The French Broad hustler. [volume] (Hendersonville, N.C.) 1896-1912, 1908-06-18
THE GRATITUDE OF
jim aiken, EXSLAE

Jim Akin, of Brevard, was
born a slave, as most everybody
knows, and this is the story of
Jim's devotion to his former mis-
tress, at a time, too, when she
most needed help, and, needing
it, the Lord only knows how bad
ly, found it at the hands of her
one time slave. It's a little sto-
ny of gratitude and love virtu-
es not now the most fashionable.
And remember this, too, that
a yoke of oxen couldn't drag a
word out of Jim about the whole
matter. No, sir! You speak to
him about it, next time you are
in Brevard, and he'll scratch
that white wool of his, and roll
his eyes, and show you two glis-
tening rows of ivory, and say:
I dunno, boss, I dunno nothin'
about hit. Whar you a-goin to,
boss? McMinn House? Gim-
me yer valise and get in here,
please sir, and We'll be thar in
two minutes! Get up, thar, you
mule you, get up!" And Jim's
whip cracks and away you go.
Just outside the corporate linn
it of the town of Brevard, in a
garden grown wild with roses,
and honeysuckle, and laurel,
and lying possibly a hundred
yards from the big road, is the
family residence of one of the
old regime of the South.
The house, at one time impos-
ing, has now fallen into sad de-
cay. The broad halls. the rose
covered varandas, once the scene
of a generous whole-souled hos
pitality, typical of a people world
famed for their welcome to even
the most casual guest, are now
deserted and lonely. Humming
birds dart here and there undis-
turbed through the curtain of
vines which affords a cool retreat
from the rays of the ardent
sun. Peace and quietude every
where broken only by the clear
loud call of the quail near yonder
ldelapidated rail fence, and the
drowsy hum of the honey bees
industeriously gathering sweets
from rose and honeysuckle.
A white-haired, gentle-faced
old lady sits alone on the vera
anda. Lines of trouble and care
mark a face still beautiful. She
looks around on the familiar
scene, and nota tree, nor a bush,
nor hardly a stone in sight but
has some sweet significance to hel
Of the great estate of her faith
ers, of the untold acres of fertile
fie Id and wooded hill once com
pri sing the holdings of her fam
lily, bat this remained; the house
and some forty acres surround
ing it, and even this is to be
taken from her on the morrow, to
be sold under a mortgage of nearly
two thousand dollars.
1.-TWO thousand dollars!'
She read the figures over and
over again in the legal looking
document in her lap, and almost
smiled at the utter futility of
raising that sum.
1.-TWO thousand dollars!"
why, she knew there was not
1
that much money in the whole
world! She knew it for had she
not appealed to every friend only
to be, met with refusals, some
curt and business like, some kind
andconsiderate, but still refusals? ?
Tomorrow the old home, sacred
with it's memories, would pass in
to the hands of strangers, and
she, alone. friendless-!
The ancient gate creaks on its
rusty hinges. A man of power
full fame walks up the flower
bordered path, and stopping at
the bottom Of the steps, hat in
hand, a cheerful grin covering
his black face says:
ssHawdv nissl1s!''