Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1909-03-16
CHAPTER I.
Hazel Speaks

a mans head, and securely locked.
The passer-by could see little Of the
domain which lay beyond 1t, for a
screen of unpruned trees, tawny no"
with Autumn tints, bristled the entire
length of the wall, and intercepted the
view from the street.
The place lay on the outskirts OF a
small New England town, not many
miles inland.
The time was 9 o'clock Of a raw Oc-
tober morning. Rain had fallen the
preyious night, and heavy mist stiii
curled and chung in the yellow tree
tons. Some English sparrows were
ar,nkine from the pools about the iron
gate; their saucy chirping, and the
moisture dripping monotonously upon
the bricks, alone broke the silence.
suddenly a woman appeared In the
wet road, gliding into view along the
line of the WALL like creature or the
fog-chilly, noiseless. She was OF
medium height and slender build. She
wore a gray straw bonnet, a water
proofsxarment Of the same color, and
. a tiaIek sen. Her hands, small and
ladysike@ese incased in gray gloves
She drew near to the gate, scattering
the sparrows in whirring panic Oh
neutral Tinted wings. Cautiously she
lifted corner Of her veil, and looked
around.
This Is the place." the strange Wo-
man muttered; surely this Is the
place!" IN
Her face, thus revealed, had the
stamp of thirty years upon 1t. II was
of a long. oval form and dull opaque
whiteness.. The yelsowish eyes were
set too close to theNnose for beauty;
the nose itself was thin and long, the
chin slightly prominent. She took firm
hold of the gate and tried to push II
back.
Iocked!" she said. then fiattened her
long. ,pale face against the iron bars
and looked through into the inclosed
space beyond What did she see?
A weed-grown walk. stretching un-
der neglected trees, some badly kept
grass plots, a sheet Of staSnant, Willow
bordered water, on the surface OF which
a fiotilla of dead, drowned leaves rot
ted. and a small, melancholy house'
sta ling on the brink Of that same wa
ter. with dormer- windows in its rooI
and a porch above the door. A dreary
little hermitage. Even throngn-tne
mist the woman could see that 1t was
old and dilapidated, and that 1t had the
appearance Of Sinking out Of sight,
like a frightened thing. behind the row
Of willows. Her yellow eyes roved
greedily over the small house and its
surroundings. She shook the gate
with noiseless vehemence.
You in there" she muttered, you
who live behind bolts and bars, here's
a message for you-come and PICK IL
up! Come quickly, for God knows
you have no time to lose!
She drew a slip Of paper from her
pocket, and pushing her arm through
the rusty gate, flung 1t as far as she
could into the weed-grown walk Of the
garden. Like bird Of omen 1t fiut-
tered for an instant in air, and anght-
ed a yard or two away in a drift OF
frost bitten leaves.
Then the woman turned to go. But
q feverish curiosity was upon her
Who would come to pick the paper up!
She went off a few steps, but wheeled
quickly and returned to her post, peer
ing in again at the neglected garden
at the willow-fringed water-at the
lonely cottage with the dormer-win-
dows, all dim and dubious in the fog
Nobody stirring there yet? Yes. A
door opened, and a figure came out o1
the small house-a female, in the gart
of a servant, with a basket on her arm
She shuffled down the sodden path to-
ward the gate, and the woman in gray
stood motionless, almost breathless
watching her approach.
Patty Swan, the servant, drew neal
to the paper touched it with hei
coarsely shod foot, then stopped anc
picked 1t up. The next instant hel
keen, suspicious gaze alighted on the
stranger who was staring in upon hel
from the street.
Patty bristled like an angry hen.
who are you, and what do you want
here?" she demanded.
without a word the gray woman
stepped back from the gate, dropped
her veil, and vanished around the cor
ner of the brick wall.
In a flutter of excitement Patty
Swan turned about, and retraced hel
steps up the walk, to the melancholy
little cottage, where l, Hazel Ferrers
the heroine of this history, sat in {
room opening on the porch, reciting m!
morning lessons to the only teacher
had ever known-my beautiful young
mother.
l see 1t all again, as l write-the low
walls, the shabby furniture. the meagr
fire in the crate, the round table strewi
with books, and above all. my mother
as she sat by my side in that littl
room, helping me with tiresom
French exercise.
She wore a black gown Of inexpen
sive material-she always wore black
which served to accentuate the marbl
whiteness Of her skin. On this side o
heaven l shall never see a lovelie
face The features were cut like al
old cameo. Rich masses Of red-gol'
hair crowned the deerlike head. Sh
had the look and bearing C princess
but in her brown eyes lurked tn
mournful, far-off look which Is said t
forebode an early death. The shadov
Of some great trouble hung upon heI
Young as l was, had long felt tina
We were living under a cloud at LAX
Cottage. Patty Swan sometimes hint
ed as much to me.
Miss Hazel, you are not like othe
children" she would say, "and you
mamma Is not like other mammas
Lord help you both!'
This invocation puzzled and annoye
~, fraDpapny "WOul6n't yO