The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1876-07-26

begged to be shown to her own room,
and was led up stairs to q low win
dowed bedroom, carpeted with braid
ed rags, and furnished with redeemed
pine snd calico counterpanes. The
luggage had been pushed in with a
mental calculations: What on earth
can q distric' schoolma'am want with
two big trunks?" and the audible in-
formation: 1--WE filed your pitcher
Here's candle. The git-up bell II
ring at six"
With as slight preparation as might
be, the overwear'ed giri-homesick
to her hearts core-crept into bed
She awoke with q start. The
room was quite dark; cool, damp
mountain wind rushed througa the
open windows. She lighted match
and glanced at her watch. Only
nine O'Clock, and the world still wide
awake. A burst of hilarious laugh
ter arose from the kitchen below,
where the returned fishermen were
scaling their fish. From the house
beyond he orchard came the tink-
ling of piano, and thia. sharp fe-
male voice practiced gingerly song
just then come into vogue:
mo one to love, none to caress,
Travelling alone through lies wilderness. =
my serenade," thought Louise, as
she tried in vain to recempose her
self to sleep "Could any words ex-
press me better? An orphan, without
brother or sister. penniless, nearly
friendless, the one being that loved
and adored gone from me forever.
No one to love, none to earess.
could anything be truer Of me than
that?n
-
The village schoolchiIdren were en-.
chsnted with their new teacher. She
was gentle and 6rm, interesting and
companionable. There was not
sunny day all summer VIXEN some of
them did not come after school to
take her with them to Red Cedar
pond, the holiday rendezvous of the
country round.
If the afternoon proved rainy, and
this juvenile escort failed, Miss
Thatcher, wrapping herself in water
proof, and taking book with her,
would go down the orchards steep
bank to the old mill. She made
friends with Tim, the miller's boy,
and B;il Bcwles, the miller, and "the
old deacon" the prehistoric proprie-
tor of the premises, who had not fail
ed day these fifty years to look in,
rain or shine, to see "if things was to
rights" iHE
She found love ola corner where,
through the cracks under the great
beams, she could hear, in its grand
excitement, the grind and wbirl, the
boom and splash, of the mad food
whose sound up on the hill yonder
assumed such drowsy monotone.
"You be SO fond OF readin', miss"
ssid Tim, the miller's boy, "mebhe
you'd take shine to curns book
we've got ERE There was time
when all the visitors to Red Cedar
pond cum down to take look at it;
but it's grown rusty like. A hand.
writ book, miss Manuscript sum
folks calls it. /. b'longs, you might
SAY, to Bowles' mill, for il wus left
with the old Deacon to be kept till
called fur, an wuz writ by the curu-
sest spesmin Of human cretur: but
be died afore my time. Pm q stran-
ger in these parts. | wus reared
twelve miles back"
And no one has called for the
book"
"Not yit," said Tim, mysteriously
-"not yit Folks is too sup-stitious.
There be sum who say it never will
be called fur till the old deacon lies
aside o. the cretur who writ it. He
died suddin, an wus brri'd up in the
deacon's buri'l lot An sum say he
wusn't buri'd but is gone sea v'yage.
an III come back; an sum say he's
been seed round Bowles' mill moon
light nights. But you needn't be
scared, miss. The book is nat'ral
harmless. An if you say so, I'll git it
fur you this mint, an when you're
through readin' ont. Iii put it back"
Up to the rafters he climbed nim-
bly, by certain footholds not very Wis
ible, and brought down, with a fy-
ing leap that startled Miss Thatcher
10 her feet in nervous apprehension
for his safety, dusty volume, which
be gallantly wiped upon his coat
sleeve and offered
An autobiography. not so very old,
for its closing date was lS47. -Four
hundred pages of yellow letter paper
stitched together by the dozen sheets,
and finally bound in wrap of black
leather. Written in fine. pointed
hand, difficult to read at first, but
once mastered in It's idiosyncrasies
leeible at ease. And having this
peculiarity: on almost every page,
mixed in the text, were maps careful
ly drawn and dotted, inclosed in
neatly ruled parallelograms, but with
out any figures or marginal referen-
ces to show connection with the
writing.
IL am one of the two brothers. "
the narrative commenced, "in all
points as unlike, from the moment Of
birth. as Jacob aud Esau"
Then followed, intersperseG with
the incomprehensible maps, a brief
history of an unhappy childhood, un-
loved as childhood could be, an ado |
lescence utterly unblessed and dissat-
is6ed; and after page Of atheisiical
TRADE agaius; the inequality of for
tune and the bitter tyranny OF fate,
the personal history developed into a
descriptive diary oftravels and busi-
ness connections in South America,
whether the writer had immigrated
in his .wenty-sixth year.
So far, and little further, the manu-
script bore marks of having been