Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1893-11-24

waiting for the silver piece that l
wished to give him he made quick
movement in the direction of the fields
The overseer abruptly withdrew.
The man who was seated had his
back to me, but by the looks of the
overseer he must have known that
there was somebody beside the truant
negro behind him. He rose and turned
round. 1t was thin, bent figure, in
lowered dressing-gown and slippers.
His hair presented that singular APP
pearance caused by turning white in
patches and streaks. His face was
hollow and wrinSled; his eyes were
lusterless.
With the most apathetic expression
he looked at me, and seemed to think
that my appearance did not call for
question or remark At least he made
none.
Il beg your pardon, SIR" said. ''Is
Mr. Pierce Bostock at home? Can see
him?"
''The overseer attends to all busi-
ness" he said, peevishly. $50 to him;
there he goes"
81 have no business that he can at
i
sonally."
''Must you, indeed?" He began to
rouse little at the word, and show
irritation. Where do you come from,
anyway. young man, that you think
La Fourche planter can be made to at
tend in person at the beck and call of
every interloper who fancies he has
business with him? What"
His own talk, delivered in "a feeble,
broken voice, excited him and brought
on fit of coughing. He stamped with
vexation, and sat down on a bamboo
settee through sheer weakness.
81 am Pierce Bostocl, " he said, when
he could find voice again. 'What the
devil do you want?"
| ought to have expected this an
nouncement, and to have been prepared
for it; but / felt very much at that in
slant as though had been following
a chimera To be exact, felt cold and
sick, and the hopes of long years van
ished as puff of smoke. And yet it
seemed Incredible. This Mr.. Bostock
this the hearty, ruddy, happy planter
who had crossed our stony New Hamp-
shire fields ten years before, and
pushed out my horizon everywhere
this feeble, testy, dropping invalid?
My hopes were all turned to ashes on
the spot; yet l resolved to speak out,
and end the farce. He would not recog-
nize me, or would bid me begone if he
should. No matter-I would see which
he would do, and then tear this cruel
leaf out of the book of my life, and
turn to other scenes.
'Well-are you dumb? What do you
say for yourself?"
"Mr. Bostock, | am Dorr Jewett. Do
you not know me?"
A very faint appearance of interest
came to his face.
"Jewett?" he repeated. az believe /
used to hear that name. Why, yes;
Amos Jewett was my schoolfe'low
when was n boy. Dorr-Dorr? That
was my fathers name"
saw that his mind was cropping for
memory, and / waited.
He motioned me to sit down with
him. He looked at me, but was silent.
amos Jewett was my father" /
ventured. Don't you remember COM
ing to our poor New Hampshire home
ten years ago, sir? Don't you remem-
Der how kind you were to us? l was
the boy you took so much notice of"
He heard me, and the mists seemed
dispelled from his brain as by magic.
A look of surprised intelligence came
to his face.
you Dorr Jewett? - little Dorr?
Bless me, bow you have grown! I'm
,-l,I 10 hnf
child, in these days; but am glad to
see you. Is your father well?"
''Why, he died, sir, more than year
ago. / wrote to you about 1t"
81 never read letters now-nor pa
pers-nor books. Not now. Yet do
remember a nice letter you wrote me
once, years ago, before"
The change that came over that woe
full face terrified me. 1t was literally
black with rage, with fury, called up
by his own speech.
Eyes, sir" | hastened to say, land
vou answered it so kindly"
Ibid I? That is well; i am glad to
hear it. So you've come to look up
wretched and lonely old man like me,
have you because was kind to you?
DO YOU know, my boy, | don't think
there's another man in Louisiana, or
out of it, could soften me the way you
have I'm going TO have you stay here,
now you've come. Oh, yes, i do re-
member now all about the time l went
to Boston, and back among the hills
where | was born, and how l found
YOU and poor Amos out in the fields,
and ate your good mothers mush and
milk"
His face seemed recreated. 1t ac7
tually wore gentle smile.
But it was long ago, and life has
been hard and cruel with me since, and
had forgotten all these pleasant
things. Why, boy, it seems to me as If
you'd come to me from another world"
He took my hand in his own thin
hand.
you'll stay with me, Dorr Jewett,
won't you?"
| believe the tears came TO my eyes
at the question. 1t was asked in
voice which was the ghost of that
hearty, resonant tone that had long
sounded in my dreams. / told him
that would stay awhile.
Always, Dorr; | want you with me.
| remember, now, l asked you long
ago to come. | am rich, my boy; I've
got money. and plantations, and slaves;
but haven't any friends. Well, who
would / be kind to, If it wasn't to
Amos Jewett and his boy? o! Amos
was my chum; he'd wrestle with me
and throw me; but he'd fight any boy
that tried to put upon me. l want
somebody to talk to; my girl can't al
ways be with me. lie Fevre is good
fellow, but he's never happy unless
he's driving the niggers round. lie
shall show you the plantation when
you've rested - to-morrow-yes, that
will be time enough. When you want
to 90 to New Orleans he shall go with
you; | never stir off the place. You'll
see how the cane grows-the old cane
and the new cane. lie Fevre says he's
got more than hundred acres now
planted. He'll show you the sugar
mill, and maybe he can figure up what
the crop viii be this year. Good black
soil this, Dorr. This is better than