The Brookhaven leader. [volume] (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1883-1891, 1883-05-24
RAND KENNEDY'S wOOING.

RAND kENNEDl'S NOOlNG.
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
" finished tenement houses, of 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 mile along Duke Street, as
far, 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 il had reverted to her brother and
remained in the family ever since. 1t was
for her that the quaint, rambling, roomy
old mansion 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
dim memory of her gentle caresses, and
he lived for years after alone with his
father. When he had grown to manhood
they spent a few years abroad, and almost
Immediately upon their return Rand found
himself orphaned by sudden accident.
He found, too, upon examining his fathers
papers that there had been for years an out
standing debt to a considerable amount
against the estate of which he had never
dreamed. Himself the soul of honor and
open as the day, he could not help feeling
strangely hurt at what seemed to have been
u lack OF confidence upon the part OF the
parent he had idolized and whose loss he
mourned almost inconsolably. His family
pride was touched, too, by the thought of
obligations 50 long unfulfilled.
just at this time, while depressed by his
recent bereavement and this unlooked-fOr
burden, he was waited upon by commit
tee from the City Council and informed of
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 feet from
the rear of the mansion, If either side could
be so called, when each was equally hand
some. The project had been contemplated
for some time, but no one had ventured to
propose it during the lifetime of the elder
Mr.. Kennedy. Many expected opposition
as it was, and it became a matter of equal
surprise and congratulation that Rand so
quickly allowed them all they asked and
even more. They hardly knew what to
make of the quiet, dignified young gentle
man who met their proposition without a
protest.
By JOve" said one worthy to his COM
paniOn, as they found themselves outside
the lonely house, ''he can't be 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
have cursed us out of our boots for such an
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
than everything else life held, and month
before he would have believed anything
sooner than that he would ever part with
an inch of it. But having at once deter
mined to cancel his fathers Indebtedness
to the uttermost farthing, he had discover
ed that the only way of doing so lay in the
sale of goOdly portion of the 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
only fitting climax to the general upheay-
al Of things he had always regarded as fixed
as the eternal hills, that new, noisy, dusty
street should run through the primeval
shades of Kennedy Park. 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
pavement were laid before them, milk-wag.
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
rafting, buStling, spick-and-span contrast
to the ancient elegance and dignity of the
grand old trees and mansion just over the
way.
Meanwhile Rand had grown into prema.
turely middle-aged man. Though scarcely
more than thirty-fve, he had the appear.
ance of fifty, with his thick, long beard, al
ready turning gray, and his silent, forbid.
ding manner. 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,
cheerless, 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 unkind, he often passed
days without addressing those about him
AT night he walked alone to his home and
spent 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 moi
visited since his boyhood; the latter com
bined in his dignitied and infirm 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 thret
rooms were kept open, and they 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 eithe
side of upper Duke Street one wet and dis
NAL November evening. Mr.. Kennedy hat
returned from town rather later than usual
aud was still lingering over his last cup o
coffee, when loud peal from the door-bel
rang through the house, startling bot
master and servant from their musings
and re-echoing through the wide old hall
long unused to such a sound.
"'Fo' God, Massa Rand" chartered tn
old negro, not stirring from his place be
hind Rand's chair, muffin human ain
rung dat do'-bell dat way such a dub'u
night as dis is! Don't yer go, honey
don't" he pleaded, his toothless old vote
growing strangely tremulous as Rand
humoring the superstitious fear of his age
servitor, had himself arisen to answer tn
summons. His only reply was to take tn
lamp from the table and proceed towar
the door; and 'Demus, bravely resolvin
that his beloved master should meet neithe
man nor spirit alone, followed closely after
nab.
IL was with some trouble that Rand su,
ceeded In christening the bolts. At las
they yielded to his efforts and the doc
swung open, only to admit dash of raj
ana gust OF wind which nearly blew OF
the light.
AlYbnga th.r. 90 4. .l,aI 70 - a J..