Ole Mammy's Torment

A wealthy city family by the name of Haven owned it now. It was open only during the summer months. The roses that Mistress Alice had set out with her o

fences, around the tree-trunks and over trellises, until the p

her flat-irons busy with their endless tucks and ruffles. She found a good market, too, for all the

t of fresh eggs in her hand, looking anxiously across the f

clothes done up by night if I stop my i'onin', an' John Jay's done lit out again! little black rascal!" She lifted up her voic

nting voice. "I was jus' turnin'

"Take these aigs ovah to Miss Hallie," she ordered, "and mind you be

ad kept scratching his right shoulder with his left hand; not that there was any need to do so, but it gave him an excuse for ho

t roundabout route. Now, instead of following the narrow footpath that made a short cut t

s'

ing look on his face. John Jay had come past the toll-gate with a hope of seeing the "Rev'und Gawge," as he called him. It had been three weeks since the man had come home, and in that time John Jay's interest in him had grown into a sort of hero-worship. There had been a great deal of talk ab

xcuse for coming, touched him greatly. To all who came he spoke freely of his hopes. Realizing that he might have but the one opportunity, he talked as only a man can talk who feels t

he title almost with awe. It seemed to set him apart in the child's reverent affection as one who had come up out of great tribulation to highest honor. Old Sheba had not cuffed her grandson to church every week in vain. He had heard a great deal about white robes and palms of victory and "him that overc

red enough to rest a while. So he sat down on a log in a shady fence corner, and took a green apple from his pocket. He rolled it around in his hands and over his face, enjoying its tempting odor before he stuck his little white teeth into it. Th

s never opened of late years, except at long intervals, when some one came out from the city to hold services. But the side door w

was dim and cool inside, with only the light that could sift through the violet and amber of the stained glass windows; but in one, the big one at the end, was the figure of a snowy dove, with

howing in every feature the refining touch of a noble spirit. His mournful eyes seemed looking i

llicking kind, that put his feet to jigging and every muscle in his body quivering in time. This made him want to cry; yet it was so sweet and deep and tender as it went rolling softly down the aisles, tha

rward on the organ a while, with his head bowed on his arms. Then he straigh

own the hill to the log where he had left his basket, it was with the sickening certainty that some evil had befallen the eggs. He was afraid to look for fear of finding a mass of broken shells strewn over the ground. It was with a feeling of surpris