American fiction -- Southern States; Short stories, American -- Southern States; Southern States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“Le' me take it, Aunt Cornely,” whispered Huldy, loosing the light-wood
from the elder woman's hand and leaving her free. And the next moment
Sammy's left hand was clasped tight in his mother's; he turned his face
round to her broad breast and hid it there; and there he sobbed and shook
as the savage jaws came slowly back.
* * * * *
That strange hour worked a complete revolution in the lives of the little
family in the cabin on The Bench and those in the big, hospitable Pap
Overholt home. Sammy had “met up with” punishment at last; he had
encountered discipline; and the change it wrought upon him was almost
beyond belief. The spell which this winning, wayward, perverse creature had
laid upon Pap Overholt's too affectionate, too indulgent nature was
dissolved in that terrible hour. He was no more to the father now than a
troublesome boy who had been most trying and not very satisfactory. The
ability to wring the hearts of those who wished to benefit him had passed
from Sammy; but it is only fair to say that the wish to do so seemed to be
no longer his. While his arm was still in a sling, before he had yet raised
his shamed eyes to meet the eyes of those about him, Pap Overholt
cheerfully put old Ned and Jerry to the big ox-wagon and bodily removed the
little household from The Bench to the home which had been so long yearning
for them.
Now, at last, he was Pap Overholt indeed. The little Huldy, whose burden of
gratitude for two had seemed to Aunt Cornelia so grievous a one, was a
daughter after any man's heart, and her brood of smiling children were a
wagon-load which Pap John hauled with joy and pride to and from the
settlement, to the circus--ay, every circus that ever showed its head
within a day's drive of Little Turkey Track,--to meetin', to grove
quarterlies, in response to every call of neighborliness, or of mere
amusement.
In the Piny Woods
BY MRS. B. F. MAYHEW
A sparsely settled bit of country in the piny woods of North Carolina. A
house rather larger than its neighbors, though only a “story and a jump” of
four rooms, two upper and two lower, and quite a commodius shed on the back
containing two rooms and a small entry; and when Jeems Henry Tyler
increased his rooms as his family grew, his neighbors “allowed” that “arter
er while he'd make er hotel out'n it.” Several out-houses stood at
convenient distances from the house. A rough board paling enclosed the
yard. A clearing of twenty-five or more acres lay around three sides of the
house, and well-to-do Industry and Thrift plainly went hand in hand about
the place.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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