Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-10-26

tors.Y
..You don't say SO. But suppose L have
nOneg Is he SO particular about the
standing Of your friendsg''
''Oh, no." she replied snilingly; "iPs
only a habit or hobby Of his. Come in,
grandpa. Are you tireds Did the hands
work well tO-dayY Here's chair;
you see l hsve an Invalid in your rocker.
Mr." looking appealingly at her guest.
Reginald Mayfield, sir; but mustdis-
claim being an invalid, but admit being
unable for the time 20 stand, much less to
walk. l was out fishing and stumbled
over twig or root"
ssV erv sorry, indeed, :" replied the old man
with a polite bow and cordial shake Of the
hand. Farmer Jones, as every body called
him, was a Southern country gentleman
Of the coed cid time. one might expect,
when seeing his homemade suit Of Jeans
and broad hat, a coarse, ignorant farmer,
but beneath the coarse shirt front beat
the same warm, honest heart that glOwed
in his breast when a hundred slaves
Obeyed his every wOrd-When the broad
fields, lying so desOlate and bare now,
were once white with cotton and green
with corn and wheat. OF the large herd
Of cows that once came up dutifully each
night from the clover fields TO be MIXED
and fed, one old spotted COW was the only
surviving descendant left to rehearse the
tale OF departed glory.
Once row after row of neat negro
cabins lined the public road in the rear
OF the house as far as the eye could
reach: scores Of black children PLAYED,
frisked. shrieked and rolled in the dust OF
the road. No care had they if twas only
a shirt that covered their well-fed bodies
they knew when winter came fire and
warm clothes would come too. All who
were able worked, and worked well, as
the wcll-hOed cotton and acre after acre
Of beautiful corn testified. At night they
all came home and enjoyed themselves as
they never do now. Their weird songs
and bOisterOus mirth filed the air; not a
care bad they. BOunteous were the ne
cessaries of life, and not a few of the
luxuries. The neat white cabins are
tumbllng and decayed; the fences. too, are
following the general ruin. Even the
"White folks house, is getting black
from the need Of the painters brush.
Nike goes up the ladders Oftener and Of
teuer to mani on q missing shingle. At
first twas very hard on the old man
this change in his fortunes. He could not
see without pang the Fl elds his father
and grandfather had tended with so much
pride and profit wasting aEay-tO know
all he had gained ia lifetime was gone;
bus s3ddtsJ OF al was the loss Of his son.
His grandchildren had been his only
s0idce. He mad loved aud cared for
them as teuleriy as a mother could have
done. and they iu turn loved him more
than even q father is generally loved.
The old man went TO WOr., in his Old aye
~IiIinsiy Tor the sake Of those he loved.
Pauline has been carefully educated by
Mr. Malcolm. and, with one year al col
lege. has finished q better course than girls
generally receive in the South. Now,
VIII must 90 to college, too; and grandpa
and Pauline deny themselves many com
forts TO accomplish this end.
But 10 return. Farmer Jones is say
ing:
I'VE can't be so very sorry for a little
hurt since II has brought us company, ehi
Pauline? Yes, dear, the hands worked
very well, but l had TO work too to keep
them at it, aud am quite hungry"
''YOU shall have your tea directly, so
entertain our guest while Pm gone" and
with a nod ana smile Pauline left them.
"Reginaid May ield,' said the former,
trying 10 recall the name. "Sure you
must be son Of old DR.. Richard May
neld."
NO, sir; his grandson"
ITO be sure, to be sure. How time
flies! Now, l remember very well when
the rising doctor married the lovely Miss
Bird from Charleston. Her sister was"
Pauline, who had come in a moment,
here interrupted:
'sNOw, grandpa is going to give you a
history OF your fOrefathers. / told YOU
50. Ii there's been any black sheep in the
flock he's sure to tell YOU all about it."
SEQ To your kitchen. sauce-bOX,r Farme~
Jones gOOd-naturedly replied, and con-
tinued: Ills true, we have no aristOc-
racy in this cOuntTy-thank God for it'll
still think we are too apt 10 let money
instead of worth be the open sesame to
our friendship and homes. Hence i have
always kept up with my friends so as TO
know who's who. But, as l remarked,
your grandfath- T made a brilliant match.
His wiie's sister, Maria, married John
Williamson. She died young, poor thingI
John and 1 were boys together, and right
bad BOYS we were. Old parsOu Jones
good old sOul dead these many years
scOlded us pretty sharply once TOR whIs-
pering i'm church, so we decided to get
even with him. One night John sent q
boy To the parsonage with a hasty mes
sage from one Of his pets, old uncle Joe,
begging be would come and pray the last
time with him, as he was most gone.
Twas a cold, dark night, and he needs
must pass through a little stretch of
woods. Just as he passed large oak
such an apparitiOn as met mis- astOnished
gael 4 large, Tapping beast, with red
ewes and extended mouth, throwing out
liquid flames OF firel When the parson
turned back without a word and began to
run for life / think John would have fol-
lowed and added new terror to the flying
divine. but he had to stuff his fists into
his mouth to keep from laughing, and
there behind that tree we Rugged each
other and laughed till our candles went
out. We broke up our pumpkin, which
had served our purpose so well, that no
evidence OF our guilt could betray u.s."
Thus the old man talked on, sometimes
without much connection il is true, but
the young man was we'll amused, and
Pauline was pleased to find them so agree
ably occupied when she came 70 take her
grandfather to supper.
ssCOme. grandpa" she said, II will give
Mr.. Mayield something to read unless he
can eat something more"
s.NO. thanks! l did such good justice
70 your lunch YOU must excuse me until
morning. You may give me that book
over there on your machine. I've been
wondering what il is interesting enough
10 entice such a busybody as you seem to
be from your work. Thanksl Shaks-
peare, 1 see-Opened at the Merchant OF
Venice Is this your fayorite play, Miss
PaUiine:''
YES, that with several others. Amuse
Yourself awhile. / must follow grandpa
nov. l think he is impatient for his sup
per-"
Somehow the time seemed very long
that his new friends consumed in partak-
luE OF their TEA anu tic pdtltHL uUClUE
tossed the Shakespeare aside and sat listen
ing for a fOOtstep and a voice. Directly
both came. All gathered around the Ia
ble, and, surrounded by these country
people, DIR. Mayfield thought he had never
spent a more pleasant time. lie was
made to feel so much at home, so much
their friend, in a way that country people
have made peculiarly their own; so differ
ent, so much colder are our city friends.
Ills foot warned him now and then that
il needed attention, but he laughed the
painful twangs away, and sat watching
the little fingers of the sweet young girl,
who sat opposite, as they twinkled in and
out among her needles, and the soft,
low laugh, full Of mellow sweetness. well
repaid him tor the bon HlOts he uttered.
He eXerted himself to please as he never
did at the fashionable drawing-rOOms at
home. Then, too, he talked OF the politics
OF the day with the old farmer, watching
Pauline's evident pleasure in her grand
fathers manifest enjoyment Of the discus
sions.
Every little while in the pauses of con
VersatiOn the old farmers eyes wandered
and rested fOndly on Pauline's face.
Very tenderly ne spoke to her, calling her
his little girl.
surely" their guest murmured, ''these
are the happiest people 1 ever met. L
wonder if they know anything Of the
world Outsides"
just then Pauline raised her eyes. and,
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