Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, October 23, 1897, Page 2

CHAPTER: LIV—(Continucd) Sam and Saturn obeyed, and Kum- ford was carried to his chamber, un- dressed and put to bed, and freely bled, cupped and blistered. The doc- tor, haying done all that his medical experience could suggest for the relict of his patient, left him to be watched by Sam, and returned to the other room to look at the “cataleptic girl,” as he called rea, and also to insti- ‘tute some inquiry into the immediate cause of Mr. Rumford’s attack. He found Astrea in the deep sleep that often succeeds an attack of catalepsy; and, after making a careful examina- tion, pronounced her doing as well as could be hoped; and then, consigning her to the care of old Cybele, called Venus to accompany him into the drawing room, where the overseer and some of the principal servants were lingering to see if they could be of any use. aid the doctor, shair, and h and girl,” himself into a beckoning Venus to appr stand before him, “I gather from the iscourse of your fellow servants that you were the only one of their number, with the exception of the girl, Zora, who passed the night in this house, sir! I dessay it was de or- ange s made him ill. Dere was lots of dem dere billious, yellow things for de dessert,” said Venus, with much animation, delighted that the doctor had, as she thought, founc tory solution to the mystery. she adde I know it must a’ been de or made him ill!” “I am not talking of oranges, you blockhead! d origin! I want to know the or the cause of your master’s sudden attack!” “Oh, dat it? But, hi, marse doctor, how L know who ‘tacked him; nobody didn’t ‘tack him as I knows of!” “You were in the room with the girl, Zora, last night, I believe?” Yes, sir; I has slep’ in Zora’s room "long o’ her ebber since here she’s been!” said Venus, recklessly. “Very well. No then, was in that room that your ma: r s found in fi th Zora standing over him, qui i yable of giving an explana- i y, then, what had happened about this extraordinary state You must know, since you were th present all the time.” “TTi, marse doctor, how I gwine know, when I soun’ ep all de time? | I ‘sures you, marse doctor, when de sleep de come ober me, I can’t keep awake—no, not if de house w; burn- to brin of affair “Oh, yes, marse doctor! While I soun’ ‘sleep, I hear somefin heay; down—flump-bung-de-lung—an’ s de whole house! 1’ den I look out, an’ dere lay ole marse, fallen down for dead! De at all I know "bout it!” “Rut the girl Zora, who w stand- ing over him in that threatening atti- tude?” “Oh, marse doctor! You see, Zora w sleepin’ in de arm-chaix, same as me sleepin’ on dg mattr An’ when she hear dat flump-bung-de- lung fall down an’ shake de house, she jump up same as I did! Only, you see, she was struck all of a heap, an’ I had my senses ’bout me; an’ so I rung de rm an’ brought all de peo- ple. An’ dat is all I know "bout it!” “Why, then, did you say that Zora killed your master?” “Hi, mar yeu that fa inquired Vert eous indignation. “AIL your fellow servants. “Lor’, marse doc b'lieve dem nigger ting but deir pra) “Then ycu didn’t tell this story upon Zora?’ “Wko, me? How I gwine tell it when it wasn’t true?I neber eben tought o’ such a2 ting, marse doctor, sir! All dem niggers ’fernally false: “Take care, Venus, how you deny your own words and slander your companions. Remember it was to me you told the tale in the presence of others,” said the overseer, joining in the conversation. “Oh, Marse Steppins, sir, you neber was more ’staken in your life, sir. "Deed an’ ‘deed, an’ ‘deed an’ ’deed, L neber said nothin’ like it, sir!” persist- ed Venus, with an astonished look and an emphatic earnestnes that made the overseer doubt his own senses of memory. “The fact is, I suppose, the poor ereature was so frightened that she did not know what she sai@,” suggest- 2d the doctor. “That's it! She did look wild as a witch,” admitted the overseer. “Then she is not to be held respons- ible for them, I suppose. She is cer- tainly honest in making the declara- tion she does now. And, really, 1 think she is not very capable of giving any more lucid account of the affair than she bas already given. You may retire, my girl,” said the doctor; and as soon as Venus had gone, he added: “The cause of Mr. Rumford’s attack is easy enough understood. ‘hat late dinner! He has been for years predis- posed to apoplexy. And I have warned him against late and heavy dinners and suppers! but quite in vain, as you know, Steppins. I saw how it must -end, and it has ended just as I ex- pected.” “How is hope?” “He breathes! And while there is breath there is life, and wnile there is life there is hope! Nevertheless, I say to you, Steppins, that if he has any near relations they ought to be sum- mmoned immediately.” “I will go to the city and telegraph “to them directly, sir.” “Also, Steppins, if he has not al- ready settled up his worldly affairs, his solicitor ought to be sent for in- tly, te remain at the house in the nt of his being wanted; for the pa- who go tell say I say it?” with a look of right- needn't Dey say ebery- he, sir? Is there any £ t CONDEMNED --TO-- ° ‘WEALTH. exhibit 4 tient may possibly have an interval of consciousness, in which he may be able to make his will.” “Exactly, sir! I will endeavor to bring Mr. Fulmer out with me.” “And, ‘last but not least,’ a clergy- man should be in constant attendance upon his bedside, to watch for the op- portunity, and offer him such relig- ious aids as the parting soul of sinful man requires.” “Ah, sir, a death-bed offers but a short space to repent of a long life- time’s sins!” sighed the overseer. “And he has led a wild life, you will ; say! true; but then, he had a kind heart, and—who dares to limit the mercy of the All-Merciful? The re- pentant thief on the cross was par- doned.” { “Well, sir, I will fetch the minister | and hope for the best.” 4 “And the quicker you set about the | whole of this business you have un- | rtaken to do, the better.” qxactly, s! Good-day,” said the | eer, pi ng up his hat and retir- | When ke reached the hall he found | the gaping crowd of negroes still lin- | gering there, and said: “Boys, eve one of you go to your st field. Sam, do you} put the horses to the brougham, and bring it around to the door im-| mediately, and get ready yourself to | drive me to the cit The negroes all persed to obey these orders, while Steppins walked to his own cottage to put on his Sun- day clothes. CHAPTER LV. Meanwhile the doctor returned to | watch beside his patient. It was a dreary and hopeless watch, which lasted all through the forenoon, until the return of Steppins from the! city, bringing with him Lawyer | Fulmer and the Reverend Mr. Palmer ‘'rhese gentlemen were met in the | hall by Dr. Herkimer, and after al short interview, in which the doctor | put them in possession of the facts | of the case so far as they were | kpown to himself, they all went into | the sick room, and took up their watch by the dying man. To the most inex- | rienced observer it was evident he sinking fast. They watched eagerly for some such sign of returning consciousness as the | delirious or comatose patient often | ast before death. For some | time they watched. in vain—his pallid and sunken face, rolling head, wander- ing fingers and inarticulate murmurs, | gave but little hope that he would } ever speak a word or recognize a face again. At length, however, when it was late in the evening, a change came over him. He opened his eyes, looked around, and knew the friends that stood about him. He was quite/ cognizant of his situation, ~ for he beckoned feebly for the physician to stoop low, and whispered: “Doctor, this is death!” “Oh no, you are better physician, telling the uv nevolent stor; A sad shake of the head was the} on answer of the dying man, who with another feeble effort beckened | the other two gentlemen to draw near. | When they had approached quite close, | he faltered forth: “The girl Zora—must be free.” “Had you not better dictate a will, inquired lawyer. * said the | ual —be- flent shake of the head was the only reply. “There is no time,’ whispered Dr. Herkimer to the lawyer, “he has not half an hour's life in him! and what has left, short as it is, should be de- yoted to prayer.” Not a word of this speech reached the patient’s ear; yet the same thought was evidently passing in his own mind, for he looked wistfully in the face of the minister. Mr. Palmer stooped down to hear what ke wished to speak. “I have been a bad servant! What will the Great Master say to me?’ The minister took his nearly pulse- less hand, and spoke to him of the infinite mercy of the Father; of the perfect atonement of the Son; of the free grace offered to the greatest; sinner who repents, even at the eleventh hour. Rumford, with all his faults, had never been harsh, implacable, or un- forgiving. This softness of heart, pre- served even in the midst of a life of reckless vices, rendered him more im- pressible by religious truth, more re- ceptive of divine grace, and more affested by the infinite love revealed in the atonement. Broken, subdued, helpless, dying, he was melted into tears. Seeing this, the minister knelt by | his bed, and ‘prayed earnestly to heaven for the repentance, pardon and salvation of this sinner. The dying man clasped his hands, and silently | accompanied the minister in this prayer. And when, at last, Mr. Palm- er rose from his knees and looked up- on the patient, he saw that the soul had already passed, leaving the dead hands clasped in prayer for pardon, and -the dead face still wet with the tears of penitence. “He is gone,” said the doctor, with his finger on the dead man’s pulse. “May peace be with him,’ ’murmured the minister, as he gently closed the sightless eyes. “You are witnesses, gentlemen, to his expressed will in regard to the girl Zora,” said the lawyer, as he Ieft the chamber of death to give orders con- cerning the funeral. For, in that hot climate, short space is allowed be- tween death and burial. . CHAPTER LVI. That night, while the body of Rum- ford was lying in state in the front room, and Astrea was lying upon the bed in her own dark, still chamber, | | ceased presided. | self, for all de worl’ | of the half-conscious but docile sufter- ing that fitful sleep that pre cedes fever, she was, for the third time, the subject of a strange vision. As upon the two former occasions, her closed eyelids were penetrated by a cool, subtle flame that compelled her to open her eyes, when she saw, stand- ing within a halo of light, the beauti- ful image of Lulu, with the dark blot effaced from her shining robes, the re- stored star blazing in the center of her crown, and her once-mournful count- enance now radiant with divine joy! For an instant only she stood thus, and then, smiling, faded in music away, singing as she vanished, the re- frain of some heavenly song, the bur- den of which was, “Saved! All saved!” And the next moment the room was in total silence, deep darkness and per- fect solitude again. And Astrea's wild eyes were wide open, and gazing into the thick blackness whence the bright image had vanished. What was it? A dream? A vision? A reality? She could not tell! She only felt that there were mysteries in spirit life, un- fatkomable by human intellect. The next day, for the reasons al- ready stated, the funeral of Rumford took place. It was a clear, bright summer’s morning, the weather was fine, the air fresh, and, more than | that, the deceased planter had been very popular in the neighborhood, “known for a good fellow all over the country,” as he himself had said; con- sequently his funeral was very largely attended. A long cortege of carriages followed him to the cemetery, on the 1ising ground, a mile above the planta- tion house, Many of the guests returned to par- take of the funeral dinner, at which the contidential solicitor of the de- Then, as there was no will to be found, they all dispersed to their various homes--all except Dr. Herkimer, who was stopped by old Cybele, who said: “Marse doctor, sir, I wish you’d come | i nan’ look at poor Zora; she ain’t eat nor drank nor likewise spoke since she had that cattapussy fit as you talked about; she jes lay dere, hal ’sleep an’ half ’wake, a-rollin of her head on de ! pillow, an’ a-mumblin’ somethin’ to her- | as if she was a- conjurin’ or a-talkin’ to de sperits or de debil! which indeed, it do put such | a scare on top o’ me, as I’m afeared 0’ my soul to stay in de room ’long 0’ Berl While Cybele was speaking she was | leading the way to the back chamber, into which the doctor followed her. “The girl has inflammation of the | brain,” said the physician, as he felt Astrea’s full and bounding pulse, and | ed upon her flushed face and heavy eyes. “Her head must be shaved di- rectly. You have a barber on the premises, I presume?’ “Oh, yes, Marse Doctor. Sam a good barber, he allus shave ole marse, an’ trim his hair, too, likewise de trees in de garden,” answered Cybele. “Go, then, and tell Sam he is wanted, and order him to prepare his razors | and come here immediately.” Cybele departed, and while she was gone the doctor took from his pocket the calomel pills that he always car ried with him, and, raising the head gu er, made her swallow two of them, Cybele soon re-entered the chamber, followed by Sam, bearing all the ap- paratus of hair-cutting and shaving. Astrea was lifted up in the arms of old Cybele, who sat behind her and supported her, while Sam cut off ber ; i ch fell—a rich and glossy- —upon the bed before the} doctor’s eyes. Dr. Herkimer picked a portion of it up, to examine it, as one dees any beautiful object. Presently he aimed “Why, how’is this? is golden near the roots Sam stopped in his process of lath- ering, and old Cybele also bent for- ward to look. The three heads were } bent in curiosity over Astrea’s beau- tiful tresses. Yet, it v certainly as ; the doctor had said. Every raven hair was tipped near the root with a spark of old. This, of course, was the new growth, coming out in its natural color. But they did not understand it. “I should be inclined to think that her hair was originally golden, but | that she had dyed it; only she is so much too dark to have light hair; 1 can’t make it out at all; it is quite phe- nomenal!” the doctor exclaimed. And the three pairs of eyes gazed upon the “phenomenon” until Dr. Herkimer said: i “Go on with your work, Sam; what the mischief are you stopping for?’ Sam obeyed, and in a short time the stately little head was shaved as clean as the face, and looked so much wt it- er_as to draw the attention of the aoc- tor, who put on his spectacles to scru- tinize it, as he said: “Well. the scalp, being protected by the hair, is always a little whiter than the face! But here is so marked a d ference as to indicate something very abnormal, particularly when consid- ered in counection with the golden rocts of the hair. I cannot make it all out!” Neither, of course, could any of his hearers. But had Venus been present she might have given them the clue. Towels dipped in ice-water were now wrapped around the sufterer’s head, which was once more laid upon the pillow. Sam gathered up his barber's tools and left the room, carrying with him the rich, black hair, which he knew he could sell for a good price to the city barber with whom jhe dealt. “You are too old to be trusted to nurse this girl. You would not sit up at night to give her medicine regular- ly. You would fall asleep. Where is that woman that I saw about here jes- terday?’ said the doctor to Cybele. “Lor, marse doctor, clearin’ away de dinner table an’ puttin de house to rights after all dis bustle. A body wants de place to look a little decent *gainst ole marser’s ‘lations come.” “Well, you had better attend to that matter yourself, and send Venus here to me.” ‘ The doctor was always promptly obeyed, and Venus soon entered the room, dropping a courtsey, and say- D: “Deed, marse doctor, sir, I thanks you bery much for sendin’ for me; *eause I’se been long o’ dat chile for a mont’ or more, an’ knows all her ways. sanie as if I was her mammy; an’ so, you see, I’s de most properest person for to nurse her.” “You know all her ways?” “Yes, marse, doctor, sir.” “Did she dye her hair?” ; “Lor, no, marse doctor! Why?’ “It’s coming out golden at the roots, that’s all!” : “De Lors—” cried Venus, suddenly , This girl’s hair recollecting what Astrea had told her concerning the mystery of her change of complexion; but, recollecting at the same time, her promise to be silent up- on the subject until Astrea should give her leave to speak. “You are sure she doesn’t dye her hair?’ ; “Who—She! No, indeed, marse doc- tor; I’m sartain sure she doesn’t! What call she to dye her bootiful hair? eee grey, nor likewise red! So why e “Why, certainly? Well, I cannot vomprehend it! But now, my good wo- man, I must giv2 you some directions as to the treatment of your patient thgough. the night,” said the doctor, and hereupon, he gave her the most careful instructions, to which. Venus listened with the deepest attention. “And now, my girl’, he said, as he took up his hat to go, “I hope you un- derstand all that I have said to you?” “Bbery single word, marse doctor, sir—But please tell me, sir, when you think de new marser an’ missus be here?’ inquired Venus, anxiously. “If they start immediately and come by land, they may be here in eight or ten days. If they come by water, the Ohio and Mississippi rivers are both so low that they may be three weeks on the way. And if they delay their ; departure there is no telling when they may arrive.” With this answer, Venus had to be satisfied; for the doctor immediately left the house. Astrea’s illness was long and dan- gercus. For eight days she lay hover- ing between life and death—and alter- nating between delirium and stupor. The doctor came twice a day ,and taxed his utmost skill to save ner life. Venus sat up with her every night and left her only for a few hours’ sleep during the day, when the watch was relieved by old Cybele. Venus kept herself awake at night | with strong green tea. On the evening of the eighth day the | doctor, standing looking over the pa- | tient, said: | “This night will decide her tate! | She will either awaken in the full pe session of her senses, or she will sink | into that coma that precedes death!” And having given the nurse instruc- | tions how to proceed in either ae | | he took his leave. Venus sat down beside the bed where the awful struggle of life and death was silentl¥ going on. And, during that fearful night-watch the | faithful creature scarcely once re-j| moved her eyes from the sufterer’s | face. Poor Venus, through watching and caring for, and sympathizing with As- trea, had come to love her best in all the world nd now she watched this terrible crisis with something like the intense anxiety that a mother feels for her sick child. At midnight there was a change in the patient; a cool and gentle perspir- ation came out upon her forehead, And the heart of Venus beat high with hope, until she happened to think that there was such a thing as death-damp upon the brow of the dying, and this might be it! and her head sank with fear. She listened for the patient's breathing—it was soft and deep. She felt her pulse—it v quiet and regu- lar. Venus’ heart rose again. While the poor creature was undergoing these agues and fevers of hope and fear the night was slowly passing. At length, when the nurse-lamp was. going out and the daylight was coming in, Astrea calmly unclosed her eyes, and looked at Venus. Venus was too intensely excited to speak; she could only open her mouth | and hold her breath. She was afraid | to moye, lest her slightest motion | might dissolve the charm of conyal- | escence, and send her patient back in- | to the night of death. At lenght, after serenely contem- plating her nurse for a few minutes, 1, ia a small, feeble, thread-like “Venus— “Thank de Lor’!” exclaimed th ewo- | man. “But, Venus. “And thank you, too, honey, for com- ing to life!” “Yes; but, Venus, how came I here?” “Here, honey?” “Yes; here in this bed! dress and put me here?’ “Yes, honey; of course I did.” “But why? Did I go to sleep while sitting watching in my. chair?” she ip- | quired, striving to recall the events of the last night of her consciousness-- then, with sudden thought but imper- .ect memory, she exciaimed, “Uh, heaven! I remember! I remember!’ “Now, don’t you go for ’starb your mind, chile. Thank de Lor’ as you're | alive!” “I remember! I remember! When the wicked man wrested the dagger from my hand, and had me at his mercy, I fainted with horror!” Venus, who most distinctly remem- | bered that Astrea had done anything else but faint, upon the occasion re- ferred to, now opened her eyes with astonishment. “Yes; I remember quite well that | my heart stopped beating, my eyes | failed and I lost consciousness! I can.| remember nothing after that. Oh, Ve- nus, what happened next? The man left the room without further molest- ing me, did he not? Bad as he was, | he would not injure a helpless, swoon- ing woman! Oh, answer, Venus! he left the room. did he not?” “Yes, honey, certney, to be sure he} did, immediate,” replied Venus, who! supposed it would be the correct thing | to.agree to all her patient said. “And then you undressed me and put me to bed?” “Yes. honey; that I did, good.” “And you have been sitting by me and watching me ever since?’ “Every blessed minute since.” “And never left me for a moment?” “No; nor for half a moment, nyth- er.’" “Tf hope that man has not been in here again?” “No, honey; you may take your davy that he hasn’t, nor thought of it, ny-} ther.” “Venus?” “What, honey?” “It was three o’clock this morning! when that man came in and frightened ‘ me so?” “Yes, chile.” “And now—it must be near six?” “True, honey.” “Then I have been lying in this state of unconsciousness for three hours?” “Yes, heney; and ’haps a little long- er.” : “And, oh, Venus, I am so weak! It is a trouble to breathe, and a greater | trouble to speak. My breath flutters | Did you un-! | seasy, downward like the flame of a candle that is going out!” “Don’t you let it, honey! for good- ness gracious sake, hold that same candle steady till I fetches you some- thing!” exclaimed the nurse, in great alarm, as she hastily poured out and brought to her patient a strengthen- ing and composing drink. Astrea drank it, and fell into a light, nattral sleep. Poor Venus dropped on her knees and fervently | thanked heaven fcr the restored life; | but quite forgot to ask forgiveness for all the fibs she had told. Dr. Herkimer, anxious for the sup- posed “poor girl’s” fate, came early in the morning, and, after seeing his pa- tient, proncunced her quite out of dan- ger and doing well. CHAPTER LVIS. Astrea’s convalescence was rapid. She pessessed one of those fine, elastic constitutions that easily rebound from depression and lightly throw off debi!- ity. As she grew well enough to ob- serve what was passing around her, she began to discover that something unusual had occurred; that a serious change had taken place in the family. She no longer heard Rumford’s voice or step; but the negroes walked about with greater liberty and conversed with more freedom, What had happened? That he was not ill she knew, be- cause his room, next to her own, was unoccupied. By little and little she first began to suspect, and then to know, that the planter was dead, and that his heirs were soon expected to arrive. By the same slow process she grad- ually came to the knowledge that she had been ill of brain fever for many days. And she inferred that Rumford must have died during her own ill- ress. Hitherto she had vainly sought to gain any correct information from Ve- nus. Venus had either evaded her ques- tions or else answered them with what sbe con under the circum- stances, justifiable falsehood. No one is perfect, and the reader already knows that Venus, notwithstanding all her other good traits of character, had a supreme contempt for truth, which she seemed to consider, like fire, a good servant but a bad thing to be regarded or contemned, as it promoted or retarded the interests of her friends. With this untutored and unregenerated child of nature, friendship ranked first, and everything that interfered with that was sacri- ficed. to shield Astrea; and thus she he told lie upon lie to compose her spirits and aid her convalescence. Nor had Venus one single twinge of conscience for doing so. On the contrary, she would have had many twinges of con- science if she had not done so. But then, Venus was not enlightened. Astrea understood all this, at length, and forebore to question Venus far- ther until such time as she thought she would hear the truth. And mezn- while she noted all the chance conver- sation of the servants who passed her deor. And, as the weather tremely warm, and the door wa open, and the passage of the servants very frequent, she soon gath- ered a great mass of incoherent infor- mation. At length she was so very much bet- ter she could not doubt even Venus would longer hesitate to tell her the truth, and she eat it with a good appetite, Astrea said: am nearly well now, Venus.” es, honey, thank Marster.” “And now I hope you will keep nothing from me longer.” “Hi, chile, what I keep from you?” “Many things—the first, the death of Mr. Rumford. Now then, I want you to tell me all about it, Venus.” “Hi, chile, don’t you know?’ “How should I? You know that, from the time he disarmed me and had me at his mercy, I swooned with ter- ror, and passed from that swoon into a brain fever, and knew nothing more for eight or nine days, when I came io myself. Then, in a few more day learned from the gossip of the negro that their master was dead. Now, how and when did he die?’ “Hi, honey, is all you tell me jes so? Don’t you know nothing as ‘happened | arter he wrung dat little dagger out’n i your hand?’ “Nothing whatever, Venus; I must have swooned immediately.” “Den, sure’s I's a libin’ sinner, de brain feber doné burned it all out’n your head. And ’deed, ’tain’t Venus as a-gwine to ’stress your feelin’s by tellin’ of you how much hand you had in that business,” said the woman to herself. $ “But you have not told me about Rumford’s death.” “Well, honey, you know how he nad dat dinner party, an’ sat drinkin’, an’ boozin’, an’ singin’ o ’sengs, wid de other riporates, till all hours o’ the night an’ mornin’——” “Yes, yes, I know that; death!” “Lor’, chile, ain’t I comin’ to dat? Well, you see, arter all dat fuss he made ’long o’ you, and arter he twist- ed the dagger out’n your hand, he laid himself back ag’in de wall, he did, aw’ he laughed, an’ laughed, until he hey troat into de hiccups, an’ hev his blood to his head, an’ hev hisself into. an applepesky fit; which he died of it in ’bout twelve hours’ time; an’ which dey do say he ’pented of his sins an’ died prayiu’; hopes ’twas true!” Astrea made no reply; she was si- lent for some time; she could net hear the death or her dreaded enemy thus confirmed without strong, conthcting emotions—joy at the event that re- leased her from an impending fate more horrible than death; compunc- tion for this seemingly selfish joy; and awe at the suddenness of the summens. that had called away his soul— but his | “Cut off even in the blossom of bis sins, Unhousel’d. unanointed, unanneara, No Reckoning made, but sent to his account With all his imperfections on his head.” And when she did speak, it was to change the subject. “I hear the servants talk of the ex- pected arrival of their master’s rela- tions. Who are they?” “Hi honey, how I know who his ’la- tions is? No great things, you may master; a | ‘Thus she had told lie upon lie; s al! L| depend; e' Dey some poor h or o I ain’t gwine to demean myse ‘makin’ no ‘quiries ‘bout. de more ain't ole Aunt Cybele, nor Uncle Saturn. We ‘members how \ | Tonged to de ole set, de Gregors: a” noue ©’ dese poor white herrins fromt — cur yonder, nobody knows where! L right glad marse doctor ordered mo | offin de duty o’ cleanin’ de house for ‘em, an’ ordered me on duty o’ nursin’ of you; cause I had no stomach for no work for ole marse, nor likewise for his ‘Iations.” “Venus, you should not carry your resentment beyond the grave.” “What dat, honey?” “I mean you should not continue to g hate your old master now he is dead. “But I does, chile, an’ I can’t help of j it! An’ I hates him worse dan ranix p'ison. Deret I don’t wish him no harm, dough! "deed don’t I! 1 wishes of him well ‘nough! I hope he goes to | Heben. ’Cause why? ‘Cause you see, | chile, I's such a sinner, an’ can’t pent, | nor mend my ways, dat F do really | "spect how I shall go to de debil my- | self, some day; not dat I think de | debil is half as bad as he’s made out | to be; but still I ’spects to go to him; | an’, ’deed, I shouldn't like to meet ole | marse dere; it would sort 0’ make de place feel worse: so I hopes he did pent an’ go to Heben 3 | “Oh, Venus, how irreverent you j ar r | | What dat, honey?’ “How profane. “Hi, honey, what I jes’ tell you? 1 know it, chile, an’ can’t help of it; dat’s de reason I say I gwine to de | debil.” : | », Venus; Tam sure you will not | be so lost. You will be gathered into the Lord’s fold, some day. And mew, | my kind nurse, I must thank you for | all your devotion to me during my Ub | ne devotion that I truly | saved my life,” said Astrea “Yes, hone didn’t I feteh hrough handsome, dough? | Lors, chile, 1 wouldn't tru soul to sit up ‘long o’ you at my precious self. Why, a single ght but I wouldy’t let de sleepyhead overcome me once, nyther; I drinked green tea till all v blue! an’ it kept my two eyes stretched as if dey had been prop’ open wid straws,” said Venus, with pride and delight. “I kpow it, my dear woman; and £ would repay you with something bet- ter than vain words, if 1 were now | what I once was.” i, honey—what I want wid repay? | I's glad to my heart as you've got well! | And as to your not bein’ what )ou one you's comin’ on to dat same fast!” “What do you mean, Venus?” ou is come to none. First, “Tom yours *bout lyin’ sens un, chile, how f in more way: rine days arter you had been unsensible, you come to four An’ now you's comin’ to your jon!”” j Wisat! Venus?” } “Yes, honey! Dey can’t come dat | game now! Dey can’t pass you off for a ‘latto or a quadroon or other rt o’ ‘roon any longer. You jes’ look youself in de lookin’-glass!”” And so Venus went to the window and opened the shutters, and then lift- | ed the heavy toilet mirror bodily off the dressing table, and lugged it to- | ward the bed. Hitherto the chamber had been “kept in the subdued light most agreeable to the weak vision of an invalid re ing from brain fever. Hitherto, Astrea had not looked in a gla Now, therefore, when she saw her ce reflected in the mirror that Venus t betore her, she uttered a cry of j She had recovered her own com- | plexion! Tler illness, and the sudortics | she had taken, had thrown off, by per- spiration, the false brown that had | tinged the purity of her skin; she was | now as fair as a white camelia; her surprise and delight had also called up a rosy flush to her colorless chee and a brilliant light to her eyes. So that the image now retlected from the | glass was that of her own true, radi- | ant counterane ae | “But my hai he said, snatching | off the little cambrie cap that covered solved to question her. | f; So one morning, after Venus had | brought her breakfast, and seen he | her head. She knew, of course, by ; missing it, that her hair had been shaved off. But she had not refiected ; that it must grow out in its natural color again. It was, therefore, with another thrill of bliss that she looked upon the young growth of fine, soft, ' pale-gold hair that covered her queemty | little head. | “Dere, now, you see, honey—no pass- in’ o’ you off for any sort o” a ‘'reon now!” | “No, I think not, Venus; but I must | write immediately to my friends; for now, at least, Venus, you ean procure for me some writing materials, and | afterwards take my letter to the pest- | office.” | Now, look here, honey, how 1 gwine ; do dat? Every single pen, ink and pa- | per done been gathered up an” loekea , in ole marse secretary, an” a seal as | big as @ dinner plate put om de key- hole; an” as for takin’ 0” @ letter to de _ Mail pos’office, eben s’posin’ you had | anything to write one wid, dat’s out’n de question, "eause all we colored peo- ; ple forbid to leab de place till ole marse’s ‘lations "rive, blame "em! But | howsever, “honey, don’t you ’sturb yourself, if you cam’t write jes now. ‘When de new marse comes, you jes ; tell him all "bout yourself, an’ den, | When he see your fair skim an’ goold | hair, he "blige to b’leeve you, for he | can’t go for to "tend to say now as | You’s @ "ruon,” said Venus, as she took | up the mirror, earried it back and re- | placed it om the dressing table. | Some days passed, and still the ex- | pected relatives had not arrived. ““Haps dey hasn't got money enough to fetch ‘em, de poor white trash,” said Venus. | pista Sel eee Ready for Emergencies. “Oh, look!” said one summer girl to another. There is a horrid man with a camera! I do believe he's trying to suits. Let us run for the bath “That's exactly what he’s trying to. | do!” replied the other. “Let us sit ; down on the sand and keep still. Lt he’s bound to get our pictures any- | way, he might as well get good ones.’* | —Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph. From His Point of View. “Say, Weary, hey you seen the stete- ment thet a lot o’ conyicks is goin* er *cause they hain’t no werk to “What do you think of it?’ “I think it’s a durn, paign lie.”—Cleyeland tae bee get a picture of us in our bathing<” § >» — L Ai, \ : ,= oq . wee)