The weekly messenger. [volume] (St. Martinsville [i.e. St. Martinville] La.) 1886-1948, 1889-10-26

my childish awe Of it was SO great that L
should have expected to be hanged or
otherwise put to death if touched it.
Every Saturday night my mother held
the candle while my grandfather wound
it up, and I stood and watched the two
heavy weights slowly rise from the floor
to the top, making the ascent in few
moments that it would take them whole
week to >rc-travel. My grandfather al
ways spoke of it as precious legacy that
would one day be mine, thereby filling
me with horror, as if he were going to
to leave me a skull or a skeleton. Twas
a timid child, and my greatest terror was
that clock. The whirr of its wheels be
fore striking the slow, loud strokes, the
solemn tick, all inspired me with fright
as great as it was entirely unreasonable.
Our household consisted of two women
servants and one man besides the family,
and our days were passed in dreary mo-
notony. My grandfather was proprietor
of large calico factory that was man
aged entirely by trusted clerk, except
ing the payment of the hands. Every
Friday he went to Stockton, the nearest
town, to draw from bank the money for
this purpose. And every Saturday after
noon he drove to the factory and paid the
wages for the week. 1t was a custom of
such long standing that no one associated
any idea of danger with it, and no sick
ness or weather had ever, to my knowl
edge, prevented the weekly journeys.
must explain here my own state of
mind when had been three years with
my grandfather. feared him with the
most intense fear, having felt the weight
of his heavy hand for every trifing Of
fence that came to his knowledge. l
hated him as only child can hate, hay-
ing no active sense of the duty of sup
pressing that emotion. hated him for
always speaking unkindly to my mother,
for his mean, saving spirit that kept us
all half clothed and half-starved, when /
knew he was a rich man. / hated him
for denying me every childish pleasure,
and trying to make my mother bring me
up by his own iron rules. And with this
hatred was the knowledge that when he
died would have all his money. He had
superstitious horror of making his will,
believing that it would be followed by his
death, and l was his only heir-at-law.
He made no secret of this himself, but
delighted to taunt me with his robust
health and my sickly weakness, and tell
me would never live tospend his money,
much as might desire it.
He had been particularly savage on that
point one Friday evening in December.
when he had returned from Stockton to
find me lying on a sofa with nervous
headache. He shook the tin box in
which he had MS money in my face,
and told me that l would never spend
it, as his life was worth ten of mine.
Lying there with your pasty, white
facew he growled, land eyes Ike goose
berries. A nice substitute you are for
my sonl You are not worth your funeral
expenses"
Something had made him more i'll
tempered than usual even, and he kept
up running fire all the evening of try
ing speeches. scolding my mother for
waste and extravaganza, threatening to
cut down the meagre housekeeping al
lowance still lower; swearing at me for a
wretched, sickly mite, not worth my salt.
1t was miserable three hours, and at
ten o'clock, when he went to bed,
mother and l cuddled into each others
arms and had good cry.
1t was bitter cold night, and 1 was
curled up in a nest of shawls in warm
room, and gave little shudder at tine
prospect of the icy-cold chamber and
sheets above us. Mother noticed it.
"Suppose you stay here she said.
II will come down in the morning be.
fore your grandfather is awake and cal
you; and you are so comfortable you
will soon fall asleep
Stay there! Stay alone, with that hor