San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1892-03-08

familiar it all looked in the moonlight!
In that old garden he remembered he
had once killed a rattlesnake five feet
long with thirteen rattles. He had
carried it to the back porch, dangling
across the stick with which he had slain
it, to show it to little Mary Beverley.
All the family had come out to see it
and wonder over its size and rejoice in
its death, and old Mr.. Beverley had cut
off the rattles with his penknife. and
saying that the boy must have a dime
for every rattle and two for the button.
had dropped three bright half dollars in
his hand, and Mrs. Beverley had smiled
on him and called him ''brave boy"
and little Mary had danced about. full
of excitement and pleasure in his prov.
ess, but dared on no account come very
near, for fear that it might still harm
her, although its head had been crushed.
Anthony laughed little when he
thought of his pleasure in that first
money he had ever owned, and of his
pride in his own achievement. He had
done far bigger things than kill a rattle.
snake since, and for every cent of the
sum that had looked SO large then he
could now have laid down many thou
sands. Time had brought changes to
him, if not to his old surroundings. but
it had never brought anything that
seemed as good as little Mary's praise
and those first three half dollars.
ii wonder if she's living STILL" he
muttered, "or whether she's married
and gone away. | came near asking
that lawyer fellow this morning. but
he's new to the place, and somehow
didn't like to. I've always been fool
about that child; it's the only soft spot
in me. Lord! if she should be dead:
I'd rather that, though, than the other
thing-a damned sight rather"
From the window of the room which
he remembered was the parlor streamed
broad glare Of light, making on the
ground beneath facsimile of the case
ment, the divisions between the panes
checking off the light into squares with
slender crossbars of shadow. Hampered
by no nice determinations, Anthony
opened the gate and crossed the yard to
the lighted window, keeping in the
shadow as much as possible and treading
as softly as a savage. No fear of dogs
disturbed his mind, since if there had
been any they must have discovered him
ere this. The house was low, the win.
dowsills of the first floor scarcely the
height of mans breast from the ground.
The curtains of thin lace obscured with.
out concealing the interior, and through
their parting Anthony could obtain
satisfactory view without pressing his
face against the glass.
The room, cheerful with the light OF
the shaded lamp and the glowing wood
fire, had quaint picturesque charm
which appealed even to the unimagina-
tive nature of the man outside. 1t was
different from any room to which he had
ever been accustomed-as far removed
from the gorgeous pomp Of his later ex.
perience as it was from the rude sim
plicity of his boyhood and early man.
hood. Il was q room that had grown
old in the keeping Of one race; it was
tender, harmonious, full of associations.
The lofty ceiling. the tall mantel, under
whose narrow shelf a man of ordinary
stature could stand upright, the vain.
scoted walls and the old fashioned fur
niture, all told the story of contentment
and conservatism, of respect for associ.
ations and obedience to traditions.
Even the active man of the present
felt the subtitle charm of the past, as he
gazed into the old room and let his eyes
wander from the antlers above the door
to the family portraits on the walls.
The light touched the faded gliding of
their frames and made a faint golden
glimmer here and there against the dark
ness of the wainscot. He knew them
all, those pictured men and women-the
founder of the Virginia branch of the
family, in curly wig and lace ruffies,
the statesmen, soldiers, men and women
of repute who were little Mary's GRANDPA
theirs and grandmothers and greatuncles
and greataunts.
When he was an unkempt Lad in
homespun and used to steal over from
the overseer's house across the ravine to
play with the dainty little daughter OF
the Beverleys, she used to tell him
stories about them, for she was an ear
nest child, older than her years. He
had forgotten all the stories and had
never cared much about them. but he
had never forgotten the narrator.
There were changes in the room which
his eye was quick to note-slight changes,
such as grow into most rooms with the
passing of the years. A soft red cover
with an arabesque border covered the
old piano on which Miss Cornelia Bev-
erley, the elderly young lady of the house,
used formerly to practice scales and
tinkling, threadbare old tunes-Miss Cor