El Paso daily herald. (El Paso, Tex.) 1881-1901, 1900-02-17
"A JEST OF FATE.
By VIOLA ROSEBORO'.

when my mother and l climbed into
the second best buggy behind old white
Telly for a 90 mile drive Cup the
country" The judge waved us court
~ adieu little Tom and his sister hook
ed themselves on behind to go with us
TO the big gate, the opening of which
furnished them with reason for being;
Aunt Sally called out from the back
gallery last messages to Cousin Nancy;
the negroes collected at doors and win
dows to see us off, and we rolled gently
away into the fairyland of unfamiliar
roads
Our route wound here and there past
fodder stacked cornfelds, brier grown
old pastures, irregular old farmhouses
sleeping in the sunshine. populous
negro cabins, and, last and best,
through vine tangled, enchanting, en-
chanted woods. The country we trav
ersed had for our aesthetic interests the
advantage of being poor and sparsely
settled. As we went on it became still
rougher and loneiier. When the sun set
behind us, we were at fork in the
road, in the fullest uncertainty as to
our proper route and with the last
house three miles behind US.
Our last instruction had been to "jes'
keep the plain, big road right on to
Squire Claymore's
One road, so far az we could see, was
as big as the other. One led down into
a swampy wood that looked in the
failing light as if it might be all too
fruitful of adventure. The other took
its way over a high, open country and
seemed safer and pleasanter, and on
this ground we logically chose it. Soon
the open country ended, and we found
ourselves in something worth calling
forest. 1t grew denser and darker as we
advanced. The night was settling down
upon us.
sThere are immense tracts like this
up here in the barrens," said my moth
er in a voice that assumed the tone of
a philosophical statement, but which
rebelliously vibrated with a growing
uneasiness. 81 thought back there,
when we first got into the woods, that
the road looked like an old unused
track. I suppose we might drive on so
all night
Just then there appeared at Telly's
head the dark figure of a man. Vague
horrors-thoughts of escaped convicts.
desperate negroes-pressed on my brain,
but my mother showed that she had not
forgotten backwoods manners and
methods and pluck. She stopped the
buggy, and in tones as friendly and
confident as she could make them asked
where we were.
.sWale, ma m," said the dim and
dreadful figure in an amiable masculine
drawl, sit air called 'twext four an five
miles to Squar' Claymore's, though it
air my conviction it air nearer five
than four. Your road lay p'intedly the
other way about from the way you air
a-comin. l would say to you that you
stand a powerful pore chance of gettin
to the squar's tonight, an l should be
proud to have you stay at my house-
Jes' drive along yard or two. There's
my house, an sech as tbs you air freely
welcome to it, -
Before us was clearing, and in the
midst stood a well built, double log
house, the open doors and windows OF
which poured out upon the night the
rich and changeful lights of hickory
fires. The sight was good to the eyes.
We gladly accepted its master invita-
ton and alighted.
In this haven of quiet and homely
comfort I met one of our "blind and
laundering race whose history ''the
Aristophanes of Heaven doubtless
found uncommonly amusing. She hard
ly seemed food for Olympian mirth that
night, she was such a serious, modest
little maid. Of course she was fair to
look upon, else who would care to write
her story2
She was too grave in line to be ex-
actly pretty and too slight and small to
be beautiful, and the word handsome
was made for earthlier beings. but with
her severe insey woolsey gown defining
her figure so sweetly that a sculptor
might have joyed in it, and with her
straight. pure yellow hair in a knot
that was Greek without knowing it |
and with her knitting to give her |
grace, she filled me with delight. l |
longed to hurl her straightway into |
some vague bright romance.
Ny mother fell to talking with the
loquacious father of early days in Ten
nessee, of old settlers and panthers and |
early politics. She had warmed to him
from the moment she saw Henry Clay's
picture above the door The sons sat
about in heavy hospitable discomfort
The fat mother dozed in the corner /
roasted before the fire till l was drunk
with sleepiness, and Patsy, the yellow
haired little damsel. was detailed to
show me to bed. She led me from the
lire lighted room across a passage
rooted. but not closed at the ends.
where for a moment we We're in the
lark still night and could see. over the
close black woods, the sparkling stars
and could hear distant wild noises
With serious courtesy she showed me
INTO big square room like the one We
rad left and. like it. abundaDtly fur
lished and decorated by blazing fire
Two four post bedsteads, piled high