Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1916-01-11

oAo pouhuiAS WILL LIS oIiCh ~ ludL ue
might be early recognized. Thus be
might avoid the likely danger of toe
suddenly surprising the sometimes has
ty Mr.. Robert.
us that you, BushrodW called the
CLAIMANT, clear voice Of the gray ghost
"Yes, sub, Marse Robert"
what the devil are you doing out al
this time Of night?"
For the first time in his life Uncle
BushrOd told Marse Robert a false
hood. He could not repress 1t. he
would have to circumlocute q little
His nerve was not equal to direct at
tack.
81 done been down, sub, to see ole
Aunt Mira Patterson. She taken sick
In de night, and l kyared her bottle
Of M'lindy's medercine. Yes, suh."
"Humph! said Robert. "You better
get home out Of the night air. It's
damp. You'll hardly be worth killing
tomorrow on account Of your rheuma.
tism. Think it'll be clear day, Bush
rod?"
II low it will, sub. De sun sot red
las night"
Mr.. Robert lit a cigar in the shadow,
and the smoke looked like his gray
ghost expanding and escaping into the
night air. Somehow Uncle Bushrod
o1,,Id borolr, %oroo hio ra1,, oto nj tnpo
to the dreadful subject. He stood,
awkward, shambling, with his feet
upon the gravel and fumbling with his
stick. But then, afar off-three miles
away, at the Jimtown switch-he heard
the faint whistle Of the coming train,
the one that was to transport the Wey-
mouth name into the regions Of dis
honor and shame. All fear left him.
He took Off his hat and faced the chief
of the clan he served, the great, royal,
kind, lofty, terrible Weymouth. He
bearded him there at the brink of the
awful thing that was about to happen.
"Marse Robert" he began, his voice
quavering a little with the stress OF
his feelings, "you member de day dey
all rode de tunnament at Oak Lawn
de day, sub, dat you win In de ridin'
and you crown Miss Lucy de queenT
Tournament" said Mr.. Robert, tax
Ing his cigar from his mouth. "Yes, I
remember very well the-but what the
deuce are you talking about tourna-
ments here at midnight for? 60 long
home, Bushrod. believe you're sleep
walking"
miss Lucy tetch you on de shoul-
der" continued the old man, never
needing, "wid s'ord and say: i mex
you a knight, sub Robert. Rise up,
pure and fearless and widout re-
proach.' Dat what Miss Lucy say.
OATS been q long time ago, but me
nor you amt forgot 1t. And den dars
another time we amt forgot-de time
when Miss Lucy lay on her las bed.
She sent for Uncle Bushrod, and she
say: Uncle Bushrod, when I die l
want you to take good care Of Mr..
Robert. Seem like'-so Miss Lucy say
-'he listen to you mo- dan to anybody
else. He apt to be mighty fractions
sometimes, and maybe he cuss you
when you try to 'suade him, but he
need somebody what understand him
to be round wild him. He am like
little child sometimes'-so Miss Lucy
say, wild her eyes shinin' In her po',
thin face-'but he always been'-dem
was her words-'my knight, pure and
fearless and widout reproach.'"
Mr.. Robert began to mask, as was
his habit, a tendency to softhearted-
ness with spurious anger.
"You-you old windbag" he growled
through a cloud of swirling cigar
smoke. II believe you are crazy. I
told you to 60 home, Bushrod. Miss
Lucy said that, did she? Well, we
haven't kept the escutcheon very clear.
Two years ago last week, wasn't it,
Bushrod, when she died? Confound
it! Are you going to stand there all
night gabbing like a coffee colored
ganderT
The train whistled again. Now 1t
was at the water tank, mile away.
"Marse Robert" said Uncle Bush
rod, laying his hand on the satchel
that the banker held; "for Gawd's
sake dom take dis wild you. / knows
what's In 1t. I knows where you got
1t in de bank. Dom kyar' it wild you.
Dey's big trouble in dat valise for Miss
Lucy and Miss Lucy's child's chillun.
Hits bound to destroy de name Of
Weymouth and bow down dem dat
own 1t wild shame and triberladon.
Marse Robert, you can kill dis ole mig
ger eff you will, but don't take away
dis 'er' valise. II 1 ever crosses over
de Jordan what I gwine to say to Miss
Lucy when she az me. Uncle Bushrod,
wharfo' didn' you take good care Of
Mr.. RobertY"
Robert Weymouth tnreW away nlS
cigar and shook free one arm, with
that peculiar gesture that always pre-
ceded his outbursts of irascibility. Un-
Gle Bushrod bowed his head to the e1-
pected storm, but he did not finch. II
the house Of Weymouth was to fall he
would fall with 1t. The banker spoke,
and Uncle Bushrod blinked with sur
prise. The storm was there, but 1t was
suppressed to the quietness Of sum-
mer breeze.
"Bushrod," said Mr.. Robert in low
or voice than he usually employed,
''you have .overstepped all bounds.
You have presumed upon the leniency
with which you have been treated to
meddle unpardonably. So you know
what is In this satchel7 Your long
and faithful service Is some excuse,
but-go home. Bushrod-not another
wordw
But Bushrod grasped the satchel
with q lrmer hand. The headlight OF
the train was now tightening the shad.
ows about the station. The roar wa
Increasing, and folks were stirring
ohept at ~ tEnSk E44 4-,-..