The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1902-07-01
90 COCO COCO occo COCO occo 90
LIZA LOVED
THE KING"
BY Curran R. Greenley
Copyright, 1902, by the
S. S. Mcclure Company
sooooooooooooooooooooooo

WINDOWS. A SIralSnJ DOX DOruereu pain
led down to the gate through an ave-
nue. Of beeches where the sunlight fell
in lance riffs down upon the blue grass
fresh with the green of May-Maytime
i'll old Kentucky in the year of our Lord
1888. Beyond the rustic gate broad,
white road ran from east to west
Those were strange professions that
wound along the great highroad, the
artery of trade from the east over the
Alleghanies to Kentucky and the south
ern country that lay beyond in the gate
way of the wilderness-long trains Of
white covered wagons filed with
medley Of women, children, household
goods, with their escorts of stalwart
men on horseback. Already the hegira
to the west had commenced, often a
tribe of ChOctaws bound for the wig
wan of the great father, grim, dusk
faces unGer nodding plumes, animated
bundles, with smaller bundles bound to
their backs. astride of the ponies, silent
as ghosts. and passing, always passing.
up the long white road.
Twice each day, with the long tan
tara-ra-ra of the bugles and the rattle
of whip and hoof, came the stagecoach,
a flash of color from east to west, and
again the quiet of earth and sky.
Over the hills, whose dim, blue line
encompassed her world around, the
child's heart went each day with the
dying echo of hoof and bugle; over
the hills, where the gold lights of sun
set kissed the pink limestone cliffs,
Frightening to emerald green the tufts
of maidenhair in the deep clefts, and
farther up, where the mists caught and
held them, deepening into the evenings
violet crown.
A slim, shy maid of barely fifteen. in
her long, narrow skirt and prim ker-
chief drawn tightly across the childish
breast, the small brown hand shading
her level brows, she watched with
wistful eyes up the long ribbon Of
road-little Anne, with her peach bios
som face and soft gray eyes that had
dared to look from under their long
black lashes at face that was the
face of peoples hero; not all the peo-
pie, for here in her fathers house Anne
had heard fierce denunciations and
even curses against that name. But
when had politics aught to do with
maids romancing? Deep down in her
heart the girl cherished the memory
of one summer evening, when all alone
the great man refined in his horse and
sprang from the saddle to walk and
talk with pretty child. Two years
had come and gone, but over the low
gate Anne leaned and dreamed of her
hero as did that Lisa in faroff Italy
of her king.
The evening shadows grew longer
and the sun vanished behind the hills
as the tinkle of bells chimed up from
the pasture. With eyes still dream
thralled Anne wandered out and across
the road to where the spring dubbed
up from its messy pool A little rustic
summer house sheltered it, and the lit
tie stream lost itself in a dense thicket
of hazel bushes that grew close up to
the arbor. The girls light foot made
no sound as she entered and dropped
down upon the seat. Voices close at
hand aroused her as low murmur
came from the hazel copse.
''The best place is where the road
comes through Hungerford's woods,
this side of the MILL
Then another voice: 81 don't like it.
It's doing all the dirty work and get
ting the kicks for pay. Let them as
wants him out of the way put him
there"
And the first voice answered with an
oath: whats that to you? The men
that wants Andrew Jackson dead
hain't the men as risks nuthin'."
ANDREW Jackson" Anne's heart
gave a great hound, then almost stop
ped, as there was a rustic among the
bushes. She strained her ears to catch
the last words.
Hell likely spend tonight at Hun
gerford's. leaving there by daybreak."
mo. There hain't but one niger
along. He don't like compny a-travel-
in" And the low chuckle died in the
distance.
1t was nearly dark as Anne crept out
from her hiding place and glanced fear
fully up the long white road. She
knew that Hungerford's lay fifteen
miles away as the crow flies, and to
reach it would mean a ride through the
nIght-morning would be too late;
knew too, poor child, that in the hearts
Of those about her dwelt the bitterest
hatred of the man that she would have
risked her life to savel Not that they
would have lifted a hand against his
'ife, but they would have laughed her
story down and babe her hush, as chill
dren should.
Alone in her little white curtained
room she knelt and prayed her simple
prayer. She had always been afraid of
the dark-the dark that was like whis-
pering lips in your ear and the touch
of soft fingers clutching at your gown
but the life Of her hero was the high
guerdon of the deed.
One by one each door was closed
She heard her fathers chair pushed
back and knew that he was laying his
pipe on the mantelshelf: heard her
mother setting the house in order, and
then 1t all grew still. The tall clock
licked louder and louder through the
dark with an accusing voice ten
eleven, twelve, and at the last stroke a
little dark figure hurried across the yard
to the stable, where Harry CLAY. the
bay gelding, whinnied softly in his
loose box. He knew the little fingers
that slipped the bit between his velvet
lips. and he laid his handsome head
against her curls in mute caress as the
saddle was girted. Harry Clay had
! never carried that weight before, and
when the tapping riding skirt struck
his withers the fine ears lay close as he
I reared and paved the air, with the thin
nostrils fared, but a whisper. touch
upon the name, and he dropped into
light canter along the fcotpath, his feet
making no sound upon the turf.
Fifteen miles to Hungerford's, and
four hours yet until the dawn. Harry
Clay quickens his stride as clock
from a farmhouse chimes out, Zone,
two" and they have passed the brick
church at the forks of Otter creek,
where she had knelt so often at her
mothers side. Three" and the white
road runs backward under the flying
hoofs. The moments speed. and they
gallop into the shadow of Hunger
ford's woods A dim old moon was
shining, and break in the trees let
in the light full on the girls face
There was Il rustic in the shadows of
the roadside, and the same rough voice
cried out; THAT girl of Montague's on
the bay colt-stop her! Whoa, therep
But Anne brought the whip down on
Harry Clay's flank. Not quite swift
enough, for pistol shot rang out, an
other and yet another and she felt a
dull shock as Harry Clay. maddened
by the reports and the insult of blow,
tore dnEn tie u-hitn stnnas of the road