounted to. Poor Bert! he had suffered keenly for awhile after the painful episode at the picnic. He had grieved over the matter in secret and had felt that a great shadow had fallen across his path. He had no claim on Sadie Varner, none in the least. He had thought, like all the others, that she was the pick of the settlement in the way of women, but his position was so far re moved from her’s even in that democratic com munity he had been content to worship at a distance. He had possessed some undefined idea of one day winning a name and getting some money and then—well, he wouldn’t even trust himself to hope till then. But when be came upon Frank and Sadie at Drew's Hole on that memorable day the cur rent of bis whole life was changed. The first sharp pang had well-nigh overmas tered him, but he struggled like a man, and as he battled his strength increased. A high and noble resolve upheld him and in a few months he was domiciled in the dingy little office in Thomasvillo and the gray-headed lawyer was his fast friend and wise counsellor. In the spring he was admitted to the bar and the Judge had assigned him his “maiden case,” and he had won the same and bore off the hon ors of the day. Engaged in the pursuit of his profession he had preserved the little secret as one treasures a failed blossom, bidden from the rude gaze-of an unsympathizing world where its possession was a constant reminder of golden days to him, and yet gave rise to no unpleasant questioning from others. They had heard of him. Bert Mason had even visited the little county site when Court convened, in his own county, and one or two who had known him slightly, even honored him by addressing him as “Squire Mason.” Had she forgotten? No, women do not easi ly forgot their friends, especially if these friends are prosperous, and Salie regarded Bert as a friend. She had always felt a sort of sympathy for the pale-faced boy whom all the world had regarded so indifferently. Some how, whenever she heard of any of his small triumphs her pulse quickened and her heart was glad. Why, she never asked herself. In fact she had been too much occupied with con flicting emotions regarding her engagement to admit of much speculation on outside matters. When the sun-light conies aslant and the rays are reddened by contrast of leaden clouds that hover about the horizon, and the woods are stirred by melancholy breezes, that sigh and moan among the branches of the pines, it brings a feeliners. uduess and foreboding that makes us forg&T’aiat the skies were ever so bonnie blue in June. Even the wine-colored waters murmur quer ulously, and the smooth surface of Drew’s Hole is trouted with currents and counter currents that go swirling around freighted with the withered leaves of autumn and the grey goss-hawks deserted nest comes rattling down from the topmost bough of the grey pine tiee that towers aloft towards the sombre heavens. IV. ‘Tap, there is something wrong agoing on in the settlement.” The speaker sat on a low stump on a ground in the heart of a great swamp. The old man to whom he spoke was busied in fill ing a keg from a vessel that was half buried in the earth at the foot of a knotted gum-tree. “Why Bill?” And without looking up he continued filling the keg. “I am satisfied somebody’s a watch in I seed two strangers a loafin’ about in the woods yistidy. I b’lieve one of them was Bert Mason, but i am not positive.” Slowly the elderly man raised up and pass ing his great rough hand across his rugged brow he fixed his eyes on a knot hole in a huge cypress tree so ne yards distant. “No,” he said slowly, “there ain’t no sign up there. They couldn’t tell it a hundred yards off.” So thick was the screen of undergrowth that hid the little knoll from view that one could not see a man thirty yards ahead. The black smith had so constructed the still that the pip ing led the smoke into the hollow of the big cypress from which it escaped in thin rifts at the knot holes, and was scarcely distinguished, even when the fire was at its best, at the dis tance of a hundred yards. Here, where the liquor was collected, lie had further protected the spot by training the bamboo vines so that they would climb over the low casina shrubs and the bay bushes, and i , was only one chance in a hundred that would ever lead a prying informer there There was one path in the swamp winding, twisting and turning from log to log, and tus sock to tussock, and another trail out of the swamp which led down an oozy run that drew its sluggish length beneath over-arching iron wood shrubs, towards the bend in the creek on the opposite*side of which was Drew’s Hole Oid Sandy, the negro, who did the distilling was skilled in his art, and so cunning was he that no one except these two knew where he spent his days and nights during the occasion al period of prolonged absence from home. “Here now. It is ready Bill,” said the black ;root bang into the lhe hog-pen. vftr.ybli^au tell me what he has 1 got to say ’boi.Jr that money he owes us The sun had sunk behind the pine clad ridges and a low grieving wind came sou; through the withered branches of the gum trees. Brown cat squirrels leaped aside and chattered out their astonishment as Bill Blake picked his way along the gloomy path among clumps of reeds and cypress knees. At last he reached a sort of open glade where the carpet fern or “feather-bed moss,” as the natives call it, yielded to his tread and t’u sound of his movements was as noiseless a the tread of a cat Placing the keg on a stump he uttered a lov whistle which was answered from across the cre^k where Drew’s Hole lay fretting and shiv ering in the dusk of even. The jorees whistled shrilly and the bn tbrushes kept up their “chuck”' “cha r-r.’ “Hello Bill is that you?” “Yes, this is nn, Frank. I Lave brought you a cag o’ licker and it is the last I’m going to fetch you tel: you pay me and pap what you owe us.” “Why Bill, what is the matter? Ilavn't I been in debt to you before and didn’t 1 always pay?” “‘That’s neithf r here nor there. I tell you right now you jest as well to make up your mind to settle that ere debt. Pap don’t want no hard feelin’ and I don’t keer 'bout no fuss myself, but we have got to have what’s our’n.” In the deepening dusk he was soon lost to sight and Frank Parnell was left alone, angry and humiliated because his pride had been wounded, and tr mbled because he could not sea just then bow’ on earth he was to raise three hundred d >llars to pay that debt. “They have led me off till I’m a ruined man. Why should I try to stand between them and the law? The law will get them first or last as sure as fate, and I have time yet to save my self if I go at it in a cautious way. They are going to try to shove me to the wall, and it is dishonor on one side and a few simple scruples regarding friendship that has never existed and confidence founded on treachery and I will risk it,. Sadie, what, will she say? What will old Varner say? What will they all say? And yet that is my only salvation. Who is Bill Blake tha', I should screen him? I believe that he has been working steadily for the last two years to get me in his clutches and now he is beginning to tighten on me. It is a desperate game but I am a desperate man about now.” A pocket flask caught the reflection of a star iliat beamed overhead, and then the sound of gurgling liquor, then a long breath, anil then the sound of his retreating footsteps. That night Frank Parnell failed to come home, and bis so re was closed the next day, but on the third diy he was back at his busi ness bright and early, and the rough shutters of undressed pine were all thrown open. “One more night and day,” he hummed softly to himself. Somehow the quaint old refrain lljwed precisely in unison wi.h his thoughts. “One more night and day, And it’s one more night and day.” “Ha»te to the Wedding,” was a favorjte tune with the younger members of that community, and even the grey beards were always pleased when the fiddlers struck up the old tune. “One more night and day, And it’s one more night and day.” As he brushed the counter with his bare hand and put matters to right on the shelves, he kept humming that old refrain. Late that e vening four men rode up and tied their horses i:i the little clump of black jack- a few yards in the rear of the store. “Hello, Cap'n, give us somethin’ to drink,” said the leader who had the shrewd look oi a revenue cc’.hetor about him. Tne liquor was placed on the counter, and he and his co i pauions swallowed each a brim ming glass of the potent lluid. “Darned good licker. Same place?” he observed, looking up. Frank nodded assent and a knowing glance was exchanged between the leader and the store-keeper. Then he leaned over the counter and con versed in low tones with the store-keeper, and after a white both straightened up and shook hand * in silence. “Come, boys, it’s my treat. What’ll you all have?” Frank’s voice was a little shaky and he seemed unduly excited, out the liquor seemed to steady him. Leaden clouds came hurtling up from the West, and the wind sighed dismally among tfie trees. Close up to the wall of the shanty cro ached a dark form, and two beady eyes gazed intently through a chink in the wall. ‘‘One, two, three, lou, jes lo u’n ’em, an’ dey’s ali strangers. W’at dis ’eah bus’ness mean?” This was his mental soliloquy, for so cautious was Sandy he was careful not to even breathe a long breath, “damp u up. Beltih tek wa’nin’, Bill Blake, be It ah look sha’p, iran!” Out into the lonely night the dark form glided. By unfrequented paths, known only to his experienced feet, he sought the black smith’s home, and to the old man he told his story. Young Bill was away. There was a dancing party at Varner’s that night, and Bill was among the revellers. “We’ll ta!k about it tomorrow, Sandy. Keep your eyes skinned and your ears wide open. If they come a nosin’ round here we’ll make it hot fur ’em.” «»*«**** “Humph! I must have got miserably off last ni ,r ht. Reckon I better brace up,” and fumbling about Frank l’arnell secured a glass, poured it brimming full of brandy and tossed it off with an air of satisfaction. Then he left the store and walked out in the chill grey mists that hung like a shroud over the forest towards his father’s home. “You like to have been too late for break fast, Franky,” said his mother, as the young man stumbled into the kitchen. “Yes, I staid up too late at the party last night.” “Well, you’ll get over that purty soon, now. Married men don’t have any ’casion for sich as that.” Why did he shudder at the mention of bis marriage? Should he ever be married? Could his dull, unsteady eyes ever gaze in the honest eyes of his intended again with the unfalter ing light of honesty and conscious rectitude? And Sadie— Few customers cann to the store that (Lay, and it was late in the evening when the tramp of horse’s feet aroused him from his troubled reverie. Ho had drunk deeply, glass after glass of brandy had gone to cool his parched throat which was scorched into insensibility by the scalding draught. “Yes, I’ll show you the way, but I’m not to be known in the business,” he told the collec tor. It was hard to tell when the sun went down. The rain ceased for awhile, and the wail of the autumn wind chilled the heart of the har diest wayfarers aniong those lonely barrens. The low whistle was answered and Bill Blake leaned aga nst the sturdy magnolia wait ing for his confederate. “Curse him! I’ve knocked bis trotters from under him at Varner’s. I wonder what Bert Mason is doing here? The feller has changed so much, too. He is almost handsome. I wo i- der what makes Frank so slow—” There was a momentary struggle, a volley of angry epi thets, and Bill Blake stood scowling on his captors. “Now we've got you safe. Show us the way to the still.” “Cert’nly I will; come on gentlemen,” lie answered in mock courtesy, Lis voice thick with passion. Lifting a mass of tangled bullace vines he plunged into the swamp with a man on either side of him. “Look here, how far is it to that still?” “<>, it’s only a little piece further, come ahead.” The tones hid a ring of scorn in them now. “You have to tussock it here”—and with a bound he was off like a wild deer, darting from tree to tree, and thus avoiding the shots that were tired at him until the deep gloom had swallowed up his form. “Wa-oo! wa-oo! wa-oo—ah-ha-ha-ha!” It was the mocking tones of a horn owl who was laughing at their discomfiture. After wandering about for some minutes they struck the open woods. “Yonder is the light of the old man Blake’s house. S’pose we take him along?” “Whose there?” answered the old man when the collector called at the gate. “A man that want’s to see you a minute.” Too wary to go out at the front door after what Sandy had told him, he cautiously opened the back door ami peered out into the night. In his right hand he held a heavy (’olt’s re volver—a long-barreled, wicked-looking weap on with seven big holes in the cylinder. “Halt there! We’ve surrounde 1 your house and you had j ist as well give up peaceably.” “Bang! bang! bang!” And then the old man staggered forward, crouched on the doorstep, his head sank on the dojr-iill and all was still. Bill Blake was free. Why should he add murder to his othei crimes? Tramp, tramp, tramp. Dawn by the ren dezvous, across the creek ami then to the right, lie would go up by Drew’s llolo, and by a near ° Ne. Jiv.aTie ana Frank i’amdl woiiiu uftVe a settlement. His great big right hand clinched involuntarily, and he would raise it up as if to smite an enemy and then drop it to his side, burying the sharp nails in the burning palm. I*rank Parnell leaned against the great pine, gazing stupidly at the dark water. ‘•Aha! You are waiting for me, eb? Ila, ha! I m mighty glad to see you.” And he sprang forward with all the ferocity of a panther on his prey. “Keep off! Don’t hit me, Bill. Remem ber ” Yes, te remembered Frank Parnell. His memory was all too reticent. There was a gleam of steel in the fading light, and then a heavy splash. The circling eddies tied toward the muddy margin, lapping softly against the ‘ Chack ! char-r-r!’’ The brown thrushes were frightened at the unusual commotion. Bill Blake stood panting alone on the bank. The great pine tree rocked to and fro—the only mourner there. A gaunt and haggard figure tottered into a room at the piincipal hotel of a little town in Florida, and, sinki igon a bench, the rough and bearded face was hidden in the bony hands. Later on he asked for a room, and the land lord, seeing he was ill, asked if he wanted any thing. “No, nothing; just let me alone.” < >f course nobody was much surprised when they heard the mutlled report of a pistol; and, bursting open his door, found him stiffening in death. The handsome face of Frank Parnell boro an innocent and peaceful expression, that had not lingered there for many months, when they found his body floating in the deep, black eddy. 1 lie curly, brown locks clustered about the shapely head in the oid boyish way. But the ragged wou id in his shrunken breast—ah ! old Mrs. Blake was not molested. She had seen trouble enough, and she might remain on the old place as long as she liked. Bert Mason would never trouble her. True he had been kept out of his inheritance for many years, and his father—poor, shiftless Tom—had suffered before hm; but oil Mrs. Blake, widowed ami childless, was without protection. Bert had nothing to gain by dispossessing this feeble oid woman, and if he had he had no inclination to do such an unmanly thing. In the outskirts of Thomasville there is a quiet and cozy little home. The woodbine and yellow jasmine have clambered to the low roof, and the April sunlight creeps ihto the front porch and peeps into the windows and glorifies the nut-brown tresses oJ a beautiful woman. The subdued light :n her violet eyes shows the marks of past troubles, but the happy smile that illumines her fair face tells that all is well. There is a step outside; and, rising from her low chair, she is clasped in tho arms of a sligholy-built young teilow who would be abso lute homely were it not for his genial face, the breadth of his white brow and the steady and kindly glance of his honest eye. Bert Mason is very happy; and Sadie Mason, nee Vainer, is very happy too. They have passed through a great deal of trouble, but all is over now, and they are prosperous and hap py; yes, very, very happy. The o d path has grown dim. The woods .are rather uufrequeLled just at that particular point. Fishermen avoid it. The superstitious- ly inclined often hear strange noises co ning from the deep jangle beyond Drew’s Hole? The negroes will not go there to fish at nights for fear of the “hants ” The old pine still towers aloft, but no more the goss hawk builds her nest in the topmost boughs. The deep, dark eddv, always so gloomy, Las grown gloomier still, for the grass h is grown high on the little sandy bluff, except in one spot, which is as bare as a sand-bar. It is about six feet square. That is where Frank Parnell fell, ai d his life-blood dyed the gPstening sands. Of course every one knows that the grass will not grow any more on the spot where a man has been murdered. “Chack ! char r r!” the brown thrushes call from the reed brakes around Drew’s Hole. [the end.] Since the question of removing the court house of Coffee county, Ga., from Douglas to a more convenient point has been agitated, many inducements have been made by citizens in different parts of the county to secure its loca tion. A correspondent of tne Waycross Ilcud- li'jht says that Mr. Jesse Lott makes an unex celled offer as follows: He offers to build a brick court house and jail, also erect a fine ho tel and build a railroau touching ail points, if the people will give him the court house at Broxton. THE(0lTNTFtY pdlLOSOPHQt [Copyrighted by author. All rights reserved.] Note.—By special arrangement with the author «>■ those articles and the Atlanta CimMitutwn, for _ wli.c spect for him. He is a good man, even if he is mistaken. Mr. Beecher said the best thing to him when he told him that a man with a crutch tried to cross the street, and a fellow ame along and kicked the crutch from under him and never gave him any substitute. I read that Mr. Ingersoll says he will never ut ter anotLer word against the Christian religion. If it is nothing but a crutch it is better than no crutch. I am glad that he said that much, and wish that he bad said it long ago. (IVUuMOK right. NY im in tii“ Sunn other papers an alio •d to publish «her * * * * Nervous Debility, in either sex, however induced, speedily, thoroughly and permanently cured. Address, with 10 cems in stamps lor reply and book of particulars. World’s Dispensary Medical Association, Off:) Main Street, Buffalo, N. Y. Well, they are certainly the strangest, people in the world—those yankees I mean—those Northern brethren of ours. Was there ever such a conglomeration, such a cross, envious, hateful, good-natured, magnanimous, brotherly mixture? Listen at Sherman and listen at Hoar. Listen at Sherman down South and Sherman up North. Hear Fairchild with his hyena scream about the Southern flags, and then see the generous banquet that Boston pre pared far the R. K. Lee post of ex-Confeder- ates. See Mr. Cleveland and his Adjutant- General trying to be kind and forgiving to the South by returning the trophies of the conquer ors, and then hear the devilish yell of our ene mies. What a world of comfort there is in the noble words of Senator Hoar when lie said: “We, too, have learned to know, as we never knew before, the quality of the noble Southern stock. What courage in war; what attachment to home and State; what capacity for great af fection and generous emotion; what aptness for command; above all, what constancy—that virtue beyond all virtues, without which no people can long be either great or free. , Ap plause.] After all, the fruit of this vine has a flower not to be found in other gardens. In the great and magnificent .future which is be fore our country you are to contribute a large share, both of strength and of ornament. “Mr. Secretary Lamar, in his oration at the unveiling of the statue of Calhoun, at Charles ton, for which I am happy to take this occasion to express my admiration, does not exaggerate when he declares that the late appeal to arms “has led to the indissolubility of the American union and the universality of American free dom.” [Applause ” That is the kind of talk that whips us. Mr. Hoar can go through the length and breadth the South and find welcome at every door. I invite him now to my house, and even Mrs. Arp says he may come, and that’s saying a good deal for her. We know that he is a Re publican, but he is a gentleman, and his heart is all right. But all such as Sherman, and In galls, and Fairchild, and Foraker, and Hal stead, and that reverend son of Beelzebub, John Ithey Thompson, may stay at home and shiqny on their own side. If they love to be ihri are welcome. We waLt pjace and'frater- nity and they say “Xo, you shan’t have it.” the .North wonders that'there is a solid Siuth There always will he as long as the .North has a sohu hate. We may quarrel about office and rings aiiu the tarilf. but as long as the North slanders us we will be a unit. If I was the Republican party and wanted to break up the solid South and capture a Stale or two I would do it through kindness. That is the only weapon that can whip us. I know it. for 1 am just one of our people, a type of the avetage and .Mr. Hoar has whipped me already. But I never did see such a people. While .Mr. Chv.-- laml is writing a beautiful letter to lateen V:c- tona, and paying tribute to her virtues, ami Wishing her long life and peace and prosperity, ami while her knglish and Scotch subjects are celebrating her .1u.li anniversary in Boston Were is a howling mob outside tryiim to break it up, and it took all the Boston police to keep them Iron* breaking down the doors. What kind of a people have they got up North'.' We don t do that wuy r tlown here, t tor people wouldn’t insult a noble woman. We can be friends to Ireland without doing dishonor to "the *i teen of England—a queen who has reigned longer than any queen that ever lived, and'who has tried to do right ami set a good example to womankind everywhere. She has raised some bad boys, but she didn’t mean to, and I reckon it was our pretty American women who led them astray. She has been the best queen that England ever had. I am for Queen Victoria 1 am, and she is as good a friend to Ireland to’ day as 1’arnell or any other man. The great question is, ‘ Is Ireland a friend t > herself.”’ lint after all it is not strange that the north is so broken up, and as Webster said so ‘-dis- severei, discordant, bell gerent.” Foreign*rs are arriving now at an average rate of -I 000 a day. and they coma with all sorts of opinions and all sorts of prejudices. Thank the good Lord teat they do not come down here. Here Is the hope ef the country, the salvation of the government. Here is conservatism and peace, and law and order. Here are gxid morals and good principles. We haven’t got much money, hut we don’t think as much of money as some folks. Our highest regard is for something that we can carry with us when we die. I would rather leave my children good princi ples, truth, honesty and integrity, than money, and so had every father who'has the right sort of love for his children. 1 would rather he Marion Howland, my humble tenant, than Jay Hould, for there are many promises to the poor and none to the rich that 1 know of. f don’t want to be squeezed through a needle’s tye to get to heaven. But still there are some hopeful signs up north—and they euccura*’e us and lift us up in hope and faith. The grand army mat at Saratoga and all the vindictive resolutions about the southern flags were laid upon the i a ole and the southern arttt of the northern l'otomac was iLvited to meet with the northern army at Gettysburg nexty* at. That is all right, anti we will meet. Let Fairchild take a back seat. If ho wants to whip us again let- him try it single-handed Our‘boys will settle that matter like Captain John Smith set lied it with the Turks three centuries ago. I’ll bet ten dollars against ten ee. ts that 1 airchild won’t come lo time, and John Ithey Thomp son’s legs will carry him the other way in spite of his malice. (>ur people are getting along very well now. Mr. Sjnev set us up in Oxford anti that ins.i- tutiou is all rigliL. I rejoiced to read about their last commencement. It is the most hope ful sign ot ttte si»iuh—those hoys are doing splendid. When hoys cau make a locomotive out and oat, and can write scitntiiio treatises ou the v.lives and pistons, and steam eti- sts, and driving wheels and boilers, that is good enough. I have been waiting for that, a long t me. When one of my boys is a skilled me° cbanic and can build an engine, or a bridge, or a railroad, 1 feel sure of him. It beats law or medicine and it beats politics with all its hy pocrisy. I met some good people in New York York the othei day—some splendid people— my old friend Andrew II. II. Dawson had a gathering at his house, and I was delighted. Mrs. Bryan was there anil so was Dr. Hill, the son of General I). H. Hill, and there was Chancellor Smith anil Air. and Mrs. Alalone, of Milledgeville, anil Colonel Duvektnau, of Virginia, who was the friend of Mrs. Felton, and nursed Howard when he was sick unto death, and when Mrs. Felton asked hint to go after Dr. Newman to come and pray for How ard, he went, and not beiHg very reverential so far as his knees were concerned, he asked Dr. Newman to make his prayer reasonably short, and the reverend doctor said: “I’ve got you now where I want you. You have been playing off tricks on me, and now I will make you kneel ou your marrow bones for half an hour.” Duyckman says he never did hear so long a prayer, and his comfort is that Howard got well. Bob Ingersoll writes a nice note, but be had company of his own. I would have been pleased to have met him, for 1 have great re- The Cardiograph. [Suggested by 1S87 being the fiftieth anniver sary of the invention of the electric tele- grapb.] [M. C. O Byrne in Chicago News., .Slid Cupid to Venus: * Daar mother, between us I trunk we c;iu tilt on a notion, That will give us much pleasure, and serve tea measure, To keep all mankind in commotion. “A creature called Morse, A Yankee of cours* The devil’s In all of that nation- lias struck an invention, ot which I’ve heard men non, Which certainly beats ali creation. “With wires and dials. And magnets and phials, Men chatter toj:e f her at ease. From Boston to Cor k. Hm Francisco. New York Over deserts, through rivers ana seas. “Shame befalls us If they, Mere creatures o clay, A: us, the immortals should laugh! SJ let us he wl"<* aud something devise. To rival the new telegraph.” Thus spoke the hoy Cupid, Whom some gods thought stupid ; Ano, lot in a moment he found An energy latent, Jove granted a patent, With powers to test it around. With his bow In bis baud, The blind hoy took his stand, Not far from two cbiluren of earth, lie touched both thetr hearts with the point of his darts, And flew hack to heaven in mirth. And since then, each heart, However apart In distance—Holds commune most sweet, For, though oceans should run between them, each oue Feels the other responsively heat. Wife.—What do you think of the new girl, John? Husband.—Was that her that just let me in? Wife.—Yes. Husband.—Well, she’s just a daisy. Wife (icily).—Think so! Husband (enthusiastically)—Think so! Why, she has a complexion like a moss rose, and eyes like—like—I don’t know what. And her teeth are splendid, too. Next day when John went home to dinner he was let in by a girl with a complexion like polished ebony, eyes as large as saucers and teeth like two rows of piano keys. The Baby. [R. J. Burdette iu Brooklyn Eagle. J The little tottering baby feet. _ With f tlfermg steps and slow. theygoq™ ^ They also go, tn grimy plays. In muddy pools and du ty ways. Then through the hou<e in trackful maza TLey wander to aud fro. The baby hands that clasp my neck With touches dear to me. Are the same hands thar smash and wreck The lukstand foul to see; T'hey pound tne mirror with a cane, faey rend the manuscript in twain. Widespread des f ructtou they orda n, in wasteful j lbiiee. The drv amy, murrai rii? b iby voice Thai cl03 its little tuue. That makes a v listening heart rejoice Like birds in leafy June, Cau wake at midnight oarK and still, * nd all the air with howling ti 1 ‘ shrill, Tha r splits the ear with eetu Like cornets out of tuue. She (witnessing the play of “Ten Nights in a Bar-room”)—How dreadfully awful it is Don’t you think so, Jack.’ Jack It i*>n t half as bad as ten bar-roon- m a night. Marty Englishmen arc wondering why Buf falo Bill has never been elected to the Ameri can Presidency. Who? What? Which? Where? [Life.] When the young debutante gets slgbt'ot a beau bile scarcely can peep through tue "leaves ol her Her heart doth so (litter, her cheeks dosogl.w As she asks all a-iremhling -Who is tne trait V” Twenty doth bri"g her to years ot dlseretirn ,o N :’ onger sue b usUes but changes her elan W'^^Khtsot the pocket, the place, the j.rofes ’’What Is the Attblrt, e;.ch day the thoueht doth appal her iUat ■ our hv hour hur <*row wan ■ ' maileraDd ‘mailer— “Which is the That • our by hour her i j r circle of lover? gr»>w; She duns each deceiver man?” I«.;rty coanges h«r tune, and she prows romantic I) ems it charming to simper as much as she can • st e*n s the Atlantic. * Is: • Where is the man ?” “Oh, dear,” groaned young Mr. Leather- head. sinking wearily into an office chair “oh dear! my head aches fearfully “Possible?” asked oid Air. Hardox, his un- sympathetic employer, “possible? Then some thing surely must have got into it.” And then the atmosphere of the counting- room seemed to grow at least twenty de -rees colder. ° A dry-goods clerk is not necessarily a »ood soldier, although he may know about drilling and be accustomed to counter marchin". ° It reads a trifle paradoxical to see a cargo of salt cod noticed under the head of fresh’arri \ als. Alt old lady said she could not tell her mince pies from iter apple pies without cutting them and was advised to mark them, she did so and complacently remarked: “ This I've marked ‘T. Al.’—’Tis mince; aud that ’T. A1 ’ —'Taint mince. Missing a Point. > lucky,” a fair tuaideu saia 1 lest Ion of dress; mmed with pstucoats, ct rsets v-u* men are * l>i cussing the kou re ue'er ■ hawis, ’Vhlea tous are a source of distress ” Yes. I know,” said the youth, who wattirg had been 6 An argument ready to seize; What you’ve said is all true, yet there’s one point y.m miss- ,u,ul Your pdais never bag at the knees.” “So you’ve traded your horse for Tompkins’ eh?” said oue Long Island farmer to another ‘ Yes, but at one time I thought the trade wouldn’t amount to anything. Tompkins wanted a harness to boot.” “Wanted something to boot, eb? always was a kicker.” Well, be “What is the worst thing about riches”” asked a Sunday-school teacher. “Their scarci ty,” replied a boy; and he was immediatelv awarded a chrorno. * It‘"member that the stuff you drink Upon the outside shows. So always let your Intellect SMne brighter than your nose. A CARD. To all who are : indiscretions of vi o*rins from tho errors and h, nervous weakness, early decay, lossot manhood, I will send a recipe that will cure you,FREE OF CHARGE. Tl.tsgreat remedy was discovered by a missionary In South America. Send a sol hod dressed envelope to the Kfc*. Josetii T. Ixmax, station D, yew Fork City.
