Gulf Coast breeze. [volume] (Crawfordville, Fla.) 1897-19??, 1898-04-15

his abode Mt Hoepatchie l am sure 1
don't know.
Peter Miles, on being asked for his
opinion in the premises, replied:
"Waal, donno. It's desput handy
for clans, to say nothin' about the
farmers preclivites of the sile."
But Peter Miles pretty daughter,
Beulah, declared she believed the
original settler had come there to hate
himself to death in peace, but, failing
in that. had left the spot to his de-
scendants, who had grown poorer and
poorer, till now they could not get
money to carry them mile further TO
the poorhouse.
Possibly, Beulah exaggerated. Hoe
patchie was Economically situated
upon Cape Cod, a crooked projection
which may be said to form the nose
upon the face of New England, re-
markable only for the vast quantities
OF sand and fishermen to be found
thereupon.
Hoopatchie had the appearance that
somebody, in fit OF insanity, had
wheeled truck load Of brown earth
from some more favored portion OF
Massachusetts, and distributed it as
evenly as possible over the surface OF
o dozen acres OF sand.
A local poet. struck suddenly by
the muse, undertook a description of
the place, and his endeayor amounted
to the following doleful doggerel:
1.-THE slle In Hoepatchie Is poor aud thin;
When the rain comes down 1t rattles like
tin,
An I've often been told by the jewellers
therein
That the crop was worth lesa than the seed
they put ill.,"
Some writers, happy at description,
will fascinate one with the spot they
choose to locate their story upon; but
I fear my genius is not sufficient for
the task, and I shall give up trying
here and now.
Peter Miles home was an ancient,
implanted structure, 80 low that the
winds from the ocean storms passed
over it almost without touching the
shingles, and tiny barn which shell
tered three scrubby cows and a mulish-
looking yellow horse.
Inside the house bright fire blazed
in the stone chimney, and the light
fickered out over the sanded floor
and the white home-spun curtains and
lighted up the tall old clock in the
corner, which said: "Twilight-twi-
light-twilight," as plainly as the
words could do.
Over the fire and out to the round
table in the centre of the room Beulah
Miles fitted like a bird, with her
blue dress and white apron fluttering
about her.
Her eyes were blue, and her hair
was black, and her cheeks looked bright
and smooth as the last red cloud out
over the water. She was singing a
queer old tune:
al never loved you In my lie,
never loved your baby
was compelled against my will
To become your welded lady"
The door opened, and there entered
q man, SO tall that another inch upon
his slight brown head would have OBJ
liged him to stoop in crossing the
room. He placed his hat in the win
dow ledge and came over to the
hearth.
"You seem to be very happy to-
night, Beulah," he said, by way of
greeting.
"Well, I don't know" Beulah an
swered evasively. How have things
gone in school today?' ~
"Nicely, as usual"
Looking at him you would have
seen that he would compel life to go
nicely with him.
No more was said by either, but his
deep gray eyes followed her figure till
the preparations for Gupper were COM
plete.
The old man was sorting potatoes,
only you might have mistaken great
many of them for peanuts, as he sat
on the milking stool and handled the
tubers over, for it was getting too
dark to separate them by sight. Not
too dark, however, for Beulah's bright
young eyes to see the great tears
which rolled down the old mans nose
and FLASHED upon the floor.
"What is it, father?" Beulah in
quired, anxiously.
Nothing much," he replied, as he
wiped away the glistening drops with
the back of his rough hand.
"Tell me, father" pleaded little
Beulah with her arms about his neck.
"Nothin' new, Beulah. You know
the mortgage is about out, au' they
sin't nothin' to pay-it with, and moth
er's so bad that am afeared 'twould
kill her TO move in this cold weather.