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4
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
his corps, and in a very short time the van,
flanks and rear were formed into a semicircle,
and stood mutely waiting to close in on the
invaders as soon as the last man should de
scend from the bluff.
Climbing a tree, General S. watched the
dark, moving mass of warriors as, crossing
the river, they clambered up the crags, two
abreast, till the last men stood on the summit
awaiting the descent of their precursors to
allow them foothold for the steep descent.
Now was the moment. The signal sounded
and resounded, and the Confederates simul
taneously close in on the daring foe. There
was a wild shout, a rush forward, the clatter
of arms, and the entrapped besiegers wavered
to and fro like back waters.
'Suddenly, there was a rush of cavalry, and
the sound of musketry in the rear and on
the left flank of the Confederates, and Gen
eral S. now realized that his conjecture of a
sortie from G. was verified.
For half an hour the sound of shot and
shell was deafening, for the batteries on the
neighboring heights opening fire on H.’s
men, belched forth for destruction in thun
derous roars. Such a conflict in such a place
could not be of long duration, for the dense
timber catching fire, raged like a powerful
death-engine, eager to swoop up everything
in its wav. For one moment the combatants
swayed like a herd of buffaloes on a burning
prairie, then a general stampede ensued, the
blue and the grey running over each other in
their frantic efforts to escape from the flam
ing timber.
No one thought of the wounded, and many
a poor sufferer was there cremated, with no
one to hear and pity his last agonized groans.
Next morning, at roll-call, many names
were marked absent, and among the missing
was Lieutenant Mansfield.
John Grayson was deeply grieved by the
loss of his foster brother. He made diligent
search and inquiry for him, but could learn
nothing definite. He was “missing,” that
was all, and whether he died on the fatal
field or was carried off captive, no one knew.
John tried to believe the latter, and, in writ
ing to Mrs. Mansfield on the subject, he en
deavored to impart to her the hope he but
vaguely entertained himself.
CHAPTER VIII.
OUTRAGED BY THE BLIZZARD.
Messrs. Washington and Lee lost no time
in removing to their own domain. Their
home, fronting the broad, deep river with its
low, level banks, shaded by lofty trees, had
been erected with an eye to beauty, as well
as comfort and convenience.
£ Crafts of various description, from the fish
erman’s boat to the deadly gunboat plowed
the placid waters. The new wharf soon be
came a busy’emporium, for the inhabitants
for miles around came daily to barter their
farm products for commodities of every de
scription, from a Christmas toy to a wheat
drill or reaper. The new quay had been
christened “Washington’s Landing” in honor
of its principal builder, and the people
around, who were so much benefitted by it,
were not slow to show their appreciation of
the enterprise. For the river being the
quickest route of communication with the
outside world, in this region remote from
railroad and telegraph lines, it was now, that
the new wharf was completed, fast superced
ing the olden time stage coach and mail car
rier.
Christmas, the first one in their new home
and adopted State, has come, and their bill
of fare, if not lengthy or epicurean, is, at
least, savory and satisfying, for milk supplies
the place of coffee and tea, and Ms. Lee con
gratulates herself that she has done very well
considering the times. But an air of sadness
pervades each countenance as they converse
in subdued tones around the Christmas board.
For one of their number is absent. Yes,
Tom had volunteered as a soldier, and was
new encamped at Sabine Crossroads. He
might never again join them in the Christmas
festivities, and as this dire reflection crossed
the maternal mind, she vainy strove to re
press the tell-tale tears that coursed their way
down her cheeks.
“Cheer up, sister,” said Mr. Washington,
“your smiles are balm to us, but your tears
can benefit no one.”
And his own eyes were humid as, turning
to his daughter, he inquired :
“My dear, have you heard why Lucy does
not come. Did she answer your invitation?”
“Yes, father,” said Vi, “Lucy writes
me that, owing to her father's indisposition,
she can not visit us at present.”
The invitation referred to had been for Miss
Dolorough to come and spend Christmas
with them. Mr. Washington had suggested
that the invitation be sent in the hope that
the society of the vivacious girl would tend to
dispel the general gloom, and especially to
enliven Vi, who had not been her old merry
self since the disappearance of the too fasci
nating captain. He almost wished he had left
him to die with his horse. He had no idea of
his real name, his true character, or his actual
guilt, and yet, he felt that the world could
not have suffered-by the deprivation. While
indulging these painful*reflections, in com
pany with his pipe, after dinner, his nephew,
Adolphe, came to tell him that a “queer-
looking man, just up from the wharf, wished
to see him.”
“Show him in,” said Mr. Washington.
And a moment later, Doctor Maroney
walked in, beaming with good-humor.
“Welcome, doctor,” said his host, rising
and extending his hand cordially. “If I had
been promised my dearest wish it would have
been for your presence just now. Be seated,
and tell me how you have enjoyed yourself
this long time since our last meeting in your
comfortable castle.’ ”
“Pretty will, thanks! I always injoy me-
silf, for I think it bist to accipt the good the
gods allow. I niver had the blues, save once
only, and that was afther I said good-bye to a
little blue-eyed girl who was no’ worth a
sigh; for she’s married long ago to Patrick
McClanahan, which isn’t saying much for
her good taste, nor yit for me own as his
predi scissor. ”
And, with a hearty laugh at his own ab
surdity, the good doctor branched off on top
ics nearer home.
“I am in search of a suitable location for a
sanitarium, me friend, ond I am convinced
that somewhere in the vicinity of the new
quay is the bist place for such an institu
tion. ”
“We shall be glad to have you near us,”
said Mr. Washington, heartily. “And you
think of starting a sanitarium, do you?”
“Faith ! Ond it’s Tony Maroney that sid
tha same, ond he niver wint back on his
worard. He would not be mislading ye,
however, by pretinding to ony great philan
thropic charity, for the docthor that iver
made a fortune for himsilf, made it by ither
paple’s misfortunes, ond I intind no depart
ure from the common rule. Indade, Tony
Maroney is no* the mon to frighten the
worald by ony new invintions. He simply
wants to get his worak condinsed, so as to
accomplish more with liss throuble. I have
been over to Palestine to see the hospital as
the peasants call it, ond I find it is the same
as a sanitarium excipt that it is filled with
sorgers ond government officials, whoile me
own will be for civilians of ivery description
—ond the warriors, too, provided the govern-
mint will pay me for trating its tinder. But
I do no’ intind silling out sowl ond body to
thim; for it’s a frae counthrie, ond l mane
to have the binifit of its liberty, ilse I had
just qa will have stayed at me fishnet on me
dear old Kilkenny. No, if I woVak for the
governmint, I will do it in me own toime,
ond way, with me own drugs, for its no frae
American governmint shall order Tony Maro
ney around, as if he were a slave.”
Here, Mr. Lee entered, causing a diversion
in the conversation, and soon afterwards
supper was announced.
On entering the dining-room, Doctor
Maroney was presented to other members of
the family, and, seating himself opposite to
Vi, he exclaimed:
“How loike, how loike!”
“Do you think me like my father?” Vi
asked with a smile.
“Will, yis, there is a strong resimblance.
But what I was most thinking of, is the
wonderful loikeness ye bear to a young leddy
patient of moin—pace to the dear sowl, is
not long that she’ll be in this worarld.”
“Is she so very ill?” asked Vi, her face
lighting up with sympathy for the unknown
sufferer.
“Faith! Ond its very sick she is, ond in
spoite of all me prayers, ond doctering I fear
she will soon be tapping at Saint Peter’s
gate.”
“I wish I could see her,” said Vi, with
growing interest as she thought of one so
young, and yet, so near the dark valley.
“Indade, ond it’s the same I could wish
mesilf, for it moigbt binifit her to see another
young crature so loike hersilf, save in the
matther of brawn ond brith.”
“Who is your interesting patient?” asked
Mr. Washington.
“Her name is Rosalie Grayson, she is a
ward and nominal daughter of the female
who mapped your course for you. By the
way, did you foind her map sufficiently ex
plicit?”
“Quite so, we had no trouble in making
our way back to Thurengen. She is a won
derful woman,”
“That is what I’ve been thinking on bitter
acquaintance, she is truly a wonderful woman,
Ond I can almost forgive her tratemint of
Dick Shelton, whin I remimber her koindness
to the poor young thing, who, it is said, is
no kin to her, although calling her mither.
Will, no mither could do more for a sick
choild than she does for this one, whatever
her motive may be.”
“Has she been sick all this time?”
inquired Mr. Washington.
“Yis, all this toime gradually breaking her
heart and dying. I wish I moight persuade
you to go with me to see her. I would loike
another opinion, besoides me own, in a case
loike this —fact is, I often wish for a partner
in intricate cases, where responsibility is so
great as to require sharing with siveral doc
tors, just to kape one’s conscience clear, if
nothing more.”
“Certainly, I will go to see her,” said Mr.
Washington, “and Violet shall accompany
us, if you think the visit would not be re
garded as intrusive.”
“Lave that same to me. I’ll escort ye both,
and spake to the woman asoide, ond she 11
indorse ony prescription I may offer as
loikely to binifit the patient, for its very fond
she is of that same poor, young, pretty
thing.”
It was, accordingly, agreed that the doctor
should spend the night with them, and that
Mr. Washington and his daughter would ac
company him to the Halford farm on the fol
lowing morning. This settled, the doctor
again reverting to his present hobby, the
sanitarium, said:
“It isn’t all nor entirely for filthy lucre,
nor yet, for the sole good of the afflicted, that
I propose ericting a sanitarium. It is partly
ond chaifly that I am tired of tbe solitary
loife I’ve been living all alone by mesilf. I
want the koindly aid ond sympathy of ithers
of me craft. Ond its yoursilf, Mr. Washing
ton, that I’d be afther asking to be me partner
in this great worark. Rub up your rusty
scalpel ond give me your aid in this humane
spiculation.”
“I will cheerfully render you any aid in
my power,” replied Mr. Washington.
And this so delighted Doctor Maroney that
he planned and chatted in his merriest vein
till bedtime.
Early next morning, Doctor Maroney, with
Mr. Washington and Vi, set out on their
journey of the Halford homstead. The day
was bright, with a breeze cool enough to be
bracing, without the least chilliness. It was
one of those rare December days, which sel
dom occur, even in Texas. Their road, lead
ing over prairie and gently undulating
wooded ridges, was free from obstruction,
and their fresh horses traveled so brisk and
easy as to make the journey exhilarating,
rather than fatiguing.
Cantering along between her escorts, list
ening to their animated conversation, Vi
felt a thrill of enjoyment, such as she had
not experienced since months before, when
the genial captain had read, or talked, to her.
Stopping at noon, under the shade of a
large buttonwood tree, where a minature
spring gurgled up from its roots, they par
took of a lunch of white bread and beefsteak,
washing it down with draughts of the spring.
While thus engaged a horseman, in ^hunting
attire, rode ' leisurely by staring curiously
at them without speaking.
“Surly dog,” commented Doctor Maroney.
“Faith! Ond I guess he’d be afther decaiv-
ing us into the belief that he grew up will-
brid in some great metropolis, whin, if the
truth be known, he doubtless garminated in
some back street gutther; for no born gintle-
man thraveling in these waste places would
pass by a fillow-crature without a worard
of koindly grating.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Mr. Washington,
“he is a foreigner, and, therefore, ignorant
of the customs of the country.”
“Just that same I was saying,” retorted the
doctor, “he is ignorant of the manners and
customs of will-brid paple, which are idin-
tical he worald over.”
Remounting their horses they proceeded
on their way, totally unaware that the man
in the hunting suit kept them in sight from a
wooded ridge on their right. Guaging his
own pace by theirs, he muttered to himself:
“Ah, I shall earn my money this time,
and do the old cuss a bad turn, too. I knew
I should find the bird by hunting far enough.
I suppose the old one has had her hidden
away somewhere for safe-keeping, but she’s
making straight for the farm, now, and I’ll
get her to-night, if I have to raise the devil
to help me. I guess that Irish quack is only
with her by chance, and if he does not leave
them of his own accord, I must find means of
getting him out of th» way, and, as for the
clod-hopper, if he keeps with her after dark,
I can easily knock him down, for there is no
one or two men that can turn me from a set
purpose.”
Soon after dark, as the travelers were ap
proaching the village of Sylvan Green, a man
came running in breathless haste to meet
them, and seising the doctor's bridle, said:
“Doctor, for the love of heaven, come to
Tom Slowton’s house as soon as possible, his
wife is fearfully burned,”
“How did it happen?” inquired Doctor
Maroney.
“She was kindling afire with kerosene, and
happening to pour on too much, the stove
exploded, her clothing caught fire, and she
must die unless you come quickly.”
“What shall we do?” asked Doctor Maro
ney of Mr. Washington.
“You go, and see after the sufferer, and
follow us later,” replied Mr. Washington.
“Can you foind the way?”
“Yes, I remember the road perfectly, it
isn't above two miles from here.”
“Thrue,” responded Doctor Maroney.
“Will, you go on, so as to get the yonng
leddy under shilter from the noight dews,
ond its^mesilf that’ll follow you prisently,”
and ^spurring his broncho, he disappeared in
a winding lane.
On reaching their destination, Mr. Wash
ington halted at the gate, and hallooed two
or three times, but receiving no answer, and
remembering that the hostess had the repu
tation of being peculiar, he hitched his horse,
and leaving Vi, still seated on hers, awaiting
him, he went to the door and gave a gentle
tap. It was opened instantly, revealing the
towering form, and angry visage of the Bliz
zard, who, seizing him by the collar, pulled
him in, while she loaded him with a vollej'
of absive language.
“A fine time o’ night this, to be trobling
honest people at home about their own busi
ness. Yes, come in, and I’ll attend to your
case later, when I have time, at present my
hands are full.”
And, before he comprehended her inten
tion, she had him locked up in a small, dark
room, then departed to another part of the
house. Then he could hear her moving
about as if in attendance on some one who
was very ill, this, he conjectured, from the
suppressed groans that, at short intervals,
reached his ear.
When the first shock of surprise at the
novelty of his situation, had subsided, he be
gan to feel around the dark walls fora window
through which he might escape, for poor Vi
would be frightened at being left so long
alone in the public highway. Feeling his
way cautiously around the room, he soon
found a small window, which he tried to
open, but it was securely fastened by a rusty
spring in the casement. At first, the spring
seemed immovable, but, by persevering
effort, he succeeded in ringing it back, and
raised the sash. Now, for the blind, if he
could open it he would soon be with Vi. He
pushed, pulled and strained, but the obstinate
blind did not yield. It must be fastened by a
bar on the outside, and yet, feelin g all
round, he could find no hook or niche for
such fastening. At last, out of patience, and
reckless of consequences, he gave a vigorous
kick, then another, and the way was open
for egress.
Stepping out on the gravelly yard, he hur
ried back to the gate, intent on rejoining his
beloved child. He would take her to an inn
at the village, where they would spend the
night, and never more would he venture near
this lawless termagant, who was evidently
crazy, and he wondered that so shrewd a man
as Doctor Maroney had not discovered it. At
the gate he found his own horse tied where
he had left him, but Vi was nowhere
seen. Poor child, she was so frightened by
his long absence that she had, doubtless,
gone in search of the doctor. So, ali he
could do, was to follow, and overtake her as
soon as possible.
So, galloping back to Sylvan Green, he
turned into the winding lane, where the doc
tor had disappeared, an hour before. He had
no idea how far the doctor had followed that
lane, nor did he remember the name of the
person he had been summoned to attend, but,
thinking it could not be far, and that he
should know the house of affliction by the
light (other houses along here being in dark
ness from their occupants having retired for
the night) he pushed on till the village be
came extinct in mirky distance, and no
human habitation was within sight.
I TO BE CONTINUED.3
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