Omaha daily bee., 1922-04-09

that fronts tho road and raced through the
woods at the rear. where Mr.. Josh couldn't
see him. Up to this point old Mats legi
were exclusively engaged in the business OF
departure, his mind being unengaged. 1t re
quired no prophet to foretell what would hap
pen to him il he remained at Bennington
But now he began to consider what was liable
to occur at tho graveyard II he told Mr.
Stuart that Miss Adelaides husband had got
his note. This h~I.-- i-ought applied the
air brakes. and Nat slowed down to q full
stop.
"Huh.' he grumbled. "Jes' do mint !
glimpsed dat automobile got hunch DAT
somethin' was Akin to take place."
On account Of Mr.. Razilly he could not 90
back home. And he dared not poster Mr..
Stuart by telling him Of the husbands de.
nunciation as scoundrel, an internal hound
and low dog. Mr.. Stuart favored his pa
too much for old Nat to risk giving him such
information. Gen. Clayton used to snort fire
when something pestered him, and Nat had
no yearning to get caught in a graveyard
with the son Of man who snorted fire.
"Huh!" he pondered. "Dese white folks
is contrivin' to mix mo up in dis. Reckon I
better tell Mister Stuart somethin' nice, den
> travel long wid him"
Under these precarious circumstances 1t
seemed prudent to first take q look at Mr..
Stuart, and make sure that he was not snort
ing fire. Ignorant people maintain that a
negro does not think; but Nat was thinking,
thinking mighty fast. He had already blum.
dered within hundred yards Of the GENE.
terry, entirely too close for colored person
who had prepared no tale to make him wei
come. He had also been approaching in the
direction from which he was expected, and
the fire snorter might see him first. So Nat
determined to flank the graveyard from the
southwest, and take Clayton's measure be.
fore Clayton took his scalp.
The nnaneuver presented no difficulties
He accomplished wide detour through the
underbrush before he began sneaking up
behind the graveyard wall and crawling
through a tangle Of vines with his hat in his
hand. The place looked uncannily lonesome
and haunted and scary. When Nat lifted
his bushy head to reconnoiter, every hair
stood up with its individual case Of grave.
yard bristles.
He expected to ind Mr.. Stuart sitting like
a ghoul on a tomb. But he did not. He only
saw the crumbling wall Of brick and mortar,
broken by growing roots, saw the topping
headstones under the shade Of funereal
cedars, and the ground dank with matted
periwinkles. Nobody was in sight, and Nat
got mighty anxious to glimpse some human
person wearing store bought clothes.
Graveyards, as a merry habit, were hot
the form Of dissipation which appealed to
Uncle Nat Stark. Even in the brilliant noon
day, when bright with flowers and Tapping
with the wings Of sculptured angels Nat
would never choose a graveyard for solitary
visiting. And now, when night was falling,
this patch Of cedared scariness made him
wish for company
The old Fearne burial ground had been
deserted for half century. and he always
passed it in a hurry, passed on the far side
of the road. and watched over his shoulder
every minute. The Fearne family were long
extinct, it's last member by suicide, and Mats
black face looked ashen as he poked it above
the wall He stood up and called Mister
Stuartr' his nuffied voice rousing no answer
except creepy lot Of whispering among the
cedars.
ugh! He amt come .yit Reckon I'll git
out o hero an wait fer him in de road"
At the crucial moment when Nat began
setting one foot behind the other to make
his sneak he heard thud like clod Of dirt
dropping on coffin, and rolled his eyes fear
sonely toward it.
Dat you, Mister stuart?" 1t wasn't and