The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1878-02-14

"Mamma! mammal" called the
child, =" here's man wants some but.
termilk.''
"He will have to wait for it, an
swered voice from the house: "the
churn won't be ready for half an hour ~
"Come in" said the little maid, rum
ming to the gate and holding it open.
You can wait awhile. can't you?
Here's a seat on the wood-pile."
He followed her like one in dream.
She stood up before him, straight,
sweet shape. and began to talk. "You
don't look very nice,' she said, her
eyes wandering over his torn, scile.l
garments. with bits of coal and dirt
falling away from the side that had
lain next to the earth; "but l s'pose
YOU were Il soldier
"No, little girl: l never was a SOL
der
I'm s'prised to hear that. NY papa
was Il colonel. and nearly all the men
that come here and-and- for
things, you know, b'longed to some BIG
Generals army--Lee's or Forests or
Hoods. l can't remember all the
names.'
He said nothing. and little Miss Del.
icacy feared she had 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 contdentially-
"there are SO many boys about, and
they are drcddful fellows for sugar
cakes. They hardly crer 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 of
tempestuous sobbing came from with
in, and it was plain She had either been
disappointed of the sugar-cakes, or, as
was more likely, forbidden a social chat
with tramp.
The man took no heed of her alb
sencc. He lifted his eyes and looked
across the river to Hopefeld, the
little town SO white and still.
But to him it seemed to run
with blood and ring with sound. His
teeth clenched together; his eyes glowed
in his set face like eyes in discolored
marble. Close by the river-bank was
his home, a log house weather-boarded,
that he had built himself. He could
see the zigzag line of the fence and the
hollyhocks growing by the window.
He had planted them there two years
ago, when he married little Betty Hill
and brought her home. What those
years lad 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 teach
en- 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 run
ming over. And now
Wrcnching his mind from that horri-
BILE "now," he threw back his thoughts
to the early days of his love and hers;
''She allays belonged ter me. learnt
her ter swim an ter fish an
ter row. We gethered hick'ry nuts in
tn SEINE basket, an l marked every
sweet-gum tree she. wanted, SO t net a
boy in Hopetield dared ter tech one of
EN-. | cut her name in my arm; and
once took a stran' of her long black
hair and sewed it over my heart so deep
that the blood run every time drawed
the needle out. Little Betty! Little
Betty! Was ther' ever time l didn't
love her? l toted her in my arms
when she was teenchy baby, an l
watched her year by year GROWN purt-
Ter. an straighter'n q 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' things!
-nimble with her tongue as she was
with her feet in reels His lips parted
with something like a smile.
''Here is the buttermilk,' said the
child's voice, land the sugar-cakes,
too: but had to cry for them
He started to his feet, and, taking the
bowl, drank the milk thirstily, faint
color coming under his brown skin.
But he never took his eyes from the
Hopetield shore; and, as he drained the
last dror, he saw three men walking
rapidly down toward the river. His
heart gave wild leap; the bowl dropped
from his hands. "They're on my
track" he said, hoarsely.
No use now to hurry across the city
to hide in the slums; it was too late for
that plan. In his pressing need a sud-
den thought came to him of an old
black woman who lived near. She had
belonged to minister's family in
Hopefield. He had known her all mis-
life; she had made a pet of him, and
would befriend him now.
He walked quickly out of the yard
toward the howell that Aunt Nelly called
home. 1t was chance whether he
ever reached it, for he stopped at the
steepest height of the bluff, and for one
mad moment thought how easy it
would be to crush out fear, remorse,
agony, life, in one short, sharp point of
of time. But he drew back and walked
on with long quick steps.
Aunt Mely's house was poised on
the side of the bluff like a rocking
stone. Back of it was struggling
garden, protected from the goats by a
queer sort of fence made by all the re-
fuse stuff Aunt Nelly could find-broad
planks and narrow planks, old fence
rails, sticks of wood and brush-heaps.
Of the house itself you could not say
that one part was worse than another.
1t seemed to hang together by atten-
uated threads. Samson, in his days of
bibs and long-gowns, could have
brought it about his ears with vigor-
Gus infantine kick. The chimney was
remarkable. 1t had been daubed with
mud and stuck with clay; and, on the
outside, Aunt Nicely had nailed shin
ing sheet of tin.
The old woman was bustling about
indoors when shadow came between
her and the sun. She looked up and
saw a mans form in the doorway.
"Lor' bless my soul, Phil Vickers! is
dat you? What's de matter wild you?"
I'm in great trouble, Aunt Nelly.
want you to help me-hide me-"
Glide you? Why, what hev you been
a-doin?'
He pushed his way beside her into the
room.
She followed him and shut the door.
"What have you done, boy?' she re-
peated.
"rve killed Tom Jack, if you must
know"
"Killed Tom Jacki Phil Vickcrs- Won