SMITH, OF THE CARABINEERS.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 291, 7 December 1900, Page 2

SMITH, OF THE CARABINEERS.

(I'.y Florence Warden.)

Perhaps it can hardly be said tliat she was a beauty, but there-was some* thing- about Mary Gibson -which caused most men. to lake a. second look at her.

She was a well shaped, fresh complexioned Kentish girl, with good teeth and laughing- black eyes, just the sort of girl, in fact, for whose benefit a soldier draws himself up very straight and passes with his jauntiest swagger. Trooper Smith, stationed with his regiment at the camp, not far from the village where Mary lived with her mother, had noticed her a good many times, both when lie was riding by with bis troop in the morning1 and when he was oft" duty, strolling through the village in that par-> ticularJy becoming- uniform of black with the white stripe, which attracts the eyes even of'the quiet girls behind their window curtains.

Mary Gibson's mother was a sailor's widow, and life was not too easy for her and her datlg-hter. In the summer they let the best rooms of their cottage, which was a wooden one, in a good position in High-street. Bus even with this help life was something- of a struggle for them, and Mary Gibson was disposed to agree with her mother in reeling tin inordinate respect for the pounds, shilling's and pence, of which so few came, in their way.

So that when Mr Giles Storey, who owned a mill a couple of miles away and who was reported to have " 'xmdreds in the bank," sought an introduction to the Gibsons, and paid Mary antiquated compliments in statelcy language, both mother and daughter swelled with pride.

"Mnry," said Mrs Gibson, solemnly, after one of these visits, "take ray wort! for it he's after yon. Why should a rich man like him go to seek out poor folk like us if it wasn't that fte's g-ot his eye on you for a wife. Ah, my girl, you'll be able to hold up yoirr head with the best of them, and have a trap to do your 'marketing" in, and never want for a silk dress u-Sundays, after all."

Mary, however, though not displeased, took the magnificent prospect more calmly.

"It's early days to talk of traps and silk dresses, mother," said she,soberly, as she stood at the parlour window, changing the seed of the canary. "And he's no such great cnteh himself, for all he's tfot money. He's forty if he's a day; and he's got< a husky voice, and I never can tell where he's looking with those eyes of his. If it isn't a squint it's next door to it."

Perhaps this contempt nous appraisement of the millei-'s looks was somewhat influenced by the fact that Trooper Smith, that- dashing- blue-eyei'l soldier, was using!' the cottage railing* lo strike a match upon, and gazing- in at Mary in such a way as to leave no dc'iibt in what direction lie was looking. And having caught Mary's eye he saluted politely..

lie had made Mary's acquaintance the Saturday before when she wna doing- her marketing through the "•entle mediation of their common friend, the butcher's wife. Mary had not mentioned the incident to her, mother, for Mrs Gibson '"couldn't abide soldiers," and had inculcated in her daughter a wise discretion towards the service.

It was not, however, possible for Mary to refuse to acknowledge Trooper Smith's salute, and slight as her movement of recognition was Mrs Gibson noticed it and was on the alert.

"Who is that you're nodding* to, Mary?'l asked she, coming- quickly to the. window. '"Not—not that soldier fellow, surely!" she went on, aghast, as her eyes met those of Smith, who was still smiling amiably from the- other side of the railings.

But, to the scandal of Mrs Gibson, the "soldier fellow" saluted her too.

'"My gracious, what assurance!" exclaimed she in horror as she retreated from the window.

But the poor woman was destined to receive another shock. A moment. Inter there was a knock at the doov, and Mary, intercepting her mother, rafn to open it, and promptly admitted - ■ w*>i or

into the parlour "the soldier fellow" himself.

It was all done so. quickly that Mrs Gibson had not recovered her breath before Smith was well into a carefully prepared story concerningl a friend in the service who had known the late Mr Gibson, and desired Smith to find out the family and give them his respects.

Whether the (good lady was deceived by this brilliant piece of military strategy is unknown, but the three certainly spent a very pleasant hour together, and when he had left, Mrs Gibson, though she found fault with every detail of his appearance a.nd manners, had to admit before retiring to rest that these "army chaps," though they were without doubt heartless, deceitful, and wicked rascals, had a pleasant way about them. "But he mustn't come here again, Mary," she said, warningly, to her daughter as they said good night. "It would never do. for Mr Storey to think we took up with- soldiers, and them sort."

Mary agreed, but not warmly. She was not quite ready to take the soldierlj' vices for granted; and—and, well there, where was the harm of having two strings to one's bow?

Tn spite of Mrs Gibson, the military strategist, came again, and contrived also to time his" strolls in the | village so well that Mary when she went out shopping-, more often met him than not. She would sometimes casually mention these meetings to her mother, and sometimes they would escape mention: but what she did not mention was that Smith asked her to marry him, one evening put-! side (he baker's, and that she told him frankly that she eoudn't. Then there came out the story of the miller, and Smith raged, and indulged in a fine flow of military language, and told Mary that he would be lance corporal shortly, and that, , moreover, his regiment was expect- j ing orders to start for the war, where a man might have the luck to get a commission any day. "Well, but there are other chances," said Mary, soberly. "I don't want to be a widow before I've been many months a wife." "You'd be loked after, though, even then!" urg-ed Smith, wistfully. The tears sprang suddenly to j Mary's eyes. j "Do you -think that's all I care about?" said she, indignantly. "You were talking as if it was," retorted Smith. "I didn't mean to," said Mary. Smith came a little nearer. ''Don't you care a bit, Mary?" said i he. "I won't care," said "Mary, clenching- her hands stoutly. "Mr Storey as good as ' proposed last night, and 1 as good as accepted him. I'm not going- io play fast and loose with any i man." \ "Except with me," said Smith. ! "Don't say that, I haven't," said Mary. ' < "You've let me think you liked me bolter than any other man," protested the trooper. j Mary caught her breath. IE she ha<l.i she had not deceived him, she j thought; but she was not going- to say so. Mary bad learned her lesson of life in a hard school. And there was more than the trap and the silk dress bound up in Giles Storey; there was her mother's happiness and com- j fort, as well as. her own. j

"I'll always think ofy(su, and pray for you, as if you were any own brother," said Mary, with a, little quiver in her voice.

''Brother be hanged!" said Smith. "And if you're going- to swear, Mi Smith, I think I'll g-o in."

"Very well, Miss Gibson. I congratulate you. And 1, congratulate old Storey, who'll be rid in' to market snug' and safe on his flour bags while we're .tig-lit in' his battles for him ovar sea."

At that Mary felt it incumbent upon her to defend her iianee.

"Mr Storey would know how to defend his country if he were called upon!" she cried/

"Aye, no doubt, Miss Gibson. And he's got iine round legs for a horse's flanks, too; and he'd make a first rate gunner, for the enemy'd never know who he was firm' at."

And with this exchange of parting shots the two separated, Mary remarking as she walked away that she expected Mr Storey to tea.

Now, the miller was nearer than she had been aware of. As she walked toward the cottage she saw him waiting for her at the door. He was disgusted at the sight of his chosen wife in conversation with a soldier, and he expressed his resentment with some warmth.

Mary, who a, minute before had been defending him, now stood up for his unsuccessful rival.

"He's a most respectable man, Mr Storey," said she. '"And X won't hear a word against one of the brave men that'll be upholding the honour of our country in a month or Uyp."

She spoke with such a flash of enthusiasm as excited the miller's ire still more.

"It's most odd," gnimbled he, "how •even the best of you womenfolk' get taken with a soldier's coat! If he was in my clothes and me in his I should be run after just like him!"

But he was wrong. Smith was as good tempered as he was hand some, and Storey was neither the one nor the other

There was no help for it, though; Mary had got to marry the miller; and when,- a week later, the Carabineers got orders to prepare' for going out to the war, Mary felt1 glad that she had decided so wisely.

"It's bad enoiigh to think of his having to be shot at now," she said to herself, crying, that night in her own room. "But if I'd promised" to

' marry him, it would have been a deal worse." Although lie knew that he had lost his chance, Smith continued to hover about the neighbourhood of the cottage, and to meet. Mary from time to time in the strcer. She was always kind, but a little bit distant-, of course. Smith couldn't well complain of that. But when the last day of all came, and Mary saw a man in the brown khaki uniform that bore such a portentous meaning lingering outside the railing in the dusk of the evening, her heart gave a great leap, and she hurried out to the little wooden gate to speak to Smith for the last time. "It's good-bye this time," said he, as he held out his hand. And somehow Mary thought that, handsome as he had always looked in his old uniform, with the smart little forage cap set jauntily on his head, in the sober brown suit he looked handsomer still. "I suppose now you wouldn't go out of your way to walk down the street as far as the Parade with me?" Mary hesitated. It was, it must be the last time; her mother would scold; Storey, if he came to hear of it, would be very disagreeaule; but she'd risk it. "I'll come—just for a minute," said she, distantly. the dignity was only a very necessary protection against herself, not against him. In a few seconds they were walking down the street, silently, side by side. "It's just as well you chose'as you did, I suppose, for your own comfort's sake, Mary," .said Smith presently, using her Christian name with the frankest simplicity, though he had been strictly held to "Miss Gibson" up to now. "But what I want to ask you.is this: "Will you put off manying that chap till the war's over? Or till you hear I'm done for, eh?" "I—l can't do that," said Mary. "You see I feel that confident," pursued Smith robustly, "that I'll get. a chance out there. And if I were to be in luck's way, you know, and get a commission, why I could come back and make you a lady." Mary shook her head sagely. "You couldn't do that," said she.

*And even if 3 tou could, I shouldn't like it.-"

She knew something of the ways of ladies, and she tnought it must be dreadful to have nothing in -particular to do, and to have all day long to do it in.

"And anyway," she went on firmly, "I'm not one to jilt a man when I've given niy .word."

'"Well," persisted Smith, bending' down his handsome head to look into her face with those blue eyes that contrasted so unhappily* with Giles Storey's, "will you just wait?" Kri promise of anything else, mind, but just to wait?"

"N-n-no," answered Mary, reluctantly, steeling herself. "I couldn't, promise that. Of course, he'd wonder why, you know."

"Well, look here, then, Mary," said Smith, stopping short at last in front of her, "if you won't do that, will you just give me a kiss?"

She was hotly indignant, of course. She declared that it w?as quite true, as her mother had said, that there was /nothing like the impudence of soldiers. She meant it, too, 'most honestly, fervent]j\ '

AH the same, though, when they had walked the length of the Parade, rind walked back again, and when he had taken her hand in both his down in the corner by the Coastguard Station, why,, he got the kiss.

And Mnry went home with tears in her eyes, feeling guilty, not for having given. Smith a kiss which ought to have been. Storey's, but for having refused it to him for so long, when he was'going away, and might never, never come back.

She dicln't dare go up to the camp to, see the Carabineers off in. the morning, but her appearance was simply horrible when the miller dropped in to tea, in high good humour that the regiment Avas gone.

"It's remarkable," lie observed to Mrs Gibson, when they were alone, "how sensible girls eanbe taken with a mere outside. • I thank my stars, ma'am, that good-for-nothing popinjay's out of the way." '

Now, although Mary,had not given her word to delay her marriage, she did comrive to do so; and although the war lasted .some time, and she could get no exact details about her particular-Smith, she behaved with great discretion, and . showed little more excitement dye progress, of events than anybody else did..

It was not, indeed, until the first

batch of wounded soldiers had beer, sent home that Mary heard anything of her old admirer.

Then one evening Giles Storey came to see her in a state of ill-concealed elation, and remarked casually to her mother that there wouldn't be so many of the girls after Smith as there used to be. And he gave a look at Mary, who went on with the making of tho tea., and made no sign. It was two or three days^after this; that Mary was walking in High-street,, when she came upon a sight that madeher heart jump.

It was the wreck of Trooper Smith. He had lost an arm; he had lost an. eve. Down one side of the once hand-

some face there was a hideous scar. It took Mary a moment to get breath; and Smith, more modest than in. the old days, would have passed by. But she got back her self-possession, and put out her hand. It sent a thrill to her heart that he had only the left to give, which he did awkwardly. "Hdw d'ye do, Miss Gibson?" said he, in a painfully, would-be jocular tone, and staggering1 as lie spoke, so that for a. moment she wondered whether he had been drinking. "You were right, you see. Ha! ha! Xo commission! No Victoria Cross! Only a scar or two to show, and my discharge from the army!"

Mary gulped down something-. Bui when'she spoke her voice was'almost cold.

"You must come home to--tea with us, Mr Smith," said she. "Mother will be' glad to see you, I'm sure."

"No, thank you. Storey's there .every day, 1 he.ar!" said Smith, mockingly.

"But he'll be nice, too," said Mary

"Trust him!" said the ex-trooper, shortly. "No, thank you. Not after what he's said about me—aye, and to me, too —since I've been back.'*

"Oh, but you must come." said Mary. And in the end the poor fellow, who was not in such good spirits that he could' afford to hold out long against a friend, went sheepishly with her to the cottage.. Mary entered'the parlour first, and stood rather nervously in the doorway.

"Mother," she said, in a tremulous voice, "I've brought a friend,.a very particular friend, to see you."

Giles Storey, who was sitting by the fire, got up curiously, and peered .behind her.

"Why. bless us, and who's that figure of fun?" was his amiable greeting to the man in the shadow outside.

"Well, Mr Storey," said Mary, drawing herself up, and speaking in a full voice, that came straight from the heart, "I am sorry to have to say jt to you, and I'd say it nicer if I could, but, begging your pardon and asking you' to look over my fickleness, it's the man I'm going to marry. I think," she sobbed out apologetically. "I could have kept my word to you if he'd come back with 'the Victoria Cross, or a commision even. But — you' see—l can't now."

And if Mai\\\ Gibson was silly, remember this, there are plenty of women who, at the end of the war, will do the same. . .