Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 36 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Boy Clown. 11 ‘‘ Lor’s, yes,” replied Dinah, rising, ‘‘ but I didn’t pay no heed toit, But whar did you come across de gal?” ‘‘ She was a-lyin’, sweet and pretty, along- side of the brook, and she looked so help- less that I was boun’ to save her, even if I got sizzled myself.” ‘‘ You’s a Christian, Pete; bress your brack skin, You did what de good Lor’ tole us to do. He said, when we did good to one on his children, we was doin’ it to him, Scriptur’ says it better, but you know what it means,” ** Yes, Dinah, and don’t Scriptur’ tole us to love one another?” _ ‘Well, I’m sure I allus tried to; don’t I Pete?” ‘You may try to, but you don’t allus do it. Don’t you ‘member how I wanted to make you my wife, and you said you could- n’t love me well enough for dat?” ‘*T didn’t know you was a Christian, den, coz you didn’t exhort at the camp-meetin’; but I wouldn’t refuse you now.” So Pete was an accepted lover of the dark Dinah, and they both did all that lay in their power to restore the young sufferer to consciousness, At last Jessie rewarded their endeavors by opening her eyes and looking around, ‘Don’t you be afeard, miss; you’s in good hands,” said the thoughtful Dinah. ‘‘ Pete, here, found you on de brookside, and toted you home.” ‘‘Tg Henry here?” exclaimed Jessie, ‘‘ Who does you mean, miss?” ‘A young boy who was with me in the woods. I fainted away, and when I came to myself he was gone.” ‘‘Then, he mus’ be cl’ar burned up, for de woods blazes as though de drefful day ob judgment was come,” said Pete. ‘‘Oh! cannot some one go and save him?” pleaded Jessie. ‘It would be a temptin’ o’ Providence to rush into dat fiery furnace,” answered Pete. “Then you ought to have left me there, too,” said Jessie. ‘‘Tt’s cl’ar wickedness to talk so, honey. Remember, dar’s one who holds us in de holler ob his hand,” said the pious Dinab. ‘‘Was de young man your brudder?” asked Pete. ‘‘No; he was only a friend, but he was a sincere friend. We both belonged to a cir- cus; but there was a bad man said he was my father, and was going to carry me off, so we ran away together to escape from him.” ‘* You was naughty children to b’long to a circus; you was naughtier still to run away wid a boy, and it’d sarve him right to be suffumcated,” burst forth from the excited Dinah. ‘Dar, now, Dinah, dat isn’t Christian feelin’,” broke in Pete, ~“Wal, Lor’ forgive me; I’s sorry,” and Dinah threw her colored apron over her head. At this moment, the kitchen door opened, and a handsome, middle.aged lady, dressed in deep mourning, entered. The sable ser- vants made their “respects” to her, and re- peated Jessie’s story. The lady listened, with astonishment. ‘‘ My poor child,” she said, taking Jes- sie’s hand and drawing her to her side, “‘yours has, indeed, been a rough path for one so young; but, here you may rest, safe, I think, from pursuit, while we see what can be done toward finding your young com- panion.” “Oh! dear lady, you are indeed kind; but, alas! I fear that harm has _ befallen Henry, and he was so good, so kind and brave!’ and Jessie covered her face and wept bitterly. Under the soothing words and kindly ca- resses of the good lady of the mansion, who persisted in asserting that a young and active man had no need to perish in the forest, and, therefore, that Henry must still be alive and safe, Jessie gradually recovered, and was soon able to give Mrs. Atkins, for such was the lady’s name, a more detailed account of all that had happened, than the simple-minded negroes had done. ‘‘ A strange story, my child,” said Mrs. Atkins, aloud; and then turning slightly away, while a look of deep sadness stole over her face, she murmured: ‘* How like is her sweet face to that dear one we have lost.” The more Mrs, Atkins regarded Jessie, and it seemed that it was impossible that she could refrain from doing so, the stronger some impres:ion, or belief, seemed to fasten itself upon her mind, She made the young girl repeat the story of her early life more than once again, and plied her with questions as to her earliest memories, These were few and faint and seemed to afford the lady no light upon a subject that she was evidently much interested in. While this was going on in Mrs, Atkins’s own room, for thither they had gone, Pete and Dinah were engaged, in the kitchen, in spirited debate, Dinah, as usual, doing most of the talking. "Fore de goodness grashious, Pete, I ‘clar’ it most took my bref wheu I fust see dat chile. She so much favor our Miss Liz- zie what’s dead and gone,” said Dinah, who was busy at the dough-trough. ‘Dar! I done know’d I hab see some- body dat gal look like. You’s tole de trufe dis time, shua. Golly! she like ’nough to be our young misses’ own darter, and, Di- nah,”—here Pete’s voice sunk to a low, mysterious tone, and he leaned over toward his sable sweetheart—'‘‘ you knows Miss Liz- zie had a little pickKaninny what got losted.” ‘Lor’, Pete! s’posen’ dis gal was—” ‘‘Hush, Dinah; missus heah you, and den de debble of a bobbery be raised,” said the cautious Pete, ‘*My child,” said Mrs. Atkins, after she had exhausted all questions, ‘‘you are strangely like one who was very dear to me, and who now sleeps peacefully beneath the sod! My only child, who went away and died among strangers. She left a child, a daughter, as we ascertained, who, if she be alive, would be of your age, My heart goes out to you asit has never done to an- other since she left us, and the dead seems to speak to me through your voice. Stay with me here. Your home shall be a hap- py one after the trials and hardships of your life, and, should it prove that the se- cret promptings of my heart are false, you shall still always find in me a true friend.” These words, while they astonished Jes- sie no little, were, nevertheless, very sweet to her, and she might have been completely happy, but for the terrible suspense that hung around the fate of her young friend,! Henry. CHAPTER IX. THE PLANTER’S HOME, Tuat little gleam of light was to Henry as a guiding star, and with his eyes fixed hopefully upon it, he pushed forward, now and then stumbling, it is true, and some- times bumping his head severely against pendent stalactites or projecting corners, but, all the time nearing the end of his wearisome journey. | The outlet, for such it proved to be, was at Jast reached, and, climbing over the great rock that lay just within, he emerged to find himself upon the very brink of a wide and swiftly-flowing river. Above his head, and upon either hand, the fire raged, and even where he stood the air occasionally felt hot and stifling. The boy’s ready wit at once showed him the only mode of escape. He must go thence by water, and as he was a good swimmer, he at once prepared for the ven- ture. Removing his shoes and jacket, he made them into a compact bundle, which he fastened securely upon his shoulders, or, rather, back, aud thus watching until a log,f of which there were many ‘afloat, should pass near enough in, he finally fixed upon one, and, entering the water, struck boldly out from shore. He soon reached the drift, and after several attempts, succeeded in getting astride of it, and in this manner he floated down the stream, safe at least from all danger of perishing by fire from the burning forest. The log floated steadily—that is, without rolling—and, presently, after rounding a curve in the stream, he saw with delight that he was nearing the outer limits of the conflagration. Below the bend, the wood became less dense, gradually growing more and more sparsely, and, after a little while, ceased al- together, and the broad, open cotton-fields lay upon either side. The young voyager now began to think of landing; and, casting his eye about on the surface of the water, he was fortunate enough to discover a short stick floating within reach of his hand. This he secured, and using it asa paddle, he slowly turned the head of his raft shore- ward, and gradually worked himself in. | When within a rod or so of the bank, a clear, strong voice hailed, and, glancing up, Henry saw a young man, probably about his own age, standing near the edge of the water intently regarding his movements. _ “ Boat ahoy!” shouted the stranger. ‘‘ Be the powers! but will yees be afther tellin’a feller the name iv that craft, an’ where the devil ye are bound to?” “I’m bound for that bank there,” called Henry, laughing; ‘‘but my propelling pow- EomiGchbooks-co