The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1881-07-05
The "SauCy Sally"

Inc SauCy sally was to DC q bark OF
marvellous beauty and swift sailing; a
nimble pair of heels she would show-so
said the young builder, as he toilcd over
her, glorying in his own handiwork, us the
young are wont to glory and rejoice over
their first achievements.
My cousin Allan was the son of captain
of tight little trading vessel His dark
face would glow and become tremulous
whenever he told us of the two or three
voyages he had taken with his father after
his mother died, and dwclt lovingly, long
ingly upon oil the incidents and adventures
of the happy period.
But there came time when he returned
home without his brave, fond, indulgent
father, for they left him sleeping his last
sleep on one Of the South Sea Islands, in a
fair, sunny spot, in a. glamor Of light and
shccny glory. Thus orphaned he was hence
forth to live with us.
We young ones wept as we listened to
the story, and gathered the small orphan
to our hearts-all save myself, perhaps
ought to say, for somehow did not quite
tako him to me as l, especially ought to
have done, seeing he and I were of the
same age-ten years. No great age to
have been traveller, and TO have lost both
parents. He was looked upon with some
sort of awe and respect by all our juvenile
acqualntanccs, and here, l believe, lay the
root and cause of my holding him somewhat
aloof from me.
All through the glowing autumn and
early winter the building Of small craft,
which was to be named the Saucy Sally,
occupied all the leisure time of Allan, the
once sailor, traveller, or what you will, now
the simple school lad on land. His work.
@l,n vii n ln
chamber; here he toiled and drcamt, his
dark face aglow, all his spare moments, as
l have said, through the autumn and early
winter. l think l must have been natur-
ally OF very jealous disposition still that
was no excuse for what l am about to re-
late Naturally we have great many
evil promptings to be crushed doWn and
0vercome-my jealousy Of Allan and the
notice everybody in our young world was
according him. Even my brother Ben,
lall lad OF sixteen, would stand at his elbow
for hours on holidays, watching him, as he
wrought, when we other little lads could
not tempt him to become one Of us at
cricket or any other game.
mo thank you; you small fry mustn't
expect to mate with herrings," he would
say, d,sdainfully, when we tried to coax
him, and walk off sometimes for ramble
over the hills with Allan the next mo-
ment.
knew that was one Of Allan's sailor
speeches, and hated this little dark, win
ming boy at such Cmes-ayc. children,
hated him, till-till-guess what resolved
TO dol To spoil his handiwork, to wreck
his ship before she ever left the docks, that
is what I resolved to dol And the moment
came when [ carried my wicked plan into
operation q moment presented itself when
| told myself it would be Justifiabic-to
sweep away anothcr's Joy, glory, happi-
ness, as malice, hatred, and jealousy
prompted.
was in Allan's room there stood the
Saucy Sally-a few more touches and it
would be completed; there was her name
embroidered in yellow floss silk by my
sister Kittie, flying at her masthead; she
was indeed so trim and pretty that my
heart half misgave me. But no, did It
a;. .o,j deal of mischief can be accom-
-nlis,,,Gi in Il short timc.-a few bold strokes
and she lay wreck, a poor dlsmantlcd
wreck, before ever skimmiug over the
water as a thing of life, as her owner in
tended. l stole out, and down the stairs,
and scarcely was below, when up leaped
Allan, to look once more on his beloved
work. Oh how he fed down again his
ewes ablaZc, his dark checks pale, his lips
trcmulous.
"Bert, YOU never have been so cruel as to
wreck her, to tear her in pieces !" he cried,
seining me by the arm.
"a wrecked ship isn't any worse tlian a
tattored kite" asserted coolly, for he had
broken my kite accidentally, and my bro
ther had laughed at it.
sit is, Bert; and you did 1t on purpose,
while didn't try to tear your kite.' He
smoke calmly; think his great sorrow and
anger held him calm.
80 you eay, but you wouldn't believe
me If l told you what I've done was an
accident" returned scorntully.
lit couldn't b." he rejoincd, "and you
are cruel, and ought to be punished"
''Go and tell, then, like good boy, and
got me punished-I don't care" l rctoctcd,
determined to brave 1t out.
"You know I wouldn't tell telling
wouldn't do ahy good, it wouldn't mend
my Ship" hc replied, sadly. Turning on
his heel and passing me, he went and stood
at the front door, looking out Oh the ruddy
glory of the winters afternoon.
His taking it 30 calmly angered me; ]
thought he wou,d d have clustered and ravcd,
but instead of that he was thus quiet and
placid. leant over the balustrade, hum.
ming q tune and trying not to care, and
presently Allan camc IN, took down his
skates, which hung near tho back door,
and went out at tho front, passing me on
the way.
'Arc you going skatlng9" asked snap
pishly.
eyes," he replied; but he never looked
up. There was no anger In his tone; l was
glad afterwards that there was no anger il
that one word he uttered.
When he was outside the door he
glanced back, the radiance gone from his
face, but it was with no unklndly look, ant
asked:
care you comings"
'No," l replied; "and you had better
not CO." He did not seem TO hear me; bu
walked on. n.
Down TO the gate, through the open dool
the amber light upon him-I watched
him, and then he was gone. ! stood lean