The times and democrat. [volume] (Orangeburg, S.C.) 1881-current, 1886-08-12

seemed to kind O. like it here. In the
bcginnin' he hired one Of my boats by
the week. an when he'd had it that way
about four weeks he took it for the sea-
son. Well, was glad to let him have it,
for it was often as he'd take Maggie out,
an felt easy when I knew Maggie was
with him, for, Gs told you, he was
strong alRl handy in Il boat, an l felt as
40 harm could come to her when she was
with him. One bright moTnin' i'll Sep
tcniber, just ufore they sGilcd away, she
came a runnin' into Inc an says us they
was a-goin' for long sail and wouldn't
be back till late Well, it wasn't unusual
for 'em to stay out till aftec sundowll,
especially o. moonlight nights, when they
could come iE OH the tide an the night
wind; an this time didn't begin worry
in about 'cm until it got to be very late
an they hadn't come back. some
folks as was Mt the house walked
the beach between the inlets with me
till late in the night: but we saw
nothin' of them. But bless me, / d!dnt
give 'em up. 1t had been fine day, an II
was Il clear, bright night, an | kind :
trusted the young feller, for he seemed
kind o. fond O. Maggie, an | Thought ne
wouldn't let no harm come to her. An,
sure as yer live, next day, early in the
mornin'. we spied the boat sailin' up tlle
inlet, an I began wavin' an shoutln' TO
'em for Joy But some one rs had spy
glass said they wasn't aboartl-an', mister,
they wasn't. The feller Us was i'll her
came from the Jersey coast, an he said us
q man and girl hnd landed there the
day before, an' the man-a young, good
lool1in' chap, he said-had paid him to
bring the boat over I'd kept up pretty
well till then, but when | know'd she
wasn't come back, an felt all of Il sudden
rs she might never come back, | hid my
face in my hands an cried like Il baby.
Folks tell me as wasn't Il good one to be
gettiu' along with for the next few days,
nn' guess they were about right. She
was all the world to me, was Maggie. l
took her to me as child an brought her
no, m set my heart on her, and for her
TO leave me in my Old days wic$ mighty
hard. When got Quieteh down they be-
gan to comfort me a-sayin' as she might
come back. All. mister, if she Only had.
I'd have welcomed her, for she WAS still
my little Maggie, an I'd ha' l"T"d her II;
much as ever. But it got to be winter
an spring "ll ttu Oli l'h'ttNt i'ii'
an heard othin' of her.
"It wasn't much more than year
after she'd left when one mornin' fellcr
came sailin' over from the shore with
what he said was 4 telegram for Inc. 1t
came from the city, an ii read that II |
was to 20 to one o. the hospitals there "a
find girl IS would like to see me: an it
told me to come quick, too, for she was
very low, perhaps a-dyin'. Yer may
know who the girl was; an it's likely yer
krow, too, rs l wasn't long a-gcttin' to
her. But I wasn't any too soon. She
was lyin' on a cot, an when she saw me,
it was lust all she could do to Stretch her
arms out to me, SO she could put 'cm
around me an press her poor, pale face
against mine.
Father she whispered, Il went back
on yer-and yer who'd been so good an
kind to me; an, father, want yer to say
before I die as you've forgiven me.
''I couldn't say nothin', mister, just
held her closer, but guess us when she
felt my tears a-rollin' down on her face
she know'd she'd got what she wanted.
held her till they told me she couldn't
speak no more, an then laid her back
1t was only few minutes after that she
lived, but afore she died she opened her
eyes once more an moved her lips. l
bent down to her an she could just
whisper:
Father, I'm sure yer haven't gone
back Oh me. I'm sure yer forgive me.
But-father- want you to forgive him,
too. For-father-I've forgiven--'"
The old man buried his face in his
hands and sobbed, while the dog moved up
close to his master and howled piteously.
The piano was still jangling in the other
room and the singing WIS at its loudest.
But he didn't seem to hear it. After
awhile, though, they got through, and,
missing him, began to call for him. But
before he went out he passed his hand
gently over the dogs back and said, turn
ing to me: ~ forgive her, mister, an
I've tried to forgive him, but. it's more
than 4 poor old man like me can do. I'll
try again, mister; III try hard for the lit
tie girls sake. I know rs his sins a-goin
to drive him back here some timc-drire
him back that he may go on his knees to
me an tell ME how he wronged her an
me-"
had always been fond of Uncle Jake,
but after what he had told me liked him
better than ever. l knew that his ''little
girls" death weighed heavily on him, and
after that got up rs many parties rs
could to visit the tavern to cheer him up.
One day toward autumn, two years after
ward, he called me aside and said: "Mis-
ter, it's gettin' kind O. lonesome for the
dog an me down here winters, an l
guess l won't stay here 10 longer after the
fall. I've got house as I took over in
the village ashore yonder, near to where
the little girls buried. The dog an !
wants to be near Maggie, an if yer'u
come down Off an on We'll he glad to see
yer, ior it amt much company We'll lie
huvin'."
Well, Uncle Jake took the house, and l
did 90 down there as often rs l could. He
made things night comfortable i'll the
little house. On the cold winter nights
he had hig log fire blazing on the open
hearth, and kettle Of hot water for the
punch singing cheerily over the flames.
In front was big woody rug, on which
the dog stretched himself, rising only oc-
casionally to come over to his master and