Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1915-07-30
.We otfhe
CUMBERLANDS
~ CHARLES NEVILLE bDS 5S1Hs
with ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOIQG rs
/ or SCENES IN THE L A @I@Gr$a@nx1-

keen 'em that-away fer a spell longer
Rut II was evident that Samson was
arguing against his W belief; that ne
was trying to bolster up his resoiu'
ton and impeached loyalty, and that
at heart he was sick to be up n 60
ing to a world which did not despise
dedication After a little, he waved
his hand vaguely toward down be-
low"
EFF | went down thar" he questioned
suddenly and i~rrelevantly, would l
hey ter cut my ha'r?"
my leaf boy" laughed Lescott, l
can introduce you in New York studios
to many distinguished gentlemen who
would feel that their heads had been
shorn If they let their locks get as
short as yours. In New York, you
might stroll along Broadway CARRIED in
turban and a burnouse without great
ly exciting anybody. think my own
hair is as long as yours"
Because" d~oggedly declared the
mountaineer, Il wouldn't allow nobody
ter make me cut my hair"
"Why?" questioned Lescott, amused
at the stubborn infection.
81 don't hardly know why He
paused, then admitted with a glare as
though defying criticism: Sally likes
hit that-away-aR / won't let nobody
dictate ter me, that's all"
The leaven was working, and n
night Samson announced to his uncle
from the doorstep that he was study
In erbout goin' away fer a spell, an
seem the world"
The old man laid down his pipe. He
cast a reproachful glance at the
painter, which, said clearly, though
without words:
II have opened my home to you and
offered you what | had, yet in my old
age you take away my m~ainstay."
81 lowed you was a-studyin' erbout
tibet, Samson" he said, at last. 1--WE
done Their best fer We l knowed. /
kinder lowed thet from now OF ye'd do
the same fer me. I'm gittin' along In
years right smart. :"
Uncle Spicer," interrupted the boy,
II reckon We knows tibet any time We
needed me I'd come back"
The old mans face hardened.
EFF We goes" he said, almost sharp
-ly"4 went never send fer ye. Any
time We ever wants ter come back, We
knows Their way. Thar1l be room an
victuals fer We hyar."
ar -o.1~o- -.@,t H. L1,A
useful eff | knowed more"
i've heerd fellers say that afore.
Hit hain't never turned out tibet way
with them what has left the mount
ings. Mebby they gets more useful,
but they don't git useful ter us. Either
they don't come back at all, or mebby
they comes back full of n~ewfangled 10
tions-ans ashamed of their kinfolks.
Thet's the way, I've noticed, hit gen.
ally turns out"
Samson scorned to deny that such
might be the case with him, and was
silent. After a time, the old man went
on again in a weary voice, as he bent
down to loosen his brogans and kick
them noisily off on to the floor:
1.-The Souths hev done looked to ye
a good deal, Samson. They lowed they
could depend on We. Ye hain't quite
twenty-one yet, an l reckon l could
refuse ter let We sell yer prop'ty. But
thar hain't no use tryin' ter hold a
Teller when he wants ter quit. Ye
don't low ter go right away, do ye?"
II hain't plumb made up my mind
ter go at ALL" said the boy, shame
facedly. "But, eff I does go, l hain't
a-goin' yit. l hain't spoke ter nobody
but you about hit yit."
Lescott felt reluctant to meet his
hosts eyes at breakfast the next morn.
ing, dreading their ~reproach, but, if
Spicer South harbored resentment, he
meant to conceal it, after the stoic's
code. There was no hint of constraint
In his cordially. Lescott felt, however,
that in Samson's mind was working
the leaven of that unspoken accusa-
tion of disloyalty. He resolved to
make a final play, and seek to enlist
Sally in his cause. If Sally's hero-wor-
ship could be made to take the form of
ambition for Samson, she might be
brought to r%elinquish him for a time,
and urge his going hat he might re-
turn strengthened. He went down to
the creek at the hour when he knew
Sally would be making her way thither
with her milk pail, and intercepted her
coming.
AS she approached, she was singing,
and the man watched her from the dis
lance. He was a landscape painter and
not a master of genre orsportrait. Yet
he wished that he might, before going,
paint Sally.
Miss Sally" he began, I've discov.
cred something about Samson"
Her blue yes flashed ominously.
"Ye can't tell me nothin' bout Sam.
son." she declared, "withouten hits
somethin' nice"
Its something very NICE" the man
treasured her.