The Magnolia gazette. [volume] (Magnolia, Miss.) 1872-current, 1881-10-28
J. D. BURKE, Editor.

4
heard the approach of footsteps to the
fence.
"Cyrus Deane, do you know that you
are a-sendtn' your own soul right stret
to perdition?"
He looked up, startled. A tall, gaunt
female was peering at him from pair
OF glistening spectacles-a woman in a
rusty black dress and straw "shaker Z
trimmed with bombazine cape and a
single bow OF black ribbon. 1t was
Miss Mahala Truffett. She was that
universal village character of whom the
weak and vicious SO Justly stand in awe
IA woman who speaks her mind-and
very startling way she had Of doing it.
Being possessed of considerable prop
erty and social position. she was allowed
to exercise her privilege to her hearts
content A tongue like forked light
ming, when occasion required, but a
heart o'erhowing with love for the strue-
Cling and suffering. Cyrus Deane shift
ed his hoe uneasily. 81 don't see heow
You make it eout thet I'm a-goin'
any Eastern other folks. | hain't done
nothin' to disobleege you thet | know
Oft
''Yon know what l mean. was up
to Jerry's last night" She gave him
another steady look from those Rhada-
manthus-like glasses. His gaze fell be-
fore hers.
"I hain't pizened none O. Jerry's crit
ters, nor set his barn afre, hev I?"
You've pizened his peace O. mind.
You've worn him out with worry, till
he's n walkin' ghost. set great store
by LOUSY Ann, l do, and when l see
her a-gittin' that fit O high stericks last
night, all along O your hardness and
scrinchin meanness, | come as nigh
bilin' over as ever / did in my life
Your own brother, Cyrus Deane The
little, curly-headei chap that, like
enough, slept on the same pillow with
you many night. What would your
mother ha' thought, ef she'd ha' knowed
heow different you'd turn out?
Cyrus Deane drew down his bushy
eyebrows, and gave an energetic kick to
a small bowlder.
"Jerrys he'd ez good chance to git
along ez me. We started even. It's his
own lookout He hain't no hand to
manage-never was-never could git
fore handed in his born days
The more reason why you ought to
be merciful He hain't he'd ez good
chance ez you. The year that your
barns was groanin' an runnin' over, his
wheat got the weeyil, an his corn
ketched the mildew. His cattle died,
an his tools was stole. He laid sick
with rheumatic fever, and he'd doctors
bill of 800 to pay. Do you call thet ez
good chance ez yours2 LOUSY Ann
works ez hard ez any woman--coobin' an
cleanin' an grubbin never had the
fust scrap O hired help, 'cept for eleven
days wen Cissy was n baby-an' she
never gifts ride in bran-new buggy,
nuther casting keen glance toward
the wagon shed.
Cyrus mopped his beaded brow with
red cotton handkerchief, and took up
his hoe with determined air, as if to
end the conference.
"I hain't been harf as hard on him ez
some folks would ha' been. I've gin him
time, and gin him time, till my patience
is clean tuckered eout, an he keeps
a-fallin behind instid Of gittin' forrard
He's younger'n | be, he kin so West !
Miss Mahala took off her shaker,
and shook out the cape, Strengthened out
the bow, and set it on her head again,
then said, in slow, measured tones;
" May the Lord hev mercy on your
soul, Cyrus Deane Eff He measured it
eout to you ez you do to other folks,
you'd hev precious little to be thankful
| for"
She walked slowly down the road, and
| CYRUS went on with his hoeing. He
didn't consider himself a hard man.
Honest outwardly, he was, as Jerry had
said, but war to the knife to get his
own" In two short weeks he could
foreclose the mortgage, and Jerry 8 little
| place would be his own. Would he do
| it? Miss Mahala's words were veriuice
| to his conscience-for a brief minute
nobler feelings strove with his greed OF
gain, then, dashing down the hoe /:
"No! Jerry's got to look eout fer him
self. He's a grown man-not a babyl
Why carn't thet old vinegar face mind
her own business I?
In the afternoon he drove to the next
town in his new buggy. A little tlossy-
haired girl ran out from nook IN the
woods, and cried:
"Man-man-takem little ride, do,
| please.
He reined mp the horse and helped
the little creature in. Cyrus Deane had
one soft spot in his heart-it was for lit
tie tiny children. No prattling lips had
ever called him "father. 1t would
have been better for those he had to
deal with had it been otherwise.
"And whose little gal be you, pray,
ont here in the woods alone?" he
asked.
I'm Cissy Deane, and mamma lets
me go to the big rock by myself, cause
/ know the way" She looked up and
gave little howl. "Let me out Oh,
let me out You're bad, dreadful
man You're the man that made my
papa cry I"
She scrambled down, andshaking her,
tiny fist at the buggy, stamped hei
foot, and ran away.
A bitter look came into Cyrus Desne' 6
face. "My own brothers youngster-