The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1903-01-09

~ through leaacss branches
The yellow sunset had given
place 20 stccly tiuis. Twilight was at
hand and Domley and hs boys turned
their logteams h1moward into The
new-cut road with satisfaction
I'm hungry enough TO eat mule"
Tom remarked, avoiding q deep rat
"Ill be glad when thc logs are IN.
Wonder Ii dad gets tired? He never
lets on"
Ben, slower of speech and movement,
scarcely gialScd from his horses neck.
"Iesae gets Tired" he answered. pres
Hes not iron"
ish Rene cared less for society
ore for us boys" Tom grumbled.
per was abominable! I guess She
know how bacon and cold boiled
atoes taste-from a dinner pail.
e's selfish clear through like all
s. She thinks she's all right may
y Sshe Is; but home isn't It's not
what IL was when ma was here"
His voice reached farther than he
knew. Domley on the leader, turned
and gave a backward. somber look.
Sudden silence fell, broken only by the
creaking of chains and rattle of
wheels. When they spoke again 1t was
about the mowow's work. Domley
did not encourage idle conversation.
Toms grievance was. to him, q real
one. The religion Of old days had been
the religion of comfort The passing
of its meek disciple wrought inevitable
changes There was more lamplight
in the parlor now, more calling, more
meeting Of benevolent societies These
things were all right, but Tom resented
the bacon and cold potatoes.
Where the road touched the lane
flying figure evaded the lead team,
and stopped, painting, before the boys,
almost under their horses feet. 1t
was thirteen-year-old Florence, the
baby.
20 Ben" she cried, breathlessly. edo
let me ride, won't you? Tcssie Birch
is at our house. They're in the parlor
practicing Easter music. They are
sweet as lilies, the songs are. I'm go.
ing to the services Sunday, aren't you?
Can't l ride, Ben"
Ben swung her easily to place be-
hind him on the horse, and she clasped
him about the waist smuggling her
cold nose against his back
Il wish you'd wear something on
your head" he demonstrated. ITS a
wonder you don't die! Have they got
anything good to eat at home"
"Mackerelp' disdainfuily\ "Rice. DO
fatoes, biscuit and coffee Bread
Scorched- Better fhurry-everything's
seorchingw
"Oh, we'll, they're singing" Tom
snarled. Il say, Ben, you're your own
man after tomorrow. I'd light out.
I'd hunt up Uncle Bart I don't intend
to work on here when my times up.
a fellow gets neither money nor
marks.
You hush upp' Florence flashed
"Ben-is1't going to light out; he's go
ing to stay with me! I guess things
aren't burnt" anXiously. "Is it your
birthday tomorrow, Benz"
Il guess it is" He withdrew from
her embrace and slid hastily to The
ground, closing the big gate behind
his wagon. run along to the house
now, Babe. have to feed the horses
It's too mortal cold for you to be out .
III so with you" she volunteered
stoutly. let NELL help. You
aren't going to light out Ben, aye
yQq" q
p "BotherI' Ben roughly brushed he1
aside. You're the awfullest kid wher
you get a notion! Run on to the house
I mean what I say"
When Ben used that tone Florence
ceased opportunities She turned dis
contentedly toward the lighted squar,
Of the kitchen window. She wanted
TO be with Ben. He was her idol-Ben
The tacitun. In infancy it was hi
shoulder she loved best. In days 0
measles end Group he was her savior
Now, as then, he was the one bein,
altogether lovely, without spot or blem
ish.
Ben made his horses comfortable
then went to the house, which locke
inviting after the biting outer ali
Logs were ablaze on the hearth, an
The table was daintily spread II
seated himself and Florence took pos
session Of his knee
"We're going 10 /havo preserve
pears" she whispebed, dncouragingIy
I'D eat lot if | wee you"
At the table her isrsgCeesiblity brol,
out afreSh.