American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1880-08-28
MY HERO.

IA
For many years we bought our but
ter, milk and eggs at the Deacon
Witheridge Farm. When / was ten
years old my grandmother thought that
might be trusted to go for the milk,
warning me, as set cut, that / was to
hold the pail well away from me and
not spill. By another year the family
pronounced me large enough to be
trusted with the butter and eggs.
Garry them steady, child, and look
well to your steps, that you don't trip. "
said my grandmother, as she stood on
the door-steps.
Now, Deacon Witheridge lived at
the top of the long Miaot Hill; and on
q warm day, by the time had trudged
up its weary length. I was ready
enough to accept Mrs. Deacon Wither-
idge's invitation to ''set down and cool
off, After several seasons of 'tsettin'
down and coolin' off, grew quite
familiar with the farmhouse and its in
mates. Mrs. Witheridge never liked.
1t made NO difference that my grand
mother declared her a most excellent
woman. the best butter-maker in the
town. never recovered from the i'm
preston of my first visit.
90 Be sure and go to the back door,"
was my mothers parting Injunction.
But when I reached the house no
back-door could 1 find I looked and
looked in vain. and was on the point of
turning back toward home, when, sud-
denly, with unwonted boldness, I de-
termined to try the front-door. 4
made INV way through the tall grass
which choked the path, and let the
heavy brass knocker fall with q hump
that made me tremble. 1t was some
time before 1 heard an answering foot
step. and then. on the other side of the
door, q fierce struggle with rusty bolts
and hinges. At last, with a groan, the
door gave way, and 1 found myself
looking up 1t . gaunt woman, who inn
pressed me as being of supernatural
stature.
"Ho. So it's nobody but you, is it?
What are you round here for, scarin'
grand company"
al couldn't find the back door" I
began timidly. - . - -
Couldn't find the back door,
Where do folks Centrally find back
doorsf'
must have looked unable to answer,
for she went on:
"Why, round at the back o. the
house, most likely. But what do you
want o. the back door, when you git
therep'
Are you Mrs. Deacon Witheridge7''
asked. family.
eyes; I'm her. Speak up lively and
tell me what you want amt got much
time ter waste. We're folks that work.
here"
More and more embarrassed, stam-
mered out: IL came after some milk.
I'd like a quart if you please. The
moneys in the pail"
"Well, YOU have togo round to the
back door. l don't want ter let yer
in here. You might track in dirt.
just foller yer nose round the house."
I did at last find the right door,
where waited with some apprehen-
sion the disappearance of the Deacon's
wife.
She soon reached the door, and
called !. In an extraordinary pitch of
voice:
"StephenI Stephen!''
A boy who was bending over the
woodpiie, turned quickly and nervously
at her sharp voice, and came toward the
house.
II want you to go down to the milk
cellar. Stephen, and get some milk for
this child. Dip down under and don't
"Al right, marm." he answered,
cheerfully- 49, sar
Come. step up quick. Don't walk
- Il there was ton o. lead on yer
heelsr' ~.
Stephen held out his hand for my
pail. and invited my goodwill with q
friendly " Hullo."
VERY well, 1 thank you," an
swered; for 1 had been taught at home
that "boys and some rather common
little girls said 'Hullor instead of
How do you do?'" 1 noticed that
Stephen looked little puzzled as he
carried of my pail. 1 watched him as
he went. have called him boy, but
form was slight and boyish; but there |
were deep lines in his forehead, and a |
care-worn look about the eyes. His |
clothes were poor and hung loosely upon |
him. Yet Stephens STOPPING shoulders /
and thin face left no impression of sad
ness upon me then. His smile was too
CHEEKY. his 4" HullO'' too friendly for
that For one thing did pity him,
that he was, apparently, in the power
of Mrs. Deacon Witheridge. This 1
felt . bond of sympathy, for was not /,
too. for the time beingP
"Well, here yer be at last" said the
JDeaconoss, as Stephen emerged from
the cellar. What yer goin' to do nextP
Go down to the gris-mi1l?''
Yes, marin; that's what the Dea-
con said | s'pose I might take her
along, too" with n nod in my direction.
THAT'S the road she takes"
Yes, pose yer might, if it didn't
hinder you"
"AlI right, little girl, come on
I clambered into the wagon while
Stephen united the horse. He stood
moment with one foot on the wagon
step. and looked down at himself rather
81 amt q very spruce-lookin' Teller.
IN IP Amt yer most ashamed ter ride
with meP"
mo. I think it's NICE" I said de-
cidedly.
IAN right. I don't care, il you
don't," said he, cheerily, and jumped
u.
As we rode down the hill, looked
ut Stephen from time to time;
but ! said little. was a shy child and
mover made the advances in CONVERSE
ion Stephen ventured remark or
Two about Its being a good summer for
nay and the Deacon's big crop. could
not have answered with much enthusi-
ssm, for the conversation was on the