LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 4400, 1 June 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

♦» I PBTEB, OB THE TALH OF A DOG. ]

{London Sotf'rty.) Somewhere, in Eogland or in Dreamland^* there was occe a little town by the sea. How 'the place ever got itself built or inhabited ia *'■ anystery. It was so lonely, so far from any 1 ■other dwellings of men, so completely hidden,. - that one might walk along the cliffs quite unconscious of it, till suddenly one reached a. -steep descent, and looked down on the square ■ gray tower and long roof of a church, built half way up the cliff-side ; and below that again on the red roofa heaped together, and the fishing-boats moored by the little quay, •omatimes torn from their moorings and dashed against the rocks in high tide, which threatened .to wash away the village altogether. But all this may have been ' fifty years ago. Since then the place has been discovered by the English ■- of this country ; a coach runs to it from the town fifteen miles off ; thoae who can never let anything alone have built a pier, a breakwater, an hotel, and even two or three villas. The little port has been made unromantically safe for the fishing-boats ; a few bathingmachines are to be seen on the sands in the .Bummer. A hundred years hence Herrings* hole will have •become another Torquay, and may even have changed its uncouth "bid name for Bennettßville, in memory of Mr Bennett, who built the pier and the breakwater, and — bad luck to him !— restored the church. The place has even now lo?t all its interest; no person 'of taste cares for it any more, except Cecilia, who declares she will always love it better than anywhere else in the world. With some people association is - everything. ■ I know one lady who has the > tesdereßt feelings towards the large hall at Jiustoii' Station,, and a gentleman who in his happiest dreams fancies himself on the etaircas9 of a co-operative store. Cecilia Latham was a eirl of large fortune,, and entirely her own mistress. She was handsome, with a certain hanghty stiffness of look i and manner which her friends regretted ; for they knew that it frightened many charming • people, who were not dear-sighted enough to discover the real gentleness, underneath. As soon as Cecilia found herself independent — her parents had both died when she was a child — she took possession of her aunt, Mrs Grey, a poor dull woman in bad health, for whose daughter Mary she had a sincere friendship. Theso three lived together for •sereral years, daring which Mrs Grey,who had faded gradually in a life of snubbing and neglect, was petted and coddled and strengthened till she began *to grow fat and rosy, and even to develop a will and opinions of her own. Every autumn they went to some place •iy the sea, and Mrs 'Grey never found herself »jo welloraohappyasatHerringshol ,a late discovery, where there were no smart people to fidget and molest her. But a very sad thing happenedat Herringshole. Cecilialost her favourite dog, her Skye-terrier Peter, dearest and most devoted of animals. He disappeared at the end of their first visit to the place, and no trace of him could bo' discovered, though his mistress advertised for months. Either he had been stolen, or some unknown accident had put an end to him. Just before this event the three ladies had agreed that Herlingshole ir its freedom and picturesqueness was quite charming, and that they would come again next year. But after Peter's loss Cecilia never mentioned the piace, and Mary, who reflected all ber feelings faithfully, would not for the world have reminded her of it. It was thereforo something ef a shock to hoth girls when, one summer aftornoon at tea, "tors Grey looked up and paid, " Where aro we going this year, Cecy ? Do you still think of Herringshole, or have you changed your mind ? I never enjoyed myself so much anywhere." Ifary started and frowned at her mother, who «at quite unconscious of these warnings. •• Didn't you, aunt Sarah ?" said Cecilia gently, " very well ; snppoeo we go there again." " Nothing could be more delightful," said Mr* Gray, with satisfaction. Bhe went on talking about Herringshole for the next half hour. After wards Mary reproached her ; but Cecilia in her turn reproached Mary, and said, " You know- 1 like to spoil your mother, Mary, -and it would be very selfish to let poor Peter's ■ memory keep one away from Herriogshole. It ; is a dear little place, and I shall like to see it again. Do you remember that lovely dip in the down?, that green ■ basin, where we used to sit with a three-cornered piece of sea sparkling in front of us, and those rocks all purple with wild thyme ? Yes, I shall be glad to go again." " But, oh," said Mary, "that was thevery place where we first missed Peter !" " I remember," said Cecilia, " perhaps we shall find him there." Mary shook her head and smiled. Months afterwards ber cousin told h»r of a strange dream she had had, from -whioh Bhe had woke up with a strong desire to see Herringshole again, the Tory night before Mrs Grey suggested it. They travelled to the place by easy stages, Teaching it in the .afternoon. The day was cloudless, the sea an almost purple blue, gently heaving the .fishing boats that hovered here and there. The little pier and quay were in their usual state of fishy sleepiness. Cecilia and Mary set off about five o'clock on their old. favourite walk. They, climbed the stone steps from the village street, and then followed the narrow path under the churchyard wall, which led them out on the face of the green cliff, a steep aßoent, till they reached its far-spreading table-lend. They were lather silent,- for they were both thinking of Peter, who had been such a constant delight and anxiety on this particular walk, and many like it. The green hollow that Cecilia had talked of lay about a, quarter of a idle, as the .crow flies, from Herringshole. There, last year, one might have fancied oneself a hundred miles from any dwellings of man. 2fo living thing was to be seeo there, eccept perhaps a goat picking his way over the recks, or a white seagull slowly winging across the glitter'iDg foreground ef sea. But now, as the two girls approached the hollow, walking noiselessly over the soft turf, they heard a Atrangg sound. They paused — " the/trowel's tall ■ XTpon the stone, a thin noise ipx away;" 41 Oh, Cecy, what is that? It can't be—,"' negan Mary. Her cousin touched her arm and stopped her. She was herself listening, with her head a little bent and a look of in- . tense surprise, the colour slowly deepening all ; over her face. "It is most extraordinary," she said in a low voice ; and then. she hurried on, and Mary hurried to keep paco with her. They soaa reached the plaeo— from which they could look down into their green lonely hollow. It was groen and lonely no longer. It was full of carte and lime and ladders and squared stones, and all the confusion of building. The foundations of a large house, its walls some feet above the ground,dilled up all the wide soft basin where the girls had. sat last year, feeling safe in Nature's arms somehow, with her shelving green wall on throe rides, and her broad shinisg sea filling up the fourth, and her safe calm sky overhead. Nothing left now but the sky; for even the sea seemed spoilt by low walls and terraced gardens, which were being laid out facisg it, where the ground fell away to the edge of th« steep cliffs. The houso was being built in an old-fashioned form, three sides of a square, the fourth tide open to the sea. Cecilia stood gazing at this with odd, incredulous eyes. She did not join in Mary's exclamations of horror and abuse of tho Goths who could have dreamt of building in such a sacred loneliness. "People do dream of funny things sometimes," she said at last j " let us go down and look at it:" Only two or three men were there, fitting tho stones together in the wall. Whoever the builder was, he plainly meant to make a solid building* against which the winter storms of Herringsholo might blow their strongest. Stepping among planks and heaps of rubbish, Cecilia and her cousin made their way into the square court of the house, where* they could sea the whole plan of it. Sven Mary forgot her indignation in tracing out the rooms ; and Cecilia, who had sometimes wished to build a house herself, looked about her with an interest in which there waa no indignation at all. "We enjoyed the placo last year," she said; "now it is somebody else's turn." "But his turn will be an unfairly long one," slid Mary* "how philosophical you are." I think, somehow, I must have expected it," said Cecilia; "are things ever the earn o two years running? I never find them to " As they stood thera amoDg the rising walls they were quite unconscious of boirg watched by anybody ; for the masons worked quietly on, not oven turning tbeir head?, and coming down from the cliff they had seen no one else about the place. But they were not so entirely alons as they fancied themselves. A young man, with a sketch-book in his hand, had strolled up from the direction of the sea, and seem? them in the coutt had himself on ono of tho low, half-built

terrace walls of the garden, seemingly to wait till they had finished their inspection and -gone away. He was an odd figure, almost scrubby in his dresi, his face and handß and straw hat all burnt to a rich brown. Ho might have been a wandering artist, or any other irresponsible member of society ; for one thing was plain about him, that, though perhaps in an irregular fashion, he was a person whom society would not disclaim. Looking with an idle curiosity at the strangers, he saw two well-dreised girls, one of them tall, fair, and dignified, low-voiced, slow in her movements, and altogether pleasing to his eyeß; the other dark, eager, abrupt and rather noiay. Mary was . condemned at first sight by this unprejudiced observer. He sat watching them for about five minutea. At the end of this time they turned and came towards him ; they wero obligod to pass him on their way to sea. Something in Cecilia's air generally disposed the most indifferent strangers to behave to her politely. As she cams down among the stones she glanced at this young manMary almost stared at him. He rose up from the low wall where he was sitting, and with a sodden impulse, as it seemed, seized a wheolbarrow that stood in their way, &nd moved it aside. A man pushing a barrow does not look very dignified. Perhaps the young artist remembered this was too late, for he coloured and smiled a little as he lifted his hat in answer to Cecilia's slight bow of thanks. None of the three spoke ; the girls walked on quickly, and soon disappeared, for just below this hollow there was a shelving stony path, which brought one gradually down to the beach ; and they had spent many pleasant hours in the little cove last summer at low tide. An hour or two later, when they had clambered up again and were pajsing the house on their way home, all was quiet there. The masons had done their work and gone home. As they went through what was to be the garden, Mary began again to lament. How would one get down to the beaoh when all this was finished and lived in ? "I do think it must be a most selfish person who is building here," she said. (To be continued.)