Oxford eagle. (Oxford, Lafayette Co., Miss.) 1876-current, 1919-11-20


up at Eagle Rock. It costs lots
though en- we amt got it. Fifteen
dollarsl He give me five ter help
along, en- ! got nearly five saved. He
SEE tibet Sammie mus have it in ther
mornln' er it may be too late. liner
1evers got ter be stopped right erway
er thar amt no hope ter I'M"
Mary looked into the fire and bit
her lip. Aunt Liz, don't know what
ter do" Tears were in her eya.
I'VE got ter do somethin' right
away, / SEE, er he'll die" Aunt Liz
cried. EN-, oh, l love him SO! He's
all | got, pretty near. He JUS can't
die" She ended passionately, with
fists clenched tightly in her lap.
The fire had burned almost down.
The wind whistled a mournful dirge
around the corner of the frail noun
tain shack. The boy on tn epallet
mourned fretfully as he slept. While.
Aunt Liz sobbed quietly Mary battled'
with herself. It was not an easy prob
lem. As she looked over at the pal
let, at the boy restlessly tossing there,
she remembered the many happy
hours they had spent together. His
first steps, the games of hide and seek
which they had so often played; their
trips to Eagle Rock; the floggings
Aunt Liz had given them both for
some mischief. She loved him great
deal. But as she thought over these
things her hand strayed up to her face
brought back the consciousness of the
rough skin. Her thoughts turned into
other channels. "Ah, how all the
people would stare when they saw her
after her skin became beautiful. The
artist had said that if her skin were
improved she would be the loveliest
woman in the world. And now she
had the money to buy the beautifier
with. She must have it. Sammie
might live without the tonic. There
was chance. And so she decided.
Sanmie died ten days later. The
doctor said that if the tonic had been
bought the boy might have lived.
Aunt Liz was heart-broken, and as
Mary sat by the cold, still little body
now nsensible to the pangs Of the
rending cough and the burning torture
of the endless fever, she was harassed
by tina Thought could have saved
him! l could have saved him! And
didn't. What's a beautiful facet"
She felt her cheeks now smooth and
soft, and recoiled from the touch. For
long time she sat motionless. She
had lost the right to grieye with Aunt
Liz. Her inmate vanity, her womanly
heritage from Mother Eve had lulled
to rest her consciousness of sacred
duty which had confronted her, and
had, in this hour of bitter anguish, de-
MED her even the small comfort of
genuine sorrow which welled in her
heart.
The funreal was simple. A few
kind neighbors came to the desolate
cabin. A bunch or two of wild noun
tain flowers were reverently placed on
the humble brave near by. Aunt Liz
and Mary went back to the room with
the empty pallet. Aunt Liz went on
with her household tasks, her labors
lighted, but always she talked of her
little boy, her heart unhealed.
Days passed, though Mary had
flung far down a cliff the hateful bot
tled-"W hitoskin''-it did not stop the
still, small voice.
Aunt Liz referred often to the fair
ness Of Mary's skin, but the girl look
ed no more into the cracked mirror.
At last she could bear it no longer.
She went out to the mound of brown
clods, and sat by thewooden cross a |
long time. Tears streamed down her
cheeks and the voice murmured ac-
cusingly.
Suddenly, she ran to the cabin and
came back to the grave with some
in her hand. She struck one;
it went out. She struck another and
this time held the flame to the waist
Of her calico dress. It famed up
quickly and the fire went to her hair
and head. She screamed in agony and
tsll into pile of wet leaves nearby,
rolling in them until the fire was out.
Then she lay still.
Aunt Liz dragged the unconscious
girl back to the cabin and laid her
Town. Her arms and face were burn
ID horribly. A neighbours boy brought