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Part I Five Generations Hence Edited and Annotated by Karen Kossie-­ Chernyshev The signature on the title page is Horace’s. Five Generations Hence By Mrs. LiLLian B. Jones1 3 Printed By dotson-Jones P tG. co.2 Fort WortH, — texas 1916 to My devoted Friend Miss MaMie G. Jones,3 WHose Love and aPPreciation oF tHis LittLe Book Makes its PuBLication PossiBLe, it is LovinGLy dedicated By tHe au tHor coPyriGHted 1916 By Mrs. LiLLian B. Jones contents chapter i An Autumn Afternoon chapter ii The Vision chapter iii Covet the Best Things chapter iv Just a Woman’s Heart chapter v The Call to Service chapter vi Five Generations Hence chapter vii Life’s Rugged Way chapter viii What Love Can Do chapter ix Love Died Amid the Whisp’ring Pines chapter x They Will Come, Yet a Little While, and They Will Come chapter xi The Message Delivered chapter xii Time Must Tell chapter xiii A Little Child Shall Lead Them chapter xiv Cupid Returns chapter xv The Thing That Hurt chapter xvi Continue the Story chapter xvii Happy, Yes, Quite Happy Chapter I An Autumn Afternoon ’Twas early in November in the year 1899,1 one of those bright glorious autumns that strike the heart of an individual but once in a lifetime; other beauteous seasons may come and go, and to another appear as lovely, but to one mind some form or color, some scene or association stamps itself indelibly upon the heart and forms a milestone in the journey of life. Events are reckoned from that season, that time of unparalleled grandeur, when pictures of spring fade into a vast monotony of green as compared with the rich coloring of the dying year. Never had the trees been so gorgeously arrayed in their robes of many colors; never had the skies looked bluer or the clouds more dazzlingly white, never had prince more royal burial robes than the stately sumacs and oak. The pecans and walnuts, though less favored in colorand symmetry, drooped modestly beneath their burdens that delight the eye in anticipation of pleasure in a more substantial way. Fields of purpling flowers interspersed with red, white and gold swayed gently in the fickle south breeze that wafted the weird trilling of the little birds singing their songs of farewell. Even the bramble, that scorned and vengeful fellow gloating in his elaborate paraphernalia, bedecked the wire fencing in yellow, brown and black. The tall grass that a few months previous had shone in the distance like emerald beneath the sun’s rays now lay brown and parched, furnishing a home for the timid little cottontail that burrowed in its soft bed, covered with dry twigs. The partridge, too, found a hiding place there when startled from his whistling in search of his comrades. The sky and the earth, every bush and bough displays to the eye that unrivalled splendor that adorns the landscape when Winter is hastening in the footsteps of Autumn, and Nature, that most artistic of artists, flings upon the canvas of time a parting scene and pauses an instant to show as it were that the grandest, the most illustrious display has been 18 Lillian Jones Horace kept till the last to overwhelm the mind in that deep reverence for God in nature that lingers though the dreary winter’s blast till the coming of the springtime. Oneof these bright, bonnydays the pupils of the Spotted Oak School in the little town of __________, away down in Texas, implored Miss Noble, their teacher, to take them for a ramble in the woods; they were eager for a romp in the crisp November air, and if perchance the beauty of sunny skies and floating clouds were lost upon these dusky little sons and daughters of Ham,2 it is certain the black and red haws, wild plums and muscadines were not. Their mouths watered, their little bright eyes sparkled as visions of the various autumn goodies that could be got with no trouble save the getting, danced before them, and each little brown hand shot upward to lend its owner’s vote to the desired half holiday. “Oh! do let’s go, Miss Noble,” cried a hitherto-­ timid eight-­ year girl. “It will be such fun.”3 “We can finish our work before we go,” cried studious little Tommy. “We will gather you some plums to make jelly,” urged Freddie, whose half-­eaten biscuit and jelly had been confiscated at an...


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