Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1878-03-07
New Series-Vol. 18-No z

bare feet, and even tried To plerc
through his cold body to the dark
soggy earth on which it rested. /
beamed ON his close hair until it blew
from his face, light in color aud curling
al the ends. The face Was one common
enough in a malal iuus country-a vel
low, lean, sharp face; besides it WAS /
young, weak, passionate face. Th'
sudbeams were kind and did not wak'
him. The eyelids pressed close upOr
the eyes, snd the lashes lay motion
les ON the thin cheeks.
After time negro passed near tht
cotton shed-one of the kind called
'roust abOuts' in that part of the coun
try-people who live a in happy-go
lucky sort of way, dependent from
day to day on stray jobs or stray thefts
never losing flesh or vlvacity, never
appearing otherwise that supremely
one had his work for the day. A bag
was hung over his shoulder, and he wa.
picking up the loose cotton that had
fallen from the burst bales preparatory
to cleansing it for the gin. He saw the
sleeping man, and became incensed
with the natural hostility that the ne
gro seems to have for the poor white.
Git up from dar,' you lazy tramp!
he shouted, and, seeing that the man
did not stir, he picked up bit of coal
and threw it with such precision as to
hit the sleeper on his sunburned neck,
He started up and stared around him
with CLEAN Of ferocity in his eyes.
The negro laughed loudly. what
gyardin did yCu come Outen?' he said.
'You's enough to skeer de crows, you
is -.
The man took no notice of his gibes,
but staggering to his feet walked slow
lp across the fiat and up the stone steps
Now and then ne put his hand to his
head in confused way. Il must get
across the city, he muttered; there's
good hiding In some u the slums
round tn bayou
He turned up Promenade street
walking with slow, dragging steps
Seems to me I'm powerful weak he
muttered. Has it been longer'n day
sence tux food?
'Chickee! chick! chick! chickp
He stopped at the sweet sound of 6
child's voice, and looking over q bro
ken gate saw little blue eyed cir
feeding chickens by the wool pile In
the yard.
Sissy, can you give me glass o.
buttermilk"
Mammal! mammal called the child
'here's man wants SOME buttermilk.
He will have to wait for it, an
swered voice from the house; 'th6
churn won't be ready for half an hour.
Come in,' said the little maid, run
ming to the gate and holding it open
You can wait awhile, can't you:
Here's seat ON the wood pile.'
He followed her like one in a dream
she stood up before him, straight,
sweet shape, and began to talk. You
don't look very NICE said she, hel
eyes wandering over his torn, soiled
garments, with bits OF coal and dirt
falling away from the side that had
lain next to the earth; but l s'p0se
you were soldier
No, little girl, | never was q soldier.
I'm s'prised to hear that. My papa
was colonel, aid nearly all the men
that come here and-and-ask for
things, you know, b'lOng d to some
big generals army-Lee's or Forests
or HOad's. 1 can't remember all the
names.'
He said nothing, and little Miss
Delicacy feared she bad hurt his
feelings. DO you like sugar cakes?'
she said soothingly.
He nodded his head.
The trouble is she drew nearer
and lowered her voice confidentially-
there are SO many boys about, and they
ere drcadfuL fellows for sugar cakes.
They hardly ever leave any till next
day. But I'll see abOut it,
She disappeared behind the honey.
suckle that hung over the porch, but
she did not come back. The sound oil
tempestnous sobbing came from with.
in, and it was plain she had either
been disappointed of the sugar cakes,
or, rs was more likely, forbidden a so
cial chat with tramp.
The man took no heed of her alb
scence. He lifted his eyes and looked
across the river to Hopefield, the little
town so white and still. But to him
1t seemed to run with blood and ring
with sound. His teeth clenched to-
gether; his eyes glowed in his set face
like eyes in discolored marble. Close
by the river bank was his home, log
house weather boarded, that he had
built himself. He could see the ZigZag
line of fence and the hOllyhocks grow
ing by the window. He had planted
them there two years ago, when he
married little Betty Hill and brought
her home. What those years had been
to him he and God knew. He was
poor, but Betty had made him love
his daily work. He was ignorant, but
Betty had been his teacher. He was
rough, but Betty was fine. That for
which men have
Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes,
had come to him pressed down and
running over. And now
Wrenching his hand from that hor-
Tible now he threw back his thoughts
to the early days Of his love and hers:
She allays belonged ter me. / learnt
her to swim an ter fish an ter row.
We getbered hick'ry nuts in tn same
basket, an marked every sweet gum
tree she wanted, soft not boy in
Hopefield dared ter tech one of 'em.
cut her name in my arm; and once
l took Stran' OF her long black hair
and sewed it over my heart 80 deep
that the blood run every time draw
ed the needle out. Little Bettyl Little
BettyI Was ther' ever time l didn't
love her? L tOted her in my arms
when she was teenchy baby, an 1
watched her year by year growin' pur-
tier, an straighter'n a saplin' in the
woods. She never growed very tall;
on'y as high as my heart, she said.
She had sech purity way of sayin'
this!-nimble with her tongue as she
was with her feet in reel.' His lips
parted with something like smile.
Here is the buttermilk,' said the
child's voice, and the sugar cakes too;
but | had to cry for him.
He started to his feet, and, taking
the bowl, drank the milk thirstily, a
faint color coming under his brown
skin. But he never took his eyes from
the Hopefield shore; and as he drained
the last drop he saw three men walk.
ing rapidly down toward the river. His
heart gave q wild leap; the bowl DROP