, 1886-08-18
C%HERRYCOTE FARM.


nine miles of muddy roads behind that
beast and in that rattle-trap?" q gentle
man said, discontentedly surveying the
conveyance provided for him by an
obliging countryman residing near the
station Of the Virginia railway, where .
way-train had recently deposited the
stranger. l.ss.I.. o.. ..rIll Va
well. faint as Of thar was much to
choose from, mister" was the answer.
If you're a mind to wait till evenin', the
stage mout happen along. But, bless
yore soul, sab, ole Buck Il carry you
thar ef you only give him time enough.
An reckon the buggy won't break down
tween this and the blacksmith's at tho
cross roads. Thar's string an rope n q
lot O. nails under the bufier-robe, an
little Poss hereIl manage to mend tho
damage ef so 1t be that thar's q rock to
pick up long the roadside"
May / { drive, boss?" was the hesitat-
ing prayer of little Poss (short for pos
sum-, as the di~lapidated vehicle, drawn
by a spawned plough-horse, got finally
under way. Looking down with amuse-
ment at his excited petitioner, Barksdale
saw a droll little darxey, costumed In
meal bags, hatless, and with plated
twigs Of wool, who, when the rope reins
were relinquished into his hands, a.
sumed the post Of charioteer with dig
nifty ineffable. r.ioI rf i.Ir'
Barksdale forgot Poss and everything
besides, as the overmastering power Of
early association took possession of him.
Ten years before he had left the neighbor-
hood through which they were now pass
ing. at the outset Of the war between the
states, and during all that time the his
tory Of its places and its people had been
almost a sealed book to the wanderer in
many lands. He had fancied himself
weaned from his sentimental love for old
Virginia; but here he was craning his
neck to look at the ancient landmarks,
recalling rides ending at this point and
picnics at another. his cheek flushing,
and a lump coming into his throat, like
the veriest school-boy home for the holi-
days. The country was beautifully
green, and as old Buck plodded along he
had nothing to do but resign himself to
memory and anticipation, while the
spring wind, laden with fragrance from
tho blossoming woods, blew over him re-
freshingly.
AT last Cherryeote farm was reached,
but before they could enter it little Poss
jumped down to struggle with an old
red gate Of such persistent inhospitality
that Barksdale himself could only force
it open by half lifting the gate post from
the crumbling soil.
Barren acres" he said with a sigh,
glancing over what were once prosper
GUS fields of grain. Grass grew on the
roadway, and a multitude of little blue
star flowers were crushed beneath their
wheels. Emerging from a bit OF
pine woods, he caught sight of
the gables Of the old house. They
at least were unchanged, half yelled from
sight by Virginia creeper and wistaria,
jasmine and roses. His old room was
that one with the window, over which
grew the branch of a mulberry tree, its
foliage so thick that neither blind nor
curtain was required. AS Barksdale
gazed he saw, coming from the shrub
berry around a turn in the road, a cava-
lier bestriding a mule. This was a man
seemingly between 80 and 40 years old,
his once clear-cut features overgrown
with flesh, and wearing a long brown
beard Of liberal proportions. His frame,
albeit, a triie unwieldly, was muscular
his eyes were Of an honest blue; his seat
in the saddle, even though the steed was
of the present unenviable class, admira-
BILE. His clothing consisted of a pair of
corduroy brooches tucked into spurred
cavalry boots. and a nondescript shoot
ing jacket faded by sun and rain, with q
road-brimmed hat Of straw showing
marks of home manufacture. At the
first sight of Barksdale his brows knit
inquiringly; in a moment he charged
down upon the antique buggy with mill
tary dash. DHE.r- fcnra
Lance, old fellow!r he cried. 1T isn't
possible!"
Hall" exclaimed the other simultane-
ously, in a tone that meant much. I'm
mediately two hands met in fervent
friendship. Since these hands had
grasped each other last . river of blood
had flowed between them. Bitter words
had been spoken, hot discussions had
ragged, party strife had swelled resentful
hearts; but now, when the half brothers
met again, neither thought ef anything
but the early ties of blood and affection
ate companionship. Barksdale, thin,
active, and embalmed with the atmos-
phere OF foreign travel, his clothes scrup-
ulously well cut, his speech refined to
nicely, appeared at least five years
younger than the bluff. sunburnt Virginia
squire, who was, in reality, considerably
his junior. They were the sons of a vir-
ginia gentleman, who, left a widower
with one small boy when he was hardly
out of college. had consigned the little
Lancelot to the care OF his mothers rel
stives in the north. Marrying a second
time in Virginia, Mr.. Barksdale had set
tied down to q peaceful Agricultural ex-
istence on the estate belonging to his
bride, "one OF the Carriers OF Cherrycote
farm" a. that lady was styled.
Hither Lancelot had come 10 spend
many happy hours of irresponsible holi-
day in the free and easy life of old-time
Virginia. Here he had learned to feel a
sincere affection for his kind step-mother
and her boy Hal. But at the outset of
the war his northern training and sym
pathies in political faith set a terrible
stumbling-block in the path of the fam
lily -~pleasantness. Unwilling to contest
the fervid torrent Of secession talk, he
at first kept silent. This led to suspicion.
and finally to open warfare on the part
of the generous people who had once ex-
tended their arms to him. His father
had died, and the widow, an ardent
southerner, learned to look on him with
constraint. Even Hal, merry, hand
some Hal, who had adored the ground
Lance trod upon, began to quarrel with
him. There was nothing for it but re-
treat. Lancelot returned to his northern
home, and soon heard the news that Hal
had become a volunteer at Manassas.