Omaha daily bee., 1896-04-12

book, and now know that l could write
one about Frlars Oak alone. and the folk
| whom l knew in my childhood They were
| hard and uncouth, some Of them, l doubt
not, and yet, seen through the golden haze
| of time, they all seem sweet and lovable.
| There was our good vicar, Mr. Jefferson, who
loved the whole world. save only Mr.. Slack,
the Baptist minister of Clayton, and there
! was kindly Mr.. Slack, who was all men s
| brother, save only of Mr.. Jefferson, the vicar
| Of Friar's Oak. Then there was Monsieur
| Rudin, the French royalist refugee, who lived
/ over on the Pangdean road, and who, when
| vulsed with Joy because we had beaten Bona
] parte, and shaken with rage because we had
beaten the French, so that after the Nile he
wept for whole day out of delight and then
for another one out of fury, alternately clap
ping his hands and stamping his feet. Well
l remember his thin, upright figure and the
way in which he jauntily twired his little
cane, for cold and hunger cor,d not cast
him down. though we knew thai he had his
share of both. Yet he was so proud and had
such grand manner of talking that no one
dared to offer him cloak or meal. can
see his face now, with flush over each
him the present of some ribs Of beef He
could not take 1t, and yet while he was
stalking off he threw proud glance over
his shoulder at the butcher, and he said.
Monsieur, have a dog" Yet it was Mon
sieur Rudin, and not his dog, who looked
plumper for a week to come.
Then remember Mr.. Paterson, the farmer.
who was what you would now call a radical
though at that time some called him a
Priestly-ite, and some a Fox-ite and nearly
everybody traitor. 1t certainly seemed to
me at the time to be very wicked that
man should look gum when he heard of
British victory, and when they burned his
straw image at the gate of his farm, Boy
Jim and l were among those who lent a
hand. But we were bound to confess that
he had game, though he might be q traitor
for down he came striding into the midst of
us, with his brown coat and his buckled
snees; ana the hre beating upon his grim
schcolmaster face My word, how he rated
us, and how glad we were at last to sneak
quietly away! you livers of lie," said
he. You and those like you have been
preaching peace for nigh 1000 years. and
cutting throats the whole time! If the
money that is lost in taking French lives
were spent In saving English ones, you
would have more right to burn candles in
your windows. Who are you that dare to
come here to insult law-abiding men?"
We are the people of England, cried young
Master Ovington, the son of the tory squire.
You-you horse-racing, cock-fghting ne'er-
do-well, do you presume to talk for the peo-
pie of England? They are a deep. strong
silent stream, and you are the scum. the
bubbles. the poor silly froth that floats upon
the surface" We thought him very wicked
then, but, looking back. am not sure that
we were not very wicked ourselves. |
And then there were the smugglers! The |
downs swarmed with them, for since there |
might be no lawful trade betwixt France and |
england 1t had all to run in that channel |
have been up on st. Johns common upon a |
DARK night, and. lying among the bracken I |
nave seen as many as seventy mules and a |
man at the head OF each go fitting past me |
as silently as fish in a stream MOT ono ~
them but bore its two ankers of the rio6t
fIench cognac. or Its bale OF silk of Lyons
ana lace OF Valenciennes. / knew Dan
Scales, the head of them, and I knew Tom
Hisiop, the riding officer, and remember
asked Tom. Eyes, Tom, thou must fpbt
Tor it," On which Tom drew his pistoi and
blew Dams brains out. 'It was sad tbIne
10 do, he said afterward, but knew Dan
was too good man for me, for we tried
I out before" 1t was Tom who paid n noet
rom Brighton to write the lines for the
tombstone, which we all thought were yerv
rue and good, beginning:
AIas! swift new the fatal lead
He instant fell RE reslened yl bIs mans head;
Ana closed his languid eyes in death.
i1ere was no more OF 1t, and dare say II
s all still to be read In Patcham church
Yard
One day about the time of our Cline RovaI
adventure. was seated in the cottage look
ng around at the curios which my father
lad fastened onto the walls, and wishing,
Ike the lazy lad that I was, that Mr. Lilly
iad died before ever he wrote his Latin
when my mother, who was sitting
Uniting In the window, gave little cry of
urprse.
Good graclousv she cried. "What a
'ulgar looking woman"
1t was so rare to hear my mother say
lard word against anybody (unless 1t were
ieneral Bonaparte) that was across the
oom and at the window in jump. A pony
halse was coming slowly down the village
treet, and in 1t was the queerest looking
'erson that l had ever seem She was very
tout, with a face that was SO dark a red
hat 1t shaded away into purple over the
ose and cheeks. She wore a great hat
With white curling ostrich feather and
rom under its brlp her two bold black eyes
tared out with look OF anger and defiance