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Waifs of tKe Time Little Southern “ DarRy
By Will JUlen Dromgoole
Written for Sunny South
C ans HIS Is their picture, taken
*J* just as they used to roam
the streets of Murfrees
boro, near the old Stone
H river battle field, in Ten
nessee. 'Where they came
from, and when, nobody
seemed to exactly know:
but from the time they
were tiny tots they were
familiar to the street and
to the people of the town.
There was a story that
the mother died In giving
them birth (for they were twins). Both
were boys, despite the supposedly fem
inine attire of one.
At the death of the mother, who had
a cabin near by the old battle ground,
they were taken into the home of a
woman who occupied the other room of
the cabin. I say taken in—that is, they
slept there, cared for after a fashion by
the woman until they were big enough
to get about the streets and beg. And
beg they did. They were Indeed the
most systematically fascinating little
rogues you ever set eyes upon. I do not
use the word rogue in the dishonest
sense; they were not dishonest: there
was no need to be, since everybody gava
them; everybody had a smile and a joke
for them; in fact, they seemed to fairly
belong to the town.
Their clothing was unique, original.
Sometimes they wore trousers, some
times dresses, according as they might
find themselves possessed or.
Sometimes one would wear a dress and -
the other trousers. Sometimes both
would blossom upon the public as girls,
carrying dolls and remnants of baby
carriages that It had ticnied the fancy
of some one to give them.
They utilised all their gifts, too, front
a suit of good strong Jeans to a bit
of broken eyeglass. But I am sorry to
i elate tliat the eyeglass afforded more
lasting delight than tha clothes, and re
ceived far more attention.
After they were large enough to wan
der about they learned, after a fashion,
Two Vagabonds.
too, to take care of themselves, and that
after their own Ideas. They no longer
went to the cabin on tne cattle field,
but when the nights were warm and the
iune roses filled the hedges and the
trenches where the soldiers cn"o had
slept, the waifs would stroll about town
until dusk; then they would creep under
a culvert somewhere and go to sleep.
Food? I venture no slice of ham ever
reached a broiler in their neighborhood
that the odors did not reach the olfacto
ries of the little vagabonds. They al
ways appeared at some kitchen door
promptly at njeal time.
They begged chiefly among their own
color when It came to food. The pen
nies that passed Into their grimy little
hands they won for the most part by
singing and dancing upon the public
square. At dancing they were experts:
and in the garb shown in the photograph
they would do a double jig that would
make a modern ballet girl green with
envy.
You had only to step to the sidewalk
and caTl, “Here, boys, let's have a
dance," and show a nickel, and in two
seconds two pairs of bare brown feet
would be hitting the pavement like a
house afire. In two minutes a crowd
would be gathered; for a southerner will
stop to see a negro dance if he knows
tHat he has a note and a notary wait
ing him at the bank. Wljen the dance
is over the crowd will chip in always;
and to their credit be It said they al
ways did chip in for the Stone river
waifs.
There was one item of their food I
came near overlooking, for you must
know that while they were jolly and un
complaining and had a dialect that would
make easy by comparison the jargon of
a South Carolina Guinea negro, there
was about them that pathos that always
breath'es in the atmosphere of a home
less child, let his color be what it may.
And while these two appealed to the
humor of one's nature, they also struck
HTcep down to the sympathies of the
.heart, and for the life of you you
couldn’t be mean enough to refuse them
anything in the way of food.
So they received even from the poorest,
and those who could give them nothing
else would sometimes give them an egg,
with which they would appear at the
next house and ask to have it ' baked.”
For ffiey invariably “bakrd” their eggs,
“boiled" their biscuit and "fried" their
coffee. If sometimes they "stewed" a
potato it was no more than was ex
pected.
Tim picture given of them was taken
just after they had finished one of their
dances; their “own original specials" it
would be put down in a vaudeville bill,
and I am sorry that the picture does
not give you a rear view. Suffice it to
say such a thing ns a button never ap
peared for two consecutive days upon
their clothing, and the glossy black skin
was always on a sort of dress parade on
its own account.
But as to the pathos. Sometimes, if
you lived near tlielr favorite culvert, as
I chanced to do those days, you would
waken in the night to the sound of a
child’s voice crying. in thq darkness of
the streets; if you lay awake to listen
for a moment you would hear a woman,
scolding like a fury; and then the child's
cries would cease, and you would hear
the patter of rain against your window,
and then the, whole thing would be clear.
It was raining; water had risen under
the culvert, and the hoys were about to
be washed out. It was the smaller one.
“Widdie,” his brother called him, mean
ing "‘Willie,” who cried. He was frail,
and, fFom the first, doomed. The
stronger brother would be trying to com
fort him. You could hear the voice,
cheery and full of faith, before you heard
the grumbling old woman, who always
came to their rescue on occasions like
this, and who was as good to them as
a mother could he. In spite of the grum
bling and threats of the police and the
“po’ house" and “Boh Ham,” a certain
child-terror of the town.
But as to the pathos. This could not
go on forever. Charity toward 1 the waifs
took a different turn. A farmer 9 miles
from town on the east side took one, and
a brother farmer 5 miles on the west
side took the other. In twenty-four
hours, to the dot, they had promptly
run away and found each other on the
public square, where their respective ben
efactors found them cla icing a jig for a
tawdry hat with trimmings of blue tulle
and pink roses, which adorned the
woolly head of “Widdie,” as he sat be
side ills captor in an open buggy bound
for the cotton fields again.
But their benefactors erred in trying
to separate them. Together, doubtless,
they would li3ve found the green fields
alluring, and the rippling waters of the
“spring branch” cooling and sweet to
their blistered 1 hrown feet. But they
could not live apart. After three several
attempts at running away they gave it
up; and one morning soon after the
farmer on the west side drove over to
tell the farmer on the east side they had
“burled a little nigger at his place that
morning."
After that—well, the romance died with
poor "Widdie.” The humor of life
slipped down into the grave along with
the little brown body of him. Xo more
delicious wanderings, for wandering
alone is ail pathos; no more nights un
der the culvert; no more waking with
the rain in one's cars, and the crying of
a frightened little soul at one’s side. Xo
more dancing on the pavement, with a
broken doll and a bit of old eyeglass as
reward; no more following the delicious
eroma of “baking” coffee and of “stew
ing" ham; no more fun, no more brother.
But Almost any day you may see a low,
one-horse buggy passing along the turn
pike into the town front the east side:
and seated beside the master you will
see a fat, glossv-faced boy, well dressed
p.nd answering the questions put him
with more than the ordinary audacity
of the “fa’-m hand;" for you must know
that he is spoiled—something of a priv
ileged character. Is he happy? Ask him,
and he will grin from one big ear to the
ol her.
But if you will watch his face in repose
as the. buggy slips around to the hitch
ing place near the court house fence,
and the black boy slips down to fasten
tl,e lines in the fence itself, vou may
see him glance along the pavement that
used to be a dancing floor; something
will soften the brisk, big eyes. You will
know without being told that he is think
ing of his brother.
X5hQ Hound of tKe BasRervilles jz?
By A. Conan Doyle, Author of 44 The Great Boer War/* 4t The Green Flaq, 4 *The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” 44 A Study in Scarlet, " etc,, etc.
CHAPTER SEVEN (CONCLUDED),
OU are an educated man.
“ You don’t believe such
nonsense as that?” said I.
“What do you think is the
cause of so strange a
sound?”
“Bogs make queer noises
sometimes. It’s the mud
settling, or the water ris
ing, or something."
“No, no, that was a liv
ing voice.”
“Well, perhaps It was.
Did you ever hear a bittern
booming?’’
“Xo. I never did.”
“It’s a very rare bird—practically ex
tinct—in England now, but all things
are possible upon the moor. Yes, I should
not be surprised to learn that what we
have heard is the cry of the last of the
bitterns.”
“It's the weirdest, strangest thing that
ever I heard in my life.”
“Yes, it’s rather an uncanny place alto
gether. I^ook at the hillside yonder.
What do you make of those?”
The whole steep slope was covered
with gray circular rings of stone, a score
of them at least.
“What are they? Sheep pens?”
“Xo, they are the homes of our worthy
ancestors. Prehistoric man lived thickly
on the moor, and as no one In particu
lar has lived there since, we find all
his little arrangements exactly as he left
them. These are his wigwams with the
roofs off. You can even see his hearth
and his couch if you have the curiosity
to go inside."
“But It is quite a town. When was it
inhabited?”
"Neolithic man—no date.’’
“What did he do’’"
He grazed his cattle on these slopes,
and he learned to dig for tin when the
bronze sword began to supersede the
stone ax. Book at the great trench in
the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes,
you will find some very singular points
about the moor. Dr. Watson. Oh, excuse
me an instant! It Is surely Cyclopides."
A small fly or moth had fluttered across
our path, and in an instant Stapleton
was inching with extraordinary energy
and speed in pursuit of it. To my dis
may the creature flew straight for the
great mire, and my acquaintance never
paused for an instant, bounding from
tuft to tuft behind it, his green net wav
ing in the air. His gray clothes and jer
ky, zigzag, irregular progress made him
not unlike some huge moth himself. I
was standing watching his pursuit with
a mixture of admiration for his extraor
dinary activity and fear lest he should
lose his footing In the treacherous mire,
when I heard the sound of steps, and
turning round found a woman near me
upon the path. She had come from the
direction In which the plume of smoke
indicated the position of Merripit House,
but*the dip of the moor had hid her until
she was quite close.
I could not doubt that this was the
Miss Stapleton of whom I had been told,
ince ladies of any sort must be few upon
the moor, and I remembered that I had
heard some one describe her as being a
beauty. The woman who approached me
was certainly that, and of a most un
common type. There could not have
beeb a greater contrast between brother
and sister, for Stapleton was neutral
tinted, with light "hair and gray eyes,
while she was darker than any brunette
whom I have seen in England—slim, ele
gant, and tall. She had a proud, finely
cut face, so regular that It might have
seemed impassive were it not for the
sensitive mouth and the beautiful dark,
eager eyes. With her perfect figure and
elegant dress she was, indeed, a strange
apparition upon a lonely moorland path.
Her eyes were on her brother as I turned,
and then she quickened her pace toward
me. I had raised my hat, and was
about to make some explanatory remark,
when her own words turned all my
thoughts into a new channel.
“Go back!" she said. "Go straight back
to Dondon, instantly.”
I could only stare at her In stupid sur
prise. Her eyes blazed at me, and she
tapped the ground Impatiently with her
foot.
"Why should I go back?’’ I asked.
“I cannot explain.” She spoke In a
low, eager voice, with a curious lisp in
her utterance. “But for God’s sake do
what I ask you. Go back and never
set foot upon the moor again.”
“But I have only just come."
"Man, man!” she cried. “Can you not
toll when a warning Is for your own
good? Go back to London! Start to
night? Get away from this place at all
costs' Hush, my brother is coming! Not
a word of what I have said. Would you
mind getting that orchid for me among
the mares-talls yonder? o are very
rich in orchids on the moor, though, of
course, you are rather lato to see the
beauties of the place.”
Stapleton had abandoned the chase and
came back to us breathing hard and
flushed with his exertions.
"Halloa. Beryl!” said lie, and it seemed
to me that the tone of his greeting was
not altogether a cordial one.
“Well, Jack, you are very hot.”
“Yes. I was chasing a Cyclopides. He
is very rare and seldom found in the
late autmn. What a pity that I should
have missed him!” He spoke unconcern
edly, but his small light eyes glanced
incessantly from the girl to me.
“You have introduced yourselves, I can
see.”
“Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it
was rather late for him to see the true
beauties of the moor.”
“Why, who do you think this is?”
“I imagine that it must be Sir Henry
Baskerville.”
“No, no,’’ said I. “Only a humble com
moner, but his friend. My name is Dr.
Watson.”
A flush of vexation passed over her ex
pressive face. “We’ have been talking
at cross purposes," said she.
“Why, you had not very much time’ for
talk,” her brother remarked, with the
same questioning eyes.
”1 talked as if Dr. Watson were a res
ident Instead of being merely a visitor,”
said she. "It cannot much matter to him
whether it is early or late for the orchids.
But you will come on, will you not. and
see Merripit House?"
A short walk brought us to it. a bleak
moorland house, once the farm of some
grazier in the. old prosperous days, but
now put into repair and turned into a
modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded
it, but the trees, as is usual upon the
moor, were stunted anil nipped, and the
effect of the whole place was mean and
melancholy. We weig admitted hv • fc
strange wizened, rusty-coated old man
servant, who seemed In keeping with the
house. Inside, however, there were large
rooms furnished with an elegance in
which I seemed to recognize the taste of
the lady. As I looked from their win
dows u.t the interminable granite-flecked
moor rolling unbroken to the farthest
horizon I could not but marvel at what
could have brought this highly educated
man and this beautiful woman to live in
such a place.
“Queer spot to choose, is it not?” said
he, as if in answer to my thought. “And
yet we manage to make ourselves fairly
happy, do we not. Beryl?”
"Quite happy,” said she, but there was
no ring of conviction in her words.
"I had a school,” said Stapleton. “It
was in the north country. The work to a
man of my temperament was mechanical
and uninteresting, but the privilege of
living with youth, of helping to mold
those young minds and of impressing
them with one’s own character and
ideals, was very dear to me. However,
the fates were against us. A serious epi
demic broke out in the school and three
of the boys died. It never recovered from
tlie blow, and much of my capital was
irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, if
it were not for the loss of the charming
companionship of the boys, I could re
joice over my own misfortune, for, with
my strong tastes for botany and zoology,
I find an unlimited field of work here, and
my sister is as devoted to nature as I
am. All this. Dr. Watson, has been
brought upon your head by your expres
sion as your surveyed the moor out of
our window.”
“It certainly did cross my mind that it
might be a little dull—less for you, per
haps, than for your sister."
“No, no, I am never dull,” said she,
quickly.
"We have books, we have our studies,
and we have interesting neighbors. Dr.
Mortimer is a most learned man In his
own lino. Poor Sir Charles was also an
admirable companion. We knew him well,
and miss him more than I can tell. Do
you think that I should intrude if I were
to call this afternoon and make the ac
quaintance of Sir Henry?”
"I am sure that he would be delighted.
' a'hen pernaps you would mention that
I propose to do so. We may in our hum
ble way do something to make things
more easy for him until he becomes ac
customed to his new surroundings. Will
you come upstairs, Dr. Watson, and In
spect 'my collection of lepidoptera?^ I
think it Is the most complete one In the
southwest of England. By the time that
you have looked through them lunch will
be almost ready.”
But I was eager to get back to my
charge. The melancholy of the moor, the
death of the unfortunate pony, the weird
sound which had been associated with the
grim legend of the Baskervilles, all these
things tinged my thoughts with sadness.
Then on the top of these more or less
vague impressions there had come the
definite and distinct warning of Miss
Stapleton, delivered with such intense
earnestness that I could not doubt that
some grave and deep reason lay behind it.
I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch,
and I set off at once upon my return
journey, taking the grass-grown path by
which we had come.
His face seemed to be rigid with expectation as he stared out into the
blackness of tbs moor.
It seems, however, that there must have
been some short cut for those who knew
it, for before I had reached the road I
was astounded to see Miss Stapleton sit
ting upon a rock by the side of the track.
Her face was beautifully flushed with
her exertions, and she held her hand to
her side.
“I have run nil the way in order to cut
you off. Dr. Watson,” said she. "I had
not even time to put on my hat. I must
not stop, or my brother may miss me. I
wanted to say to you how sorry I am
about the stupid mistake I made in think
ing that you were Sir Henry. Please for
get the words I said, which have no
application whatever to you.”
“But I can’t forget them. Miss Staple-
ton," said I. “I am Sir Henry’s friend,
and his welfare is a very close concern
of mine. Tel] me why it was that you
were so eager that Sir Henry should re-
tnm to London.”
‘•A woman’s whim, Dr. Watson. When
you know me better you will understand
that I cannot always give reasons for
what I say or do.”
“No. no. I remember the thrill In your
voice. I remember the look in vour eyes.
Please, please, bo frank with me. Miss
Stapleton, for ever since I have been
here I ha\e ben conscious of shadows
all round me. Life has become like that
great Grimpen Mire, with little green
patches everywhere Into which one may
sink and with no guide to point the track
Lell me then what it was that you meant,
and I will promise to convey your warn
ing to Sir Henry.”
An expression of irresolution passed for
an instant over her face, but her eyes
had hardened again when she answered
me.
“You make too rmich of it. Dr. Wat
son,’’ said she. “My brother and I were
very much shocked by the death of Sir
Charles. We knew him very intimately,
for his favorite walk was over the moor
to our house. He was deeply impressed
with the curse which hung over his
family, and when this tragedy came I
naturally felt that there must be some
grounds for the fears which he had ex
pressed. I was distressed therefore when
another member of the family came down
to live here, and I felt that he should
be warned of the danger which he will
run. That was all which I Intended to
convey.”
“But what is the danger?”
"You know the story of the bound?”
“I do not believe in such nonsense.”
“But I do. If you have any influence
with Sir Henry, take him away from a
place which has always been fatal to his
family. The world is wide. Why should
he wish to live at the place of danger?”
"Because It is the place of danger.
That Is Sir lynty’s nature. I fear that
unless you can give me some more defi
nite information than this it would be
impossible to get him to move.”
“I cannot say anything definite, for I
do not know anything definite.”
“I would ask you one more question,
CONTINUED ON FOURTH PAGE.
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