MB. M'PHAIL'S SECRET.

Evening Post, Volume LXXX, Issue 134, 3 December 1910, Page 10

MB. M'PHAIL'S SECRET.

— .» — . In a tiny hut on tho bank of the creek lived a little old man. He. had arrived there one day, twenty years before, and had scarcely ever been away from the place since. No one quite Knew how he lived, but though he always seemed in the greatest poverty, he troubled nobody, asked nobody's charity, and only begged to be- allowed to live his pwn 'life in peace. He was not exactly a hermit, for he did not shun the society of his fellow-men. Indeed, every evening he was to be seen at the town library, pouring over the books and magazines. He would answer gently and pleasantly when anyone sjaoke to him, though he would uever begin a conversation on his own account. 'So, though everyone felt an interest in him, no one seem«jd able to break through the carrier of his delicate reserve, and even Mrs. Thompson, the most experienced gossip of the township of Brightside, shrank from prying into the secrets of this quiet little old man with the sad, patient blue eyes. Some thought him mad, for he had a strange fancy for carrying on conversations with himself at meal times. me children of the township used to delight uo gather under his window to hear him. Sometimes he would imagine himself an honoured gue»t at the table of * friend, >rhcji he would say, "Will you take a little soup V "Thank you, I think £ will." Or, "Just let me give yon a slice of this roast beef — the undercut" ; etc., etc. Then sometimes he would say in a gentle voice, "Ruth, dear, I have had another article accepted. What did you say? Oh, yes; I knew you would be pleased. We shall soon have enough for our little trip we have been talking of for so long." And he would continue on in this strain until a suppressed giggle would betray the presence of the children outride. Then he would appear at the window smiling, and iiot the least annoyed, and would distribute a few pence amongst them to buy sweets. Every morning and afternoon when the postman's shrill whistle echoed along the jjlreets, Mr. M'l'hail would come to his gate, and stand there with a wistful, waiting expression in his eyes^ only to fee the postman ride by with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. "Oh, well," he would say ; "ib will come some day." But .he had waited for twenty years, and the letter had not come. That Mr. M'Phail was a man of refined tastes, a glance at the interior of his little home would shoWj for it was always spotlessly clean and neat, and the plain pine walls wore adorned with pictures and bookcases filled with books. His table was always set with a snowy cloth and dainty china and silver. "She always liked it like this," he would say to himself; "I would not have her walk in any day and see it otherwise." One bright spring morning, when the grass was thick and green on the banks of the creek, and Mr. M'Phail's diminutive garden a ma« of colour, he stood at his g'tte watching for the postman, as lie had watched many a day before. But the old man was not disappointed this time. The postman reined in his horse, and put a letter into his trembling nands. "Thank you," he said quietly; "I always knew it' would come." Tli en he went inside to open it. , The handwriting of the address was strange to him, but nevertheless he knew that this was what he had been waiting for for twenty years. It was dated from a small street in a very poor suburb of Sydney. "Dear Sir." it ran, "I am writing for a friend of yours who is \ery ill — in fact, sick unto death. I am' a district nurse, and knew nothing nf her until I came to nurse her. Her name ia Ruth We»t. Sh« bids mo tell you to como ab once, as she has not long

to live, and she has something she must say to you. She says to tell you she knows you will not fail ; you have never failed her yet. Come quickly if you wish to see her." "My little Ruth," said Mr. M'Phail, folding up the letter, his face transfigured with the light of an undying love. "I have never failed you yet, and I will not fail you now." That afternoon the township of Brightside was shaken to its foundations by the news that Mr. M'Phail had walked down to the station with his portmanteau, . and Boarded the train for Sydney. He made his way to the address given him, and was appalled to find such a poor and shabby dwelling. He knocked at the door with a shaking hand, and it was opened by the nurse who had written to him. • "I think she seems a litde better," said the woman kindly, "but she is just living to see you." He entered the house, which was as spotless as his own, though almost bare of furniture, and saw lying on a comfortless bed in the corner a pale-faced woman, with a mass of snow-white hair thrown bads over the pillow. He advanced to the bedside, and the nurse quietly withdrew. ti "My little Ruth," he said, tenderly. "You sent for me at last. I knew you would." "And you came," she sobbed, taking his hands in her wasted ones. "I said you would not fail me. Oh, lam nob fit to touch you, but tell me I am forgiven, and I can die in peace." '' For S iv c your he said sadly. "Ah, little woman, knowing what he was, I forgave you then, and have been waiting for you to come back ever since. Why didn't you send for me before? The years have been so lonely." "I — I couldn't. It seemed too much to expect even of your goodness. I always knew where you were. I had thab comfort, but I would not, kav§ bent for you now had not the doctor told me that I cannot live long. Oh, Andrew, I wanted you to know that I have spent all these years repenting my madness and folly. I left him almost at r once, though he raged and stormed. I saw how utterly insane I had been, and I hated him. I hated myself and everybody in the world but you. I left him, and I have been working for my living ever since. It has been a hard struggue, but I wa« glad it was so. Why should not I suffer as well as you? He died ten years ago, and oh— l could not feel sorry." "But it is all over now, little woman," he said softly, putting his arms round her as he had done in the first years of their all-too-brief married life. "There will be no more struggling. You are coming home with me, to the home that has been waiting for you so long." And when the nurse crept quietly back with the doctor a little while afterwards, she (found her patient still lying in her husband's arms in a peaceful, health-giving sleep. "Do not disturb her on any account," said the doctor. "She may pull through now." Ruth did not die, and one day, a few weeks afterwards, Brightside was again Jistonished by the reappearance of Mr. M'Phail, quite,, smartly dressed 1 , wibh a flower in his buttonhole, and with a dainty little white-haired lady by his side. "Have you heard the exciting newß about Mr. M'Phail?" said Mrs. Thompson to everyone she met. "Well, he went off quite suddenly one day, and has married an old love and brought her 'back with him. Ib seems they were cruelly separated in their youth.'" And that was the story he allowed them to believe. — Mabel Kennedy, in The Australasian.