The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1883-05-17
Rand KENNEpY,s Moo1NG.

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To observe a fine example of contrast one
should walk through the upper end of Duke
Street in the thriving city of Exeter.
Upon the right stand long rows of cheap
iy finished tenement houses, of a light dust
color, with trimmings of imitation brown
stone, thin bay-windows extending from
basement to attic, and flights of wooden
steps leading to the front doors. Upon the
left are the grand old trees of Kennedy.
Park, extending in an unbroken line for
more than half a mile along Duke Street, as
tar, indeed, as the river.
Years and years ago the whole country
for miles around had been owned by Gill
christ Kennedy and had formeda portion of
his only daughters marriage dover. Upon
her death it had reverted to her brother and
remained in the family ever since. 1t was
for her that the quaint, rambling, roomy
old ansion had been built which was to
become the cradle of SO many Kennedys
and at last the gloomy, cherries home of
the sole survivor of them all.
Rand Kennedy's mother died almost be-
fore he was old enough to retain more than
a dim memory of her gentle caresses, and
he lived for years after alone with his
father. When he had grow to manhood
they spent a few years abroad, and almost
Immediately upon their return Rand oun
himself orphaned by a sudden accident.
He found, too, upon examining his fathers
papers that there had beenfor years an out
standing debt to a considerable amount
dka1uSG UQ0 c6ldD6 VI MulCu n0 udu HcNcI
dreamed. Himself the soul OF honor and
open as the day, he could not help feeling
strangely hurt at what seemed to lave been
a lack or confidence upon the part of the
parent he had idolized n whose loss he
mourne almost inconsolably. His family
pride was touched, too, by the thought of
obligations so long unfultilled.
just at this time, while depressed by his
recent bereavement and this ~unlooked-for
burden, he was waited upon by a commit
H. ~ --. - g. e
the decision reached by that body to extend
Duke Street through to the river. This
would cut the Kennedy property nearly in
two and bring the street but a few feettrom
the rear of the mansion, III either side could
be so called, when each was equally hand
for some time, but no one had venturedt to
propose it during the lifetime of the elder
Mr.. Kennedy. Many expected opposition
as it WI and it. became a matter OF equal
surprise and -congratulation that Rand so
quickly flowed them all they asked and
even more. They hardly knew what to
make of the quiet, dignihed young gentle
man who met their proposition without a
protest.
" By Jovei" said one worthy to his COM
panion, as they found themselves outside
the lonely house, me can't bea Kennedy in
anything but the name. There never was
one before who didn't hold this place dear
as the apple Of his eye, and who wouldn't
CuISCo US OuU " u pOOUS lOF 6uCH AL
errand as ours"
He little dreamed of the suffering con-
cealed beneath Rand's calm demeanor. His
home, and the home of his ancestors, a
grand old place still, was dearer to him
tnan everything else life held, and a month
before he would have believed anything
,soouer than that he would ever part with
an Inch of it. But having at once deter
mined to cancel his fathers indebtedness
20 the uttermost farthing, he had discover
ed that the only way of doing so lay in the
sale of a goodly portion of tine estate. And
herein was to be found the secret of his
ready granting of the roadway. A few feet
more or less mattered not, and it appeared
oIly a fitting climax to the general upheav-
al of things he had always regarded as fixed
SIS the eternal hills, that a new, noisy, dusty
street should run through the primeval
shades of Kennedy lark. But, although
the thoroughfare was duly laid out, it was
some years before it became more than a
country road. Then rows of tall, pale ten
ement houses sprung up, long stretches of
ons ratified out there before dawn, babies
sprawled and bawled upon the wooden
steps, hucksters made the air hideous with
their yells, and everything was in the most
rattling, bustling, -spick-and-span contrast
to the ancient elegance and dignity of the
grand old trees and mansion just over the
way.
Meanwhile Randhad grown into aprema-
turely middle-aged man. Though scarcely
more than thirty-ive, he had the appear
ance of fifty, with his thick, long beard, al
ready turning gray, and his silent, forbid
ding He had never thrown off the
depression consequent upon his fathers
death and the swiftly following events of
that fateful spring. In truth, he had made
no great efforts to do so. And the years as
they passed found him leading a lonely,
cherries, monotonous life. Every morning
he wentto the Office in town, where an un-
broken succession of Kennedys had prece-
ded him, and went faithfully through the
routine which there devolved upon the head
of the family. Invariably punctual and
diligent, and not ,nkind, he often passed
days without addressing those about him.
At night he walked alone to his home and
spent a solitary evening with his books in
the dim old library.
An aged negress, formerly one of the
chattels of the place, and her equally aged
husband constituted the entire corps of
servants. The former never left the dusky
recesses of the kitchen Rand had not
visited since his boyhood; the latter COM
bined in his digniied andinfrm person the
valet, the butler, the steward and the de-
voted worshiper of "Massa Rand"
The old house was fast falling into decay
from non-use and negligence. Only three
rooms were kept open, andthey were cheer
less and forlorn. No one ever came there,
and for years Rand had crossed the thres-
hold of no other home.
Such was the state of things upon either
side of upper Duke Street one wet and dis
ma November evening. Mr.. Kennedy had
returned from town rather laterthan usual.
and was still lingering over his last cup of
coffee, when a loud peal from the door-bell
rang through the house, startling both
master and servant from their musings,
and re-echoing through the wide Did halls
long unused to such a sound.
"'Fo' God, Massa Rand" chartered the
old negro, not stirring from his place be.
hind Rand's chair, muffin human amt
rung dat do'-ben dat way such a dub'us
night as dis is! Don't yer go, honey,
DON'T" he pleaded, his toothless old voice
humoring the superstitious fear of his aged
servitor, had himself arisen to answer the
summons. His only reply was to take the
lamp from the table and proceed toward
tho door; and 'Demus, bravely resolving
that his beloved master should meet neither
man nor spirit alone, followed closely after
rolling his great eyes and quaking in every
limb.
1t was with some trouble that Rand sue
ceeded in christening the bolts. At lasi
they yielded to his efforts and the dool
swung open, only to admit a dash of rair
and a gust of wind which nearly blew GU
the light.
"Who's there" asked Rand, peering forth
into the darkness. "Who's there ?' he cried
in louder tones as no answer came. Still
no one replied.
81 dun tol' yer, Massa Rand" Whispered
'Demus; 'tain't muffin dat kin speak vic
mouf and tung. Ole 'Demus amt live al
desc years fur muffin. Come in, honey, GU
de wet"
But Rand was not yet satisfied. He tool
a step forward, and his foot struck against
something. Looking down, he saw a darl
object lying on the porch. Bending lower
he discovered it to be a basket covered with
a thick shawl.
set itinside out of the rain, 'Demus, anG
I'll call again for the owner. Some miser
able fellow who want a nights lodging
suppose"
'Demus obeyed. grumbling audibly, in ne
wise pleased with the whole matter. But
in q moment .r two be had the q satisfaction