It Was A Love Match.

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 145, 20 June 1891, Page 6

It Was A Love Match.

By A Boston- Pex.

CHAPTER I. OUT OF THE SNOW.

The city of Boston has grown astonishingly within thirty yenre. Thirty yoara ago, Brookside Cottage was in the country, an

the brook, whence the dwelling took its name, meandered through screen m eadows, its bosom kissed by drooping willows, wound and wandered oa to feed the wheels of a stack of mills in Roxbury, and thence to empty its spout waters into that sin* ot the Charles River, known as the <B1^ k Bay :' but the Black Bay no longer. mo broad acres of marsh and bop;, whore onco the tide water ' ebbod and flowed twice in twenty-four hours,' and where, by the slimy sluica-waya, tho wild sedge grew m rank luxuriance, now underlie the very svrcliesfc of all the dwelling-places of tne city. Upon the bods of the old watercourses now rest those magniiicoab avenues whose length and breadth and straighbness make the "ancient streets seem more contracted and crooked than ever ; while the places which once bore humanity in boats and npon rafted planks, now bear tho palaces and churches of nabobs. There is an embmichun of Charloa River still dignified by the nome of Black Bay ; but ib is not the Black Bay apon which we used to look down from Boston Common thirty

years . , Up from this Brookside of which I havo spoken, within tho town of Roxbury, swept a gentle acclivity, crossed by gravelled walks, and dotted by grand old trees, oncl crowned by a stone cobtago, a preUy dwelling, and pretily situated and eurrounded. Ib was low and wide-spreading, its originator having a fancy that he would find better foundation for .stone walls upon the ground than in the air. The owner and the oeoupanb of this Brcokeide Cottage was Rachel St. Clair. ' Certain men diacovored her name because she was forcea to sign ib to certain legal documents which had to be executed before she could legally hold tho cottage; otherwise sho might have lived for years among them, and they would never havo known thab she was elso than 'Madame Rachel,' tho only name which her servants used in designating her. Eachcl St. Clair was a woman well advanced in years — three-score-and-ten, at least—and though time had drawn deep lines upon her brow and chock, and lightened her hair to the whiteness of snow, yet- it was easy to tell thab sho had once been beautiful. There was a dolicate outline of feature cot yet obliterated, and the cleanly-cub Grecian profile, even now, when in repose, was nob broken by the seams of n r, e thab had cub into its surface. i °She had come to the Brookside some years ago, and bought the cottage. At first ib was known only thab she came from the South. It was soon discovered that Madame St. Clair's purpose was to seek retirement and repose. She courted no Eociety and sought no friendships. She was a lonely woman, seeming anxious only to shut hcreelf out from the World, and to be left in the companionship of her own sorrows. At firtft, I say. people know only thab she canAe from the South ; bub in time certain ponderous documents reaching her by posfa, and certain words dropped by her black servants, signified that she had come from Now O.vlcans.

Thus Madame Sfc. Clair was at seventy. Tho only occupants of the cottage beside herself wore three black servants whom ghe had brought with her from her Southern home; though in a far corner of the grounds wan a neat little lodge, where fiver) the gardener and hi 3 family, whom she had hired since Tom had become too old and infirm to proporly care for the placs. Tom wao a faithful old negro, and though his chang 0 of climo had mado him frco in law, yebhe carried in his heart that same fealty to his mistress which ho had foifc in those other years when he washer legal bondman. Then there was li"agar, older than her mistress, bub who was' sceptical as to the r.'uestion whether age impairs tho faculties. She believed that the aga which was passing away was destined to take the most useful "knowledge with it, and that the rising geneiation couM never replace it- *

Lora was Hagar's daughter, and had beon young when they firat settled at the Brookside ; but she wa3 now stout, cleareyed woman, verging towards the middle age, and was, in fact, the maintitay of the household, co far as its internal workings were concerned.

Madame Kachel Sfc. Clair was reported to be wealthy. In fact, it was known that her bank stock was worth full hal.f a million, to say nothing of large and va'.luab<a blocks of real estate which her bankers had taken in her name. She was too l'tighminded to tell a falsehood, even by inAplication, and she suffered herself to bo taved upon an estate larger by tyro hundred I iioueand dollars than would appear by tho

.-I ->3S3or's books to be ths estate of a man :i)!. a rifle shot removed, who was known to be worth a million and a half.

It was at the close of a cold and blustering day in early winter. The wind, which during the day had been an east wind of the true Boston type, changed with the setting of the sun, to northwest, and the clinging, oozy sleefc became snow ; at first fine and hail-like, but growing to broader, lighter and faster-falling flakes as the wind veered to the westward. The air was sharp and nipping, and tho blast moaned in dismal minors through the arms of pho graat old elms and oak 3 that stood guard over the Brookside.

Old Torn brought an armful, of wood Into the sitting-room, and deposited it in a curiously wrought Chinese box by the firoplaca, after which he put a fresh fore-stick upon the polished andirons, and then proceeded to replenish tha main pyre. ! ' Tom, you are thinking of the old times.' Madame Sfc. Clair tried fco smile as she said this, but tho effort was a failure. 'I was t'inkin , , missus—' ' Of the old times, Tom ? Be honest.' * Well—l was. But 'b wasn'.t ob myselfI don't worry about de ole times. Bui I was t'inkin', missus, dat I'd feel a bressed joy if you was—was —' ' Young again V ' O, no, no; I don'b mean dab. Lord bress us ! dat wouldn't be nateral. But — if ye could only find de bressed sunshine.' The faithful old bondman spoke from fehe fullness of his heart, and the smile which his mistress had failed to call up before came now of its own accord, though it softened lier face bub for a moment, leaving the sadness deepened when ib had gone. ' You are a good hearb, Tom, and I thank you for your kind wish; bub there is no more sunshine for me. , ' Don't say so, missus. You don'b know how we all love ye. We'd bresa de Lord ob Glory for ebber an' ebber. Amen ! ef ye'd only find some ob dem ole happy times, such as —' Rachel started a3 though she had been stung, and her lips parted as if with an angry word ; bub directly the harsh lines vera subdued, and she spoke calmly thopgh with authority : ' Tom, you are growing old and childish. I think the storm is dying away.' ' Dβ wind's moderated, miseus.an' detain an' sleob an' hail's turned to snow ; bujb as for do storm —' (Tom went to the winnow :nd drew open the shutters an.i looked but) " Lord bress us! How ib enows ! The ...Iβ as big so ehick'ns , winge. Bress Iniy ier\rt<! Ib "looks good, missus. Dare sutiaf 'n ji do big white .snow, fallin' like de wings Ob angels, dat makes me feel calm an'quiet '~''f6. it> seeni3 as '" do.earf wf-e a-pwttin'

on its night-dress for to go to sleep. Just look an' see bow it comes down." .

Madame arose and wenb to tho window, and by the light of fire and lamp, gleatning oub upon the tree?, she could seii that the air was literally rilled with fast-falling, leathery flakes, and that) the low-lying shrubs and borders of box and pink had already become mere mounds of snow. She was turning away from the window, when a strange sound caught her ear, and arrested her atteutiou. She asked Torn if he had heard it.

But the old mnn's faculties wore nob so keen as they had once been. He had heard nothing.

' What wuß ib, missus ?' 'I thought I hoard a shuffling of feeb on the piazza.'

' liresa us ! Who can 'a' come hero in 3uch a time V

'i may have been mistaken, Tom. Bub, hark ! Why, certainly, that ia the bell. Some one has rung the bell. Go to tho door and look.'

Tom wenb to the ball, and opened the front-door. Bub tho snow came whirling in with such volume that he was forced to close ib at once. Before ho had secured it, however, a low, wailine sound reached his ear. Ho thought ib was the whino of a dog: He reported to his mistress, and sho bade him get a lantern and examine.

The old man wont to the kitchen and gob the lantern, and when ho had lighted ib, ho donned his cap and ir.ulller, and proceeded attain to the hall. This time he opened the door and passed quickly out upon the piazza, and at the first stsp beyond tho threshold, hie foot struck something which did not belong there. Ho looked down, and behold a gathering bank of snow at his feeb. Hβ lowered his lantern, and was soon able to distinguish a large portot's basket, nearly covered with a thick shawl carefully tucked in at the edges. From the basket shone the face of a young child, a inero infant. Tho old man lifted tho basket;. As he did so, ho heard the wailing sound again. Then he carried tho baskob into the house, and bora ib to tho kitchen.

' Mercy ! Tom, what ye gob dar?' cried old Hayar, as Torn deposited tho basket) on the floor.

* Dab's for us to find out, Hagar. I 'spec's it's sumf'n alibo, do.

In answer to his expressed suspicion, a wail issued from the basket, and the covering waa seen to pulsate, as though with the struggling of lifo beneath. Hagar was upon her knees in a moment, and with quick, but gentle hands, she raised tho shawl aud found whata sho had expected — a liviug child. Lora came and offered assistance, bub Hagar pub hor away. With her own hands she raised the child from its bed, and took ib tenderly in her arms ; and at that juncture, Madame llachol came in from th'a sitting-room.

' What is this ?' she asked, noticing at first only tho basket upon the floor. 'It's what I found on the piazza, , replied Tom.

' It's a baby,' added Hagar, sitting down by the table upon which burned a lamp, and throwing open the dingy flannel robe in which the child was wrapped.

• Not a baby !' cried Lora, catching sight of tho child's face, with the tresses that floated down over its shoulders. ' It's a little girl !' By this time Hagar had removed the wraps, and could see forhersolf that, instead of a helpless infant, as she had ab first supposed, she held upon her knae a girl of some two or three years ; and it struck her, too, that tho child wa3 very beautiful. Beneath her caresses, tho little one shuddered as though with a vain attampfc to rouse itself, and then its head sunk back upon hor arm. Hagar bent down and kissod the pale lips, and, in a moment more, she started up with an exclamation of alarm.

' Lord save U3 ! it's 'goric !' eho cried ' Dey's gib'n her 'goric to make her sleep.'

Madamo Rachel, who had thus far stood looking on in silent wonder, now came forward, and knelt atllagar's feet : and, after a brief examination, she was satisfied that the old servant's conjecturo wee correct. The child's breath was plainly charged with the fumss of paregoric, which had doubtless been administared to promote sleep. '1 think there is no danger,' said tho mistress. . Under her direction, Lora brought a bavin of cold water and a napkin. By gentle bathing and the child was era long brought out from its somnolent state. It was a fjirl, somewhere from two to three years of age, with an oval face of most exquisite mould; features, even now, of rare beauty ; eyes large, bright, and of purest azure; while back from the brow, and falling to the shoulders, swept a mass of yellow hair—not exactly curling, but waving into trosses, which might be trained to any pretty fashion. 'What's its name, little dear? asked Hagar, caressingly. The child' looked up, and seetnod frightened. Hagar redoubled her tender caress, arid finally the little one seemed partially reconciled. There was music in the old servant's voico, and there was a wealth of warm and devoted sympathy in her great, brown eyes, and the child, with truejinstinct, put away its fears. Still it did nob seem wholly satisfied to trusb the black-faced woman. Madame Kachel stood apart and looked on, while Tom and Lora drew near to admire. 'What's 'o darlin'a name? aeked Hagar, when tho child's trembling had ceased. 'Teeny,' said the little one. ' Is it " Teeny ?" ' The child nodded and smiled, though there was hesitation in its manner. '"Teeay,"' repeated Hagar, meditatively. ' What sort of a name is dat ? Don't you know —' Tom held up his hand. ' Don't ye remembor Mas'r Philip Youman's little gal 'at doy called " Teeny ?" snid he. „..-,. ,j , i ■ i ' Her name war " Christine, explained MSartin,' admitted Tom ; ' and mehbe dis yer's de same.' Hagar's countenance brightened. ' Bay, honey, is yer nama " Christine ?" ' Tho 'child's faco evinced instant and intense satisfaction. 'Yes, yes!' it cried, clapping its tiny hands ; ' and I want da'mo.' • You want yer mamma?' suggested Hagar. < jq- 0 I want da'ma.' And the poor little thing sobbed. ' It's its grandma it wants ? said the old nurse, coaxingly. ' ' Yes, Teeny wants da'ma. And the child cried on, nob with the fractious, piercing cry of infancy, but with a mournful, heartfelt wail which betokened real sorrow and distress of mind. Hagar sought to comfort her, bufc to no avail. The little one tried to hush, but the sobs and tear 3 burst forth in spite of her. • What shall we do wid her ?' 'We will make her as comfortable as we can until to-morrow,' said madame, ' and then, if she is nob called for—' ' 0, bress yer soul !' broke in Hagar, • dar's no danger ob her bein' called for. If dey'd 'tended to como back for her, doy wouldn'b'r left her done up so snug an' tight. , ' It may be,' reflected madame, ' that the basket can afford some clue.' Accordingly, the basket was. examined, and upon the cillow which had served for a bad was found" a paper pinned. There wae nothing else—only the pillow and tho shawl. This paper Rachel took to the light, and upon it she found writing. The cbaiacters were blotchy, and had been i made by an unsteady hand, bub they vrere well-formed and legible. And this was the story of the written paper : 'The child's name 13 Christine. When she Rrows older, if you choose to tell her the story Qi ihis night, sriye her to know that there is no

stain of shame upon her birth—not a shadow even, a 9 God lives. Sorrow and misfoit'.mo, that have no taint of sin, havo led to this. Out of your abundance, and from the clepf Us Oi! your woman's heart, give care r.r.d protection to this innocent being:. In God's name I be? ! As you do unto tki3, s<o may GJod cio unto you.'

There was no signature. Rachel St. Clair read it, and then crumpled tho paper in her hand. ' We will keep tha child until morning,' she aaid, 'and then we will send ib to the overseers of the poor. They will care for it. .

Hagar's countenance fell. Tho little one had Buffered her to draw its head upon hor boaom, and sho probably felt thab a ray of the old sunshine—the bright gleaming of

a time long ago —had como in, and would go out, with the cherub waif. ' Poor dear ! Sea how forsaken de little t'inp; looks. Brees its heart!' she said.

'Ib will be batter with the overseers, Hagar. You can care for it to-night. .

As Madamo Rachel thus spoke, she had drawn near to tho little stranger, aud was looking down upon it. Tho child heard her voice, and raised ita head ; and tho groat azure eyes opened bo their fullest extent as they beheld the white, worn face of the mistress. Tho little "arms were stretched quickly out, and with a glad, rapturous cry, tho childish lips gave speech : ' Da'ma ! doocl da'ma ! take T.eeny ! Teony'll be so dood !' With no thought bub of answering the infantile whim, Rachel St. Clair stooped down and took the child. In a moment, the tender arms wero around her neck ; t;ie lips pressed a sweet kiss upon her cheek, and then tho fairy head, with its wealth of golden floss, was pillowed upon her shoulder. Instinctively, the woman folded tha cherub close to her bosom, and again the child raised its head and kissed her upon thu cheek. 4 0 ! do bo dood to Toeny 1 Teeny will lovo da'ma all tho time !' And the woman, with no thought—with only the uprising of a swoos instinct —folded tho child closer and more closo in her i yearning embrace. By-and-by, Hagar offered to take back } the charge, bub tho child clung to tho | mistress—clunsj to hor with its warm, soft : cheek pressed close against the harder cheak which the tender lips kissed agniri and again.

'No, Hagar. Lsfc tho child remain with c. It is no burden in my arms.'

Soon the little girl fell asleep upon Rachel's bosom, and it soot thab niyhb upon .Rachel's pillow. The storm and tho piling; drifts wore forgotten, and in hor dreams Rachel St. Clair was back again amid tho scenoa of distant years. Sho dreamed and sho woke, and she found tiio cherub at rest by her sida. Than sho tlept and dreamsd ."x^ain.

(To be Continued.)