The Atlanta constitution. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1885-19??, 1888-02-28

had fancied something was going to happen,
having been full of fancies all that day.
w ell, who is it wants to see me?" he asked
| ENORMOUSLY. WHO'S come all of hurry to
ask after my health and to wish me Joy OF L 2"
| ITS young girl"
"a foreigner German, without doubt, or
Dutch, perhaps"
Chip
"a pretty girl, but very pale"
"ish ? oh, go on. With glass crosses in her
"Why, yes. But have"
"And what's her name, Martin? ?" he asked
now, very eagerly.
| Bertha Keefeland!"
No no-no-that's lie. That's dread
tul lie of somebody's he reared forth, sud
denly. II tell you it can't bel"
20, but it is, uncle" 1 exclaimed /; 'and she's
come she says, for the sandal-wood box which
was left here to be called for"
There's no sandal-woodbox, )" he exclaimed
in the Same loud key. "There's no Bertha
| keefeland, for she has been dead these six
years. There's no"
And then he fell forward. with horrible
screech, lace foremost on the floor and l ran to
| HIM and picked him up, and wiped the dust off
| his hard, rugged cheeks and forehead, and put
| him back again in the big chair from which he
| had pitched out. | was as sorry to see him
| struck down like that rs if | had loved him or
| he had loved me a little. and | scuttled into
| the bar again for water. for the help of the
| young woman, who might run for doctor for
! ME or mind my uncle while | ran myself. But
| the shop was empty. and there was no Bertha
heefeland waiting for me TO como back with
| my uncles answer to her message.
CHAPTER LII.
| The host of the Flying Fish did not recover
| from the fright or the malady which had seized
| HIM. lie was one remove nearer to the end Of
| his time now; ! knew as well as possible that
! he would never want his crutches any more
and that one of these fine days CIR nights he
| would be sailing clean away.
| He knew it himself I think though the doc
| tor had not warned him. The doctor had left
| it to me, who was not likely to be good hand
| at breaking to the old man such news as that,
| and who did not care to tell him, and thought
it was well not to tell him, as it was not likely
to do him any good. 1 did ask him if he
| would like to see the paTson, and he swore at
me with such tuency for the suggestion that
L thought for minute or two he was getting
! rapidly better. But he wound up in milder
fashion.
parsons amt any good to me-" he said,
care they?"
well, I don't think they are much.'
| II always hated parsons. haven't seen one,
! of my own accord, since was christened. I've
| kept out of their way"
eyes, you have"
g know / have,' he added ''I could have
| told the parson a blessed sight more than he
| could have ever told me. And besides, salt
water doesn't mix with holy water, does it2'
| 81 don't know"
sNo. You don't know much"
| He did not say any more that day. He was
| very thoughtful at times now as he had tann
| on Il 10 night when he was spoken to- Fror Sc
dayAf his last illness 20 ts-,;s fcrisilgnf e x
ward nearly-he had never alluded to the girl
who had called ut the Flying Fish, and whom
! / had not set eyes on since that stormy night
| And yet believe he was thinking of her
| good deal, and Of the message she had sent to
| linn by me. Presently knew he was think
ing of her, and could think of nothing else.
| One day and very long and thoughtful day
] it was to him, he beckoned me to his bedside,
with his thick crooked finger. He had got very
hoarse. and there was difficulty in making
out all he said. but | had managed it somehow
during the morning and afternoon.
| "Martin," he croaked FORTH almost like a
raven, Il don't fancy I'm quite as we'll as usual
| tonight"
''Perhaps it is fancy unce?"
cam looking as well? Idon't want any lies
| about it''
| II don't see much difference in YOU"
'Ihen don't suppose there is. You were
| never much of q liar, Martin. You have been
over particular that way, and that's bad for
man who means to stick to business, hard and
| fast
''Im not so sure of that"
"But / am, and that's enough amt to"
! "All right" l said, although | knew it was
| all wrong, and so had begun lying on my own
account. But did not wish the old gentleman
|
| his own way" had been the doctors orders;
"let him say and do what he pleases.''
81 know am not going to get over this,
Martini my uncle said Chats all square
enough; and I've had my innings, and don't
grumblc. But, Martin, where the devil am L
going to?'
"ISor mercy's sake, don't 60 on like this!"
81 didn't reckon on her calling for me, on
! her waiting for me" he muttered. "Fancy her
always with me afterward. It's awful"
HI)O Won moan-p
Then 1 came to a full stop, but he under
stood me.
Yes, 1 mean that girl"
| "Bertha Keefeand?
| eyes, Bertha Keefeland."
| Glow can she be waiting for you, uncle?"
| Didn't sine come two weeks ago."
! "Why, yes"
"She came out of her coffin" he whispered,
| "and was waiting for her that night. She
! had been upon my mind all day. l couldn't
| get her out Of my mind, She was troubling it
| very much."
THAT'S ali nonsense" I cried. "sho was
| flesh and blood, III swear"
| lie shook his head,
| "No, she wasn't" he said chow could she
| be ?"
could not reason with him. lie was so con-
! WINGED to the contrary, and was perplcxed and
! gOosefieshy. Certainly Bertha Keefeland had
| mysteriousiy disappeared after giving me the
| message to my uncle, but people are always
| disappearing and being advertised for and
| turning up again. And this might have been
| practical joke only-end then / thought of
a sandal-wcod box, which was up stairs, and
! had been up stairs for years, on the top Of a
! tall, double chest OF drawers belong to my UNI
| Gle, and the mystery Of it was beyond my
! fathoming
| But he let in the light upon it presently, and
! it was a rcd light, waning him Of danger-a
! light as red as blood
| "Sho couldn't nave been flesh and blood,
! Martin" lie went on slowly; 'for, six years
! ago, when you were away in London once. she
came into this house, into that shop down
| stairs, just as she did a fortnight since, said
/ She was Bertha Keeieland and had called for
| the box her father had left with me-"
/ GOOD gracious"
"She was tall and thin and pale, with glass
/ crosses in her ears, and she knew very little
/ English and spoke it very badly. Is that the
| gin?'
at answers the description" answered.
with slndder. "Well, she has called again,
| that's ALL"
Eyes, she's certainly called again, he re-
! peatcd arimly.
| "Wcll, then"
"But." lac added with look which shall
/ never forget, and which siienccd me ~ once
/ IA look which comes to me often and often in