Lutie Rogers.

Auckland Star, Volume VI, Issue 1752, 25 September 1875, Page 5 (Supplement)

Lutie Rogers.

BY ACANTHIO. I. The lamplight shone on a bevy of merry girls, radiant in the freshness of youth and delightfully cool-looking nsuslm dresses, young gentlemen, in all the muadane respectability black cloth bestows,chatted, jested and sang with, these angels in the parlour, ■while in an adjoining room the elder members of the party drifted together and discussed various themes pertaining to the town and its society. There was of course some boring. It is equally obvious that flirting could not have been wholly unknown. There were some who regretted the breaking up of the festive throng; and couples to whom the walk home in the moonlight was the most interesting feature of the occasion. Among the latter were Allan Winfield and Lutie Rogers. After a few comments on events of the evening, they walked on in silence. The perfect beauty of that summer night, so keenly felt by each, could not be wholly enjoyed while through themind floated the scenes time had already torn into gaily coloun d rags. ' How strange seems the idea of moonlight in our bustling country towns,' mused Lutie aloud. 'It harmonizes with the trophies and memories of historycrowned and art-hallowed Italy; but differs so from our other surroundings that it seems to belong rather to the past than the present.' ' Yet it is the contrast between the noisy, active days of our country, our new country, in which everything seems yet to be done, and this peaceful gleam Jairly surprising the heart into relaxation, which gives more positive, because more conscious dflight.' ' I do not know, but this little town does seem transfigured. All that was harsh and sharp and new is toned to picturesque; sounds are deepened, and the freshness of this soft air makes today's noontide heat seem as last winter's cold blasts.' 'It certainly will be hard to realize to-morrow, in the midst of pressing business cares, that this evening, with its mild radiance is indeed a part of our world." *As it is now to realize there is such a thing as care or sorrow. How 1 wish it were always moonlight, I weary so of this practical world in which duties are so dull, and amusements so commonplace. In this serenity one's thoughts are free ; all that is repugnant to ease and natural tastes is forgotten, nnd the selfishness of our reveries seems refined almost to religion.' Allan looked pityingly at the fair face of the speaker, for well he knew there was a burden on her spirit whose weight had long been felt, but he would never have breathed his thoughts in words; so they talked on in a general way until they reached her home. It was a small frame building, from which the brown paint was much worn, and which had never possessed the domestic cosiness nestling around many humble dwellings. Still the small front yard was filled with flowers, and a red honeysuckle clambered on one side of the door, and feathery cypress waved from a trellis on the other. The place was pretty enough in summer dress. 1 What a charming little garden,' said 411 an, 'I suppose you spend many hours here.' 'No, this is all Fannies work,' said Lutie, rather wearily. ' She is devoted to her flowers.' ' You will have the generosity to bestow one on me ?' 1 Certainly,' and Lutie disappeared for a moment, and returned with a sunflower from a clump which grew in the background. •Ah! Miss Lutie, how can you thus ridicule my love for floral beauty ?' 'Is it not a noble flower? Take it home, examine, admire, and wonder at its perfection,' said Lutie, loftily. ' As well ask me to escort my landlady's fat cook to a concert. Give me something emblematic of yourself.' 'Of myself! what could that be ?' 1 This delightful heliotrope, perhaps.' ' Exhaling incense so freely from among the homely, rough leaves, by which it is > surrounded. That is my favourite flower, | and always reminds me of my good sister Fannie. It has nothing in common with me.' ' I must own your spirit is not veiled in [ so meek a form. This is a more fitting type;' and he culled a dainty half opened rose blooming alone on a little bush. >j ■ ' Skilful diplomacy, but your flattery to me will not appease Fannies wrath, for that is her cherished favourite. She has watched its unfolding for days.' ' I think she would know her flower safe in my keeping,' said Allan with an eloquent glance, which set Lutie to examining the plants near her with sudden fervour. Just then Fannie came to the door ; and in a few moments Allan left, and Lutie joined her sister in the sitting room. 1 Did you have a pleasant time ?' asked Eannie, as she resumed her mending. ' Delightful, and Mrs. Williams and others regretted your absence very much,' and Lutie ran on with incidents of the evening for some time, when Fannie rose, and going to the window, looked anxiously . forth. {It is a lovely night.' Lutie joined her, but her eyes rested on the little plundered rosebush as the object of stropgest attraction. 'You had better retire,' said Fannie, ' it is growing late.' • I'm not in the least tired, and wnnt to look at the night.' ' No, you need rest, and I must insist,'. said she, firmly, as she resumed her work. . Lutie turned, surprised at the tone of authority, and replied.' ' C6me with me then, instead of putting out your eyes over that stupid darning.' 'No, I will sit up a little longer. You know I dislike to lay aside an unfinished task.' Lutie went np to her sister, and looked straight in her. eyea, her face suddenly pale and rigid f fig father—out ?' * He has not returned; but is probably delayed; let us hope,' was the quiet answer, but there was little of hope in the sad tones. - 'O Fannie, can he again fall back into Jiis o!4 haM|s P What a curse to us all is his desirable weakness.' ' Lutie, wait till you are certain.' + ;

'I know it; and so do yon! He never j lingers unless—Oh! Fannie, what right has he to blast our lives; to render us scorned by our inferiors ; until the comm< nest attentions shown us seem like a charity.' • He is our father.' ' Our shame, our degradation !' I Lutie, beware, lest your words have more of sin loan his conduct.' 'My words harm no one; his deeds have stripped our lives of all happiness !' ' You never spoke in this w«y before.' I 1 never realised it so before. I had bowed myself under the burden; and could bear it; but when he reformed, and kept his pledge so long, I began to find joy in living. Even when he came home last week from Mobcrly, and told us he Lad again yielded, but vowed never to listen to the voice of the tempter again, I borored and believed him, and now, while J was so enjoying this evening, you were here, locking anxiously for my father's return ; and he —carousing with the basest of the town !' Fannie rested her hand on the burning forehead of the excited girl, while her own grief was momentarily lost in pity. She well knew how hard was this trial to that, proud, sensitive nature ; but she only said yently : ' Try to think not of yourself at all now but pity his greater misfortune,' Lutie's head drooped after one glance into her sister's eyes, sad, but lit with a faith which looks beyond the present. She listlessly crossed the room and leaned back in an arm chair. But the bitterness did not die away :it consumed in silence. Fannie had resumed her work ; but her fingers trembled as the needle plied in and out. Some time after, the gate opened and closed, voices were heard, then a shuffling, uncertain step approached, Fannie opened the door. Mr. Rogers, who had been very hilarious while with his companions, felt confused in the presence of his daughters. Fannie led him in ; Lutie turned not her head. ' Fine night for a walk. Came by Williams' —thnupht I'd look in ; but the house was all dark. Confounded rough walking—sat down onee —got so drrfl'ul tired. Winfield fame along and walked home with me. Wants to get on the good side of the old man, 1 guess —eh Lutie ?' The girl sprang forward, her eyes blazing with anger ; but she could not forget, in his presence, that he was still her father. With a low cry of agony, she suddenly turned find If ft the room. 11. A plain, but not cheerless room, containing a writing-desk, a table strewn with books taken from a case in the corner, a little green sofa and a few chairs. The occupants wt re two young g< nilemon, who seemed intently absorbed ; one in wri'ing, tlio other in study. This was the firm of j Winfield & Miller, attorneys-at-law, j whose joint shingle swung at the foot of the stairs. ' Al., are you going to the festival tonight ?' inquired the studious Miller ' Well —yes,' responded he of the pen and ink ; ' shall 1 see you there ?' ' I guess so, only I'm a little unfortunate about company. I meant to escort Miss Carter, but somebody's ahead of me.' ' I am an object of your wrath, then, as I shall have the honour of attending Miss Carter.' 1 The deuce ? Well, you're always insured; that's the natural result of money and good looks ; but I was late on the field ! and nearly all the girls have escorts by this time. Ive just >ent a note to Lutie Rogers. Ah ! here's the answer now,' as a boy pushed wider the half-open door, • Humph! she regrets !' was his ejaculation after glancing over the missive. Winfield bit his lips to restrain a smile. ' She cannot attend the festival. I saw her shopping this morning,' pursued Miller. ' There must be some reason | when a girl refuses to go to an entertainment where they are as rare as in this poky place; and she doesn't get many invitations since her father is in the gutter again. I haveo't seen her at the lodge or anywhere for at least two months.' ' If Miss Eogers keeps out of society, rest assured that she does so from choice, for I know she has not lacked invitations. Miss Carter was quite ' put out' by her refusal to attend her croquet party last I week.' And as this young lady was a favourite, and wealthy, Al. judged the effect was complete without the further ! information that Lutie had declined his escort both on that occasion and this. ' Dont't you think Miss Lutie is rather singular ?' asked Miller, after a reflective pause. ' Singularly pretty and free from affectation.' ' That's true, but she's rather hard to understand. She's lively in company, but a little too sarcastic sometimes for my notion of a woman. And now this freak of staying at home; but I expect they are pretty hard up.' ' I know nothing of their private affairs, nut consider that Miss Eogers' graces and talents fit her for any position in socirty and she is certainly above those snobs, who, by their petty slights, try to make her lot harder.' ' Well, Al., you seem somewhat interested, but I'll overlook your fling at me, for lam sorry for the girl myself; but that s the way the world over. ' The sins of the father,' &c., and he is a hard case, lately. I was caught in the shower on Tuesday, and stopped at Mrs. Wells, and while Mamie and I were at the windows we saw him staggering along towards home. It was late, and the old man was soaking wet, and measured his length on the ground quite frequently. It was a sad sight.' 1 How did Miss Wells regard him?' ' Oh. she was disgusted &■ d shocked, and said, among other tilings, that she did not see how anyone could have anything to do wifh the family of such a man.' ' And you answered ?' ' That it was a great shame in him, but I didn't see how the young ladies were to blame; and you know I sent the note to Lutie this morning, if she wasn't first choice, instead of Mamie, who I am pretty sure, would not have declined.' ' You're all right, if you are a little conceited,' said^ Al.. witu an approving smile. 111. There was a merry group in the green yard in front of a comfortable farm-house.

The hot August day was ending in beauty. Coolness was returning, lurking in the long shadows which were rapidly encroaching on the patches of sunshine. Lutie Kogers and her friend Ella Field were acting a rustic part; their chairs placed against a dense back-ground of arborvitse, their feet buried in the grass, their laps filled with flowers. Mrs. Field was chatting gaily with the rest, while the smoke from her husband's ci^ar curled lazily around his rose and myrtle wreathed hat. This picture of peaceful mirth and freshness was complete—as it would not hays been without the two aereeable young gentlemen, whose sallies of wit kept the group in a state of laughter, which threatened to become chronic. Ella had, a week before, carried off Lutie almost by main force, and the poor child, surrounded by teace and jollity, aided by the reaction of youthful spirits long imprisoned, had succeeded in laying her sorrow on a shelf, and was really enjoying her visit; and being vastly petted, was naturally very sweet and charming. Henry Field had gone to town that day ; and, as fate had ordained, returned with his intimate friend, Al. Win field ; who was a great favourite at the farm-house. Lutie, ignoring thoir late reserve, was as free ms of old in her manner to him; though she had few words for any but Henry, who was carrying on a desperate mock flirtation with her. But the sun went down ; and good Mrs. Field said all must go into the house, as the dew was frilling. A few days later and Allan Winfield came again. He and Lutie had known each other for two years, which time had elapsed since he had left the house of his father, a wealthy tradesman in a neighbouring town, to start in his profession, lie had been attracted to Lutie by her sweet voice and pretty face, in the church choir; and they were friends, from the start; until the cloud, long lifted, had again fallen over Lutie's home ; when the reserve, born of pride, which she had adopted, made them seem estranged. There was a spring at a little distance from the farm-house. It was near the base of a sloping, free-covered hill, and the issuing little rill ran into a pebbly creek below. On the opposite side of the tiny valley rose a steep, high bluff of conglomerate rock, its ruggedness totally at variance with the verdure everywhere around. '1 lie four young people were standing by this spring late in the afternoon of another August day. Were they lost in rapture at the b( auty of the spot, or did they indulge in a geological discussion of the formation of the precipice opposite ?' Alas for the ' foolishness' of youth, they were merely like merry boys and girls, picking up the Missouri stones at their feet, and striving to throw them over the top of the bluff. Of course the girls could not acc'-xnpHsh the feat, and after gracefully failing a number of times, resigned therbsleves to admiration of the very superior manner in which the young men sent the missiles to their destination. But even this sublime sport must have an end, so Henry proposed to return to the house,and, by somestrange chance, walked with his own sister, leaving Al. and Lutie behind, and as the distance between the two couples constantly increased, Al. suggested that they need not follow at all. but that Lutie should rest on a tree which had fallen by the stream' She complied, and he stood near, leaning gracefully against a limb of the tree, where he could look right down in her face. ' You have enjoyed your visit, Miss Lutie?' 'Yes,' she answered, 'I believe these are the two happiest weeks of my life.' ' And you will return to-morrow to a sad, cheerless home.' Lutie looked up in surprise, not unmixedwith indignation ; but her eyes fell when she met his glance. ' Y"ou will fling off this respite even as you laid down your burden of care for a brief season. You will again withdraw from your friends, and yield to the sorrow of your lot, you, whose heart was made for merriment, for sympathy, for Jove.' Lutie was mute. He knew her well Her soul did indeed recoil from the life before her. ' And so your life is sacrificed, when it lies so easily in your power to leave that scene for ever, and live your true life among those who would gladly strive to make you happy.' No answer; Lutie's downcast eyes were fixed on the water which rippled noisily among some miniature boulders. She heard not its murmur. A deeper music filled her heart. She feared to listen to her own reason, lest it should deny her this happiness in her grasp. ' You knew I loved you. You would not let me speak of my love. You chilled you repelled me by your pride : but, Lutie, your true eyes have lately told your secret in spite of you. You do love, and you have listened to me. Will you be my wife ?' Poor Lutie. She had not wished to speak before; she had not the power now. Her face was deadly pale, and her eyes filled with tears; but when she looked up into that noble young face, and met the eloquent glance of his dark eyes she rose and stood before him. • How can I refuse the happiness which has come to me ?' was her passionate cay. * I am afraid—it may not be right—but you love me and I love you !' And Allan was satisfied with the answer he received.