While Shepherds watched

Auckland Star, Volume XXIX, Issue 304, 24 December 1898, Page 2 (Supplement)

While Shepherds watched

fiutbor oC IKe * Idol Maker elc<£»- {^

[All Eights Reserved.]

A tall, spare, dark-eyed young- man, with a violin case in his hand, came up the narrow stairs three steps at once, as though he were anxious to reach the little attic room which was his destination. There was a lamp in the hall below, but no light on the stairs or landings save the dim gleam which came, through a sky-light iv the roof; and at six o'clock in the evening of the 24th of December, it is needless to remark that the top storey was enveloped in total darkness. But Guy Fairfax seemed to know his way by instinct, and did not pause until he reached the scratched and shabbylooking door which formed the entrance to his abode. There he stoppedshort, waited and listened for a moment arrested by a soimd that issued from the room. It was the sound of a violin, faintly played, as though the instrument itself were small and the hand of the player weak. Presently there arose also a sweet little thread of a childish voice, singing to the tune picked out on the violin, the words of a well-known Christmas hymn — 'While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground.' ■ Guy's face contracted a little as if with pain, then he smoothed it resolutely, called up a smile, and opened the attic door. It was a miserably bai-e room, not very clean nor very tidy, and the small fire that burned in the rusty grate did not avail to warm the atmosphere. On the bed with an old fur cloak tucked round him far warmth, n little boy was curled up, his hands holding- the tiny fiddle to the notes of which Guy had been listening. But he put it down at once and held out hjs hands with a little crow of delight when Guy came in. .. - 'Daddy! Daddy! Are you back so quick? I thought yon wasn't coming till ever, so long.' It was a sweet little voice, a sweet little face, but the lad's body was very frail and weak, and the dark eyes looked pathetically large for the delicate little face. It was with a sort of passionate yearning that Guy Fairfax pressed his child to his breast, for a moment and then looked at him with n mournful foreboding which rendered his voice less cheerful than he meant it to be. 'I've run home for half an hour, Toll 3', to see that my boj- is warm and comfortable,' said the young -man, holding the child close to him as he spoke. 'Oh. yes,l'm quite comfy,' said Tony, contentedly. 'I put on your old clonk, and p'tended I was a bear, then I was a little choir boy singing carols in the street—Christmas carols, you' know, daddy, because Christmas is to-mor-row, and it was to-night tha-fc the shepherds v»a.<> watching'their fhv'cs^nll seated on the ground—' His voice passed almost unconsciously from speech to song. Indeed, although Tony was only six years old, singing was as natural to him as speech. He came of a musical race. His father was a musician, first by choice, then by necessity; and his mother, who died when he was only two years old, had been a professional fcinger, belonging to a family who had lived half their lives upon the operatic stage. Tony inherited her tastes, just as he inherited her golden hair, but he had his father's brow and his father's eyes. 'You like carols, Tony?' 'At Christmas time, daddy. Will the singers come down this street to-night, do you think?' ■ 'Perhaps so. There used to be plenty of them when I was a boy.' 'You lived here when you was a little boy like me, didn't you, daddy?' 'Not here in the town, Tony. A little way outside —at the big house I've told you about before.' Tony regarded his father with baby seriousness. 'Won't you take me to see it while we're here? Or is the comp'ny going away to-morrow?' Fairfax belong-ed to a travelling operatic : company, and could not afford! to do otherwise than the other members of. ihe troupe; but he would have given a good deal to find himself! in any place rather than the big, northern manufacturing town, where unfortunately his family had been well known ior generations. He had broken with his relations long ago—but—well, it was trying to find himself so near the dear old Grange where his father .was. still living two miles outside the town and not be able to go near him, or even let him know that his son and gran.lson were so near. ..'I can't ake you to see it,' he said in a low voice to the little son. 'There —there wouldn't be time.' He was ashamed of the subterfuge as he locked into Tony's innocent e.ves, liur Tony was only half attending after all. • ■ , • 'And Santa Claus?' he said. 'Will he come down the chiminey to give me things as he did. you when you were a little boy?' 'Eeally, Tony, we must look after your English. Chiminey, indeed! You | know better than that.' I 'It don't matter,' said Tony fearless- j ly. 'Will he come down it, that's what I want to know?' ■ 'Not down attic chiranejrs, I'm afraid,' said the father, with a sigh, j 'Oh —h! but- in at the door, maybe? i Perhaps his sack would be too heavy for the chim—ney. He'll come all the way up the stairs, bump, bump, bump- j ity-bump, won't he? And I shall stop j awake and hear him.' I 'Better not,' said Guy rather sadly, j 'Santa Claus has forgotten us this i year, rnannie. He comes only to rich people;'' 'That's a shame,' said Tony. 'We aren't rich people, are we, daddy?' 'Certainly not,' answered the young I man, thinking of the guinea a'week ! which he was accustomed to receive I on treasury day. 'Not precisely rich, j Tony, but not paupers—-yet.' ! The bitter accent in his voice was i caused by a vivid remembrance of i some words that the angry old father ; had once addressed to him. 'You need j not darken my door again, sir; and! when you and your wife are paupers,! don't thinji that you will get money j out of me.' The word 'paupers' always '■

recalled the bitterness of that moment to his mind. 'What paupers?' said Tony. Then in an abstracted toue, 'I suppose Santa Claus always came to the big- house where you lived.' '1 suppose he did.' 'And does he come still?' 'If- there were any children there I daresay he would.' 'Oh,' said Tony, with a very solemn face. Then he said no more, but. sat motionless, looking thoughtfully at the opposite wall, while his father rose from the bed and began to busy himself about various household matters, which might hnve seemed to an observer almost pathetic when done by the clumsy fingers-of a man. Not that Guy's fingers were clumsy; they had all the delicacy of the born musician, and the gentleness of a woman; and it came quite naturally to him to build up the fiive, hang Tony's flannel night gown before it, warm som-e bread and milk for the child, and tinally make and drink a cup of strong tea before he went back to the orchestra. 'Good night, Tony. Go to bed soon, there's a good boy. Shall I unfasten your clothes?' 'No, thank you, daddy. I'.se not a baby,' said Tony, with dignity, and Guy went away laughing at this manifestation of infantile pride. He had little enough to laugh at, and it was a good thing for him that Tony's smiles and frowns and baby wiles, as well as the child's innate genius for music, kept his heart from growinghard. The amused light was still in his eyes when he reached the theatre, but it would soon have died away had he known what Tony .was doing while he was gone.

'It's a. dreat pity,' Tony soliloquised, as he ate his bread and milk when his father's steps had died away, 'it's n dreat pity that Santa Claus does not come to poor little boys as -well as rich ones. 1 s'pose he'll never think of coming here. But. if 1 lived in the house where daddy used to live, he'd come, because daddy said if there were any children there—oh, 1 wish I could goto daddy's old house and sec Santa Claus for my very own self! What, a pity that daddy docs not. live there now!'

He put away his empty bowl in a little wooden cupboard, and came slowly back to the tire. Then he yawned, and thought the room looked very lonely, and wondered what he could do to amuse himself. He was a self-reliant little lad, not often in want of occupation, but just now it seemed to him as though something had gone wrong; with the world. He was vaguely dissatisfied, and knew not, why.,.. ', .Then a .sudden idea occurred to him ■—-one that .sent the blood to his cheeks and the- sparkle to his .eyes. "Tony's ideas' were sometimes a trouble to his father. They were always original, but apt to be impracticable, and even dangerous. The idea that, had come to him now was that he should go to the house where his father had lived, and ask to be allowed to wait for Santa Claus when he came down the chimney that night.

Mt would be lovely," .said Tony 1o himself. '1 shouldn't be no trouble to nobody, and very likely I should be home again before daddy got' back from the theatre. I should run all the way, and I should take my fiddle and play 'While Shepherds Watched,' and sing the words; and then the people of the house would say, 'Oh, there's the waits'; and they would open the front ooor wide and let me

The idea took complete possession of his little soul. As it happened, he knew the name of the house where his father once lived, and had a general idea of its locality. It was two miles from the big town, but. there was an omnibus which would take him almost all ths way. And Tony, although kept as closely as possible to his father's side, had a good deal of experience concerning trams, omnibuses, trains, and other modes of transit; and he was not at all dismayed at the notion of making Iris way to a strange part of the town. He proceeded in haste to make preparations for his expedition. First, he found a piece of paper and scrawled upon it in enormous sprawling letters: Tlese, daddy, I have gone to .your old house to find Santerklawse, and I shall tell him to bring things to poor likkle boys as well as ricche ones.—Tony. Tony's spelling was not his strong point. Then he put on his cap and his little overcoat, rather thin and very shabby, took hi.s violin under his arm, and so set forth.

The sky was overcast, and the wind cold; but out in the streets the lamps were lighted, the shop windows were resplendent with holly, rind a crowd of belated shoppers hustled each other on the pavements; so that Tony, in his; delight at this novel and beautiful scene, did not feel the cold and

knew not the meaning of fatigue. At first he even forgot that he meant to get into a tram and go to Stoneley, the suburb in which his father's home as a child was situated. The name of. the house was Carston—as Tony knew; and in his ignorance of all difficulties he intended to go by tramcar to Stoneley, and then ask the first passer-by his way to Carston. That the place might be utterly changed from the time when his father was a boy never entered Tony's head.

However, the innocent and ignorant ■ sometimes seem glided towards right ; ways, right things, right people, in : ways we do not know. Tony looked up straight into the face of the; omnibus conductor at a street corner where several omnibuses were waiting, and said, 'Are you going to Stoneley, please?' i And the man lookea down at him ; kindly and said: 'Ay, that i be. Do yon want to go to Stoneley, little master? 'Yes,' said Vony, promptly scrambling up the steps, 'and I want to go to a house at Stoneley— a house called Carston. Do you know where it is?' 'Why, yes,' said the friendly conductor, in rather a doubtful voice. 'I know Carston well enough, and we go almost past the gates; but what might you be wanting at Carston, I ■ should like to konw?' !

i 'It's where my daddy used to live,' said Tony, settling himself into his ■ seat.

'Oh, I see,' said the man, feelingmore satisfied. He supposed the boy must be the son of some coachman or gardener who lived at Carston; and Tony had so much self-possession and confidence that no more questions seemed necessary. More passengers got in, the conductor shouted, the driver cracked his whip, and the omnibus moved on. It seemed a long time to Tony before it stopped to r it him clown in a dark road, where the conductor pointed encouragingly to a white gate at the end of a little lane, and told him that that was the way to Carston.' There'll be a bus back to town every quarter of an hour,' he said; 'but maybe you won't want one? You're going to .spend Christmas with your father, 1 ■reckon?' 'Oh, yes,' said Tony, not at all suspecting- the drift of the question. And the omnibus rolled away, leaving him all alone in the dark, with an unaccustomed sensation of tear and — an unusual thing for him— a strongdisposition lo cry. But he mastered the weakness, and grasping the violin faster, he turned towards the white gate at the end of the lane. It was unfastened, and when he passed through it. he found himself on a gravelled walk, winding whitely- between trees and plantations, towards a. large, dark-looking mansion, which Tony divined lo be Curston, his father's old home. He followed the path until he came to the garden, and then he lost himself a little, but by and by lie emerged from the shadows, and found that he was fronting a wide flight, of steps which led up to the terrace in front, of the dining-room and drawing-room windows. Tony nodded quite joyfully when lie saw the terrace and the steps. His father had. told him about them many n time. He mounted thorn slowly and carefully, then, standing on the terrace, he looked about him si little while and decided that, it was time .for him to begin to play. lie felt rather cold now that he: was not moving, and a snowtlakc or two melted upon his nose and made him uncomfortable. Nevertheless, it was with g-reai resolution that he drew his bow across Jhe strings of the fiddle, and begun hi.s favourite tune, 'While shepherds watched their flocks by night, ' All seated on the ground," 'What's Ilis.it caterwauling- in the ; grounds, Norris?' said the master of j

the house to the butler, in. his erus-' tiest tones. Jie was at dinner, and Ihe notes of the violin foil strangely upon his ear. "J)id 1 not tell you that J would have no partiPK of carolsingers this year? They only trample down the plants and destroy the young' trees in the plantation. Go out and put a stop to that noise directly.' \ Norris went out with rather a grave face. It was a troubled one when he : returned. : 'It's not the carol-singers at all, sir. | It's —it's only a little boy.1 'Rend him away at once, then.* 'If you please, sir, he says he wishes I to speak to you. I—-I think he's a gentleman's son, sir.' 'AYhat if he is? lie can have no business here. Send him oft*. Some begging trick. I daresay.' [jut as the General—for that was the rank of the master of Carston —spoke, the music waxed louder and louder, and a sweet child's voice rang out like a bird's. To the vast surprise of master and servant alike, the door of ; the dining-room was pushed open, and ! there in the hall stood a child with shining hair and big brown eyes, playing and sing-ing, as he had done at first:— ' " | 'While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground.' The General's while moustache bristled fiercely, and his voice was . harsh and rasping when he. spoke. i 'Boy—you there! Stop that noise!' . Tony desisted, but turned a look of angelic reproach upon the speaker. , 'Don't you like it?' he said. 'It's my greatest favourite. And you l.iuct know it quite well, because daddy says j he used to sing it to you when he was j a- little boy.' ;

'When he —your father—what do you mean, child?'

'I ain't a child,' said Tony with dignity. 'I'm a boy. It's quite a longtime since 1 was a child.'

'What's your name?' said the General, softening1 and smiling; in spite of himself. Out the answer banished all smile from his face.

'Anthony Liscard Fairfax,' said Tony triumphantly. "Isn't it v beautiful name. h's my grandfather's name, daddy says, but I haven't never seen him in all my life.' And his innocent, trustful eyes looked straight into the face of the very man who was his grandfather.

Norris gasped. He expected an explosion of anger: he almost feared violence. But for ;i minute or two the General stood perfectly silent. Then he said to the rnau, "You can 'Shall I go, too?' said Tony. 'No. Stand where yon are. Now, tell me who told yon to come here tonight?' 'Nobody told me. I thinked it for myself.' 'Do you see. these grapes and eweets?' persisted the General. 'You

shall have as many of them as you like if you will let me know who sug- ! g-ested —who put it into your bead-— i to come.'Tony's face grew red. He saw that he was not believed. But he answered gallantly: ; 'Ijstokl you—l thinked it for myself. I Nobody said one word about coming, I and I thinked of it only to-night when ! daddy had gone to the theatre. He's ! (old 'me lots of things about this \ house, and how boo'ful it was.' i 'So you wanted to see it for .yourself?' ' 'Yes, I wanted to see it. but that wasn't all. Santa Claus comes to this house, don't he?' Tony pressed eagerly up to the Gen- ! era], who seemed not to know how to 1 answer him. 'I can't say. When the children were small—perhaps—' A vision came to him of himself and his wife, stealing from cot to cot to fill small stocking's with toys and sweets in days long passed away. Tic could not. finish his sentence 'I know!' cried Tony. Kanta CUvis always came here when dnddy was a little boy; and wh.-n 1 asked hiir. why he never came to me, d'lddy said that he only came-to rich children and not to poor boys like mo.' 'Are you poor?' said the General, hastily/ 'We're not rich,' replied Tony, quoting his father, 'but we ain't pampers yet. Daddy says so. What is paupers? I wanted daddy to (ell me, buc he had to go to the theatre —' 'So lie goes and amuses himself, and leaves you with nobody to care for you ?' 'It ain't very amusing,' said Tony. "It makes him awful tired to play such silly tunes every night in the orkistni. But he has to do it, or else there wouldn't be no bread and milk for me, nor no baccy for daddy.' "Where is your mother?' said the General. The child's face grew grave. 'God look her away,' he answered, and the General suddenly felt that his old hatred of that singing woman who had beguiled his son into making her his wife was small-minded and despicable. But another notion made him frown. 'So you came here to see what you could "get? You wanted Santa Clans' presents?' 'Oh. no, I didn't. 1 only thinked J'd like to come—'cause daddy says Santa Claus always came here at Christmas time, and it would be aw-

-'fill nice to see him; but I don't want I j anythink myself; 1 just want to tell ' him that there are heaps of little bo;\ s ; much poorer than me, and that if lie. • would go to the poor children it : would be much better than going to ! the rich ones, don't you think so?' "Well—sometimes,' said the Gen- \ eral. ; 'I thought, if you'd let me, 1 would • ! stop here till quite, quite late,' ! said Tony, confidentially. I'd wait | about till he came, and then I'd speak to him about the poor little boys. Then I'd go borne to daddy. But may 1 stop here please, till Santa Clans has been?' To his surprise the old gentleman with the white moustache stooped down and took him into his arms. 'My dear little boy,' he said, 'you may stop till Santa Clans comes—certainly; and you may stop for ever, if yoxi like.' ' ' » * * * * I When Guy Fairfax, half distracted ! by the note which he found on his table, arrived, panting with haste, at Carston that night, he wqs shown at once, into the. dining-room, where the : General sat in his arm-chair with a j | child's figure gently cradled on his | knee. Tony was fast asleep, and the General would not move to disturb him. He only looked at his son foi n moment and then at the sleeping , child.

j 'Forgive me, fitiy,' he said at last. 1 You—and this buy—are all that remain to me. Let him stay—and stay yourself, too, and cheer the last few years of my life. I was wrong—l knov T i was wrong, but you must '■ come back to me.' j And when Tony woke next morni ing, in a soft white bed and a cosy ! room, such as ho had never seen be- ! fore, he was a little bit grieved to find j that Santa Claus had filled a stocking i for him while he had been fast asleep. ■ But he ws quite consoled when Guy '. told him that the old gentleman with 1 the white hair and moustache, who ! must henceforth be called grandad, : was the best Santa Glaus that he had ] ever seen, and that Tony might go ito him after breakfast and sit on his ! knee while he sang how shepherds ; 'watched their flocks by night' as the | Christ Child came with gifts of peace ; and joy and goodwill +o men. ,