THE PROMISE.

Press, Volume LXII, Issue 12532, 29 June 1906, Page 10

THE PROMISE.

oAnnie Hamilton Dovntll. in the May ■' Harprk' s MaUA'INE." Murray tras not as one without hope, for there was tho Promise. Tlie remembrance of it set him new to exulting, in an odd. restrained little way, where a moment ago he had been desponding. He clasped plump brown littlo hands around a plump brown little knee and swayed gently this way and that. "Maybe she'll begin with my shoes.'' Murray thought, and held his feet quite still. He could almost feel light fingers unlacing tlie stubbed littlo shoe; Slicelah's fin gens wove rather heavy and not patk'itt with knot;. Hers would be patient—there are some things one is certain of. "When she unbuttons mc," Murray mused on, fritting absolutely motionless, as if she were unbuttoning him now— "when she unbutton* mc I ishall hold in my breath—this way." though ho could hardly havo explained why. She bad never unlaced or unbuttoned him. Always, since he was a little, breathing son 1, it had lieen Sheelah. It. hud never occurred to him that he loved Sheelah, but he was t iiaed to her. All the mothering be bad ever experienced had been the Sheelah kind—thorough enough, but lacking something; Murray was conscious that it lacked something. Perhaps—perhaps to-night he should find out what. For tonight not Sheelah, but his" mother, was going to undress him and put him to b'.d. She had promised. It hnd come about through his unprecedented wail of grief at parting, when idie had gone into tho nursery to say good-by, in lm" li-sht, sweet way. Perhaps it was because" she was to be gone all day; perhaps he was a little lonelier than 'usual. Ho was always "rather a lonely little boy, hut there were worse times; perhaps this bud been a woree time. Whatever bad been the reason that prompted him, he had with disquieting suddenness, before Sheelah couid prevent it, flung his arms about the pretty mother and mado audible objection to her going. "Why. Murray!" She had b?en taken, by surprise. "Why, you little silly 1 I'm coming back tc.-u.ight; I'm only going for the day! You wouldn't s"e much more of mc if 1 stayed at home." Which, from its very reasonableine>.s. had quieted him. Of course he would not s&e much more of her. As suddenly as he had wailed he idopped wailing. Yet she had promised. Something had sent her back to the nursery door to do it. "Be a good boy and I'll come home b?fore you go to bed! I'll put. you to bed," she had promised. "We'll have a regular lark!" Hence he wns out here on the doorstep, being a good boy. That Sheelah bad taken unfair advantage ot the Promi>e and macfe tha Udng g-ocd rather a perilous undertaking, ho did not appreciate. He only knew he must walk a narrow path across a long, lonely day. Thero wore certain things-—one especial certain thing—he wanted to Know, but instinct warned him not to interrupt Sheelah till her work was done, or feh.e might call it not being good. So he waited, and whilo ho waited he found out the special thing.

An unexpected providence sent enlightenment his way, to sit down beside him on the door-step. Its other name wan Daisy. "Hullo, .Murray ! In this you ?" Daisy, being of the right sex, asked need lose questions sometimes. '"Yes-." answered Murray, politely. "Well, leYs play. I can stay half a hour. Lo's tag." "I can't play," rejoined Murray, caution restraining hi.s natural de.sii-..-i>. "I'm being good." "Oh my!" shrilled the girl child derisive Iy. "Can't yen be good tagging? Come on." "Kb; becaufw you might—l might get. no-fairinig, aud then Slieclah'd come out and say I was bad. Le's sit hero and talk; it's safer to. What's a lark, Daisy? I was g<y.v_ to ask Shaelah." "A—lark? Why, it's .a bird, of course I" "I don't moan tlie bird kind, but tha kind you hay© when your mother puts you—when something splendid happens. That kind, I mean." _ Daisy pondered. Her acquaintance with ihn-ko was Jimitod, unless it meanit "Do yom mean a good time?" die asked. "We havo larks over to my I houso when we go to bed " | "That's dt! That's th© kind!" shoutj ed delighted Murray. "I'm going to havo ono wflien I go to bed. Do you j have reg'Jar ones. Daisy?" with a secret; I little hops that die didn't. "I'm going i to have a reg'lar one." j "Huth!—clls-m all round the room a.n' j turn somosa-uks an' bo highway robberers? An' take tho hai.rpins ouit o' your mother's hair an' -hid© in it— what?" Murray gasped a little at the picture j of that kind of a lark. It was difficult [ to imagine himseflf ©hai-ring round the i room or being a highwayman; and r.K j for Kom&r-a-ukfi—ho glanced uneasily i over his shoulder, as if Siioeiah might j be looking and read "somersaulte'' tlr-rough tho back of Iv.b head. For oruco he had almost tunned one and Shoela.h. had found him in tho middle ot it and said pointed things. In Sheelailia code of ©tiqiiPtt© there was no somersaults in tho "«" column. "It'a a iree'lar lark to hid© in, yontr moitlher's haJr," was going on the girl ohi'ijd'e race. "Yes, sir, that's tho j re_' latest kind I" Murray gasped Again, harder. For that kind tool: away bis breath alto- j gcther amd made him feel a littlo dizzy, j as if he were—wore doting it now—hid- ! ing in hw> mother's hair! It vas poft, ! j beautiful, gold-coloured hair, md there ' was a, great deal of it—oh, pJciiity to bide ai* I He shut his eyes aaid felt it all about him and sort against hiis face, and smelled tha faint fragrance of it. The dizwmctxs was tweet. Tee, that must be tin© rog'larrrt kind ; of a lark, but Muray did not deceive ' himtelf, once the dream was over. Ho kivcw that kind was not* waiting fori hiim at the end cif this kmig day. Hut J a lark was waiting, anyway—a plain | lark. It mfg'hit have been, the bird in j his iittle heait now, singinig for joy at i the prospect. j Impatience seized upen. Murray. Ho I wanted this littlo nieig-hbourrs bait-hour j to bo up, 6i.-> that he oomkl go in and i watch the clock. He wanted Shoe!ah to cewne out hare, for that would mean it was ten o'clock; she always came at ten He wanted it to be noon, to bo afternoon, to bo n.i.Hit. The most j beautiful time iarii his Tat'her monotonous little life was dcwn t'horo at the foot of the day, and he was creeping toward it on the lagging hours. He was liko a little travciikr on a dreary plain, with the lin-t ecstatic glimpse of a hill ahead. Murray in his childish way had been in love a !o::.g time, but lie had never i got. very near lis dear lady. Ha had j watched her a little way off aud won- J dc.rod at the gracious beauty cf her, and loved her eyes and liar lips and her soft gcld-colon red hair. Ho had never j —oh, never—been, near eno.ii.gh to be unlaced aud unbuttoned and put to bed by tho lady that he loved. She had come in sometimes in a wondrous • dress to say good night, but often, j i stopping at tho mirror on tho way across to him. she had seen a beautiful vision and forgotten to say it. And i Murray hid not wondered, for ho had seen the vision, too. _ "Your mamma's gone away, hasn't i she? I saw her." « j Daisy was still there! Murray pnlli ed himself out of his dreaming, to be • polite. ' "Yes; she's coming back to-night ; ' She promised." * j 'S'posing the cars run off tho tr.T-!: ! so sho cant?" Daisy said cheerfully. I '"She'll come." Murray rejoined with ! the decision of faith. "She promised, j I said." I "S'posing she's killed 'most dead?" ! "She'll conio." ' "Puffkkly dead—s'posing?" j Murray took time, hut even here his i faith in tho Promise stood its ground, ■ though the ground shook under it. I Sheelah had taught him what a pr«->----rr.ise was; it was something not to be 1 shaken or killed even in a railroad ! wreck. ! "When anybody promires. they do i it." bo said, sturdily. "She promised j an' she'll come." • ! "Then her angel will have to com.->," j i remarked the older girl child, coolly, _ 1 with awful use of ihe indicative mood, j j? When the half-hour was over and ' j Murray at liberty, he went in to tiio | clock and stood before it with hand.; ; a-poeket and widespread leg<. A great ' yearning was upon him to know" the • mystery of telling time. He wished— : job, how he wished he had let Sheelah ; | teach him ! Then he could have stood j | here making little addition sums and j ; finding our. just h«--w long it will lie till i night. Or ho could go away and keep: , coming back here to make'lit: ie sub-j j traction sums, to find out how much j i time was left now —and now—aud now. '

It was dreadful to just stand and won- j der things. Once he went upstains to his own little room out of the r.-ursery and sat down whero ho hr.d always {-at when Sheelah unlaced him, liefore ho had be- ; gun to unhce hinuwlf. and stood up whore he had :-.'—ays stood when Sheelah unbuttoned him. Ho wit very still nnd (ctood very still, his grave little face intent with imagining. He was imagining how it would be when she dJd it. She would be right here, clow—if he dared, lie could put out bis hand and smooth her. If lie dared, be could take the pi mm out of her soft hair and hide in it— He meant to dare ! "Littlo silly," perhaps *d;e would call him ; perhaps site would remember to k-ss him gos-d nig Jit. And afterward, when i ho lark ivas over, it would stay on, s'liging. in his heart. And he would lie in trie dark und love Her. For lii r pan, it was a hui-v day enough a.ixl did n-:;t- lag. She did her (.hopping and called on a town friend or two. In ti-.. late ai'ternoc'.'i she ra;i into several arr storrs wher? pic cur:.':? were on exhibition. It was at th.- last of these places tha: -die ran upon a wogyin who wa> a neighbour cf hers in the. f.ii burl.'*-.. "Why, Mrs Cody!" the neighbour cried. "How delightful! You've come in to see Irving. U-n'r" "No." wirh fli.-.tii'rr regret r.r-wored Murray's mother, "but I wir-h I had! I'm only in for a little '-koppi:>g." "Nor going to s;ay! Why. it will lv> wicked to go hack to-night- -:in!.-:-s. of coirs?, you've .seen hi'-.i i-i Rol;.-- --pierre." "I haven't. Cicely Howe has b.-.vn trying t;> te.'.-e n:e to step over and go with her. It's a \-:;i-o-cnongh' tempta*ion. r.-i F'r- 1 -'.vs. Fred's away, > r> that p.irt's, a.I right. Of osiiiv-o there's Murray, hut there's also Siieelah—" She was talking i.-.-r.'-e to her:-;-!! new than to the neighbour. Tlie temptation had •fakfii a-iiiddeu and .striking hold upon her. It was the chance of a lifetime. She really ought — "I g : i; -s y:;it'U .-top ever!" laughed the neighbour. "I know Ihe signs.' 1 "I'll telephone to Sheelah," Murray*; mother decided, ale::'!, "then I'll run along bark to Cicely's. I've always wanted to <-yx> Irving in that play.'' But it was s.M'on o'clock before i-he telephnned. She was to have been at homo at half-past seven. "That yen, Sheelah? I'm rot ccming out. to-night — not until morning. I'm going to tl'.e theatre. TV 11 Murray 111 bring Tiim a pr. sent. Put an extra bliuket over him if it ecn-.es up chilly." She did not hang up the receiver at once, holding it abe-iily at her ear while (die considered if she ought to say anything el-e to Sheolah. Hcr.ce she •ie.-\rd (li.sti'uctly an indignant exclamation. "Will you hoar that, now! An' the boy that certain! 'She'd promiwd,' ho s.ivs, an' he'll kap,-? on -She's-promising' for all o' mc, f-e.r it's not tell him I will! He can go to (-.lap: l in his poor little boots, expect in' her to kape her promise!'' The woman with the receiver at, hClear uttered a low exclamation. She had not forgot ton the Promise, but it had not impressed her as anything vital. She had given it merely to comfort Little Silly when he cried. That he would reg:ird it as pat-red—that it. was •sacred—camo to bor now with the fore ! ible impact of a blow. And, oddly j enough, close upon its heels came a remembrance picture—of a tiny child playing with his (soldiers on the floor. The sunlight lay over him—she could j see it on his little hair and face. Sho ! could hear him talking to the "Captain '. soldier." She had at tho time called it a sermon, with a text, and laughed at the child who preached it. She was not laughing now. "Lissen, Captain Sojer, an' I'll teach you a p'omiso. A p'otnise—a p'omifie— why, when anybody pomise.s, they do it!" Queer how plainly *?h-e. could hear Little Silly say that and could see him sitting in the sun ! Just the little whito i dress he had on—tucks in it and tho j dainty edging of lace! She liad recog- j nised Sheelah's maxims and laughed. ' Sheelah was stuffing tho child with j notions. "If anybody p'omiees, they do it." It I seemed to come to her over the wire in j a baby's voice and to strike against her | heart. This mother of a little eon stocd j suddenly self-convicted of a crime—the crime of faithlessness. It was not, she ! realised with a sharp stab of pain, faith i in her the little child at the other end i of tho line was exercising, but faith in [ the Promise. He would keep on "She- j promising" till he fell aslccf> in his poor , Little boots— 0 ( "Oh!" breathed in acute distress the | mother of a littlo eon. For all unex- ! l>ectcdly, suddenly, her house buiit of cards of carelessness, flippancy, thoughtlessness, had fallen round her. Sho struggled among tho flimsy ruins. Then came a panne of hurry. She must go home at once, without a moment's delay. A little r.on was waiting for her to come and put him to bed. Sho had promised; he wan waiting. They were to have a regular little lark— that sho remembcrad, too, with distinctness. She was almost as uncertain as.Mnrray had been of the meaning of a 'lark: she had used the word, as sho bad u«ed so many other words to the child, heedlessly. She had even an odd j little uncertain feeling as to what it I meant to put a little ton to bed, for sho j had never unlaced or unbuttoned one. She had never wanted to until now. I But now—sho could hardly wait to get j homo to do it- Little Silly was grow- j ing up—the bare brown sp'aco between ; the puffs of bis little trousers nnd the : top rims of his little socks were widen- ! ing. She must hurry, hurry! Whit if! he grew up before (die get there! What if t>he never had n. chance to put a little , son to lied! She had lost so many; chances: this one that wcr> kit had suddenly sprung into promiiieice And immense value. With the shock of her | awakening upon her t,he feh, like oi:e i partiaily paralysed, but with the need j upon her to ris3 and walk—to run. J She started at once, scarcely allowing j hers'df time to explain to her friend. ! She would its-ton to no urging!; at all. ! "I've get to go, Cicely—l've p-omi'vd _ my little son," was all sho took, time to. •ay; and thr- friend, knowing of tho, telephone message, supposed it had lxc>i a lei-.phone promise ' At the station they told her there was a nor bor trr.in at seven-thirty, and ( she walked a'xuit- uneas.ii.v until it came. ' Walking about seemed to hurry it ; alcng the rails to h~r. * j Another woman waited i"id walked 1 v,it-i li.-:-. Another n:ot.h"i- of litt'e ?■"•!••. she dr-cid-rd tvlii-.-vleally. rer-di:ig ' it in the sue; t. quiet face. Tlie other woman was in widow's black, and she thought how nioreiiiil it was that thero | should be a little con left her. She I yielded to an inclination to speak. ! ■"The train is late," she said. "It ; must be.'' j "So.'' The other woman glanced ! backward at tho station clock. '"It's j we who are early." i "And in a hurry."' laughed Murray's : mother, in the relief or speech. • Ive got to get home to put my little sou to bed ! 1 don't suppose you are go.ng homo for that?" . The sweet face for an instant lost its quietness. Something like a spasm of mortal pain crossed it and twisted it. The woman walked away abruptly, but camo back. "I've been home and—put j him to bed," she said slowly—"in bis ! last little bed." * I Then .Murray's mother found herself j hurrying feverishly into a car, her faco ! feeling wet and queer. Sho was cry- I iug. I "Oh. tho poor woman!" she thought, j '"tho poor woman! And I'm going home to a little live one. I can cover him up and tuck him in! I can kiss his little solemn face and his little brown knees. Why haven't I ever kissed his knees before? If I could only hurry! Wili this car ever start?" , She put her head out of the window. An oily personage in jumpers was passing. j -'Why don't wo start?" she said. "Hot box." the oily person replied, ] laconically. The delay was considerable to a mother

[ going homo to put her littlo child to bed. It seemed to this mother interminable. When at length she felt a welcome jar and lurch her patience was threadbare. She sat bolt upright, as ir iby so doing she wero helping thing 3 _ along. '■ It was an express and leaped ahead splendidly, catching up with itself. Her : thoughts leaped ahead with it. Xo, ; no, he would not be in bed. Sheelah was not going to tell him, so he would insist upon waiting up. But she ; ntight find him asleep in his poor littlo ; boots! She caught her breath in half i a sob. half tender laugh. Little. Silly! I But if an express, why this stop? . They were slowing up. It was not time to get to the home station; there wero no lights. Murray's mother waylaid -. -,--'.,„„_:,. "What is it? What is it?" "All right, all right! Don't be seairt, lady! Wreck ahead somewheros —freight train. We got to wait till they clear the track." Hut tho misery of waiting! Ho might get tired of waiting, or Sheelah might tell him she was not coming out to-night: ho might go to boil, with his poor little faith in the Promise wrecked, liko the freight on there in the dark. She could not sit still and bear the thought; it was not much easier pacing the aisle. She feh a wild inclination to get off the train and walk home. At tho homo s*--ition, when at last she reached it. she took a carriage. "Drive fast!" she said, peremptorily. "I'll pay you double fare." The houses they rattled past wcie ablaze with light downstairs, not upstairs where littlo sons would be goi g to bed. Ail the little sons had gone to bed I'll?;.- stopper! with a terrific lurch. It threw her on to the seat, ahead. "This is not tho place," she, cried, sharply, after a glance without. "X'm we're stopping for recreation," drawled sarcastically the unseen driver. ilv appeared to be assisting the horse to lio down. She stumbled to the ground and demanded things. "Yer'll have to ax this hero fourlegged party what's doin'. I didn't slop I kep' right on goin'. Ho laid down on his job, that's all marm. I'll get him up, come Chris'muas. Xow then, yer 010 fool!" There was no patience left in the "faro" standing there beside the plunging beast. She fumbled in her purse, found something, dropped it somewhere, and hurried away down tho street. iShe did not walk home, because sho ran. It was well tho streets were quiet ones. "Has he gone to bed?" she ram© panting in upon drowsy Sheelah, startling that phlegmatic person out of an lion-est Irish dream. "Murray—Little <Siliy—has be gone to bed? Oh, no!" for sho saw him then, an inert littlo heap at Sheelah's feet. She gathered him up in her aims. "I won't! I won't go, Sheelah! I'm waiting. She promis—"' in drowsy murmur. "She's hero—she's come, Murray! Mamma's come home to put you to bed —Little Silly, opeu your eyes and 6eo mamma 1" And he opened them and saw th© love in her eyes beforo he saw her. Sleep took instant wings. Ho sprang up. "I knew you'd come! I told Sheelah! When anybody promises, they— Come on quick upstnirs! I can unlace myself, but I'd rather " "Yes, yes!" she sobbed. "And wel have a lark, won't we? You said a lark ; but not tho reg'larest kind—l don't suppose wo could have tho reg'larest kind?" "Yes—yes!" "Ob—why!" His eyes shone. Ho put up his hand, then drew it shyly back. If she would only take out tho pins herself—if ho only dared to "What is it, Littlo Silly—darling?" They wero up in his room. She had her cheek against his littlo bar© brown knees. It brought her soft goldcoloured hair so near—if 'he only dared—;— "What is it you'd like, littlo son?" And he took courage. Sh© had never called him littlo son before. It mado hi in brave enough. "I thought*—tho reg'larest kind— your hair—if you'd let it tumble all dcwn, I'd—hide in it," ho breathed, his knees against her cheek trembling like littlo frightened things. It fell about him in a soft shower and he hid in it and laughed. Sheelah heard them laughing together.