Cap’n Brackett’s grim old countenance softened. “Oh, aye,” he said. “She’d forgiven him before. She warned me when we started on the cruise to watch over him.” He filled and lighted his ancient pipe again, then softly finished: “She’s gone, long since. But our daughter looks very like her now.”
Ben Ames Williams.
WHEN BREATHITT WENT TO BATTLE
“Bloody” Breathitt has been exempted from the draft. So prompt and general was the response of her fighting men to the call for volunteers, that her quota is more than filled. There is no need of conscription. Thus does the outlaw mountain county of Kentucky vindicate herself in the eyes of the world, mocking those who would shame her with a record more fanciful than true.
—News Item.
Breathitt was at peace.
As the Cumberland sun climbed over the eastern hills, bringing the rugged flush of morning to each crag and ridge and peak, a travel-worn rider, astride an even more worn mare, drew up at the stile in front of a four-room log cabin. On the rider’s smooth, strong features were marks of a sleepless night, emphasized by a tense foreboding. As he stopped, his mare heaved a shuddering sigh of exhaustion and lowered her head in weary relief; the man bent one booted leg over the pommel of his saddle, and with an expression of pity gazed at the cabin for some moments before he called.
“Hallo!” There was no response from within the chinked walls; only the snarl of a cur, that skulked near the rickety porch, and the lonesome tinkle of a cowbell from the barn lot.
Again, “Hallo!” This time, after half a minute, the heavy front door opened on its wooden hinges and a mountaineer, with untrimmed, grizzled mustache, stepped out into the morning sunshine.
“Wal, if hit ain’t Lawyer Todd—howdy!” The old man’s face glowed with cordiality as he approached the stile.
“Git off yer mare and come in, lawyer,” he invited. “We’ve jest ate, but Lizzie’ll have ye some breakfast in a jiffy. Leave yer critter right thar and come on in.”