Litchfield enquirer., 1874-12-10
WHOLE NO. 25S4..


 money did you say was in that barrel of lard?' -,
 "Fifteen hundred and eigeteen dollars" he replied.
 Then coming round her workstand she laid her hand on the shoulder of the old Kentuckian, and said, ''Uncle Ben, when asked you to change me a dollar this morning, to pay the milknnan, you had a singular looking old pocket-piece amongst the loose change yod held in your hand; will you allow me to look at it?"
 Uncle Ben, apparently wrapped in deep thought, pulled out the old pocket-piece and placed it in her hand.
 'sNow, Uncles," continued Sue, drawing the baby's medal from her bosom, and placing the two side by side on the work stand, "both of you put on your specta- cles and look"
 saw at glance that one was an exact duplicate of the other. There was the same big star in the centre of each, and on the reverse sides the same wreath ln- closing what-until it had been filed or cut out-was 0 superscription, or motto.
 ''Good GodI exclaimed Uncle Ben, as his eyes rested on the two medals, and clapping his hand to his forehead, he stood as one bewildered.
 | Uncle Cook also looked, and raising his left hand to his chin and feeling it with an abstracted air, was mute. ..s.
 Sue then placed the tip Of her forefnger on two small links fastened in @ loop braE- ed to the edges of the baby's medal. Then her great gray eyes sought those of Uncle Ben. She did not speak, but gazed deep into them as she did the night be- fore. The language of her eyes was plain CT to the old man than words. Unbutton- ing his waistcoat he pulled over his head a long gold guard-chain, and laid one end of it close to the small links. He nodded his head three times afirmatively, and turning to Uncle Cook, said:- .
 ''When you packed your money in that barrel of lard, you broke the chain that held those two medals together, and pack ed one and put the other into your pock et."
 Uncle Cook was still speeches., but nodded his head iu assent.
 'Now tell me, continued Unile Ben, ''did you ever travel that road and see the place where your barrel of lard was stolen?"
 ''I did," replied Uncle Cook, ''ten years after it happened, and found a tavern standing on the identical spot On the opposite side was an immense limestone rock. as high as this ceiling It stood above very fine spring. The landlord told me queer story about the lost bar rel of lard, which he said was generally believed at the time he settled there.
 ''The story was, that a Pennsylvania wagoner going east, once, broke down, and placed his load just where the house after wards stood, while he went across the Lit tle Kanawha to get his wagon mended. When he returned there was a barrel of lard missing. The following winter the hoops and slaves of the barrel were found at the foot of the precipice
 "We walked to the bottom of his gar den, and he showed me the precipice. He said that blacksmith at the ford. when hunting, the next winter. found the slaves sticking above the snow, and collected most of them to make barrel. That all of them were greasy, and some of them gnawed. The conclusion that the people came to was that the bears, which were then numerous there, had found the bar rels of lard during the wagoner's absence, and in trying to get inside of one of them had set it rolling down the hill and iE had gone over the ledge and lodged in one of the holes in the flat rock below. As it was partially broken in the fall, the bears pulled it to pieces and ate the lard. was foolish enough to grope 1n the holes to see If l could find any of my lost gold.
 '"The landlord then told me that the same blacksmith robbed and murdered man who was driving his wagon on his way to Kentucky the next autumn, and and thrown his body over the precipice, and ran away with his money; of course he got my money out of the barrel that rolled over the precipice, and took that along al- so.''
 ''No, sir" said Uncle Ben. ''When the bears ate the lard, as they had no use for the money, they left it in the hole. The leaves of autumn and then the snows of winter covered it up snugly, and the blacksmith only got the slaves and hoops. The man who, as they told you, was mur. dered, got your money and now stands before you. Your loss, Mir. Cook, has been my gain. The guineas and half-ea- gles that came out of that barrel of lard made my fortune. 1 have kept strict &C., count with you for twenty-nine years, and tomorrow l will give you check on the Bank of Kentucky for principal and com pound interest at ten per cent. 1 am your debtor for nearly thirty thousann dollars l may add that the pleasure of returning it is doubled by knowing that Sue, there, and Ajax, are to be made happy by it's possession" .r-
 The bloom, after fitful visits and flights, presently settled in Sues cheeks. The tears dropped from her long eyelashes She laughed and wept by turns. At last she laid hand on each shoulder of the old Kentuckian, and looking once more into his eyes, sald:-
 'I knew it, Uncle Ben I knew last night 1t was Uncle Cooks money you l An a11 have worked out this deliveranee from our troubles. Blessed be his name!' Then she kissed the two old men and bade them good night.
 As we sat silently gazing into the grate after Sue had gone, my mind reverted to her nervousness at the conclusion of Un- cle Ben's story the previous evening, ana l her impressive act and words before bid ding him good night; her alluslon in our chamber to corroborative evidence of the truth of Uncle Ben's story; her sudden avoiding the subject; and her earnest, sup | plicating prayer. Then thought of her seizing the newspaper before breakfast and drawing the old mans attention to the circus advertisement, the day spent at Germantown, and the two lines of that old song. This guileless girl, with wo- mans intuition, had seized upon an incl l dent Tn the narration of the old kentuck- ian's adventures, and connecting it with story heard in her childhood, had ''work ed out this deliverance from our troubles. !" Why did she not confide her plans to her husband. and seek his counsel and cooperation?
 Would she raise him to the heights of hope for few brief hours, perhaps only to plunge him deeper back into the slough of despond? 4.-...'
 Such. no doubt, were her thoughts as she sat by the baby's crib the night be- fore.
 placed the baby's silver cup, with some cigars in it, before my uncles, and bade them good night, as the old Ken tuckian commenced telling Uncle Cook the story of his adventure with the rob- bers, and his finding the money.
 AS entered our chamber Sue arose from her knees, and putting her arm