Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1878-02-15

across the city," he muttered; "thero' $
good hiding in sum o. the slums round
the bayou"
He turned up Promenade street,
walking with slow, dragging steps
"Seems to me I'm powerful weak, >" he
muttered. "Has IL been longer'n day
sence tux my foodP"
"Chickeei chicki chicki chickr'
He stopped at the sweet sound of the
child's voice, and, looking over brok-
en- gate, saw u little blue-eyod girl feed
ing chickens by wood-pile in the yard.
Sissy, can you give me glass of
buttermilkp'
Mammal mammar' called the child,
"here's man wants some buttermilk."
"He will have to wait for it, an
swured 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 youp
Here's n seat on the wOOd-pile."
| He followed her like one in dream.
She stood up before him, a straight,
sweet shape and began to talk. "You
don look very NICE" she said, her eyes
wandering over his torn, soiled gar
ments, with bits of coal and dirt falling
away from the side that had lain next
to the earth; "but l suppose you were
q soldier
mo, little girl, never was a sol
der"
"rm s'priscd to hear that. My papa
was Colonel, and nearly all the men
that come here and-and-ask 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 Deli
cacy feared she had hurt his feelings.
"Do you like sugar-cakesP' she said,
soothingly.
He nodded his head.
"The trouble is" she drew nearer
and lowered her voice coniidentially-
"there are so many boys about and they
are drcadtu 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 of
tempestuous sobbing came from within,
and it was plain she had either been
disappointed of the sugar cakes, or, as
was more likely, forbidden a social chat
with a tramp.
The man took no heed of her alb
sence. 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 clcnched together;
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 him
self. 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 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 run
ming over. And now
Wrenching his mind from that horri-
BILE "nOw," he threw back his thoughts
to the early days of his love and hers:
"She allays belonged to me. | learnt
her ter swim an ter fish an ter row.
We gethered hick' ry-nuts in tn same
basket, an | marked every sweet-gum
tree she wanted, so It not boy in
Hopeiield 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 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?
| toted her in my arms when she was a
teenchy baby, an l watched her year
by year CROWN purifier, an straighter'n n
a saplin' in the woods. She never
growed very tall; only as high as my
heart, she said. She had such a purity
way of sayin' things-nimble with her
tongue as she was with her feet in a
reel" 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
Hopeiield shore; and, as he drained the
last drop, 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 sud-
den thought came to him of an old
black woman who lived near. She had
belonged to minister's family in
Hopetield. He had known her all his
life; she had made pet of him, and
would befriend him now.
He walked quickly out of the ward
toward the hovel that Aunt Mely 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 I
would be to crush out fear, remorse,
agony, life, in one short, sharp point of {
time. But he drew back and walked on /
with long, quick steps.
Aunt Mely's house was poised on Z
The side of the bluff like rocking
stone. Back OF 1t was struggling !
garden, protected from the goats by /
queer sort of fence made by all the re-
'use stuff Aunt Nelly could fnd-broad I
blanks and narrow planks, old fence
'ails, sticks of wood and brush-heaps. I
Of the house itself you could not say
hat one part was worse than another. '
i seemed to hang together by atten-
lated threads. Samson, in his days of t
Dibs and long-gowns, could have +
brought ii about his ears with vigor a
'us infantine kick. The chimney was a
1t had been daubed with |
mud and stuck with clay; and on the /
outside Aunt Nelly had nailed shin /
ng sheet of tin. {
The old woman was bustling about t
indoors when shadow came between (
Ter and the sun. She looked up and
Jaw mans form in the doorway. q
Lor' bless my soul, Phil Vickers! is !
lat youP What's de matter wild youP" q
"rm in great trouble, Aunt Nelly. l S