THE STORY-TELLER.

Evening Post, Volume LXVII, Issue 150, 25 June 1904, Page 10

THE STORY-TELLER.

Pepita and tljte King. •

Down in the great fountain pool of tho mountains, with their fine crystal ncedlo points for its rim, and their million snow rills taking their sudden and sibilant course to its depths, lay tho lnke, tho gem of all the lakes of a certain little kingdom. Other lakes there were* much larger than this, all fringed with villages or marked by towns, but this one showed tho deepest colour, though ouly the poorest hamlets clustered here and there at its edge. Tho deepest in colour, the most chnngeful in suiface, ib waa the ono most tenderly protected from tho north by the mountains, which, guarded it as warriors guard a sleeping queen. The largest city of tho littlo kingdom was not so very far off, as the crow flies, but tlio rontt to the lako was sufficiently rough to keep tho ordinury town folk away. Sometimes they invaded the vulley, and tho lako people wondered at them, and went about tneir ushtng and harvesting, their boat building and fruit eeilmg with an air of proud aloofness. Thu spring wus Clinging to its last days of empire, and anemones vied brnvoiv vith the buda of roses which in two daya would put all other ilowers in tho ' tihude. Tho sun wns mounting higher, and tho surtace of tho lako shimmered. Down upon a narrow strip of white marble beach. Peyita. knelt, wringing out linen. Tho suu beab upon hor strong neck, and her bluo black hnir, knotted Uiinoat on the top of her head, was loosened about her lorehead in little, curling wisps, Her red iuien dress was pinned up round her hips, showing a ohort bluo i petticoat aud baro feet nnd anktes. Her akHJves wore roJed up, and tho um&o.los of her round tanned arms tonic, for what she wrung sho wrung mightily. A woman of her own type, but older, went along the path just above the strip of white beach, and paused to gossip. "Such a thing, Pepna,!" eho cnlled. "My husband, who went down to tho town market last night with our melons, eaya the Kingt fis lost 1 He has been lost for two whole days. Some say it's a plot, and others that ho has dono it ior Jfun, becauso ho wanted to try something now, and some think that he may . eunply have, done it to spy upon us- all. • -What do yoj* thihk, Pejpit*'<" • "Puff !"* said Pepita. "I am. surest' is all nonsense. Why, a Kang can't be lost. As to o, plot, wbo wants to trouble- to get rid of him"? He's just a pretty little doll — that's what my future husband says. None* of the men fear him, but luckily ho «can't get in the way of us women, co I really don't .. why -we need trouble." *<v " "But tho other countries— that's what *• jay /man says — the otfeer 'countries ' all round will ail want to have a little bito oat of as, and we shan't bo a kingdom any more." ."Fuff!" said Pepita. "It won't matter a bit. ' Ono will always have to go on washing and working whether people Will take littlo bites out of us ar not." - v -A -young man in tho dress of a moun- " taih'eer,' who also followed the path by ; the lake, paused to listen to tho two women. The elder npddcd to him, and said, "I suppose you haven't heard tho news, .young man?" "Stun and nonsense," said Pepita," lifting up her head! to look at the newcomer. '■ - "Isn't it quite true?" persisted the ' gossip... „. . • "Perfectly," said the mountaineer. "Arts they very mu<Jh upset in the town?" "The papers aro fuft of it. ... But there .... I have hens to feed, and you'd rather talk to Pepita, I know-." ,And with the roguish gVanco of the match maker, the pretty mnitron pursued lier , way to the hamlet. Pepita went to her basket, took a ■fresh heap of crumpled linen, nnd rearranged her littlo wooden platform noisily at tho water's edge arts sho knelt down upon it for her laundry work. Tho young man stepped on io tho beach, and threw himself down comfortably upon tho warm whit© peDblea, rest.inghis, chin on his hand;. "J"he King really is gone," lie said, impVeSsvdy. "Rttt'foish !" said Pepita. "Not 'rubbieh, J " retorted the young man. "''Yes, rubbish. Why, what do you call thia?" J*epita flourished a drenched linen garment:" 1 "I really couldn't say," said tha young man, embarossetf. "There are* things caHed— er- .... tea jackets, I believe. ..." <r Ymi big silly. . . . shirts. Look at them, twenty-eight shirts, King's ehirt«." " i "Nonsense." "Look for yourself. Oh, you needn't think yourself so grand! I wash for tbe King. If it weren't for me ho would look a scamp. A Itttk bit of starch, good bleaching* good ironing — it turns a tramp into a swo'J at onoo." The stranger, examined a. corner, of the liifon inquisitively. A enrious expression flitted across, hia face, rod the girl caught it Ijusfc as she fookad up from her work. "Humph^" Ac queried defiaettly. "There it is ds targe aa life. Tho U«n and the crown, aw£ the dHve wreath oaftound thorn both." ' V ■> «•• "That isy^nit^ right," uaid-the"*tranger. "The liort ,f6r..Btrongth, the crown for •authority, and 'the olive garland for plenty and prosperity " "It's sillj'l" sniffed the girl, "and sillier still to stitch it all into the linen. I anr nick of tho sight of it, especially the »V-nty and prosperity part. Ho does not «ha ie it with, us." "He waa^aid^Jio be charitable." IJFuff! He rotfe by ono day when I and my young mJm were in tho market buying me ecraio earrings. Tho King passed us on horseback throwing money to tho market people. My old aunt, wbo was there, Khricftfed to us to' scramble -with the rest for the coins. But I held my lover tightly by the wrist and would not let him stoop. That's not the way for a King to help his poople. It's like throwing a bit of snoar down ' for a faithful horse, becauso you ro afraid it will bito your paJrn. 'Take it or leave it'— thnt's wiiat he seemed to bo saving with his eyes all tho time. I left it." . Down went hor head again, and s v he returncd'to.hec lauhering. Tho young man's face had grown crimson. "How would you have had him do it, then?" ■' "Why, cdtne and. talk to us; and see what we JteedQct. 4 Wo don't want coins thrown at tts like sugar cgfcs at Enster." "Ah! If Koma'one hnd only told. him! But now that he is "lost, what is to be done?' . .',,., ••i.o^t!" Pepita threw brrsolf back on her liwls M she knelt iri flta of laughter. "Lott ! Hear ihim ! Lobk at this, nnd tb)>, and this." Her arms plunged into the walo.f and sho hnlf raised tbe linen f'he was" washing, nnd doused it,' nr.d pneed it and doused it again, with tbf> curious ."mulching sound of a wet fjbr.e half inllatcd by air. "Do you think if a man is going to disappear for i;<xid, he sendn twenty-one of these ra,7« — that's three per day — to the wn&h, with si rude note to say thai the goffering of the last was very bad?" ' - "The dickens he did I"

| "Young mau, you don't seem to bolievo me. I'll &how you the nolo; it is in my pocket. Havo you a handkerchief V "At your service." "Don't flourish so. Thank you. It's a nice thing to dry tho lmuds upon. Don't Sj afraid— l'll wash it for you after<nrd«. Why " Sho pounetd upon the olive wreath emblem in tho corner. Tho young man coloured slightly. "You've no right to this, young man." "Tho King guvo it mo. li's miue. I'm a great friend of his. n She rose and surveyed him from head to foot. "U'm — I knew you weren't a real mountain man, in spite of your old clothes. Out with it!" "You see, I don't want to wear my proper clothes for fear of being talked to about tho King. It .... tenses me. If he chooses to disappear I really don't see why I should be troubled. I knew him very well, nnd 1 promised if I were to hoar anything extraordinary . . . . liko this .... about him — I would keep oub of the way. I should liko to live up bore. It is so benutiful, and you aro co amusing." The girl Hushed this time ; alto began to roll down hor sleeves and rolled them up awkwardly. "There's a piece of your hair coming down," said the stranger ".No, please don't" — for Pepita mado a grab at it — "it looks splendid in the sun. I've wen lots of beautifully dressed women, but none who"-^iPepita'B fingers instantly seized the coil and began to twist it up as if it had been a piece of wire— -"nono who could stnnd bareheaded in the sunlight liko you, and look so magnificent," concluded the mountaineer. "And amusing?" queried Popita, flippantly. She mumbled it because her teeth wore holding a largo bortoiso-sholl hairpin until E'er coils woie ready to receive it. "And amusing !" assented her companion. "Bub the others aro amusing, too." "How?" "Oh, well you wouldn't liko them, I'm afraid.' "They're just the King's sort, I suppose," sho remarked, ironicaLy, as slio | rammed Ihe hairpin into position. "Certainly not, dissented tho stranger, sharply. "Ho detests them." "Why doesn't ho bnnish them, then? Then there would bo room for tho good, nice people among whom he was brought up— they and their husbands and fathers and kin. Do you mean to say ho can't turn them out of the plnco'i" "Ib is impossible." "Poor Uttlo silly! No wonder he lins disappeared. Ho mnst have dono it to get away from them because ho hadn't the courage to put liis foot on them.'" "Ah ! I wonder !" "Wonder, indeed? You know him, ami you can't deny that's tho real truth. Ho is a born coward. I've always oaid so to my Francis — that is the boatman whom I ehall marry somo day. Wo fight over it pretty often when Francis says ho can't get on in his work, and I toll him to go and ask the King to take him as one of his boatmen. Francis 'always says ho can't go to the King. 'Nonsense,' I say, 'of course you cun..'» 'If I did,' he says, 'tho King would nover trouble to sco mo. If ho did, other people would bo angry and jealous, and he Tyould have to hold an audience for beggars every day.' So all that happens is that ho sends .in his name on a long list to the chamborlain, who doesn't read* it, but gives it back to his clerks, and tho clerks give it to the « toward, and the steward does exactly as he likos. You know what that means. Ho gives the work ,to the men wh,o pay him the most for getting it." "But still, tho King isn't a coward," objected the young man "What else? He is afraid of his own chamberlain, afraid to be worried by tho poverty of hia real subjects." "That's a fib I" said her acquaintance, springing to his feco. "Don't get excited, young man, for tho sni? is very warm. lam quite right. Moreover, he ia terribly afraid of exciting jealousy nnd intrigue ; he is a little, craven-hearted " "Stop 1" he oriod. "I ' will not havo him abused!" He stood facing Pepita with flushing eyes. "Ho hns a life of snares and pitfalls of which you know nothing." "All the more reason for ihim to be brave ! There's every chance of, his being well praisod for it, at least, and it would give us, his real subjects. . . ." Pepita touched tho white kerchief knottea over her shoulders with her brown forefinger — "somo chance of respecting him." Then she "went down upon her knees afresh to her wringing, piled up tho linen, and finally looked round in challenge. "You've wasbe'd a lot of my morning, so you'd better help me to lay out this waohing, * young moo." He moved towards her, colouring awkwardly, and attid, "with pleasure." "Take oivo end of the basket, then, and help me on to the bank." He did so, and meekly imitated her as. she laid out tho garments, in the sun on the green slope, weighting them ■ at- tho corners with inarple pebbles. When it was all done che stood with' hot 1 arms akimbo and laughed. t "Jusb look ab them— funny littlo mannikin garments, all of fine lawn, like a woman's. Fuff 1 I " wish I had him here^ — twenty -one little ghosts of him, one insido each of these ! I'd talk to him like a mother, and then I'd box his ears !" "I wonder which he would mind most," ventured the stranger. "Which do you think?" retorted the girl. "You know him ao well, you enn tell best." "I should think tho box on the cars." "H'm ! You haven't heard me taik like .a mother. Francis has. Ho is a wiser man now." "I should likb to be wise also. Tell mo exactly what you would say to tho King if he were here." "And then you'll repeat it to him?" "Not if you 1 mean I cannot. You sco, he is lost." "But you any you're his greatest friend." "I oven ait for his pictures." "The libtlo lasy drone 1 I wonder if he is too lazy to eat his dinner, too !" The stranger shrugged his phouldcrs, nnd said, "I am waiting, Please begin." "I'd rather have said ib straight to him." "Never mind. I ehall forget nothing ; so that if I over meet him he shall know it all." "That's something. . . . Well, what I say i» this: — Your Majesty, you'io tho biggest coward of your nation, and if it wern't for your crown — thnt is too big and heavy for tlio likes of you — I don't know what Mir could hide you from the truth*. They say you are a good young man, often dreadfully tempted to do all sorts of bad things. Your Mnjesty, I am tetripted, too, and so is Franois, aud my sister-in-law, .and my lnme aunt with St. Vitus's dance, attd tho whole lot of iv» lake people — but there is no one to snivel over v* and to *ny we are 'dreadfully tempted,' nnd to feel for us when we sin. as if wo had mcn«les or fever or some disease which we don't deserve. All that in suifl of v.4 is that ue havo the wed of wickedness in our henrt and aie miserable sinners, mid we ure told Unit tho uath of cood life is hard and I

narrow. But, your Majesty knows perfectly well thnt it is much nimler to bo good when lifo is a constant t.trugqrle to hvo decently on nothing, nnd terribly difficult to think pure thoughts with an empty cupboard and a bad harvest or poor boat season. Wo do not know you, therefore wo unnot expect to lovo you. Bub nil wo uhk is that you should help first thooo who really need it, and nob thoso of whom you are nfiaid. if 1 were you, sir, 1 wou.d get up one morning nnd call out those people and .say, 'Clear out, tho w holo pack of you ! Get out of my houho nnd my kingdom and my country. I'vo no room for tho likes ot you.' " "And suppose I I mean, suppose tho King did this, what noxt?" "Oh, then he could begin to be a King and a man — work for his brend." "Bnt ho slaves as it is. Ho opens great institutions, he eats all sorts of dinners to please great bodies of powerful people, he has to shako hands with creatures his soul despises." "Full! That's not a man's work. 110 has to go about and sco his country, liKo a farmer who looks into every corner of hia lnnd to bo buro it is rich and good and plentiful, not liko a wretched o\orseor who rides through once in ten years to terrify tho slaves under' him."She paused a moment lo put a flower in her kerchief, and went on : "And he should set asido hours when he would sco peoplo who needed^ work nnd justice There's my Francis, now. Tho man who gob the place ho wanted is bucii a fool that his boats leak, and ho has to come to Francis to patch thorn up. It's Francis who gets a fow pence for doing tho rcnl work, and tho other man gets pounds and a grand bilicial title, 'King's Boatman of tho Private Lnke.' Fuff! I'm sick of it all. There's nothing to do but wash and wash, nil your life, whether you marry or whether you slay single, till your face is like a pieco of leather and your hanlls as thick as the bark of a birch tree." "But there is good Francis to keep you." "Francis, poor lamb? Ho can only just keep himself. It's no good talking. He won't go straight to the King and say, 'Sire, I patched the boat, or you would be drowned any dny in tho middle of all your benutiful and wicked friends." Francis hnsn'b tho courago. That's what comes of having a King who hasn't courage, either. Every decent man under him has no pluck, You aro nil the same." "Thank you. Is that the ond of your 'mother's talk' ?" "There's nothing left to eny. It always <--nds with thnt— -tho maiiuikin kin^." "You've forgotten something." The girl raised her eyebrows. "Tho salute on the ears." She laughed bntincally in reply. "If you ueie my King t?(cro would bo somo sense in it. Bub ns you nren't, why bhould I tioublo? My hands tingle enough ns it is' with ull this blessed scrubbing." Tho stranger rose to his full height and approached so clo«o thnt her skirts almost brushed him. "I am the King," ho said. Sho started, becaino conscious of her bore feot nnd upturned sleeves, ami recoiled a few paces. The satirical lino about her red lips deepened. "Fnff!" sho said, scornfully. Tho stranger unfastened tho vest of his shabby green mountaineer's jacket. In gold thread on white satin the olivo wreath, with its inseS symbols, gleamed out. The wearer of it smiled. "Afraid, Pepita? The King has more courage than you" bargained for." For five seconds she stood in her startled nttitudo, her eyes uilaling, her heart beating, bub her full mouth relaxed it« scorn not for tho fraction of an inch. Then the reiteration of tho t nun ting "Afraid, Popita?"' took her bytbo throat, She advanced swiftly, raised first one hand, and then i,bo other. . . . Thero wns a quick, sharp report. . . . Then, liko a deer, she began to scalo the gravel slope, sobbing tearlessly as she. climbed. Out ooff f tho bushes by the path emerged a man currying a pair of oars, who pub oub his arms to stop her. "Why, Pepita!" he cried. "What's this?" Then his eyo enught sight of tlje figuro of tho man below. ■* "Stop her — that's right. Stop her!" cnlled I/he stranger. "She's running away from mo. Sho hns been so unkind." "The dickens!" said Francis, angrily. "Of course sho has. What else do you expect, you " The stranger had tossed asido tho shabby green belted coat, and upon' tho boatman shono tho symbol of his identity. "Tho King is found." laughed tho exmountaineer. "In the town they aro offering a- great reward to the iindcr. Pepita must claim it. Sho has done a great donl 'more thnn thnt, my good fellow. She has helped the King to find his courngo. Eh, Pepita?" "Curtesy!" whispered her lover, nudging her. "What's the use, when I'vo boxed his cars? 1 ' sho sobbed back. "Oomo, friends, we will go down to the town and chow ourselves," said his Majesty. "If Pepita may get her stockings and Shoes first, sire." The girl drugged her hand out of the grip of her/ lover, and mnde the lowest curtesy that is possible with a petticoat which betrays 'her ankles. "And who is Coy finish your Majesty's shirts?" she faltered. "I am only a poor lavender, sire, but I take pride in my work. The linen is fine, it dries all too quickly." " 'A little bit of «tpicli, good bleaching, good ironing — if it we/en't for you I should look a- scamp' — eh, Pepita?" "Your M-Mnjesty, be kind to me," sobbed tho gig," "I only want to be p-proud of my work." Sho subsided on tho grass, covering her bare feet. "Next week I shall have a new coat of arras," said the King, gently. "I slinll put a wash tvb 1 instend of the lion, and in plnce of Iho crown n. little white shirt. Tf my conscience could be washed by your beautiful hands, Pepita, I should be the proudest man on earth. Bu^t as to tho conscience every man must bo his own lavender," Then he uncovered, kissed the girl's hands, and turning to the uoatninn put his httnd on his shoulder, and said, "Lead on, my good fellow." So the two ef them swung down the path through th« gorge beyond which the town lay, nnd Pepita crouched still on the brilliant, warm grass, alternately peeping in nmn»fmont nt her bare feet, nnd then nt her brown hand*, which hod been kissed by. tho King, whoso care, but just now, had tingled under them. — Harper's Weekly.

"Bernhnrdt is «{itty years old, but who in Paris can realise it f" writes the Paris correspondent of Now York Dramatics Mirror. "She works like an ambitious youth of twenty-fivo 18 hours a day. 3ydnoy Smith said that Daniel »>eb«ter was a steam engine- in tiouscrn. I nay that Bernhardb is a comet in petticonta. Besides nppenring every night in Snrdou's 'La Sorci*TO' she has rehearsed and given two performances of Hostnnd's 'La Samnrilaine,' nnd i.i rohenrsing Henry Lnvedean'N now play, 'Varenncs,' in which she is to play Mari<» Antoinette, looking after the scenery nnd props. Thpn she ri.TS at 7 n in., and goes to the thrntro ond returns home nt. 2 n.in. TJiink of that for a young woman of sixty ! 'Age ennnot stale nor custom wither her infinite variety' any moro thnn they could Cleopatra."