The Washington critic., 1888-03-10

No home could have been more So
cfuded and quiet. Even the great
boats that used to pass and land
lower down no longer came by. A
"cut-off" had swept the tide of traffic
another way, and only twice week
n small boat steamed along. And so
Roses eighteen years had passed.
Once or twice-and like picture it
stood out in her memory-she had
been to New Orleans with her mother.
Only for day or two, on stern busi-
ness visits, but to Rose they had been
glimpses of dreamland. And now,
year after year, the plantation was
sinking deeper in debt; paying out
was hopeless impossibility, and it
was entirely in the hands of commits
sion merchants. The future was black
to the stern-faced woman in mourn
ing who sat within, writing, with
drawn brows; but to Rose, young,
fresh and lovely, there was hope still.
Before long she rose, and going
lightly down the path, approached
little cabin, before the door of which
sat an old, withered negress.
aunt Chloe, do you know it's my
birthday ?" she said, seating herself
Oii bh tups
"Bless you, chile" replied Aunt
Chloe, removing her pipe, 80 it is
Yo' eighteen years ole dis day. JUS
seventeen years ago de big house
burn down, an two months arfter ole
marser died. | wus with him myself
in dat very liberry wing wat was lef'
oh de house."
Didn't mother come to him, Aunt
Chloe P' asked Rose, with deep inter-
est. Only on rare occasions had her
mother mentioned any of the past to
her. 1t was almost o sealed book.
Even Aunt Chloe seemed to think she
should not know too much.
Eyes, at de las',' said the old
woman, shortly. She smoked while
in silence, grumbled, shook her head
slowly, and then went on: "You got
to know it some day; jis' as well tell
you now. Yes, yo' mar came iis' as
soon as could git her from Vicks-
burg. Dey was stormin' de city, an
she couldn't git out till de surrender,
SO she neber got here till two days
fore he died. He neber could speak
from de fus', but l know he wanted
| to see her, from his restlessness.
Well, she came, an he knowed her,
an 'peared like he mighty anxious to
| tell her sunthin', but 'twarn't no use,
he couldn't speak, an he seemed to
| be sufferin' for it. But he died at
las, an den Miss Lucy foun' in de
will what was in de liberry desk how
he din't leave her q cent but de big
house what done burn an de planta-
ton. All his udder money and prop
erty he lef' to his nephew in Europe,
cause he mad wild Miss Lucy for
marryin' 'gainst his wishes. He
want her to marry his nephew, Mr..
| Arthur Middleton. But she cared
for yo' par, an she married 'gainst
his will, an he say he turn her out de
house. Yo' par was pretty man an
+ good-hearted, but he was vile, an
after he lost his arm in de war he
didn't seem to care, an he took on
an drank til' he nearabout broke
miss heart. Arfter he died dey
found he lef' so much debt, miss
amt been able to pay it off
yet, an I always has said wat
yo' mar ought to do is to have took
de money wen Mr.. Arthur wrote over
she's proud, honey, yo' mar is, and,
shaking her head, the old woman put
back her pipe and mused in silence.
Then she grew excited. can you
think, honey, wat dat rascally son o.
mine amt done but steal ole marster's
silver, wat help him hide, an set
de big house on fire." She shook her
withered fist. "Jus' let me see him
once mo-, son O. mine o. not. Gettin'
mad cause marster had him whipped
fer stealin' ole Jim's shoes wat he lef'
outside de gate wen his feet burn him
workin' in de garden. Gettin' mad
an stealin' de silver an runnin' off
to de Yankees. He come back once,
stole in, an ! made him 'fess it, an
tole him if he didn't light out dat
night de res oh de niggers would
hang him, which dey sho' would,
Miss Rosey, dey sho' would" and
settling into gloomy silence, Aunt
Chloe evinced no further desire for
conversation.
1t was now getting dark, and, too,
the tea would be ready. Rose slowly
returned to the house, her heart heavy
with many cares. A few days after
the maid brought Mrs. Boyd a letter.
Her usually stern face flushed, and
her lips trembled. After time, look
ing up at Rose reading across the
table, she said:
at is no use, / can keep it from you
no longer The worst has come.
Blank & Blank refuse any further ad-
vances, and the land must CO."
| Rose sat quite still. 1t seemed i'm
possible to speak. Her mother
went on:
"They say we can live in the
house." Then, with rush of bitter.
ness: "Live in the house, yes-and on
what ?"
A sudden resolve swept over Roses
heart. She came in moment and
knelt down by her mother. Little
demonstration had ever passed be-
tween them, but she put her arms
around her mothers waist and said,
steadily:
Mother, Cousin Arthur Middleton
would help you"
| A lightning-hash shot from the gray
eyes above her.
"Not if I died for it" said hei
mother. Then her eyes rested on the
fair, wild-rose face of her daughter.
"But for you'-she said, troubled
and slowly, "No, no, cannot !"
| About this time there was mar
riage in a country house in Maine
The house was crowded with guests
Indeed, so crowded, that two young
men had been, with many laughing
apologies, put in q room over the sta
bles--a room long used for lumber
formerly the gardeners room, anc
now hastily cleared up and rear
ranged. One of these young men
John Middleton by name, had come
over from France as best man, hi
first visit to America since boyhood
The wedding was over, the happy