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

$50 you're out a-ridin', L see," she
called out, with a nod. as we rode past.
"Was you ever in her housed" asked
Stephen, pointing over his shoulder
with his whip.
"Oh! yes," I answered eagerly.
"She's one of my very dearest friends. y"
"Oh, hoi l didn't know that Sorter
queer, amt she?"
Nothing more was needed to draw
me out. My shyness vanished, and the
praises of Mrs. Weeks were only inter-
rupted by our arrival at our front gate.
/ Mex time you come. I'll show you
the barn. Good-by." And Stephen
| drove away.
My fear of meeting Mrs. Witheridge
again was considerably soothed by
| Stephens parting promise. He was as
good as his wond. That wonderful
barn! 1t stood opposite Deacon With
eridge's house, thereby cutting it off
from glorious sweep Of hills. Yet it
may have been as well for Stephen and
me to enjoy the landscape at the rear
door of the barn as for Mrs. Deacon
Witheridge to close her front-parlor
| blinds upon 1t all her married life.
Here, at any rate, Stephen and 1
found plenty to talk about. My heart
was won at once by the patience and
good-nature with which he answered my
endless questions. 1 followed him
about as he worked, till shrill voice
called from the house: Your milk is
waitin' for you. You mustn't be hinderin'
Stephen"
Stephen stoutly maintained that was
no hinderance; and many time after
that heightened my call till late in the
morning.
Never mind, Maria" said nv grand
mother, g. if she does stay a good while.
She can't come to any harm up at Dea-
con Witheridge's."
Stephen and 1 had many talks to-
gether, and had become very good
friends before our conversation took a
personal turn.
"Why don't you go to school?' I
asked, one day.
81 can't" he answered, and went on
shoveling.
"Why notP Won't your father and
mother let youp" persisted.
81 amt got any father and mother.
come out of the poor-house."
I instantly saw my mistake; but 1
could think of nothing better to say
than "Ohr'
Il amt goin' to die there, though;
not if 1 can help it," he continued,
shoveling with desperate energy.
"Are you going to get rchP' But
stopped suddenly. Why. Stephen,
what's the matterp Your face is all
white" 1 cried
He leaned heavily on his shovel and
put his hand to his forehead.
I'm all right now. 1 guess put in
a little too hard He went on work
ing; but lifted his shovel slowly and
heavily, bending all the strength of his
slight frame TO the task. Suddenly, |
who should emerge from behind a
patch of corn but Deacon Witheridge
himself.
oval, sir! Smart kind of working
call this. Why, feller like you don't |
earn his SALT
Stephen answered nothing; but made |
. weary effort to shovel faster. The |
Deacon frightened me. and did not |
dare to stay longer.
When 1 reached home I went straight |
to my mother.
Mamma" burst out, didn't |
Stephen ever have any father or
mother?"
s.Stephen? Stephene Oh! yes.
Deacon Witheridge's boy. Poor fell
low! When he was little bit of a |
baby, dear, thew found him on the poor
house steps. They took him in and |
kept him till Deacon Witheridge want |
ed a boy to bring up. 1 am afraid the |
little fellow has had rather a hard |
time" she added, half to he rsef.
could think of nothing that after
noon but Stephens story. My knowl- |
edge of the world was entirely obtained |
from Sunday-school books. II hap |
pened that first, then, my mind was
filled with an enhancing tale. whose
plot distinctly remember. The hero
was q foundling,. whose elaborately-
embroidered clothing gave no clue to
monsters in human shape. from whom
he suffered untold prosecutions. The
heroism of the early martyrs was moth
ing compared with the lofty endur-
ance Of this young saint. AZ last his
so-called parents fall into deep disgrace,
aud In the midst of the grand catas-
trophe our hero Is discovered to be the
son ef ansighboring Duke, from whose
palace ne had been stolen by q revenge
ful nurse. Now, - revolved this tale
in my mind was struck with the
marked resemblance between the for
tunes. Of its hero and of mine. NY
seized the meager facts of
Stephens story and wove them into a
romance, whose reality did not for q
doubt. Some day, felt as.
5uItus . uu6 CtSrTIb9o WOulQ 0I6W up |
before Deacon Witheridge's front-door
and beautiful lady, in q black velvet
dress Chat was one of the points in
sisted UPON, should alight and claim
my hero as her long-lost son. had no
very definite idea where this lady
would come from, or what would aft
erward become of her; but her sudden
appearance seemed necessary dra-
matte situation. dwelt, with delight
which savored of the malicious, ON the
and chagrin of Deacon
and Mrs. Witheridge, when they dis
covered that Stephen was millionaire,
It suited the purpose of my story to
paint this worthy couple in the BLACKLIST
,olors. Hard, unsympathetic and grasp
ng, they certainly were; but l am glad
hat they are to this day serenely I'M
conscious of the atrocities laid at their
i0or.
Day after day I labored upon my lit ,
lie romance, till it began to seem very
cal to me. l made various additions ,
md improvements, and finally de- !
ermined that when it had all come to :
PASS, 1, too, would write a book and :
ell to everybody the story of my !
zero.
l wonder If my mother knew what a :
Wild little brain mine was, and what :
'isions were fitting through it, as she :
allied to me from the head of the /.
tairs that we were all out of eggs
~ want you to go right up to Dea- !
on Witheridge's for some. q
Having dispatched my errand with E
frs. Witheridge, 1 inquired for :