% AT.T. KU-j-H'IN BESERVED.) ONLY A FACTORY HAND.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIII, Issue 250, 18 October 1912, Page 10

% AT.T. KU-j-H'IN BESERVED.) ONLY A FACTORY HAND.

By LESTER LURGAN.

(jpArftor of "Tlie Mill Owner" "Bohemian Blood," "A Strife of Sottls," etc.)

CHAPTER. XVI. "If I could have the half-day, sir?" Tom Graines spc/ke anxiously. Paul nodded. "Yes," you can have the half-day. You are going to see your friend?" "If they'll let mc, sir. He's been taken to Leeds. But Masters —the policeman here—thinks they'll Ist mc see him." "You can have the whole day, if you wish. I cannot say how grieved I am about this business.' I had hoped Allison was a very different fellow." Tom's eyes hardened. "You don't believe it of Jim, sir," he asked. Paul hesitated. "I understand he was discovered in the library in the middle of the night. I fear the evidence is conclusive, Graines." Tom raised his clenched fist, bringing it down with vigour to his side. "I wouldn't believe it if I saw Jim's hand on the jewels themselves. Jim. a thief! He couldn't be, sir. Don't you know it?" The man'B faith, in spite of hard facts, ■was to Paul somewhat pitiful. He shook his head. "I certainly should never have believed anything of the kind if it had not been for the strongest evidence." "Evidence!" In defence of his friend even Tom could wax eloquent. "Evidence!" he reiterated, jerking his thumb over his shoulder with the greatest contempt. "Why, they'll hang a man on evidence yonder, an' find he's innocent as a child afterwards." Paul gave up the argument. Conviction would have to came to Toon Graines as far as his friend' 3 guilt was concerned. Jean held out her hand to Jim's champion. "Thank you," she said simply. "It is nice to hear you speak so, even 1 if—even if-^-" The tears came in her eyes. - "Jim didn't do it, imissie," said Graines impressively. "Jigger my buttons if he did." "I'm —I'm afraid he did," replied Jean haltingly. "But all the same I'm more sorry for him than—than I can say. Please tell him so." And she ran after her brother. Tom shouldered his rake and turned away, too. "Some folks are fools," he muttered to himself. "Even the peartest of them. By jegs. "Ain't her eyes as blue as whelstones. And she's got a kind heart, has Miss Jean, even though she be a fool." He scratched his head vigorously as he spoke. Jim Allison was scarcely in the humour for visitors, yet his eyes brightened at the sight of Tom's honest face in the doorway of his cell. Five minutes' talk with his mate was what he had' been needing. There was no time for commiserations or expostulations. Tom began them, but Jim cut him short. "Look here, Tom," said he quietly. "You're a mate even after this?" "Yes," groaned Tom, "what else should I be, Jim? We are all your mates at Frandnn." "Thanks, Tom. I wonder if that's so. But look here. You can guess what happened?" I "I saw Nan .as~l came here. Young.' Ehaxlßffs IU •with.S3evjßri delirious. Nan's, aside Jierselfc" *" * ■ "You give her this message from mc. If she cares two pins' . heads for mc. she's not to move-band npr.Jingex ill'the case. It wouldn't be much use if she flid. '.TheyTl , prove mc guilty. And GrimstoneTl do all- he can to keep them to that verdict.- This'll be a grand day for him,"- " - ".". -. .--.'" "• Tom mopped his forehead. "We all knows" at Frahdon" who was Tip at Court wi' young Charlie," said he. "Knowed without Nan telling us. But tbat Bart, -hang- him! He's cousin to the devil hisself. Can prove an alibi, says he, and'll make his girl lie herself to prove his point." Jim nodded. "And Grimstone would back him up. He and Bart are good pals for some reason, though he must know that Bart preaches revolt amongst the men. You see, Tom, and Nanll see, too, that even if she did speak none would credit her. Charlie's ill, and there's no one's wordto back her, so she'd only get mud thrown at her name for championing mc." Tom -groaned. "Frandon won't 6tand it, no more I •will," he retorted. "An innocent man! And sent to prison -because " - Jim shrugged his shoulders. "A good, many better men,-and more innocent of" crime, have been sent to prison through their, own bungling," he said. "But, cheer up, Tom. It's not so bad since the mates—some of. them —believe

" They'll all believe in you afore I've done," growled Tom resentfully. "It's all .-. plot of that Bart Clinker's, an' old Grimstone's." But Jim gripped his friend's hand. * No, no," said he. " That'll make i,'bad for Nan. She's got a tender heart, poor lass, and she'll feel this business sadly enough any way, without having all the neighbours rubbing it in that her Charlie ought to be where I am. Keep the talk under, Tom. Help mc to go to jail for some purpose, to do a good turn to Young Charlie and help Nan. You go an' see them while I'm away—and perhaps Miss Jean will too." He hesitated, whilst his face went white under the tan. "What does Miss Jean think ?" he asked. Tom fidgetted. "Miss Jean's a fool,"' he vouchsafed. Jim's brow contracted in a frown. " Keep a civil tongue in talking of a lady, Tom," said he sharply. " If Miss Jean believes—believes I'm a thief what is that against her ? She —she couldn't think otherwise." Even Tom never guessted at the pain which underlay the words. " She told ine to tell yoir-she was more sorry than she could say," he muttered. " There were tears in her eyes but she believed against you." " She couldn't do otherwise," repeated Jim. "Tell her that, Tom, but don't let her know the truth. Perhaps one day she'll find it out. If not—well she won't. Ladies don't understand our affairs, even when they want to be kind and—and friendly. We live different lives, and I wouldn't cross her with a shadow ol vexation, so don't tell her, she'd worry, j maybe." The jailor was on the threshold. " Time'B up, young man," he said, pass ing his sleeve across his mouth. He had been refreshing himself at Tom's expense. The friends gripped hands again, but , Tom's blue eyes were misty as he stumb-' led out of the cell and down the stone , passage to the entrance of the prison. Then his thoughts reverted to Bart Clinker and that worthy's friend and protector, Arthur Grimstone. " Curse him," he growled in a muffled roar of pain as he stood in the street without, " and curse him again." It was a very heartfelt curse. CHAPTER XVII. " Yes, Missie, thank you, Charlie is better to-day." Pale faced, heavy eyed Nan set a chair for her visitor and wished she had not come. The reason for that wish was unnamed. Jean laid a basket on the table. "I've brought some grapes and new-laid eggs," she said, with strange timidity. " I'm so glad he's better. May I see him ?" Nan shook her head. "He's just dropped off asleep, Missie. The delirium's gone. The doctor thinks he'll pull through now." • " Poor boy. What brought it on ? It seems such a strange illness for a lad of that age to Buffer from." A wave of colour surged over Nan's white cheeks. " He's been led away with bad companions," she replied evasively ; "There's Bart Clinker the worst of them, and others. They used to make Charlie drink till he could scarce stand, just for the fun of setting him to fight- them. It allvhelped-.'thc doctor said." "I!m so sorry ."if is dreadful. I must ask my brother to come and see you and him. He has formed a sort of Guild or band of young lads in the parish to keep flieih from the public house. Perhaps. Charlie will join when he is better." Nan sighed. "He's all for saying how straight he's going to go now when he, is better.)'' she replied. "But I mind a verse-my Mammie learnt mo about the old one being ,a. saint when he was ill, but he was only the old one when he was better." Jean got up. "I'm "sorry Charlie is asleep," she said, "1 brought hhn a book and would have read to him. TVlay I-come again?" "It's good of .you. Missie." The beautiful, sad eyed girl waa not very gushing in accepting -.lean's offers. Somehow her attitude added to the latterjs shyness. After all, the inquiries after Charlie had not been the main motive of her visit. Tom Graines had told her that Nan Harmsky was Jim Allison's confidante and friend. But it was of Jim that Jean found it so unaccountably hard to speak. Still, with no other excuse to linger, she must screw up her courage, angry to know how her cOloirr deepened as she spoke. "That poor young Allison;", she said hesitatingly. 'You knew him,very well, did you' not? I am so grieved about •hhh." In an instant Nanfs face was transformed, her hazel eyes dilated, her lips Quivered, whilst red spots of anger bum

Ed in her cheeks, and her head was thrown back with a gesture of proud defiance. "Yes, Missie," she replied, "Jim Allison is my friend, and the noblest, truest man a-s ever was made." A shamed sense of self reproach smoto her listener. "You don't believe—You don't believe?" she faltered. The fire was dying from Nan's face and eyes, and the colour from her cheeks, but she was trembling with agitation. "1 know that Jim Allison did not do what they <?aid he did," she replied, "though sure enough they'll send him to prison for it when tho case is heard tomorrow. But you mustn't ask mc more, Missie, I promised—least I've got to obey what Jim said in his message." Jean cast a swift look into the suffering face opposite. It was her turn to accuse now. "You .mean to say," she cried remorsely, "that you can prove the poor fellow to be innocent and will not speak?" Blue eyes and hazel eyes met in mute challenge, telling far more than either of their owners would have dared to admit. I won t speak .it, Missie," echoed Nan in an undertone, '"but it's not because 1 don't love him with all my heart and soul." But Jean did not heed—.perhaps did . not hear those last words. She was still following out her own train of thoughts, ; regardless of the other. •'You muat, you must," she cried vehemently, though not loudly, remembering, the sick boy near. "You must speak. jHe is probaßly" sheltering someone i Yes, I understand he went there to save f a friend, and you"—she paused. ! The expression on Nan's face checked her. She would have asked the girl if she was shielding -the true culprit because she loived him, looking at Nan she read a different tale. "I don't understand," sobbed Jean, suddenly sitting down again and covering her pretty face with her hands. "I don't understand. Do you love Jim Allison? No, it can't be that, or you wouldn't let him suffer this injustice." "I'm doing what Jim told mc to," said Nan slowly, as she walked across to the window. "I must do that—always." Jean looked up. - Nan stood with her face silhouetted against the window frame, leaning one arm on the open sill. The sun shone oa the sniooth brown plaits ■of hair which truly formed the crown of sw-?et womanhood, and it was the face of a woman—young though she was—-moreover a very beautiful woman. As a "Mater Dolorosa" she might have been painted with those depths of sorrow in the great hazel eyes -which looked sadly over 'the waste land of scarlet poppies and mustard flower, where she and Jim had wandered together not many weeks before. Her slender figure seemed drooping beneath some unseen burden as she stood there, whilst, as Jean watched, one wellformed but toil-worn 'hand stole to the white column of her throat. And Jean, the tears wet on her cheeks, her golden hair disordered under the pretty summer hat, stood up, too. At last-she understood —not only her companion, but— "You love Jim Allison?" she said slowly. "Poor Nan." !*Poor Nan," schoed the girl, in her broad burring dialect, whilst the hand al,her throat clutched more tightly. "Why poor, missie? Isn't that love all the sunshine and sweetness of my life?" She turned fiercely on Jean. "You don't understand," she went on. "You are but a child playing in its nursery, and calling that life, compared to mc. You've always lived soft, and had love an' pleasure' surrounding you. If you cried, there was always someone to dry the tears. If you suffered, there was always something to ease the pain. No real tears in your play life —and yet— well, look at mc, compared to you. I'm young still, but I don't count that I ever laughed as the bairns in the gutter mostly do. My Mumzie died when I was barely nine. Ever since I've worked here, or at the factory there, Grandma had' us, and I worked for her then as I work now. Folks say she has an evil eye.- God knows she has an evil heart. And- her son took after her. I'll not i call- him father —my father. But you'll have heard how —how he'd have sold mc rlt was Jim Allison saved mc. Jim Allison who came into my life and made it a glad happy thing. Yes, I work at the factory still, an' Grandma frets an' worries, encouraging young Charlie to follow in his dad's ways. But I never lost heart after I knew my Jim. Yes, missie, for I'll call him my Jim still, though you've robbed mc of him —the one sunshine of my life." Jean stood staring at her; her own heart' beat fast, but so strangely that she dared not say whether pity, shame, or. a,:'-vague sweet triumph stirred it. "What do you mean?" she asked huskily. '"Mean?" Nan's smile was piteous in its scorn. "You know what I mean, missie," even if your heart never told you before that Jim Allison worships the ground you tread on. It's you who's stolen his love .from mc.. You who had. so much before — ..-.-. Jean shrank back.

"Love?" she echoed, as though the word shocked and scared her. "But— but he is—a factory hand." Tho hazel eyes opposite blazed again. "A queen need not scorn the love of Jim Allison," replied Nan fiercely, "and the finest gentleman in the land couldn't match him. You know that, missie." "But—but," faltered Jean. The bold announcement of a fact she had not even dared to acknowledge to her own heart found her unprepared, whilst Nan's evident scorn shamed her. She drew a deep breath. "Is it true," she whispered, "that I— that I do love him?" Her cheeks were as crimson as Nan's were white. , "It's true he loves you," replied Nan more calmly. "As true as steel; and though it's bitter pain enough to mc, 111 care less so you don't let him know the same pain. If you do love him, missie, don't let your pride come atween. Jim's too proud himself ever to forget if once you remind him he —he's only a factory hand." "I must go home, now," she said. "Tve got to think. I don't seem to be able to now. 1 believe it's all a dream, and yet " The touch of Nan's cold fingers convinced her that it was no dream; that this factory girl had spoken truly, as also she had spoken from her own heart's pain, and a great pity seized the young-jr. girl.' "Nan," she cried, difference of rank forgotten at that supreme moment. "Forgive mc, Nan, I did not mean to do it. 1 would not if I had guessed. I never knew till, this minute, .Even now I "hardly realise' except that t may have robbed you cruelly of—of what I can never give V'-'a back." A quick rush of tears filled her eyes as she spoke—but Nan did not cry; only the look of patient endurance shone more clearly on her beautiful face. "I'll forgive you all, 'cept in paining him, lassie," she muttered. "I couldn't forgive you that —you'll understand, if you love him, too, as I reckon you must. As for robbin' mc—why, it must have been nothing but a foolish fancy of mine. Maybe there was nothing to rob mc of. Nothing." Jean raised her face and kissed the quivering lips. Then very slowly she turned away, opening the door softly, and stepping out into the sunshine. The birds sang gaily in the shrubs near. Nan's cottage was apart from the busy life of the village, with its huddled cottages and dirty alleys. Though the tears were not dry on Jean's cheeks, she smiled as she looked from the blue sky above to the scarlet sea of poppies with their yellow border of mustard flower on the waste behind. She was thinking of Jim Allison as she had seen him standing before her in the rutty roadway near Barcombe "Woods. The birds had sung that day, too, and she recalled the look in Jim's grey eyes as he looked -down on her. Jim Allison! A factory hand! What would her mother say? What would Paul say? What would the whole world say? And what did she care for the opinion of each and all? But convention's chains were strong enough on her soul to bring blushes to her checks and doubt to her heart, for all her hold thoughts. After all —after all—dared she? A factory hand! Worst still, a man who lay in gaol waiting his trial for burglary! Even though she now knew tlie charge to be false, and the added shame to be in reality added'glory. Yet her world would not understand, as it raised shocked hands of horror. Nan Harmsley's words seemed suddenly to ring in her ears. "11l forgive you all 'cept paining him. I couldn't forgive you that. You'll understand if you love him, too—as I think you must." Yes, Nan was right; she did love him, and beyond that what counted in life? Jean Kennedy walked home slowly, whilst, in the lonely hut behind, a woman knelt by a irickefcty table, the heavy plaits of brown hair slipping in disorder over her shoulders, whilst Nan prayed for strength to face the loneliness of life. (Contmnied dally.)