The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1876-08-09
NO ONE TO LOVE.

NO ONE TO LOVE.
There had been a summer shower;
roof, window, garden, were washed to
dazzling polish, and the wonderful
LIQUID couleur de rose of the moment
poured over all an air of enchantment.
The slender young woman in deep
mourning whom the stalwart proprietor
of the vehicle lifted down like q feather
accepted her dreaded destination with a
smile.
Chow lovely |" we're the first words
that escaped her lips; and they were
appropriated as a Citing compliment by
q rastily clad man, who seized the little
gloved hand vigorously in his horny
palm, and chopped he saw Miss Thatcher
quite WE'LL" .
"Supper's bin ready this half hour,
was the laconic and not amiable saluta-
ton of MI. Seaman's spouse, who re-
ceived Louisa in the porch.
can the boys is gone fshin', you
see," said the host. when Solon's to
hum from grammar school, Ezri's sure
to jine him, an take q day off,"
After tea, served in q narrow, white
washed anteroom to the stiff, funereal
parlor, where Miss Thatcher was bid
" take off her things" the young lady
begged to be shown to her W room,
and was led up stairs to a lo~w-windowed
bedroom, carpeted with braided rags,
and furnished with Redeemed pine and
calico counterpanes. The luggage had
been pushed in with o mental ~ejacula-
ton: What on earth can a distric'
schoolma'am want with two big trunkss"
and the audible information: "Ive
filled your pitcher. Here's a candle.
The git-up bell II ring at SIX"
With as slight preparation as might
be, the overwearied girl-homesick to
her hearts core-crept into bed.
She awoke with a start. The room
was quite dark; a cool, damp mountain
wind rushed through the open windows.
She lighted a match and glanced ct her
watch. Only nine o'clock, and the
world still wide awake. A burst OF
hilarious laughter arose from the kitchen
below, where the returned fishermen
were scaling their fish. Fromthe house
beyond the orchard came the tinkling OF
a piano, and thin, sharp female voice
practiced gingerly a song just then come
into vogue:
"No one to love, none to caress, .
Travelling alone through life's wilderness"
"My serenade," thought Louise, as
she tried in vain to recompose herself to
sleep. could any words express me
better ? An orphan, without brother OF
sister, penniless, nearly friendless, the
one being that I loved and edored gone
from me forever. mo one to love, none
to caress.' Could anything be truer OF
me than that :"
The village schoolchildren were en-
chanted with their new teacher. She
was gentle and firm, interesting and
companionable. There was not a sunny
day all summer when 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 Thatch-
er, wrapping herself IN waterproof, and
taking a book with her, would 60 down
the orchards steep bank to the old mill.
She made friends with Tim, the miller's
bog, and Bill Bovles, the miller. and
"the old deacon" the prehistoric pro-
prietor of the premises, who had not
failed q day these fifty years to look in,
rain or shine, to see eff things was to
rights"
She found q love OF a corner where,
through the cracks under the great
beams, she could see the water wildly
rushing, and where she could hear, in
it's grand excitement, the grind and
whirl, the boom and splash, Of the mad
food whose sound up on the hill yonder
assumed such a drowsy monotone.
"You be so fond of readin', MISS"
said Tim, the miller's boy, "mebbe
you'd take a shine to a Gurus book we've
20. ere. There WIS o time when all the
visitors to Red Cedar pond cum down
to take a look at it; but it's grown rusty
like. A hand-writ book, 'miss-a man
scrip sum folks calls it. 1t b'longs, You
might cay, to Bowles' mill, for it WIS
left with the old deacon to be kept
till called fur, an wus writ by the curu.
sest spesmin OF a human cretur; but he
died afore my time. I'm a stranger 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 sud-
din, an wus buri'd up in the deacon's
buril lot. An sum say he wusn't
buri'd, but is gone a sea wage, an II
come back !; an sum say he's been seed
round Bowles' mill moonlight nights.
But you needn't be scared, miss. The
book is nat'ral harmless. An if YOU
say, 50, I'll git it fur you this mint, an
when you're through readin' ont, I'll
put it back"
Up to the ~rafters he climbed nimbly
by certain foothclds not very visible.
and brought down, with a flying lean
that startled MisI Thatcher to her feet
in nervous apprehension for his safety,
a dusty volume, which he gallantly
wiped upon his coat sleeve and offered.
An autobiography, not so very old,
for it's closing date was 1S47. -Four hun
dred pages of yellow letter pape,
stitched together by tho dozen sheets,
and finally bound in a wrap of BLACK
leather. Written in a fine, pointed
hand, difficult 70 read at first, but once
mastered in its idiosyncrasies, legible al
: ease. And having this peculiarly : or
almost every page, mixed in the text
we're maps carefully drawn and dotted,
inclosed in neatly ruled parallelograms,
but without any figures or margina
references to show connection with the
writing.
"Iam one of two brothers" the nara
tive commenced, "in all points as un,
like, from the moment of birth, as jacob
and Esau."
Then followed, interspersed with the
incompfehensible maps,.a brief history
of an unhappy childhood, unloved a.
childhood could be, an adolescence
utterly unblessed. and dissatisfied !; and
after q page Of atheistical TRADE against