The Hickman courier. [volume] (Hickman, Ky.) 1859-current, 1881-07-22
LINK BY LINK.
THE STORY OF A MYSTERY.

The shower was ended. A brisl
breeze wasrapidly tearing away the gra.
thunder clouds from the face of the Jun
sky, and the sun shone down with re
newed fervor
''As hot as twas before the raini" ex
claimed Mrs. Curtis as she opened he
parasol, and leisurely stepped from tn,
Haywood dry goods store in which sh'
had, half an hour before, taken shelte
from the storm.
'Yes, 1t is, ma'am, said Mr.. Brown
the proprietor, handing her the bundle
she had bought from him, and he added
You'll have n hot walk under thi.
brilln' hot sun. Better run III to ou
house and stay to tea. You hain't seeC
the twins. Smartest little critters ever
was. Mrs. Browns getting on finely
and will be glad to see you"
Thanks; I'd like to, but must hurry
home and can my currants Besides,
wouldn't undertake that long walk
through the pine wood after dark foi
anything in the world. It's glorious
enough In the daytime. Give my re-
spects to your wife; tell her I'll drop in
soon and see her and the babies. Good
day."
''Good-day," said Brown, and he
added, as he saw Mrs. Curtis hurrying
down the street, "Queer critterl"
Yes, by all the inhabitants of Haywood
Mrs. Curtis was called peculiar. She
was upwards of fifty years, tall and
erect, with iron-gray hair, ruddy cheeks,
and keen, dark eyes. And, decidedly
she was person that minded her own
business. She had lived in Haywood
for five years. yet In all that time not a
10 1.,I III,
information concerning her past life.
All that could be ascertained was that
she was n widow, childless, and with a
little property, consisting of little cot
tage surrounded by few acres of land
and with few hundred dollars in the
Haywood bank
Meanwhile, Mr.. Brown returned to
his counter to wait on a customer, and
Mrs. Curtis pursued her journey home
ward. For some distance her road led
along the dusty highway, then she turned
into little footpath through the daisy
dotted meadow, then across the creek
bridge, until presently she came to the
dense pine woods whose shade was very
pleasing to her.
When about half way through the
woods she came to a small patch of late
strawberries. She stopped to pick them.
Her brown, hard working hands were
nearly full of the luscious. red berries,
when n rustling and foOtstep startled
her. She hastily glanced up. In an in
slant au iron-like hand was clutching her
throat, and-only the frightened, wild
wood birds could tell her the rest.
About two miles from the village of
Haywood, and on the banks of Brair
Creek, dwelt Peter Groat. He was a
German, who, with his family, had
lately come to America, and in the pre-
vious autumn had bought a few acres of
land bordering the creek. Here he had
erected a small, but comfortable house,
and was. to all appearance, an honest,
hard-working man. The only thing
that could be said against him by a few
grumblers was that he was too "close,
clinging tightly to his hard earned pen
nies, and ever on the lookout for more.
But this certainly was excusable when it
was known that he had a mortgage on
his farm, which together with the wants
of a rapidly increasing family, was
enough to make any man greedy of
grain.
1t was evening of the day on which
our story began. Peter, surrounded by
his wife and children, sat smoking his
pipe on the little grass plot in front of
the house.
The supper had been eaten, the cows
milked, the pigs fed, the chickens
housed from thievish rats, and all the
family, young and old, felt entitled to a
season of rest Hans and Fritz were
turning summersaults on the soft grass;
Gretchsn. haxeu-haired lassie.l was
feeding a pet robin; Franz, the SIX
months baby, was cuddled up in his
mothers breast, consentedly smacking
his lips over his evening meal.
The sun went down, the shadows
deepened. The clock1n the distant VII
lage strnck the hour of eight. Peter
Groat rose, shook the ashes from his
pipe, and said: kt
Come, kinder, it is late. The dew is
falling, and let's to bed"
'sVaterl vaterl" suddenly cried Hans
and Fritz, running up from the gate,
''there is man coming IN our yard-a
strangerr'
Peter slowly sauntered down to meet
the new conner.
He was an elderly man, with tanned
and rugged face, sandy hair sprinkled
with gray, and dark. deep-set eyes, some
what imfamed His clothes were of
good material. although worn and dusty
with travel. In his hand he carried a
large satchel.
Good evening" he said, courtously.
Evening to you, SIR replied Peter
Groat.
sTm a peddler," (" said the man, speak
ing in German. j have sold nearly all
my goods, and am on my way back to
Now York j got left by the train, and
undertook to walk to the next station.