ONLY A FACTORY HAND.

Auckland Star, Volume XLII, Issue 247, 15 October 1912, Page 10

ONLY A FACTORY HAND.

3y : LESTER LURGAN.

[lAuihor of "The Mill Oioner," "Bohemian Blood," "A Strife of Souls," etc.)

CHAPTER IX. "Off picnicking? Why, my dear Jean, the children went an hour ago. Come und sit down and talk to Mrs. Harvey Kicholl." " I promised to 'bicycle after them and meet them in the woods by four," said Jean, shaking hands with .her stepmother's visitor, '••but there is plenty ot time." Mrs. Harvey kicholl sniffed. She was a widow of many years' standing, unimpeachable family, 'character, and proper form. Jean had never been attracted to her. , • . . • " What woods are those?" asked tn« widow, patronisingly. " Barcombe. Lovely for a picnic on a day like this." "Barcorabe! You don't mean Miss Graiwillc's woods?" "My dear Miss Kennedy. You have never obtained leave to picnic there." " Miss Granville has given us leave to go twice a week." "Wonder of wonders! Mrs. Hartington, do you hear thisC Miss Granvillo has given leave for the Kennedys to plcmic'jn her wood." Mrs. Hartington, a -neighbouring curate's wife of the limpest-to-the-rich type, expressed unbounded astonishment. "You don't mean it, my dsar Mrs. Harvey NkrhoJl."

" I must own I am surprised. When we asked leave for one special occasion, we received the curteSt, not to say rudest of answers."

" Oh, Jean's quite a friend of Miss Granvillete," struck in Mrs. Kennedy, proudly. " She's often up at the Court, aren't you, Jean?"

The two Jadies stared at Jean, who most heartily repented having looked in at tie drawing-room door on her way out.

"Remarkable!" observed Mrs. Harvey NicJicJL

"Most unprecedented," chirped her echo.

Mrs. Harvey Nicholl leant forward a little.

" Of course, we all know there is something very strange about Julia Granville's history," she said, confidentially. " But one hears such conflicting tales. Now, what do you gather, my dear? I have heard that she has a mad husband kept in a padded room at the top of the house; whilst others hint at another episode, quite—really "

"I haven't the least idea what Miss Granvflle's history is," she said coldly. *• And I don't want to know it. She has been very kind to me—and I like her." The \ last words were almost a challenge. At any rate, Mrs. Harvey Nicholl took them to be such. "Such extraordinary taste." she purred; she .always did purr when she wished to say disagreeable things. "But then, of course, young folks are -extraordinary vow. When my girls were your age, my dear, I was always most ■particular about their companions. One cannot be too careful." "Of course one can't." agreed Jean, who had plenty of spirit when roused. "That's why I have never made friends with the girls around here." Mrs. Harvey Xicholl grew very pink.

The nedg-hbourhood regarded her iv; the special shepherdess and leader; this ■comparative newcomer had dared to slight the neighbourhood. Even if she were the Vicar's sister, she must be taught her place. Luckily fo r Mrs. 'Kennedy, who was getting scarlet with nervous anxiety, the door opened to admit more visitors, and Je&n took advantage of a "meeting of the clans," jw she called (them, to slip out.

"'Nasty old cats," she thought, giving herself a -shake as she wheeled her ■bicycle down the drive. "I should have

been downright rude if I had stayed.

I>ear mc! What' a bad parson's wife I should make! I hope I never marry one. I never could talk smoothly to all those back-biting old females. Why will t' v ey do it. I believe—yes, I be-

lieve I'd rather marry a stern-up-and-at

you sort of woman like poor Miss Granville than a purring tabby like Mrs. Nicholl. There, I'm getting ac bad as

■they are themselves. Birt 'the fresh air ■will take the unclean feeling away."

And she laughed as she held up her face to the summer breeze which fanned her cheeks.

There were nfot many shady lanes on the road to Barcombe, and those , there ■were came the mo-re welcome.

Across the moor it had been blazing hot, so -Jean was telling herself, as she rode slowly down a hollow with trees shading the rutty track. It was too, and Jean had almost decided to jump off and walk, when suddenly a man and woman sprang down from the •high bank on her left, so startling her that for a few seconds her machine wobbled desperately.

"Oh!" she gaeped, and looked up with frightened eyes.

Certainly not a pretty pair to meet. And .thej r stood across the track dn a decidedly threatening attitude.

Ragged, unkempt and unshorn, tatterdemalioiy evidently, from one of the gangs of gipsies who haunted Add Moor at this .time of the year, gathering broom for their besom making.

"Vdle characters, aa Jean knew, and found her voice quavering, even against her will, as she asked what they wanted.

The man 'held out his liand, demanding money, with a curse added.

"I haven't got any," said Jean, rallying her courage. "I'm sorry. Good evening/ And gripping the of her bicycle tightly, she made a spurt, hoping to get past and away in safety.

But Pat was too quick for her. Thrusting one of liie broom handles between the spokes as she whizzed past, be tipped the machine over instantly, and J<*nn—all unprepared—toppled headlong to the ground. CHAPTER X. Luckily unhurt, but shaken and terrified, Joan scrambled to her knees. Her foo'. liiul ciiug-ht in her skirt, and it Tvae :i i'ltiTiivnt or two before she could disi:i I'.iu meantime the gipsies had adI'fliuTil, tin; man repeating 'his request fur money still more threateningly, whilst tlio woanan made a-enatch at the ;ru!d bruodi Jean wore to fasten her tie down. With n shrill cry, Jean drew buck, managing to regain her feet, but thoroughly alarmed now. The brooch was one her father had given her, and valued for the association far above its intrinsic worth. It was also clen.r to 'her that her assailants had been drinking. "Help! help!" she ecreamed, and looked up and down the lonely roid in despair. The man laughed, lurching for•wud, and dutdmg β-t her shoulder.

She was powerless enough under such a {trip, though she screamed again at the sight of the evil face pressed close to •her own. . Mast unexpectedly an answer came. A shout in a man's voice, and the .sight of a tall figure coming at a leap down the bank and across to her side. Then poor Jean eollapsNd. falling iback u'neon-' ■scious against a loose boulder of stone which had slipped from its place on- the .piled rock wall behind her. "Miss Jean! Miss Jean!" A splashing of cold water in her face,and the queer detached feeling of returning senses perplexed the girl. Instinctively she kept her •eyes closed.: •She ivanted to realise what had happened before Iqoking uip to see who was caJling her in fch-at deep vibrating voice, which she rccogmsed before she named it. "Oh!" she gasped, and sat up very suddenly, gazing round in terror. "They're gone?" she seked, "those dreadful people*'" She clutched Jim Allison's arm as though it was ttie most natural thing in the world .th-at he should have come to her assi*tr.m_'e. "'Yes. vet;, missJe: they've gone," he repiied, glad that she had not looked at him a moment before. "It's all right; they won't -oome back." A hard look crept into the grey eyes which must have boded ill for the besom makers a few minutes previously.

Jean was still unnerved, and did not relax her clutch on his coat sleeve.

"I was so frigttened," she moaned. "I thought tlsey mfeftt murder mc. They looked such awful people." '"They wouldn't have done that," he assured her. "They're just tiles; no better < i worse than that, missie. ' "Tiles?" "Thieves. I don't know why I called them that. I suppose Tin getting a real Frandon man." Jean was recovering sufficiently to start dusting her tumbled frock with hei handkerchief.

"You are not a North Country man, are you?" she asked. "I don't know what I am rightly, Miss Jean," he replied. "But can I help you? There's a brook here where I can get some water, and you've cut your hand."

She glanced down at her wrist. Her head still felt muddled and confused.

"So I have. It must have been done when I fell off my bicycle. Thank you. If you'd just dip my handkerchief in and damp it. I was lucky to get off with sucl: a little cut.'

Jim did not. answer, but the girl noticed how grim his face looked as he went off towards the brook.

"I am quite all right now," she said, gratefully, as he twisted the damp rag round her wrist. "And I don't even know how to begin to thank you fas saving mc as you did."

"Please don't, missie," he entreated, in tones of such earnestness as surprised her. "If you only knew"—he broke off, turning his face away—"all you've done for mc," he added huskily. Jean opened her blue eyes wide.

"All for you," she replied. "It is you who lave saved mc. 1 won't thank .you any more if you don't like it, but I shall never forget It's funny," she added, smiling, "how often we seem to have met lately, and I never remember seeing you in Frandon before that day you spoke to Miss Granville." "I've only been in Frandon a year," u«i said. "Though it seems'a lifetime, sometimes, of late."

"T : ine is etrangt , in that way. An I tlid you work anywhere in the North before?"

J'lu Allison shook ,'ris bead. "No, Miss Jean," ihe replied slowly, "I was a wanderer before X came here, A queer life mine's been."

She rose, resting one hand against the ! bank. "I ought to be going on," she said. "My younger brother and sister are waiting for mc at Barcoinbe Woods. 1 wonder what time it is." "Just past four, missic. I'm afraid your bicycle's a bit knocked about." He stepped into the roadway, picking up tlij machine, which presented rather a ■dilapidated appearance. Jean had sat down again, feeling sick and dizzy. "I don't believe I could ride it, anyhow," she replied with a faint smile. "The fright and fall have shaken mc too miich. I think I'll wait a bit, then walk on to the woods, and send my brother back for the pony trap." "11l go with pleasure, miss," replied Jim eagerly. "An 1 wheel this back. But perhaps you'll allow mc to see you as far as Bn-reombe Woods first." "I'll be ever so much obliged," said Jean, frankly. "I suppose I must be a real coward, but I should not dare tv go on by myself." "Would you rather rest a little longer?" he asked, but the girl shook her head. "The children will be wondering -what has hecome of mc. And I feel 'better now." She saw that the young man was diffident in offering her his arm, and therefore claimed the help of it along the roujrh road without -waiting.

"You talk so differently from the people about here." she said suddenly, as they walked on together. "Of course you would, as you are not North Country. But nil the same you puzzle mc. You are altogether different from anyone I have ever met."

Her impulsive speech brought the old hardening expression she was ibeginning to know into his strong face.

"I am different," he said. "But I can't; tell you why. .As I said foefore, 'Miss Jean, I've always been a wanderer, mixing amongst strange company, hearing strange talk, being educated here, there, and everywhere, in the best and worst school a youngster can hay the world of life. I never knew or heard a word about my mother and my father has only taught mc one gospel —hatred to the moneyed classes, strife against masters, dislike of law and order. The only reason he failed

in his main purpose to make an out-and out blackguard of mc was that he overdid it. I turned from such teaching, feeling a loathing for doctrines of which I was brain and heart weary—good luck, or the Providence your brother talks of, sent him and Nan Harmsley across my path; Since then I've (been learning J again, but in another way."

Jean did not ask any more questions, 'but walked on silently through the gate, which Elsie and Archie had left on the latch, at the entrance to the woods, till from among the trees near at hand they heard the souifiTof laughing voices. They both halted, and Jean, -withdrawing her hand from her companion's arm, held it out to him.

"I told you before that I wanted to be your friend," she said simply. "I think I meant as my brother is friend to you and ail the Frandon people who "will let him be. But you want friendship more than they do, because —well, I don't know quite why or how to put it—but I think your sort of loneliness must 'be the most terrible, because you have to live with those who are far apart 'from you. Perhaps, because I know -that at any rate about you, I could help you more."

Jim Allison did not turn aside this time; he was gazing hungrily into the girlish face vrith its frank sympathy and single-hearted purpose written so dearly upon it. "Thank you, Miss Jean," he replied. "Thank you. There aren't any words I know of to use, but I'll try to make them speak their gratitude in actions. As to your offer—your offer of help, I'll let you know if 1 dare say thank you for that too." ■H-e turned quickly enough away then, hurrying down the woodland track, wheeling the bent and twisted machine. Jean's face wore a puzzled expression as She went to join the children and give them a graphic: description of her adventureu. Yet she did not say much of Jim Allison's share in them beyond •the (bare statement of her rescue. (Continued dally.)