The Atlanta constitution. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1885-19??, 1894-06-25


at the public rack suddenly reused itself
and gave forth it's resounding mixture of
bray and whicker.
Mr.. Beasley came forth from his Office,
letter in hand, in time to see his stepdaugh-
ter walking along with Burrell Winstel.
Mr.. Beasley frowned slightly, but his face
cleared at once when Susysleft young Win
sten and came toward his office
"Papa! she cried. when she saw him,
II am going to lIthels to stay all night.
She sent note by Burrell. The key of
the pantry is in the clock Oh! and papa!
If shouldn't come back tomorrow, Charity
knows what to do I've told her.
Mr.. Beasley regarded the young girl with
fatherly tenderness, smiling at her queer
little ways which were as pretty as they
were fussy.
"Ah! they want you, do they my dear?"
he asked.
"Why, papa! Ethel always wants me-"
"And that charming clown, Winstseil?'
Now, papa! | know you don't like Bur-
rell, but he's just as Sood and as kind as
he can be. BIT you don't want me to go;
| know you don't" Susy tried to look very
sad, but only managed to succeed in con-
trolling her laughter.
Don't mind my jokes, my dear. want
you to go. Study the old place. Some day
it shall be your home and mine"
"Why, I don't want to live out there in
the woods, papa"
go, my dear; give my regards to the
charming Ethel. By-by!'
Meanwhile Mr.. Otis, of Boston, had fin
ished his letter and carried it to the post
Office. Lifting his eyes TO the letter board
he saw staring at him letter addressed to
his father-"Eustace Maxwell, Boston,
Mass.
He rubbed his eyes. What could it mean,
this message to the dead? 1t was beyond
II, ont lyn
dow and the postmaster appeared.
''Give me the letter for Eustace MAXWELL
the young man said; "it lacks a stamp.
and there may be something to ADD TO II.
He took the letter, returned to the tavern,
and there, sitting the long veraIda, he
opened and read g. freshly written message
to q man who had been in his grave three
years. This was the message for the DEAD:
my Dear Eustace-I ought to- have writ
ten to you long ago, but there has been
so much confusion and despair here 10
which l have not been stranger, ana L
have been so busy trying to soothe our peo-
pie and convince them that everything is
for the best enough it now seems to be 1of
the worst) that l have not taken time TO
put pen to paper. And why should Wflte
you a business letter? There was and is,
no reason for it in the world. You have
known all along that Herndon Wood is
yours the moment you find it necessary TO
collect the money you were generous enough
to loan me. Yet l ought to have written
you letter to say as much. Go not know
how the war has left you. II your financial
condition is anything like that which exists
tho r.~~s7Ie iae.-e, II rs 2rr1peiatiF%fy
necessary that you should be promptly Put
IL possession of whatever sum may be real
lied from Herndon Wood Under such cir
cumstances, my dear friend, [ should deem
it Il small sacrifice indeed to turn it over to
He y, ai,,T- +
any delay of mine may have embarrassed
you
My daughter Ethel, whom you made so
much of when she was a child, sends her
love with mine. She is a brave and helpful
little girl, and is all l have left to live for.
Always yours. BJSHROD IIIRNDON."
This letter cleared up all doubts the young
BoStonian might have had This HerndOn
indeed the southern friend he had
heard his father speak of often. He re-
mcrnbered, too, the visit the scutherner
mad made to Boston, and he remembered
the little girl that often went about
with the tall and stately gentleman, cling
ing to his hand or to his arm. How Shy
she was, and how beautiful, with her black
hair and her lustrcus eyes! In a moment the
young man was transported back to his
old nome in Boston and to his own boyhood.
Once more he could hear his fathers hearty
voice. the soft laughter Of his mother and
the vibrant, yet gentle, tones Of their south
ern friend and guest. Once more he could
the old stairway, shining in the half
light, and the Iittle southern girl, leaning
her face against the plush of the heavy
rocking chair, regarding him. as he thought
with open-eyed wonder as he boastfully
told he about the wharves and the ship
ping and The tangled maze OF streets. What
u pity his father was not alive to read
this letter from the friend whom he was
fond Of describing the flower Of all the
men he had ever met.
The young Bostonf1n's dream Of home
was rude1y broken into by the voice of Mr..
Bea8ley.
"Ah, We meet again, Mr.-Mr.''
"OtS,'' said the other.
eyes. We meet again. a few more meet