The western sentinel. [volume] (Winston-Salem, N.C.) 1887-1926, 1894-04-05
FROM CRY TO COUNTRY.
How Sons Lives Passed Out of the Eu:

How COINS Lives Passed Out of the Eush
1nto the Meadows.
young girl sitting before an easel
IN tapeStry-hung studio. Through
the open window the summer sun is
throwing from his luminous palette a
Titan glory of red-gold on sheeny
canvas of chestnut hair.
In the street below q wandering nu-
sician as he passes is singing with all
the wild Patio of q child of slavery:
Dey hunt more for de possum and de coon,
On de meadow, de hill and de shore.
Dey sing no more by de glimIner of the MOON
On de bench by de Oh cabin door
De days go by like a shadow DER dc heart
Wild sorrow where all was delight
From the little park across the way,
set down in the midst of tho busy city
like a lost bit of the country, a scent
of yveetbrier flows in and fills the room
with a tide of fragrance.
ring at the door, g smile of eager
expectancy, 4 white missive tossed at
her feet followed closely by yellow
envelope from the fat hands of the
landlady, the fash of blue coat
around the corner, then a blank of dull
misery.
Hours she sits there making no sign;
but when at last she rises and puts
away the palette and drops the curtain
over the never-to-b e-finished picture
the face turned toward the dying sun
light is CHASTITY pale. the white lace at
her throat moves convulsively, and the
brown eyes are like hurt dogs.
Before her dulled vision, like con-
tinuous lightning. dances a wavering
line of fre-''Mother is dead. No one
to care for the children. Come
AS she moves about the darhening
room her slippered feet unconsciously
losses aside torn bit of cream paper
from which stare up the words, Don
blame me too much''-'I have loved
you in''-"Yours cordially. Edwar''-
Far down the street going home IN
the twilight, the negro boy sweeps the
strings of his guitar, and the refrain OF
his song floats back:
I'm coming, I'm coming,
For nay head is bending low;
hear these gentle voices calling
until it is drowned in the roar of a
coming cable car.
And the tide of sweetbrier flows wide
through the windows.
~
could We give me a bite to eat2''
The gruff voice startlcs the small,
calico-gowned woman feeding chickens
by the barnvard, and she glanceS
around inquiringly.
'Pm awful hungry" the tramp be
gins, and stops, for the little. gray
haired, dark-faced woman before him
has grown suddenly pale and as she
wipes her toil-hardened hands free OF
meal he sees they are trembling.
That voice! She would know it i
she were dead
''Ye needn't be scared o. me; won't
hurt ye,'' he growlel. with hitch al
his tattered hatbrim. But I want to
know if l can get something to eat
here?''
''Why, yes, guess SOL she says
slowly, looking into the bleared eyes.
Come to the house and sit down on the
porch. I'll get you something in. a
minute
And pulling; up her sunbonnet, which
has fallen back over the smooth bands
of gray hair, she walks by his side to
the house.
t'Much obliged" lnumbles the tramp
few minutes later, rising from the
little table with its emptied dishes; and
taking cob pipe from a recess some
where in his rags he Shufaes down the
green lane.
Hurry up with dinner, Little Sis;
the hands are comm in from the field, -
calls a staiwart young man from the
orchard well, where he IS watering the
horses.
"What on earth are you dreaming
about?' he questioned at her elbow d
moment later.
81 was just thinking where I would
put some sweetbricr bushes in the
yard" she replies quietly, with her
faded eyes fixed absently on the dust
gray road up which dark tigare il
slowly plodding.
The youth chances at his sister il
surprise. She has hated sweetbrier
ever since he can remember.
She goes in and begins putting din
ner on the table as the hungry men
come in from the barn.-Chicago Trib.