BELLS OF HOLFORD.

The Story of a Glad Surprise

on Ghristman Eye.

MONG the passe nger s landed at the Prince's Landing - stage at Liverpool, one biting wintry day, was a tall, broad - shoul-

dered, brownbearded man, He had been a voyager from New York by one of the fine vessels of the White Star line. His face was bronzed by the sun; his hands were large, and showed every trace of hard work. His round soft felt hat, his coloured flannel shirt and bright-coloured silk tie, coupled with his lumbering gait, proclaimed him to be from the Western States of America.

The number of persons who elect to cross the Atlantic in December is not large. It did not take long, therefore, for the newly-landed to clear their luggage at the Customs shed and depart for their several destinations. Our Western friend with the bronzed face and brown beard, after a look about him at the well-known landmarks ,of the Mersey, hailed a cab, and, having seen his luggage duly piled up, ordered the driver to make his way to the North-Western railway station.

It was the 24th day of December, and every one who has travelled on that day knows what a scene of bustle and almost frantic confusion a railway station presents- on Christmas Eve.

Robert Oldroyd, having seen the greater part of his luggage stowed away in the Parcels Office, strolled up and down the main platform with the single handbag he had selected to travel with; but he was unceremoniously pushed from side to side, and once narrowly escaped having his legs knocked from under him by a piled-up truck pushed by a porter, who was utterly unable to see where he was going, and whose monotonous " By yer leave " was the only warning those who were in the way received.

Thinking that the outside of the station would be better than the inside, Robert Oldroyd buttoned up the collar of his travelling coat and faced the cold north-east wind, laden with sharp sleet; but he was soon glad to get under shelter again.

As he turned up the incline, he saw the dainty little figure of a young woman, with an open umbrella in one hand, a cloak upon her arm, and a brown paper parcel, struggling along in front of him. All at once a great gust of wind turned the umbrella inside out, the brown paper parcel fell to the ground, and a comical picture of feminine distress appeared before him. Picking up the paper parcel he restored it to the arms of its owner ;

taking the refactory umbrella he restored it to its normal condition, and was rewarded for both acts by a smile and a thankful look from a pair of bright eyes.

That smile and that glance made such an impression upon our hero, that he wished for another opportunity to earn them over again. He waited in vain, however, for the kindly porter took charge of the parcel and umbrella while the fair owner of them obtained her ticket; and all he could do was to get his own, and trust that she might be going his way.

Fate chanced that this should be the case; nay, more, it found him a seat in the same carriage, and, what is more, in the exact opposite corner to her. When, after settling himself, he ventured to look at the sweet girl, he felt the blood rush to his face as he received the tiniest nod of recognition.

As the train.steamed out of Liverpool and reached the open country, all was white with the snow that had fallen heavily two or three days previously. Every now and then the wind blowing across its surface raised up a cloud of its bright glittering particles, which lodged on the ledges of the windows and sometimes hid the prospect. Even the grimy surroundings of the mouths of the various coal pits were hidden, and the huge wheels at the summits of the shafts seemed to have a touch of poetry hanging about them. ; ..:■

For a long time Robert Oldroyd could not muster up courage to say a word to his pretty little vis-avis. He looked at her once or twice in a very bashful way, and when she was not looking in his direction. Then he saw how really pretty she was.

Soon the outskirts of Manchester were reached the snow vanished as if by magic, and the dull lights of the gas-lamps, burning dimly through the shades of the darkening afternoon, showed how sloppy and dirty the streets were.

He wondered very much if his interesting companion would leave him at that stage of the journey. The compartment was very full, but to him there was but one present in it. As the train drew up at the platform, she showed signs of making ready to alight.

' Will you please let the window down for me ?' she said, as the train stopped. Are you going to get out ?' he asked. 'No; but I expect to meet a young lady here. And Ido hope I shall see her, there is such a crowd.' She looked anxiously about. Then, suddenly clapping her hands excitedly, she called out:

' There she is ! Mary, Mary —here I am !'

Mary soon discovered where the voice came from, and was not long before she was seated beside her friend.

' Oh, isn't it nice that we have found each other ?' said Mary's friend.

' Yes, dear, it is; but if I had missed you here, I should have been sure to meet you at Holford, for I daresay we shall be the only passengers to get out there, 1 Mary replied.

She was older than her friend, with a calm, grave face; and there was a world of truth and fearlessness in her large blue eyes. Her light auburn hair was carefully tucked away beneath a trim but pretty bonnet, except a stray curl which would peep out. Clad in a thick cloak, trimmed with black fur, she looked warm, comfortable, and self-reliant.

Robert Oldroyd, when he heard the name of the station to which the two girls were bound, gave a start. Holford was also his destination. But it was fifteen years since he left that place; and great changes must have taken place there during that time.

Full of feminine confidences, the two girls conversed in low tones, with an occasional rippling laugh. They did not pay much attention to the great bearded man in front of them. Once, when Blue-eyes Hashed a glance in his direction, it seemed to awake in

him the memory of some far-off time, and he leant back pondering this in his mind. The train sped on its way, stopping now and again at wellremembered places, until at last it got on to the open Yorkshire country, the wind whistling as the engine rattled along.

'The next station is ours, dear,' said Blue-eyes. ' I expect we shall have a cold walk across the moor. I do not suppose any one will meet us, for I was not able to say what train I could come by, and I did not like to bring father out this weather on account of his rheumatism.' ' That does not matter, dear; we have not much to carry, and it is quite fine now,' replied Brown-eyes. ' I am going to get out at Holford,' said our hero, with just a dash of American accent in his speech, ' and if I can be of any help to you young ladies; I shall be glad. May I ask which way you are going ?' ' We are going to the Grange Cot' tage,' said Blue-eyes. Robert Oldroyd gave a very perceptible start, which the two girls did not notice. For some minutes he was silent, and, had not his mouth been hidden by his thick moustache, they might have seen his lips quiver. After a short pause he said : ' Well, I am going in that direction, so with your permission I will accompany you, and if there is anything I can do, you may command me.' Blue eyes looked fixedly at him for a moment, and, content with her scrutiny, said: 'Thank you. It is dark, and if it is not taking you out of your way, we shall be glad of your escort.' Brown-eyes said nothing, but shot a mischievous glance at him, and, with j a little self-conscious blush, our hero was fain to turn his own away for a moment. He busied himself getting together the various belongings, and found that the brown paper parcel he

had before rescued belonged to Rose Wilson, and the further address on its label was " Grange Cottage."

Robert Oldroyd's eyes swam as he looked at it. The train, however, slowed and slopped, so he was fain to stir himself, and ere long the three found themselves on the little station platform. The stationmaster, when he saw them, raised his lamp.

' Why, bless me, it's you, Miss Mary ! I was told to look out for you.'

' Yes, here I am once more coming home to spend Christmas. And I have not forgotten you, Mr. Simpson. Here's a present for you.'

Mary dived into a pocket of her cloak and brought out a little paper parcel. ' These will keep your fingers warm on cold nights. I made them myself.'

' Bless your pretty face and good heart! Give my best wishes to I' owd folks at home. Shall I show you a light a bit o' the way ? You're going the same road as these lasses, sir?' he added, as the light fell on our hero.

On receiving a reply in the affirma tive, he went on :

• Then mebbe you'll see 'em safe across the wold ?' • :

' I will see them safely on their way,' said Robert.

As he spoke the old man gazed at him curiously, as if in his voice he heard an echo of long ago, and he stood looking at them long after they had left the station-yard, and till their dark figures could no longer be discerned against the white background.

It was a nasty night. The violence of the wind had somewhat abated, but it blew in strong fitful gusts, and the snow, which was again falling in thick flakes, was at such times blinding. In the darkness it was difficult to keep to the pathway, for it was quite hidden

from view, and the hollows were filled up with drifted snow, so that every now and then the travellers found themselves almost up to their knees. They laughed at first; but after a while it became wearisome—laden, as the party were, with their personal belongings.

Our hero relieved the young ladies of their parcels, and, tying them both to his handbag, slung them across his shoulder. After they had plodded on their way for about a mile, our hero remarked :

' There's not been much alteration about these parts lately, has there ?' ' No, not much,' said Mary. •Then a little further on we should come to Burn Hollow. 1 1 Yes. You know these parts, I see.' Our hero stopped and, locked very earnestly ahead.

' Stay a moment,' he said. 'We must be careful, or we shall come to grief. If lam not mistaken, the snow has drifted into the Burn Hollow, arid filled it up level with the path. I will go first; you follow behind me.' On he went, feeling his way with his stout stick, and stopping every now and then to listen. After one of these stoppages he said, very quietly : ' The burn ! I can hear it!' And in the lull of the wind the noise of splashing water could be easily heard. Cautiously he went forward, and then he began to find the ground sink from, under him. Stamping the snow well down as he went on, he came to what he knew was there—a running stream ot water—which went plough-

ing its way, but which was almost hidden by a sort of shed of frozen snow which had formed over it—a very dangerous spot to an unguarded traveller.

Very anxiously the girls watched him. The darkness, the lateness of the hour, and the snow made them both feel nervous. Visions of having to spend the night on the bleak moor rose in, their minds, for they knew that if the burn were high there would be not only difficulty, but positive danger in crossing it.

Encouraging them with a few words, he went on. When he realised the extent of the difficulty, Robert did not take long to make up his mind what to do. Taking off his thick greatcoat, he insisted upon wrapping it round the two girls, whom he made to sit down with their backs to the wind. There had been but little frost, and the result was that the water of the burn had risen considerably through the melting snow. He found that it was not less than two feet deep in the middle, and about six feet wide. How to get the girls across was his difficulty. It was of no use trying to find the planks, which lay somewhere under the snow.

'There is only one way to get them across, and that is to carry them,' he said to himself, with a grim, but not altogether dissatisfied smile.

Wading it once, and beating down the snow on the other side to give him a firm footing, he returned, and somewhat awkwardly put the case :

1 There is only one way to get over to-night, and that's for me to carry you.'

At first the prospect of being taken up in the arms of a strange man did not seem very pleasing to Mary. The possibility, however, of having to spend a night on the moor, while a

bright fire and a home-welcome lay on the other side of the burn, was an alternative that was not enticing. With another of her searching looks at the face of Robert Oldroyd—which, however, she could see but dimly in the dark—she allowed him to take her up in his arms. Slowly and cautiously Robert made his way down the slippery slope, through the rushing water ; and up on the other side, when she gave a little joyful cry that she was "awreet,"and warned Rose that it was her turn.

Our hero soon stood before Rose. She felt she was blushing furiously as he looked at her, and was thankful for the darkness that hid her blushes.

Very gently our hero lifted her up. She was a feather-weight compared with Mary, She was like a child in his arms. She felt safe enough, and her head rested confidingly on his shoulder.

The journey across was soon accomplished, and the trio resumed their walk across the wold.

' Oh, how wet you must be !' Mary said, after a moment or so.

She was very grateful in her heart, but she did not quite know how to express her thanks. Here was a perfect stranger putting himself to all this inconvenience ! Never mind; he should be thanked at the cottage.

Both the girls had much the same thoughts running through their minds. Rose fancied him a peifect hero : had he not twice that day come to her assistance ?

1 There are the lights of the cottage!' said Mary, laying her hand on our hero's arm.

He had seen them long before with his keen eyesight—seen the lantern, on the top of a pole, being waved as a guide-light, and his heart beat wildly at the sight.

Right up to the door of the cottage the three walked.

A warm and loving welcome awaited Mary, and one scarcely less so was meted out to her friend Rose.

Our hero stood in the little doorway taking in the whole scene, and moisture rose involuntarily to his eyes.

A very few words from the grave and practical Mary explained his presence.

With true Yorkshire hospitality he was pressed to stay. His wet clothes must be dried—the snow was again falling fast—he was right welcome— and why need he go farther? He consented; for was there not the winning face of Rose, whose eyes said as plainly as possible 'Stay'?

Somehow he did not seem out of place or in the way in the Christmas Eve gathering around the fireplace.

In the chimney-corner sat the whitehaired father, long past work, and living on a well-earned pension from the proprietor of the Grange, in whose service he had spent the best part of his life as gamekeeper. Opposite to him, a little out of the ruddy glow of the huge fire, sat the mother, her snowy hair tucked away under a while cap j next her sat Mary, and next father sat Rose, holding his wrinkled hand. Robert Oldroyd had, thererore, the middle place, right in front of the fire, between the two girls. It is needless to relate all the conversation during the couple of hours they sat there waiting to hear the bells of the church in the valley ring in once again the " day of peace and good will among men." But it was not possible for them to sit thus without Robert letting fall some hint of his having led a somewhat adventurous life. It was just about half-past eleven that he ventured to say, ' If y v would like to know something of my life, I will tell it to you.' In the strong ruddy glow of the fire, while waiting for the Christmas bells to ring, he began. He told them how, about fifteen years ago, he ran away from home, a wilful, headstrong lad ; how he had made his way to Hull, got on board a ship, and sailed away to Australia—then across the Pacific Ocean to California, and at last into Colorado; how, after a spell of cattle-raising and cowboy life, he went with some bold spirits up into the Rocky Mountains, where, after much hardship and privation, they had at last struck a vein of silver ore, which had in years of working made him a rich man.

Several times when Robert had been telling his story Mary looked quickly from his face to her mother's, and a troubled look settled upon her own. To Rose, our hero swelled into a hero of the first water. She listened to him with breathless attention as he described some of his mountain adventures ; and grave as were his tones, and serious as was the look on his face, he yet noted the bright eyes fixed upon him, the parted rosy red lips disclosing the pearly teeth behind them.

1 And so you've come back ?' said the old man, in a tremulous voice, after a moment's pause.

'Yes, I've come back to atone for years of silence and neglect to an old white-haired father and mother.

Very slowly he said this. As he finished there came a deep sob from the old lady, whose hands involuntarily stretched out towards him.

1 Mother, don't you know your boy?' said Robert, flinging himself at her feet.

What a scene that was for a little while! The individual feelings of the group it would be impossible to describe. How long the fond mother would have kept her arms tightly clasped around the neck of her longabsent son it is impossible to say, if a well-remembered sound had not broken upon her ears. Rising from his knees, Robert Oldroyd put his arm around his mother, gently raised her, and led her to the open door, where the rest followed him to listen to the bells, as, borne over the wintry fields, they rang out their merry peal.

' My boy's come buck to me again!' she whispered to herself, in unison with their cadence 'My boy's come back to me again !'■

What a Christmas that was ! The whole neighbourhood seemed to make it a cause for rejoicing.

Mary said ' she felt from the first as if he were no stranger.'

Rose confided to her friend that he was 'a perfect darling.'

What a holiday time it was! Neither of the girls went back to their situations. Robert would not allow them.

One day, not many weeks into the new year, Robert took Rose for a walk, and when they returned he led her straight up to his mother and asked her to welcome a new daughter.

When the spring-time came again there was a wedding at the little church in the valley, and Rose Wilson became Rose Oldroyd.

The honeymoon trip was to Denver City, where Robert was for some time engaged in realising his mining properties, with a view of buying the Grange estate, which was in the market.

The old folk declare, however, they will not leave their cottage; but it

has been enlarged and made luxurious, and the old mother's great delight— on a warm summer evening-is to sit with her little work table by her side, and surrounded by the. foliage, bloom, and fragrance of her tiow extensive garden, while Robert —in almost tropical attire in order to make it look more real—recounts again and again his formeradventures and escapes while for so many years far away from the sound of the Bells of Holfprd.