A Christmas Guest at the Lodge.

Evening Post, Volume LXX, Issue 151, 23 December 1905, Page 15

A Christmas Guest at the Lodge.

By H. M. Burnside, ■Author of "Quite a Little Romance," etc. All rights reserved. Copyright in the United States of America.

"Who was that went through the gate just now, Polly? I thought I heard it slick as I washed my hands," said a stalwart, elderly man, clad in brown velveteen, as he entered the cheery livingroom of the lodge of Park Manor from gome outer premises. , Polly, a handsome, buxom woman, still active and capable, was preparing their evening meal, and the appetising smell of broiling steak pervadpd the rosy little place. "It was Miss Ivy," she replied, "the rest of 'em are still at the Church. Mi* Ivy said she'd summat to do, afore the others came in, and she wished me j •Merry Christmas' quite cheerful like ; I do think, Joe, she's getting over her trouble at last, poor dear young lady." "Well, I hope she is. The same thought struck me when I took the last load of green stuff down to the Church an hour ago— she was chatting away, and chaffing young Mr. Annesley like her old self, in the porch. Ah, you women, Polly, are but faithless creatures at the best !" A sound cuff on the cheek rewarded this j speech, as Polly set a. smoking steak and potatoes on the table. "I wish I knowed the rights of it," she said, after a minute's silence. "I'll never believe that Master Nat did what wasn't straight, and like a gentleman. He was too honest and sweetnatured a lad. Who should know that as well as I, who nursed him from a baby; what's more I don't believe he's dead either, he's only keeping away because they all believe evil of him." • "No they don't, Polly woman; leastways not now, and Miss Ivy never did believe it. I did hear tell, as something turned up to make it clear that young Mr. Clive never did as they thought, and the master'd give half he's worth to have him back. Aye, I fear tho poor lad's dead and buried sure enough in some far-away place, and we'll.never hear of him again." Polly sighed, and had just seated herself at -the little round table by the hearth, opposite to "her husband, when a low tap came at the door. ' "Who's that?" exclaimed Joe. "Did you shut the gates again, Polly?" "Certain, I did. Summun must have got shut into the Park," she returned, rising, but before she could reach it the heavy \>ak door was slowly pushed open, and a face peered in. Polly screamed, and threw her apron over her head, and Joe- strode past her. '■Hush, Polly !" ho said sternly, opening the door wide. "Sir, sir, Mr. Clive ! Can it really be you?" he cried, as a young man entered, and closed tho door carefully behind him. "Hullo, Polly ! dear old Polly !" he exclaimed, "yon are surely not going to have a fit of the old 'strikes' at tho sight of me. I'm your own boy, Nat, well and hearty. Give me a kiss, nurse, and say you are glad to see me." The colour came back to Polly's ruddy cheeks as "she drew the tall young head to her motherly bosom, stroking and rocking it, as if he had still been the baby she used to nurse. "Glad," she sobbed. "Oh, Master Nat, my own boy. Thank God, I know what it means to be glad now." "There, there, Polly, don't smother the lad," said Joe. "Sit down, Mr. Clive, sir, and have a bit of supper with vs — it won't be for the first time either." "I will, thankfully, Joe. I'm as cold as an iceberg, and as hungry as a polar bear. My word, it was cold out there ,in the Park. I've been hiding in the thicket for an hour, and watched you in. I got in through the old gap, just as I used, but didn't dare come here till after dark. Just tell me, Polly, before I eat, how are they all, dear Aunt ATary and the Colonel." "All well, sir, and Miss Ivy—" "Yes — I know Ivy'a all right. I saw her and the young ones at the church. I ventured to peep in, seeing tho lights. They were all putting up the Christmas wreaths, just as we used. I could almost have touched Ivy as she stood in the porch talking to a man. By the way, Joe, who ig the fellow ; surely it can't be my cousin Bob? I couldn't- see his face, but hi 3 figure reminded me of him." "It's him; sir — Mr. Annesley, sure enough." Nat laid down his knife and fork with a. hurried glance at the window. "Bob here," he muttered, as Polly pullsd down the blinds. "Why it was Bob— Tell me, Polly, does Aunt Mary — do they all still believe me guilty?" "No — no, Master Nat dear, nor the master neither. Joe here was just telling me so, for we. was a-talking of you when you walked right in like the ghost I took you for. Joe says summat's turned up that shows you weie innocent. " "But Bob ! If lam cleared, how is it my cousin Bob is here?" "So it wag him as done it. I guessed as much," mnttered Poliy. "Well, my dear, there's nothing against him as any one knows. He's in high favour with the Colonel, and they do say as Miss Ivy — " 1 "Hoots, toots, woman, you know better," put in Joe, as Nat sprang up. "Set you down, sir, and finish your supper. Miss Ivy has pined and pined, and never a bu of colour in her sweet face — it wasn't till just lately she's seemed to pick up a bit. Mr. Annesley's sweet on her, and I'm told the Colonel favours it, but Miss Ivy'lf have nought to do with him, and the young folk just hates him. I've seen enough to know that, though Polly does think her old man as blind 'as a bat. The fact is, sir, they all. think you dead except iljgs Ivy, and we'll have to bo careful how we tell them." "But Bob knows I'm alive." "Does he, sir? He's never said so, I'm ■ure— ondeed he's always the one to insist you'll never come back. Likely he's »o keen to get Miss Ivy; he doesn't want them to know. Well, sir, sit you down in that tig chair, and tell us all about it, and then we'll think how to let them know at the house." "Wait a moment., I left my bag under fche big rhododendron by the back door. I'll go round and fetch it"— but"" Joe was «ready outside, and returned in a minutj carrying a shabby bag. As he reached the< threshold a merry party of young people hailed him from the gates, and he •went to open it with the bag atill in his hand; leaving the door of the lodge paitly open whilst he shut and .ocked the heavy gates. ""There— they are all in now, and we shan't be disturbed. There* the Christmas tree and dance, and all the usual fun going on, and that'll keep everyone in. So please begin, sir." "It's little more than a year ago," began Nat, "that I asked my cousin to casL my quarter's cheque for ice, the Colone: had just sent it up. I'd got a touch oi flue,' you see. He was. in and out ol my rooms as he liked, so I wasn't surprised that he spent some time in th< sitting-room before 1 heard him go out He brought the cash in the evening, anc after that, to my surprise, I didn't se< anything of him for two or three days Then the first evening I was about again he rushed in, looking pale and cxicited 'A nice rae&s you have.jjot yourself into young man,' he exclaimed. 'What pos ■essed you to forge your guardian's nam

for such a large amount, I cannot understand. All you can do now is to get out of the country nfc once." " 'What are you talking of, Bob,' I replied hotly. 'I have forged no one's uame. Why should I?' " 'All I can say is, I've seen the cheque with my own eyes, and I've just met the Colonel. The bankers smelt a rat, it seems, wouldn't cash the cheque, and wired for your guardian. He's furious, I can tell you. He was on his way to hi» lawyers, and vows he will take procodings against you at once. It's no use your denying or protesting, Nat — fact is fact. I just rushed off to you, making plans on the way. We aTe old pals, lad, and if you'll trust to me I'll undertake to get you out of the way in lime.' "Bob was so vehement," went on Nat j "argument and denial on my part -went for nothing, he would not listen. My head was weak and confused from the influenza, and the end of it was I started for Liverpool that very night, and within two days was on my way to New York under a feigned named. I had my quarter's allowance you see, and I've ' earned a bit here and there, so I got on all Tight. I've written regularly to Bob, but with the exception ot a wire telling me to 'keep dark 1 soon after my arrival! have had no word from him. "A few weeks ago, for the first time. I opened the blotting book I had taken with me. And then the solution of the mystery hit me in the face, in the form of a sheet of paper coverea with attempts at imitating the Colonel's signature and my own. I remembered the hours he had spent up vi my sittiug-room. that day. lie was hard up, I knew, and he ted evidently forged the cheque in order to raise the wind; copying the 6ignature from the one I had entrusted to him, and then forgotten to destroy the proofs of j his crime. There were some torn bits ot a cheque too ; my cheque book had ' been lying beside the blotter. Ho then took both drafts to the bank. You see, not having dared to draw money, J. ' hadn't opened the cheque-book either. i "Soon after that I met a fellow I had ' known slightly in London. He seemed I as much taken aback as if he'd met a ' ghost, and said there had been a great \ hue and cry after me, but I couldn't gather that there was anything against me, and began to hope that the matter had been cleared up. I grew very home-sick. The thought of Ivy drew me like a magnet, so I ventured to come home, and hero I. am." '•And right glad they'll be to see you, sir, I can vouch for that. About the cheque sir Mr. Annesley didn't got the money, after all. The bankers and tho lawyers, and the Colonel and Miss Ivy. they all agreed that it wasn't your signature—a clumsy imitation, they called it, and they, knowed you too well, sir, to believe you'd done it^ — though they never guessed who did. It's plain Mr. Annesley wanted rto keep jou out of the way, lest it should all come out." . '"'And that he might marry Miss Ivy," put in Polly. "And now, by youT leave, Master Nat, I'll go up and break the good news at tho house." As Polly left the lodge the gate-bell rang, and a boy from the station called out: "Hi, missus, if you're going up to the house you can save mo the tramp, as I'm in a hurry— Mr. Annesley, the gent who was staying there wants his man to take his things to London by the nighfc train, as he's called away sudden. I'd ought to a' come an hour ago, but 1 couldn't get away." "Mr. Annesley gone!" cried Polly, in amaze. "Ay, went off by the 5.30 ! Seed him myself, he came on straight from tho Church decorating, and looked as if he'd heard bad news— only just caught the train, he did !" Nat Clive and Keeper Joe inside the lodge door stared at each other. "That clinches it," exclaimed Joe, slapping his leg. "Yes, he must have seen me, and he's off, and we shan't see much more of Mr. Bob Annesley, I'm thinking," replied Nat. Polly, meanwhile, made her way up the avenue to the Manor, guided by, the twinkling lights in its many windows and by the rising moon, which made the hoar frost on grass and trees glitter like j a million diamonds. She had been Nat , dive's nurse from the time he was ', brought a tiny orphan child from India, '• the dying bequest of Colonel Graham'r, ! dearest friend and brother officer. And ' under the roof of this kind guardian and j his wife, "Aunt Mary," as he called her, he had grown, to manhood like a son of their own : it was therefore with entire approval that, as years went on, they watched the growing attachment between him and their daughter Ivy. Nat had chdsen the )a\r as his profession on concluding his University career, I and was settled in rooms in town, pursu- j ing his studies and eating his dinneis, | when he made the acquaintance of his cousin, Bob Annesley, which had led to such disastrous results, for so successfully had Bob concealed his real character that he had on several occasions been invited to visit Manor Park with. Nat. It was with a heart brimming with joy and thankfulness that Polly bore her good news to "The House," and sooner than Nat had dared to hope the Colonel himself iitood in the little parlour holding both his hands, while joyful tears shone \ in his kind old eyes. A few minutes j more and Nat was mounting the steps 1 of the old Manor, the centre of a tumul- j tous and rejoicing throng, who welcomed i him. as if he were indeed the cherished son of the house. It seemed like a happy dream to thu ' wanderer to be in the midst of them a.l again, and yet here he was seated in his old p.ace between "Aunt Mary" and Ivy, holding a hand of each. There was the tall Christmas tree at the end of the long, well remembered room, and the.' young ones flitting about, receiving and distributing gifts as of old. There were the servants, and the babble of voices and laughter — the same dear faces, juit as he had so often pictured Ihem all in his far away exile. ' "Then you wouldn't change me for < ' Bob, Ivy?" he asked mischievously. { 1 "Bob ! why Ivy just hated Bob — we ' all did," unexpectedly exclaimed a gold- ' ' en-haired lairy behind him, before Ivy ' could reply. "Yes, indeed, Nat," chimed in Charlie I and Jack. "We hated 'Bob the sneak' like anything. We did not want him ' down for Christmas, but father would ! 1 have him — and — " ' "Hush, hush, my dear," said gentle Mrs. Urahani. "It is Christmas Eve. [ What was t'iiat you were singing this 1 morning, Charlie 1 'Peace on turth, and mercy mild.' [ Ido not liko to hear you speak of hating ' any one like that." "No, jou are right, Mary," said her f husband. "Bob's sins be on his omh head, let him bo no more mentioned amongst us ; lal.her lei us thank God that we have our dear Nat with us again, sule and well. Hark, there aie i the Christmas bells!" v t Nat cou.d not, for the moment, collect f his ideas and realise his happiness when he Moke on Christmas morning, after a , sound night's rest in bin own room ; he had had a fchort but entirely satisfactory J talk with hw guardian the night before, s and he know that no shadow of stain Temtiined on his name. "If you had only remained to face the \ thing out, my boy," said the old man, "you need never have gone. Wo knew h you could not have been guilty of such ,c an act."

"I have wished it myself a thousand times," rejoined Nat. "If I had been quit* my own man— ii I had not felt sc> weak and confused, and if it had not been for Bob — well, we have agreed to drop that subject, and all is right now?" "Quite right, my boy." The voices of the children singing carols in the corridor brought Nat quickly out of bed, and he went to the window. A light snow had fallen in ib* night, and his eyes di-ank in the fair familiar scene with delight. And by-an£-by when Nat's clear tenor voice peal&L out, and the davk head, and bronzed face towered above the others in tho Manor Park pew of Ihp old church, all the village knew that "Master Nat" had come home again — and crowded round him in the churchyard' with, welcome and congratulations. "After all, it was I who found y.ou out, Nat," exclaimed tho golden-haired fairy, clinging to his arm as they all walked home together. "I told Ivy and Bob in the porch I was sure I had seen face peering in upon us. The light fell right on it, but Ivy said it was only fancy, and when Joe opened the gate he had a bag in his hand, and I caught a glimpse through the open door of some one standing beside Polly in the firelight, and it was I wh« told them all at the time that there was a "Christmas Guest at the Lodge."