Newspaper Page Text
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\ Child’s Hand Rolled Away the Stone
I k
By Beulah R. Stevens
«X 5unn’
H-G# F WARREN
sat
down heavily in his arm
chair; his step was slow.
His wife recognized the
signs.
“Well, what is it now?”
she asked as she stopped
to lay her hand upon the
head whose fast whitening
locks, in their persistent
wave, were her great pride.
“It's .07. He gets more ob
stinate and obstreperous
every day. in spite of his
line features. 1 declare the fellow looks
more like a beast than a man. I'm afraid
we’ll have to give him a taste of the cat.”
"Oh. l hope you won't have to do that!”
she said. “Flossie and I don’t like it, i^o
we Fluff?”
Sudden tears sprang to the big blue
eyes as the child stole to lies father and
laid her head upon his shoulder.
“There, there, Flossie girl," drawing
her tenderly to his side, “don't you go to
feelin’ bad about it yet. Maybe he'll
ca m down when I tell him what he's
coinin' to. And, anyway, we'll fix it so's
you won't know nothin’ about it.”
But the child could not forget a whip
ping that had been administered to an
uncontrollable negro some time before.
Unfortunately she had heard his fierce
oaths and'blasphemies and bis final cries
lor submission, and for days and nights
her sensitive little soul had borne the
scars.
Flossie, the only child, bloomed in the
stern atmosphere of her father's prison
like, some delicate anemone among moun
tain boulders. Her matter of fact mother
had much ado to understand this child
of hers, who. from some far ancestry,
had inherited a soul as fair and pure and
delicate as the fragile body. But the
father divined, if he did not understand,
and between the two there existed a love
peculiarly tender and deep.
Now, little Flossie was a twentieth cen
tury maiden and lived in an up-to-date city
Where modern methods of education pre
vailed: so that while she had not yet
ompteted' her first year at school, she
wrotl a fair, round, legible hand and
could read and spell surprisingly. When
she could write “I see” the first week of
her school life, she learned, as she after
wards instructed her school of dolls, that
"you must begin with a big letter and
end with a dot or a buttonhook.” There
was a written letter in her first reader,
too. so she knew how it ouglit to look.
Only instead of “Dear friend Annie,’ she
must write, “Dear friend 97."
That was easy enough after she got
'i ora, the errand boy, to show her which
page bore the magic number. Then she
asked him to spell “bear.”
“The big brown bear that dances?”
“Olt. no. not that.”
“Bare-footed, then?"
"No—no." Then rather hesitatingly,
• To bear—anything—like a toothache—or
—or a broken heart."
Tom was not certain on this point but
he undertook to consult one of the trus
ties. and soon Flossie had added this
needed word *o her vocabulary. So it
was really not a very hard task for the
iittle fingers to evolve the following:
Dear friend 97: They say they will
give you the cat if you don't be good. I
oon't think I can bear for you to have
that. Won't you be good? It’s lots nicer
to be good. Your little friend,
FLOSSIE.
Flossie stood at a cautious distance be
fore a certain guard in the corridor, her
hands behind her. her flower face earnest
and a trifle pale in its sweet determina
tion.
“Reynolds, you have asked me two or
three times for a kiss.” she said with the
air of a little princess.
The man assented by a gruff nod and
touched her cap sulkily.
“And 1 wouldn't give you one, ’cause I
saw you hit that man the other day. and
'cause you talk so mean to the men.”
She eyed him in stern disapproval for
a moment, and the man shuffled un
easily. "But I've made up my mind to
give you one if you'll do something for
me."
He waited, and she came a little closer
and held out her letter.
"I want you to give this t a 97. You
can read it. so’s you’ll know there ain't
anything papa wouldn’t like."
The man glanced through (he childish
epistle, and then began a strange com
motion in his rough breast. In that In
stant. from some hidden depth, there
sprang into full blossom in his heart that
flower of chivalry whose germ lies dor
mant in every true man's breast, waiting
only the right touch to bring it to the
light. He kept his eyes upon the floor as
he said:
“i'll take this to 97. Miss Flossie; but
you needn't give me a kiss. 1 wouldn't
care for one I had to buy." Then as he
turned away he continued, rather huskily,
“But l—l won't be so rough to the men
any more."
lie was stopped by th» sweet, imperious
child voice:
“Reynolds!” He found Flossie barring
the way. "Stoop down, 1 want to tell
you something.”
Obediently he knelt upon one knee.
Then, for the first time in his hard life.
Reynolds fell the clinging of a child's
tender arms. The rose-lear lips pressed
liis'eheek, and as he encircled tTi'c ITtfTS""
hgure half fearfully, the soft arms tight
ened round his neck in “a good hug” and
the little voice murmured sweetly:
"l love you for that!”
Reynolds handed the note to 97.
“Here! i'll strike a match so's you can
read it.”
And as the prisoner lifted his head
from its perusal, the gaze of the two men
met, and what 97 saw ! n the guard's eyes
made him unashamed of the mist that
blurred his own.
Sheriff Warren was astonished that af
ternoon to have 97 voluntarily address
him. lie looked up in surprise to find the
“beast” gone and a man's face, quiet and
gentle, looking at him with imploring
earnestness.
“I know 1 don't deserve it. sir, but will
you, as a great favor, bring Miss Flossie
to see me some time. You will have no
more trouble with me. sir. I assure you.”
Flossie's eyes were shining and her
checks were glowing as her father took
her on his arm. 97 wanted to see her!
4- a •£• • 4* ••fr* •F • -y•*•*i
stricken father and mother would have
sunk in despair.
Then slowly, slowly, she came back to
life, and more than ever clung to her
prisoner. The strong arms cradled her
for hours wher the shadowy little frame
grew so wear’ of the bed; and little by
little her demand to “talk” drew from
him the story of his trouble.
"But, if you didn't steal the money,
and you knew the man who did, why
didn’t you tell everybody so?”
“Well, they wouldn’t have believed me.
little one. i had no proof that would
stand in court, and he was the president
of the bank, while l was only cashier.
Besides—” he paused, his face changing
and his vpice broken.
“I want to hear that 'besides.' ” said the
child softly, her quick intuition divining
that here lay the kernel of the matter.
“I'll tell you. little Flossie. Perhaps
will do me good to talk about her.
though I pray her eyes may ne\ei rt?st
upon my face again.
“This man had a daughter, 'Mildred, and ^
she and 1 were sweethearts. Now how
could I tell her her lather was a thief?
It would have broken her heart to have
him put here where I am. He died only
a few weeks afterwards, but even then
1 could not let the world know that she
was the daughter of a thief. There was
no one to grieve over me. She would
soon forget me and be happy.
Flossie shook her head doubtfully over
this. At last she said:
“And did you love her enough to come
here and be a prisoner for five years to
save her from knowing that her father
did it?”
Ninety-seven turned his lips to the little
hand that caressed his cheek and nodded
mutely.
Flossie raised herself to look him
squarely in the face.
“Then if I was you. I’d keep good and
make time, and when I got out I’d be
a good man and do something to show
her that l couldn't have been a thief.''
Somehow the words, simple and child
ish as they were, put new hope into
07's heart, and he lived thenceforth in
their spirit.
The child pondered deeply o\ er the sad
a:-’ ““ friend TV if* dissatisfaction
she ?elt shelcouta Sot ua v, ‘ t ~. t\ nmea to
but there was a weak^-.
of
-i ••*;*«> *2-• v -i-• *i-•* *
The flaw was found!
“And her father's dead. too. so he can’t
go to prison." murmured the child as
she ran off to think the matter over.
“I'm going to do it. Of course she loved
97 best, and l spec’ her heart is just
breaking. I’m going to write to her all
about il and maybe she can get them to
let 97 out.”
Mildred West sat in her beautiful home,
listless and sad. Trouble had come upon
her in an avalanche; the man she loved
sent to prison as a thief, her father
changed to a morose, irritable man, and
suddenly snatched from her by death.
She thought of her mother, long in
heaven. “if I could only go. too. It
would be better," she thought sadly.
“Only one letter, Kate?” as the maid
brought in the mail. “Put it on my
desk."
For some time she sat neglectful of
this communication that was to so change
her life. She picked it up at last, lan
guidly. The direction was a scrap of
typewriting carelessly spaced, cut out and
pasted on tne envelope. Flossie had man-
aged this by coaxing 97 to write Mildred's
•name and address as he was amusing her
one day at the typewriter.
'• “A circular, t suppose,” and the letter
r;-as slowly torn open. Who shall say
what tempest of shame, of regret, of
jojj.'. of pain, of triumphant trust as
sailed that girlish heart as the words
burtned themselves into' her conscious
ness. Trac.i was innocent! He loved her
weld enough to give live years of his
life* and a lifetime of undeserved shams
and; censure to sh her from disgrace.
“Greater love hath no man than this.”
Ah, > how much greater, his giving his lil'o
in this wa.
A d now she sadly understood her
fa(J( ier s last words. When paralysis ha-:
lah,' him low, she had watched b> h.s
pJ| for any sign of consciousness in vain,
till&at the very last, the feeble flame
flicHfred into a transient glow ere it went
out Iforever. She was sitting with her
han<*hi his when his eyes fluttered slowly
open* an d fixed upon her Rice. The
drowJF brain struggled for its old mas-
tery.X^t seemed she could see the fierce
light l le was making for consciousness.
_i'iho'*>h not a mu&fli: qui'e-re/
•tcf.h me. bm T told tb
in, ,
nay engagement and we p . 'on '-os'ui -tun
u , ,, : ., " "‘hip and with er.-Uft v.-c-n' 'hand of death: u
soiling, she felt instinctively; am y .shall
out conscious motive her little inn.
1
•‘God bless the little hand that touched my heart and released the demon of
despair.”
Then he meant to he good! He wouldn't
want to see her "ess lie did!
It was an eager little face that looked
out from the wealth of golden curls, and
it was a warm and friendly lit tie hand
that slipped quickly between the bars
where it was caught in a close clasp.
“Oh, you will! You will, I know!” she
cried in joyous triumph.
97 bent bis lips to the fairy fingers.
“This little hand is the first friendly
clasp 1 have known since fate turned
me from a man to a number. God knows
I am innocent—I didn't deserve this—but
little Flossie, I believe like you, ‘it's lots
nicer to be good,’ and I shall rebel no
longer. God bless the little hand that
touched my heart and released the demon
of despair that was eating my life away.”
And so, as the weeks rolled by, 97 grew
in favor, till by Flossie's influence he
was made a “trusty,” and when it could
be managed, became her loved com
panion.
Then one dark day Flossie fell 111.
Scarlet fever held her in its dread grasp,
and 97 was one of those quarantined with
her.
It was a long, fierce fight with death,
but 97 knew she could not die! He kept
up hope when, but for his cheer, the
groped blindly for it.
One day when her mother and she were
alone, Flossie put forth a most startling
query.
"Momsey, would you rather grandpa
would steal a lot of money or have papa
do it?”
"Lord love the child! What crochet has
she got in her head now?"
But as Flossie insisted on an answer,
to humor her she began to consider the
matter. Her final decision that “if one
had to, she would say let it be grandpa,”
filled the child's heart with joy as she
inquired breathlessly:
“And before you were married—when
you and papa were sweethearts?—”
“Well, 'twould a pretty nigh killed
me either way, but I don't see how I
could a stood it if such a thing had
come out about your pa when we was
keepin’ company.”
parted, an-1
dying man
The
nrgrew clearer, the lips
one. mighty effort the
his last message:
"I—did—it! I—did—it—for you!
governjr—” but the ebbing strength
failed, anu with one last effort he gasped
the name “Tracy!"—and Mildred was
fatherless.
Now she understood: With what a
pang of hot shame as made her cover
her burning face from the light! With
what a rush of joy as she realized all
it meant to Tracy! The governor! bue
must not lose a minute!
Within a week a letter went to M;ss
Flossie Warren, and taking her father
into her confidence they read it together.
Some days later Tracy stood at the
window with Flossie, watching the spar
rows build.
It was springtime in the southland aiu
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE.
Hearts
By HolUe Enninie Rives
Author of
“SmoKing Flax*’
•A Furnace of Earth”
Etc
• v• v• *1*• -1-• v• • ’1*• -!-• • *1*• *2’tv*v • v• v• v*v• v• v• v• -I-• v®*1-• v• v• v • v• v• ■!*
CHAPTER TWENTY.
THE WAKE OF WAR.
f was a gloomy Virginia to
which Anne returned that
anxious fall—a Virgin! i
whose heart beat with the
North, where Howe was
Jy'N weaving his famous, cord
jJLr to encircle the throat of
the monster Rebellion.
I H V Pastoral life had ended
abruptly; the Golden Age
had become one of Tron.
(I “And all the women that
were wise-hearted, did spirt
with their hands."
Those Virginia women! They stayed
at home through all the fear and loss
and wonder of that early campaign when
tried armies met untried ones. They
wrote brave letters to their husbands
and sons riding with Washington and
marching in the raiiKs under Wayne and
Weedon. And, cheering themselves how
they might, they sold their jewels, melt
ed their clo'-k weights for bullets, tore
up their dresses to make Mags and their
underclothes for lint and bandages.
Gladden Hall suffered with the rest.
Colonel Tillotson was much away on af
fairs of the Committee of Safety, or at
Williamsburg conferring with his Excel
lency Governor Henry; and the looms
which wove at all turned out cloth for
continental uniforms. Across the plant
rows, where the negroes hoed, Groani,
1 be overseer, with cowhide under his
arm and his old Fontenoy bell mouth
tower musket strapped on his back, still
walked his horse with ferret eyes under
his broad-brimmed hat. But there was
.little leaf raised, and the wharves at
foot of the lawn were overgrown
(h weeds.
tide the great house there was the
• jN. candle lighted dining room, the
,. ; ~,..lVrked chairs, the tall, cumbrous
V> portraits, the polished .side-
hoard reflecting the slender-stemmed
glasses. But the meals were silent.
Anne's trouble hung over the house-
held in a shadow that was not lightened
by the presence of vaster ones near at
hand. She had sorrowed with thdt fes
tering sorrow that is self-accusatory. And
to know that never so few, aware of her
part In that Philadelphia scene, believed
her to have done a heroic thing, was like
an added death to her. For a time she
had fled for refugp to her old passion
for the cause. But the effort failed.
One day early in the New Year, when
the world was dusted with delicate frost
like seed pearl, Colonel Tillotson brought
to Gladden Hall the news of how “t.he
old fox of Mt. Vernon," by a wily double
across the ley Delaware, had taken the
Hessians at Trenton. Anne heard it apa
thetically; to her despair, victory and de
feat spelled the same.
When the door closed upon her, the
colonel looked at his wife silently. “And
she still believes in him!”
“As she believes in us,” replied the
lady softly “Colonel," she said keenly,
“you have heard news."
"Aye,” he answered, after a pause. “I
have. A reply came to Mr. Henry’s
confidential inquiries today. There is no
doubt that Armand is the same prisoner
who '-scaped from the Duchess of Gor
don oft Amboy last August.”
"Thank God!” breathed Mrs. Tillotson,
fervently. “I am glad; I can't help it.”
“Anne had better not know. ’Twill do
her no possible good. ’
“Colonel,” said the lady decisively, “in
this 1 must have my way. 1 am going
to tell her just as fast as I can.” She
rose, laid aside her knitting, took up a
candle, and left him standing dubiously
before the fire.
The light came back to Anna like the
spring sun; the great horror was gone,
and in spite of the war’s gloom. Glad
den Hail grew more cheerful again. She
devoured the columns of the Gazettes.
and rend eagerly letters which came to
Henry from abroad.
These told tier how the Reprisal, dodg
ing the British sloops of war, had land
ed Benjamin Fianklin safely at Nantes,
of his meeting there with Beaumarchais,
and of his reception in Paris at the little
hotel In the Rue Vieille dw Temple, where
a mercantile sign of “Roderique Hortalcz
& Co.” hid a pleasant conspiracy whose
object was the furnishing of war sup
plies to the American colonists, and
whose silent partners were a prime min
ister and a king. Somewhere, she
thought, there in his own land, perhaps,
Armand was safe—not believing in her,
but free and uncondemned.
The sound of war came nearer when
Howe’s fleet sailed into the Chesapeake,
and when Henry, summoned in haste
from Hanover, called out the militia.
She watched them march through Wil
liamsburg. sixty-four companies strong;
but the fleet and the army it carried
sailed on. to beat hack Washington at
Brandywine, to enter Philadelphia, and
turn the grave town into an orgie of Tory
rejoicing.
rhiiip Freneau was still mixing caus
tic ink. The sparkling vitriol of his
rhyming was flying on satire wings
through the length and breadth of the
land. It was a time now when the pen
was become mighty—when more money
was offered in Royalist New York for
the capture of a Quaker editor of a Tren
ton Gazette than for the body of a Con
tinental governor of New Jersey. And
this adventurous scape-goat, with tlie
spirit of his Huguenot ancestors who es
caped over sea with the Pintards and the
DeLanceys after Louis XIV revoked the
Edict of Nantes, was putting liberty into
type—was sending out songs of virile
vigor to be chanted in the patriot's line,
to hearten dog-day marches and camps
in bloody snows.
So the months passed, in alternate
hope and despair. Spring unfurled, sum
mer dropped its blooms, autumn singed
• -’- • -’- a -!- • "S*
glebe and copse, snow foil and purified
tile earth stains. And at last Virginia
knew that Burgoyno had been entrapped
in the northern forests; that Philadelphia
had been evacuated; that the cord which
was to encircle the throat of the Rebel
lion had snapped; that France had recog
nized independence and made a treaty of
alliance with the United States.
There followed a closer campaign when
Lord Germaine, the king's war minister,
having failed to strangle the monster,
attacked its extremities—when the
red-coats swept into the south
ern harbors, when Savannah aiid
Augusta fell, when Lincoln s army
was caught at Charlestown, and
Gates routed at Camden—and these were
the south's darkest days.
It knew there was no hope ,from the
army in the north, meager, ill-clothed,
half starved, without magazines, arsenals
or credit. Washington lay watching like
a hawk Clinton's ten thousand men at
New York, hoping for an effective force
from France, waiting with the sublime
patience which, more than all else, made
him a great soldier.
Virginia bore her burdens uncomplain
ingly—giving of her substance to the
struggle, while the slaves which Corn
wallis sent scampering from burned low
er plantations trailed through her bor
ders, sowing insurrection among the faith
ful blacks.
” Tohn-tlie-Baptist." demanded Anne
sternly, one day, after Groam had re
ported that srarce fifty slaves remained*
in the quarters, "an the British come
here, are you going to run away, too?”
“Mis’ Anne!” he complained appeal
ingly. “Don’ yo’ know no ’speetable nig
ger gwineter list'n to dem shif’less trash
whut go ranshacklin' eroun’ widout no
homes? Dee ain’ no ’count; yo' couldn’
swap ’em off fo’ shucks. Yo’ knows I
ain’ nuwer gwine leabe de plantation
whar I wuz drug up. Dat Cornwallis!
Huh! Dis nigger smell de brimstone
whut's buntin’ fo’ him!”
When the sky looked blackest came
• • i• -I- o• vr•v*v*v»v*v*^*v«’i’*v*4'»v*v»v
General Nathaniel Greene into the south,
young, light-hearted and eager. And
what did he not accomplish? He welded
anew the scattered remnants of Gates’
army, fanned North Carolinian whiggerv
into a blaze, beat Tarleton. sent Corn
wallis bark, breathing hard, to the %ea-
coast. It was the end of the second cam
paign.
“What will King George do now?”
Anne asked Henry jubilantly.
His face was very grave, as he an
swered: “There is only one thing left;
’tis a stroke at the heart of the re
bellion. And that heart is here in Vir
ginia-” He guessed truly.
There were hasty preparations for flight
throughout the lower peninsula on that
snow-shod day when the traitor Arnold's
fifty ships came to anchor off James
town Island. The sky was a ceiling of
■translucent gray. The stubby cedars
trailed sweeping boughs of crystalled
beryl, and every shrub was cased in ar
gent armor. Fleet horsemen bad ridden
from Williamsburg in all directions, rous
ing the frozen countryside.
At noon Anne took her place In the
chariot beside Mrs. Tillotson. bound for
Doctor Walker’s of Castle Hill, far
enough north to he beyond the reach
of the invaders. Her * 1 aunt was to fare
even farther, to Berkeley.
They waved brave goodbys through
tears to the little group of house negroes
whimpering on the. porch. Rashleigh was
to go with the remaining servants to
Brandon. Mammy Evaline was left in
charge of the place, and John-the-Bap-
tist, her son. was to care for the horses
and run them off on approach of the
British. The house linen and silver Anne
had buried with her own hands, and the
family portraits had been hidden under
the stables.
It was. a sad journey, but one per
formed that day by more than one house
hold.
Colonel Tillotson rode a part of the
way beside the coach. “ 'Twill not be
for long.” he insisted cheerlngly. "I
have assurance from Mr. Henry that
Washington will send troops before
spring breaks. He thought it would be
General t*afayette—the young French
marquis who passed through ^Villiams-
btrrg. you remember. Would Washington
himself could come!” he added fervently.
But his wife was not to he. comforted.
“Colonel,” she cried brokenly, "1 fee!
sure we shall never see Gladden Hall
again.”
More than once before spring came, tip
toeing down the trees, Anne looked out to
the north from quiet Castle Hill, home
sick for a sight of Greenway Court and
Baron Fairfax. Weakness and age. had
at last sent the old man to his chair,
and he sat through the long days, sor
rowfully patient, as his ancestor, the hero
of Naseby fight, sat at Denton in York
shire, waiting the coming of the vic
torious banners of the king.
The beginnings of the struggle had
found him doggedly wrathful.
“ ‘Bill of Rights,’ aigh?” he would shout.
”1 want no benefit of It. I am a Co
lonial, and loyal."
And when his neighbors contended that
what they stood for was the old issue
for which their ancestors broke pikes
at Marston Moor, he turned his back
upon them.
In the Old Dominion there was com
parative tranquillity, 'but even in the for
est he had heard the first blare of the
king's armies in Boston and New York
with a hungering fear that drew his eyes
often wistfully toward Mount Vernon.
There sat the lad lie had tr.'.ned and
molded, "the first soldier in Virginia.” a
grave man. They whispered evil things
of this nina's loyalty now, hut the baron
for long shut his ears and would not
hear. /
The time came soon when tories were
hated, despised. driven by fire from
their homes, their property confiscate.
But this old man alone was not touched.
“Let the rebels come!" he had roared,
pounding the floor with his thorn stick.
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE
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