The Pickens sentinel. [volume] (Pickens, S.C.) 1871-1903, 1888-01-26

then without any seeming questions he
drew from me the whole story of my adop-
ton by Mrs. Clayton, my treatment since
my arrival there, and my difficulty with Irv-
ing Barrett that afternoon.
Tho young man seemed puzzled
"You arc sure you arc no relation to Mrs,
Clayton" he said, after u few moments
thought.
"None that / know of, SIR" replied,
certainly, If was she would not treat mo
So.n
Mr.. Dudley smiled "Perhaps not" he
SAID "But' he added, starting suddenly,
VI am going away tomorrow, Dorcas 'I had
already told him my name), and shall not be
back Tor years. l am going abroad to finish
my educatlon. may bo gone three, four or
oven five years. am sorry 1 am going 80
soon Tor your sake. / would SEQ if l could
not unraVcl this mystery, for mystery it
surely is. But, as l said before, am going
ana have not time now. But now listen to
me, Dorrie: Bo good girl; never mind tho
snecrs and gibes Of the family, but attend
10 your books. You have u kind teacher,
you say, that is good. Make as many friends
as you can and as fcw enemies. DON'T run
away, as dare say you arc thinking of, but
stay here. Let mo find you hero when re-
turn. Will you do as wish, little one7n
u Will never do any thing you would not
ike, MIR. Dudley" answered, simply, and
Tor years kept that promise.
THAT is right" he answered, gladly.
"Now we will go to the house."
lie arose and took my hand and I trudged
along by his side, feeling, knew not why,
strangely safe and glad. When we reached
the house he pauscd:
"Good-night, Dorric," he said. sRcmem-
Dcr what have told you. You were hiding
tonight, little ono. Don't do it again Dor
cas-. BE open and frank and generous in
| your actions, tits tho best way, dear. Ro-
member what l have told you and your
| promise to mo. 1 shall hold you to that
| promise, Dorcas," and he smiled 81 am
your tncnd," he continued, "and as q
| pledge l will give you this" and he pressed
INTO my hand something that glittcred
brightly.
"Kccp this" he said; "don't part with it
unless YOU can do no other way. Now
| goodbye" Hc raised mo in his arms and
Kissed me; then, letting INC go, disappeared
| within doors.
looked Mt the token he had given me- It
was bright golden dollar that was shining
on my palm. l saw and L felt rich iudccd
for had never owned but a single piece of
money before, and that was q large copper
cent which little Paul at the home had given
me, ana which now, wrapped in paper, re-
| posed III box in my room WhcrC kept nv
| few scanty kCCpsakcs. l laid this away
| with them when l reached my room, and
| then crcpt into bed, feeling quito cheerful
and happy. Some ono cared for mc--some
| one was my friend. This thought comfortcd
| mo moro than 1 can tell, and | fell asleep to
dream OF Mr.. Dudley and his magnificent
| present.
Tho next day, or morning rather, I saw
tho TWO gentlemen drive away, and knew
my ono friend was going far from me, and
| could scarcely keep back tho tears; but I
resolved to try, as Mr. Dudley had told mo,
| TO mako tho best of things, and ] succeeded
very we'll, though my life was a hard one,
| shut out as | was from all comDanionship
with children of my own age. Except my
schoolmatcs at school [ knew no one, and
| these was strictly forbidden to visit or in
vito inside the gate of 'irhc Heights"
My only company, therefore, was the scry-
ants or the household, and though they
| Wcro always kind to me, l often fcl; I y.;ss
! in the way, and considered nuisance.
| At such times [ would wander away by
myself and sit for hours on the messy bank
| OF tho lake, or under the shade of Il tree
in some part of the grounds whcrc no one
could sec nc, and thcrc read and rc-rcad
| the few books had picked up.
| Once year the family went away for n
month or so, and then, unseen, would steal
| through the grand rooms, fcusting my eyes
| on the beauties of tho costly furniture, pict-
| ures, carpets and statuary which the house
contained. l often wondered IF the little
| hciress Of CalCdOn Nhc dead one [ mcant)
| had ever traVcrScd these rooms, or her
| childish laughter or chatter ever echoed
| through the house, or had she died ignorant
| OF all this grandeur that should have been
| hers. inquired Of Maggie about her, for
! somehow Gclta strong interest and sym.
| pathy for the little girl who had died when
| she had so much to live for. But Maggie
| knew nothing about her She had died long
before she came there, she said; and she did
| not even know her name, though she be-
| heVcd 1T was Dolly, or some thing like it.
! "Ihc housckccpcr could tell yc,n she said .
| but dislilCcd to ask questions of this erayo
| parsonage, and SO remained in ignorance
Of what might have been great benefit
| to me-
| seldom went to church, and I missed tho
sermon we had always been used to hear
| each Sabbath and our quiet Sabbath school
| very much. The family went to church in
| Their grand carriage, and Il livcricd coach
| man drove their handsome horses for them.
| Tho servants were permitted TO attend once
in tho day at any church they chose; but
| few aVaiicd themselves of this privilege,
| prcl"rringto gather in the kitchen and gos-
sip. Maggie occasionally went to church, but
| the church she attended was Romanish one
| and did not understand word of what
| was said; so begged TO remain at home, a
request she was only too glad to grant.
often wondered Il + my strange life for
|