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THE NORMAL RECORD. to gaze across the fields at the dreary mansion. "Poor old home," he murmured, and his eyes filled with tears. "What a curse this cruel war has been. It has taken from me that which I prized above all things, the love and respect of all I love. Poor father and mother, perhaps even now they will not forgive me," and his face grew sad as he looked down at his battle-stained blue uniform. Suddenly his face brightened. "But Edith will," he thought, "Edith always was a good little girl, God bless her. And Muriel will be glad to see me," and his eyes grew moist again as his thoughts went back to that evening under the magnolias, when Muriel had said "good-bye" to him with tears in her eyes, and had promised always to remember and pray for him, though he did not wear the gray. "Four years ago," he mused, as he resumed his weary walk, "Muriel must be q dte a grown-up lady by this time." He almost involuntarily quickened his pace, and soon turned into the broad avenue leading to the Manor, A feeling of depression came over him as he gazed at the dark pile before him. Not a light was to be seen, save a faint glimmer from the rear of the house. "Can it be— no, they must be spending the evening out," he said to himself as he sprang up the broad steps and pulled the bell. No answer. He pulled again, but no sound came to his ears save the moaning of the wind among the magnolias in the garden. "Probably they are at Roselawn," he said aloud, as if to reassure himself, at the same time hastening around to the rear of the the house. The kitchen door was open, and an old negro woman whom he had never before seen sat dozing beside the dying fire. How lonely she looked to the watcher at the door. When last he had stood there the big kitchen was full of noisy, bustling- workers, each of which, however busy, had always a smile and a cheery word for their favorite "Marse Leigh." Now a stranger sat alone where Aunt Sukey had ruled her sable subjects for so long, and the old kitchen was silent as the garden outside. The watcher stepped inside. "Good evening, Auntie" he said cheerily, though a vague dread of he knew not what was gnawing restlessly at his heart. The old woman turned quickly." Hi! Marse, how you skeered me!" she exclaimed. "Where yo' come f'um?" "Can you tell me if any of the family are at home this evening?" he inquired. "Miss Edif am at Roselawn, but I 'specs she'll be at home d'reckly. Bettah set down an' wait," she answered, eying him curiously all the while. "Are Mr. and Mrs. Howard out, too?" he asked, somewhat unsteadily. "Marster and Missis, suh? Lord, chile, yo" mus be a strangah heah." "I am," he answered, and his face grew pale, "are they not here now?" "Why, bress yore heart, chile, old Marster been gone dis two yeahs. and Missis done gone to France wid Marse Harry an' his wife. Why, what is the mattah wid yo'? Wuz dey fren's o' yore's?" The stranger sat with his arms upon the table and his head bowed upon them. "I knew them once," he said huskily, "goon." "Since de're fren's ob yore's," she said in a patronizing tone "I'specs I bettah tole yo' de 'tire story. Yo' see it wuz dis way. 'Fo' de wah old Marse wuz berry rich, an' folks sez dey wuz gret goin's on heah den. Dat wuz 'fo' I come. I uster live down Souf in Alabama. When Marse Howard wuz down Souf de yeah de wah bruk out he buyed me fo' Miss Edif, an' I stay wid her evah since. When Mistah Linkum made der 'mancipatin' act Miss Edif she say to me, :Nancy, yore free now. Yo' kin go wharevah yo' want, but 'membah yore alius welkum heah, Nancy, if yo' like ter stay;' an' I sez 'Miss Edif, old Nancy don' wan' no 'mancipationin'. Nancy stay heah wid yo' 'slong ez yo' let her.' So heah I am yit, an' I don' know what Miss Edif wud do 'fout ole Nancy to tak keer on her." "Well, ez I remahked, folks say dey uster be gret times heah, but when I come it wuz purty ca'm. Marse Leigh an' Marse Harry had done gone off to de wah, an' Missus sick mos' alius, an' Miss Edif alius gwine roun' wid a sort ob solemn look in her gret brown eyes, an' ole Marse so cross de niggahs skeered to go neah him. Aunt Sukey (she wuz head cook in dem days) tole me how Marse Leigh
Object Description
Title | The Normal Record. March 1901 |
Original Date | 1901-03 |
Description | The Record. Published by the Associated Students of Chico State College. |
Creator | Chico State College |
Location of Original | Archives |
Call Number | LD723 C57 |
Digital Collection | The Record: Chico State Yearbook Collection |
Digital Repository | Meriam Library, California State University, Chico. |
Description-Abstract | The Record served as both a student magazine and a commencement program for Chico Normal School. In the year 1901 it was published every month - excluding the summer months of July and August. |
Date Digital | 2013 |
Language | eng |
Rights | For information on the use of the images in this collection contact the Special Collections Department at 530.898-6342 or email: specialcollections@csuchico.edu |
Format | image/tiff |
Filename | index.cpd |
Description
Title | 1901_03_NormalRecord.010 |
Original Date | 1901-03 |
OCR- Transcript | THE NORMAL RECORD. to gaze across the fields at the dreary mansion. "Poor old home," he murmured, and his eyes filled with tears. "What a curse this cruel war has been. It has taken from me that which I prized above all things, the love and respect of all I love. Poor father and mother, perhaps even now they will not forgive me," and his face grew sad as he looked down at his battle-stained blue uniform. Suddenly his face brightened. "But Edith will," he thought, "Edith always was a good little girl, God bless her. And Muriel will be glad to see me," and his eyes grew moist again as his thoughts went back to that evening under the magnolias, when Muriel had said "good-bye" to him with tears in her eyes, and had promised always to remember and pray for him, though he did not wear the gray. "Four years ago," he mused, as he resumed his weary walk, "Muriel must be q dte a grown-up lady by this time." He almost involuntarily quickened his pace, and soon turned into the broad avenue leading to the Manor, A feeling of depression came over him as he gazed at the dark pile before him. Not a light was to be seen, save a faint glimmer from the rear of the house. "Can it be— no, they must be spending the evening out," he said to himself as he sprang up the broad steps and pulled the bell. No answer. He pulled again, but no sound came to his ears save the moaning of the wind among the magnolias in the garden. "Probably they are at Roselawn," he said aloud, as if to reassure himself, at the same time hastening around to the rear of the the house. The kitchen door was open, and an old negro woman whom he had never before seen sat dozing beside the dying fire. How lonely she looked to the watcher at the door. When last he had stood there the big kitchen was full of noisy, bustling- workers, each of which, however busy, had always a smile and a cheery word for their favorite "Marse Leigh." Now a stranger sat alone where Aunt Sukey had ruled her sable subjects for so long, and the old kitchen was silent as the garden outside. The watcher stepped inside. "Good evening, Auntie" he said cheerily, though a vague dread of he knew not what was gnawing restlessly at his heart. The old woman turned quickly." Hi! Marse, how you skeered me!" she exclaimed. "Where yo' come f'um?" "Can you tell me if any of the family are at home this evening?" he inquired. "Miss Edif am at Roselawn, but I 'specs she'll be at home d'reckly. Bettah set down an' wait," she answered, eying him curiously all the while. "Are Mr. and Mrs. Howard out, too?" he asked, somewhat unsteadily. "Marster and Missis, suh? Lord, chile, yo" mus be a strangah heah." "I am," he answered, and his face grew pale, "are they not here now?" "Why, bress yore heart, chile, old Marster been gone dis two yeahs. and Missis done gone to France wid Marse Harry an' his wife. Why, what is the mattah wid yo'? Wuz dey fren's o' yore's?" The stranger sat with his arms upon the table and his head bowed upon them. "I knew them once," he said huskily, "goon." "Since de're fren's ob yore's," she said in a patronizing tone "I'specs I bettah tole yo' de 'tire story. Yo' see it wuz dis way. 'Fo' de wah old Marse wuz berry rich, an' folks sez dey wuz gret goin's on heah den. Dat wuz 'fo' I come. I uster live down Souf in Alabama. When Marse Howard wuz down Souf de yeah de wah bruk out he buyed me fo' Miss Edif, an' I stay wid her evah since. When Mistah Linkum made der 'mancipatin' act Miss Edif she say to me, :Nancy, yore free now. Yo' kin go wharevah yo' want, but 'membah yore alius welkum heah, Nancy, if yo' like ter stay;' an' I sez 'Miss Edif, old Nancy don' wan' no 'mancipationin'. Nancy stay heah wid yo' 'slong ez yo' let her.' So heah I am yit, an' I don' know what Miss Edif wud do 'fout ole Nancy to tak keer on her." "Well, ez I remahked, folks say dey uster be gret times heah, but when I come it wuz purty ca'm. Marse Leigh an' Marse Harry had done gone off to de wah, an' Missus sick mos' alius, an' Miss Edif alius gwine roun' wid a sort ob solemn look in her gret brown eyes, an' ole Marse so cross de niggahs skeered to go neah him. Aunt Sukey (she wuz head cook in dem days) tole me how Marse Leigh |