Keowee courier. [volume] (Pickens Court House, S.C.) 1849-current, 1913-11-25

She and have always been friends "
II don't see why grandpa doesn't
like YOU" said the child, thoughtful
ly, with a puzzled look in her eyes.
Il do"
That was the beginning of the
friendship between these two. In
the long, pleasant days Of autumn
they saw each other almost every day
and visited in most cordial fashion
across the fence that marked the
boundary line between the Bently
and the Harris farms.
That fence typified the barrier that
stood between the lives of the two
men who had been such boon COM
panions in the days of early manhood
that the neighbors had called them
David and Jonathan. One was hasty
and passionate. The other sensitive
and retiCent. One unfortunate day
the Harris temper got the upper
hand Of its owner, the bitter, harsh.
unreaSoL,. bic things were said which
John BeEt'v could not forget, and
about which he could not bring him
self to talk after the first swift heat
Of passion had cooled somewhat If
he had gone to his old friend then.
the trouble might have ended almost
at it's beginning; but this he did not
40, and the other was too proud, too
stubborn, to acknowledge himself in
fault. SO their lives drifted apart as
little strea n is divided by some
obstacle it III cts, and forms two
channels for the waters that were
meant to run seaward together.
Hardly a day had passed in all
these years that the two men had not
seen each other. Often they had
worked almost side by side on their
adjoining farms, but not word
passed between them. But there had
come times, more than once, to both
men when under the ashes of the
friendship they called dead the wind
Of memory stirred a lingering spark
flame had the right influence been
brought to bear on it then and there.
But such an influence had always
been lacking at the time when it was
needed. Their wives had urged them
to let the past go, with it's mistakes.
Their neighbors had argued to them
that it was their duty, IS Christian
men occupying responsible positions
in a Christian community, to over
look the old differences of opinion.
But all these influences had failed
to bring about the desired result.
They expected to die as they had
lived for the last twenty-five years,
strangers to each other in the sad
dest sense of the term. Their long
estrangement eXerted over them the
force of habit which had strength
ened with the passing Of years until
it held them in the chains of a tyran-
ny which neither felt able to break
if he cared to do so.
John Bently ,old his wife about his
new friend.
II wish you could see her. Mary"
he said. She MA tes me think Of
our little girl, so much"
Mrs. Bently's eyes grew misty.
Though the years had been many and
long since the grave was made upon
the hill where the only child that had
cone to them was sleeping, never a
da' had gone by that was without it's
thought OF the little girl who was,
and always would be, to her, living
thing in memory.
I'D like to see her" Mrs. Bently
said. "Maybe her grandfather would
let her come here, once-in-a- while, if
we asked him."
"Ill never ask him." said her hus-
band. But as he said it it seemed as
if he could feel little Ruth's touch on
his hand, tender, confiding, appeal
ing II she only could come to them
occasionally, what sunshine would
come with her into their quiet home.
He had loved his own little girl so
much that his heart was hungry for
the love of this child who made him
think more and more Of the dead.
But the old trouble was pitiless in it's
power and semed like a cruel hand
that hello him away from the enjoy
ment OF so innocent a thing as
child's friendship.
"Ruth's made a new friend" said
Mrs. Harris to her husband, one day.
She's struck up an acquaintance
with John Bently." She watched
her husband keenly, as she said this,
TO observe tho affect Of hnr r.nrdn