The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1899-02-17

must leave Boston tomorrow. can
give you two hours only. This is your
boy, eh?-fne manly fellow. What's
his name?-Dorr? Why, is it possi-
BILE you called him after my father?"
'Indecd l did, Pierce. You rcmem-
Der how kind he was to me. The tcy's
name is Dorr Bostock Jewett."
''Now | like that; I'll not forget it.
Come along to the house as you said. :"
His beaming smile captivated me; as
we walked along, while he busily
talked with my father, he playfully
shouldered my hoe, and took hold of
my hand. Arrived at the house, my
mother was introduced.
1t was the first exhibition of high
bred politeness l had ever seen, and it
impressed me. In the life that had
been living, duty and labor went for
everything, courtesy was scant
enough. Mr.. Bostock removed his hat,
gently took my mothers hand, and
bowed very low.
Extremely glad to meet you,
madam. Your husband is my oldest
and dearest friend, though I've seen
nothing of him since we were mere
lads
"Sit down, sir, and make yourself
comfortable" said my mother. "Will
you stay to tea?''
THANK you'll shall not have time"
he replied, looking at massive-cased
gold watch. 1.-THE train leaves the
village at seven; it's almost five now."
eff you were raised in New Hamp-
shire, perhaps you haven't forgotten
how to eat mush and milk"
"Why, bless me, madam, can you
give me bowl of it? My old nigger
cooks get up corn bread, corn cake and
all kinds of corn fxings, but they can't
make mush.' I'd like it above all
things
With napkin under his fat chin,
our jolly guest sat at the table, partals-
ing with evident relish of the simple
entertainment that was set before him.
He was a keen observer, notwithstand-
ing his easy, careless way, and think
that nothing had escaped his notice.
Never had the house and it's furnish
ings seemed as shabby to me as now
''Beg pardon, Amos; but you know
everything is permitted between old
friends. You don't thrive we'll here"
NO" said my father, land l fear
never shall. You remember something
about this old place; twenty acres out
of the thirty no better than stone
quarry. Bad luck has followed me;
I've had bad seasons, slim crops, sick
ness and debt. It's hard struggle,
almost a hopeless one"
I'm sorry for you, Amos: from the
bottom of my soulI am. don't know
of a fellow who deserved good fortune
ahead Of you. If you'd struck out
when l did, you'd have succeeded any
where. New England is good place
to rear men, but no place at all for
them to spread, you know. don't
brag, but I've got right to point with
some pride to what I've done since
saw these hills last
"You are at the south, infer" said
my father.
GIVE one thousand acres of the best
cotton land in Mississippi below Viclls-
burg. plant every acre of it; and |
raise sugar in Louisiana"
81 hope you're not Shareholder.
SIR" said my mother.
80, I've q few niggers-hardly
hundred. I've had to hire some the
last season."
At the Mortified looks of my mother
and the painful silence of my father
Mr.. Bostock wiped his mouth and
laughed.
"I'd like to have you come down and
see how some of those lazy cattle i'm
pose upon me. Bnt. dash it all, Amos,
/ haven't time to discuss the institu-
tion, and it wouldn't do, either-wc
should quarrel. Of course you're an
abolitionist. | remember you in the
old days; you were cut out for one.
Let's talk about something else"
You have family, of course,
Picrce?"
My wife died few years ago. I've
one child, Coralie, little witch of
seven. I've a great house, which is
run by the servants. | know all about
the plantation, but | haven't much
control inside. Everything is lavish,
and it's a wonder to me, sometimes,
that I'm not a poor man. But come
down, and you'll find hospitality
enough"
For more than an hour he talked, in
terrupted only by an occasional ques-
tion or exclamation. did not observe
thcn-long afterward | had occasion
to recall the fact-that he parricd sew
eral attempts of my parents to draw
him out about his deceased wife and |
his daughter. He talked interesting !
ly, almost eloquently, about the cult
vation Of cotton, the scenes in the i'm |
mense fields when the picking time ar
rived, the ginning, the baling and the |
shooting" down the long incline to
steamboat. To me it was all new |
revelations; listened with all my |
senses.
ITo BE CONTINUED