The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1875-09-02

got out of hearing the little boy remarked:
Pap, speaks for the giZzard OF that ere
chicken, dye hear, nowf'
sat there till the dinner hour, watching
the soft pink and white vspors that rolled
round the verge of the horizon. i was
thoroughly saturated with romance.
Strange, that here, in this dIDgy little out
of-the-way village, should have transplred
one OF the most wonderful mysteries history
may ever hoIdi
AT dinner the landlord talked volubly Of
the Alton affair, giving IL as his opinion that
the Atoms We're persons tiuged with negro
blood, and had been Kidnapped into
slavery.
than am" he went on, ''but them
southerners d jist as soon sell one person
as mother, anyhow"
noticed particularly that the little boy
got his choice bit of the fowl. He turned
his head to one side and ate like cat.
joined by Doctor Hurd on the verandah.
He reported Berry Young still alive. but
not able to live till midnight. 1 noticed
that the doctor was nervous and kept his
eyes fixed on Sheehsn's saloon.
stranger" said he, leaning over close 10
me, and speaking in a low, guarded way
things is workin' dasted curious bout
now-sure's gums iron they jist lsW
"Where-how-in what way, doctor?" I
stammered. taken aback by his behavior.
"Sumpum's up, as sure as Nedr' no re-
piled, wagging his head.
Doctor" l said, petulsntly, elf you
would be trifie more explicit, could prob
ably guess, with some show of certainty, at
what you meant"
Cant We hear? Are We deaf? Did ye
ever, In all yer born days, hear a voice like
that ere un? Lsten.n
sure enough, voice of thrilling power, a
rlcn, heavy, quavering Alto accompanied by
aiV,nf
and gurgled, and poured through the open
window OF Sheehan's saloon. The song was
wild, drinking carol, full of rough, reck-
less Wit, but listened, entranca1. till it was
done.
"rhere, now, say, what dye think o. that?
as said?''
Delivering himself thus, the doctor got up
and walked of.
When again had an opportunity to speak
to the landlord. asked him If Doctor Hurd
was not thought TO be slightly demented.
What! crazy, DO you mean? No, sir;
bright as pint"
SWELL" said |, "he's very queer fellow.
any how. By the way. who was that sing
ing Just now over in the saloon there?"
Don't know, didn't hear 'em. Some OF
the boys, L s'pose. They have some lively
swells over there sometimes. Awful hole"
L resumed my dime novel, and nothing
curiosity concerning the strange story had
heard, till night came down and the bats
began TO wheel through the moonless blsck-
ness above the dingy town. At the coming
on OF dusk, flung away the book and took
to my pipe. Some one touched me on the
shoulder. Iousing me from deep reverie, If
not dozs.
"Ha, stranger, this you, Ell? Berry
Young's dyin': go over there VII me, will
ye?''
1t was the voice Of Doctor Hurd.
What need fer me have you?" / replied
rather stiilly, not much relishing this too
obtruslve familiarity.
over. The poor boys about passin' away.
an things is workin so tarnation curious!
Come long VII me, friend, will ye?'
Something in the fellows voice touched me,
and without another word / arose and fol-
lowed him to the cottage. The night was
intensely black. think it was clear, but a
heavy fog from the swamps had settled over
everything, and through this dismal veil
the voices of owls from tar and near struck
with hollow, sepulchral effect.
"a heart is the trump" sang out that alto
voice from within the saloon as we passed.
Doctor Hurd clutched my arm and mutt
tered:
''That's that voice ag'in. Strsnge-strsrge,
Poor Berry Youpg!'
selves in a cosy little room, where, on low
bed, pale, intelligent looking young man
lay, evidently dying. He was very much
emaciated, his eyes, wonderfully large and
luminous were sunken, and his breathing
quick and difficult. A haggard, watching
worn woman sat by his bed. From her re-
sembiance to him took her to be his sister.
She was evidently very unweu herself. We
sat IN silence by his bedside, watching his
lie flow into eternity, till the little clock on
the mattel struck, sharp and clear, the hour
of ten.
The sound Of the bell startled the sick
man, and after some incoherent numbling
he said, quite distinctly:
'SiSter, if you ever again see Ollie Alton,
tell him-tell her-tell, say / forgive him
say to her-him-I loved her all my life
tell hiin-ahi what was ] sayinge Don't
cry, sis, please. What a sweet faithful SIS
teri All! it's almost over, dear All,
mei"
For some minutes the sisters sobbing
echoed strangely through the house. The
dying man drew his head far down in the
soft pillow. A breath of damp air stole
through the room.
All at once, right under the window by
which the bed sat. arose a touching guitar
prelude-a tangled mesh OF melody-gusty.
throbbing, wandering through the Fcemand
straying oil into the night, tossing back its
tc1OSS adlllISE olu ldlEtST. Iii, a.
il began TO die, that same splendid alto voice
caught tbs key and flooded the darkness
with song. the sick man raised himself on
his elbow, and his face flashed out the terri
bic smile of death. lie listened eagerly.
It was the song "Come Whsre my Love lies
Dreaming" but who has heard it rendered
as it was that night? Evrey chord of the
voice was as sweet and witching wind
harp's, and the low, humDling UNDERGONE Of
the accompaniment was perfection. Tender
| ~ but awiully sweet, the music at length
faded into utter silence, and Berry Young
sank limp and pallid upon his pillows.
sit is Ollie,n he hosrsely whispered. tel
her-tell him-O say 70 her for i2e--ah
water, sis, it's all over,1
The woman fastened, but before she eould
get the water to his lips he was dead Hi;
last word was Ollie.
The sister east herself upon the dead man:
bosom and sobbed wildly, piteously. SooI
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