Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1915-02-26
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C(lMBER[ANDS
5U CHARLES NEVILLE DUCl& y.
With ILLUSTRATORS 8, FROM S cP11s5sIE P10lGGRRAp'@ R

Spicer South's brain was no longer
plastic. What had been good enough
for the past was good enough for the
future. Nevertheless, he arranged al
fairs so that his nephew should be
able to meet fnanci' needs, and to go
where he chose IL fashion behttlng
South.
November came ii bleakly, with a
raw and devastating breath OF fatal
ity. The smile died from horizon to
horizon, and for days cold rains beat
and dashed the forests. And, toward
the end Of the month came the day
which Samson had set for his depart
ure.
At the threshold, with the saddle
bags over his left forearm and the rifle
in his hand, he paused. His uncle
stood at his elbow, and the boy put
out his hand.
"Good-by, Unc' Spicer." was all he
said. The old man, who had been his
second father, shook hands. His race
too, was expressionless, but he felt
that he was saying farewell to a SOL
dier of genius who was abandoning
the field. And he loved the boy with
all the centered power of an isolated
heart.
A half-mile along the road, Samson
halted and dismounted. There, in a
small cove, surrounded by tangle OF
briers and blackberry bushes, stood
small and dilapidated meeting house"
and churchyard, which he must visit
He made his way through the rough
underground to the unkempt half
acre, and halted before the leaning
headstones which marked two graves.
With a sudden emotion, he swept the
back of his hand across his eyes. He
did not remove his hat, but he stood
in the drizzle of cold rain for a mo-
ment of silence, and then he said:
Pap, I hain't fergot. I don't want
We ter think thet I've fergot
Before he arrived at the Widow
Millers, the rain had stopped and the
clouds had broken.
Sally opened the door, and smiled.
She had spent the day nerving herself
for this farewell, and at least until
the moment of leave-taking she would
be safe from tears. The Widow Miller
and her son soon left them alone, and
the boy and girl sat before the blaz-
ing logs.
For a time, an awkward silence fell
between them. At last, the boy rose
and went over to the corner where he
had placed his gun. He took it up
and laid it on the hearth between
them.
Sally" he said, II wants ter tell ye
some things thet I hain't never said
ter nobody else. In the fust place, I
wants ye ter keep this hyar gun fer
me-"
The girls eyes widened with sur
prise.
"Hain't We a-goin' ter take hit with
ye, Samson?"
He shook his head.
II hain't a-goin ter need hit down
below. Nobody don't use 'em down
thar. I've got my pistol, an I reckon
thet will be enough"
"Tll take good keer Of hit" she
promised.
The boy took out of his pockets a
box of cartridges and small package
tied in a greasy rag.
Hits loaded, Sally, an hits cleaned
an hits creased. Hits ready fer use"
Again she nodded in silent assent,
and the boy began speaking in slow,
careful voice, which gradually mount
ed into tense emotion.
sally, thet thar gun was my pap's.
When he lay a-dyin', he gave hit ter
me, an he gave me job ter do with
hit When 1 was little feller, used
ter set up most all day. polishin' tibet
gun an gittin' hit ready. I used ter
go out in the woods, an practice
shootin' hit at things, tell 1 learned
how ter handle hit. I reckon thar
hain't many fellers round here tibet
kin beat me now" He paused, and
the girl hastened to corroborate.