The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1888-06-20

eqnivocation and delay.
"D;dn't father pay him long go2"
"No," she answered. Il wouldn't
have axed fer hit, but father hasn't been
like hisself since the tree fell on him last
fall.n
"I'm mighty sorry, Miss Sara; I
thought twas paid last year, and taking
out his wallet he handed her ten dollars.
':That is the amount, l reckon"
An awkward silence followed, while
she put away the money; then, as a
gust of mountain wind struck them, he
began to insist that she should come into
the house. "Hit's gittin' late; ye must
stay all night. Mother II be powerful
proud to see ye."
I'm jest ez much obleegei, but l
can't stay" and bidding him good.
evenin'," she turned her horses head
homeward. Horse and rider soon left
the main road, aud struck into we'll
Eeaten bridle-path. The low, over
changing branches interlaced each other,
and constant care was needed to keep
them out of her face. The trail grew
more and more rough, till before long
she was compelled to dismount and make
her way on foot through the dense
bushes.
"Thar!" she exclaimed, at last, "we've
saved mile" and she led the painting
colt out into the open road.
She was now again going directly
away from home. Behind her rose the
mountains, while before her stretched q
picturesque valley, broken by ridges and
woodlands. The road turned abruptly
along the ri 'ge, and stopped face to
face with an old mill. The wheels were
still. Even the miller's chickens had an
air of ''no grist to day." A man leaned
out of the half-door, listening to the
sound of the approaching horse. .,.
"No grinding ter-day," he muttered
to himself; ''the mills gittin' fixed. /"
In fact, that was the condition of affairs
five days out of the week.
"Good even, Miss Sara; can't grind
ter-day, the mills bein'"--
II want ter buy some meal, she inter-
rupted; "'bout half bushel; an I'm in
mighty hurry"
The miller came forward and helped
her down, then entering the mill, soon
reappeared with the meal.
Yer don't aim ter 60 home ter.night"
he questioned. "Hit's gittin' late. and
the wolves hev been powerful ondacious-
like fer the last week. Killed more'n
half c. Bill Larkin's sheep, an tuck arter
Bob Jones t'other night jist fernent the
Gap. Better not 60 up the mounting
ter-night."
"But I must, Fathers been ailin' fer
long time, an he's took a notion fer
Cove meal. B'sides, he'd be that worried,
hit I'D bring on the fever agin if |
didn't come, and mother'd be scared mos
to death. Could ye lend me lantern"
II haint got un, nor no pine knotses,
nor nuthin'. Green 'u'd GO with ye if he
was to home. Ye better stay"
She hesitated. 1t would be dark,
moonless night. Black clouds were
banked high in the west, and already it
was growing dusk. Even now the sough-
ing of the wind though the pines
sounded ominous of storm. But she
resisted the temptation to abandon her
duty.
';No, Ican't stay; but I never was
away from home in the night before by
my lone self, y and, in spite of her de-
termination, there was an almost child
ish desolation in her voice.
"They oughtn't ter let ye start so late
if ye had ter git back ter-night!'
grumbled the miller, while he deftly and
securely fastened the meal at the back
of the saddle.
"We didn't know the old ira was all
choked up with windfall O. trees, and
hit tuck me heap longer ter come
round by the Gap" 49,.
Sara rode away from the mill in a state
of nervous excitement amounting almost
to terror.
The night grew blacker and blacker,
till she could not even see the horses
head. Her teeth chattered, and adeathly
chill benumbed her limbs. One hand
rested on the warm shoulder of the colt,
and she could feel the play of the mus
cles. At intervals the horse SHE'D, and
in her terror she was more than once
near being thrown off. No sound broke
the silence save the clatter of the horses
hoofs.
Thus three miles were passed, and the
road winding over the foothills became
broken hand abrupt, besides being OBJ
structed here and there by fallen trees.
The flly travelled more slowly, and
stopped frequently to rest. AS the ascent
of the mountain began, the horse
stumbled in the darkness and Sara dis
mounted, drew her arm through the
bride, and led the way. She pushed
forward slowly and painfully, now
reaching out to feel some familiar object,
now climbing over plostrate tree
trunk, or going around its bushy top.
At a point about half way up the
mountain q wet-weather stream ran into
the trail, and for some distance kept
along with it. The purling of the wa
ter soothed her nerves; her fears van
ished, and she advanced boldly. But
very soon her clothing was drenched-
for the brook had worn deep hollows
here and there, into which she could not
helpstepping-while her feet were sadly
bruised in her stumblings amongst the
sharp stones. Up she climbed higher
and higher, watching eagerly for turn
in the path, till suddenly she tripped
and fell, with her whole weight upon ono
wrist.
Dizzy, half, stunned and in excruciat-
ing pain, she lay for few moments
upon the stones; then, with great effort,
she bathed her face, bound up her wrist,
staggered to her feet. and rested her
head on the colts shoulder.
"We'r lost, Nan we'r lost!"
The filly rubbed her hand responsive