KITTY.

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume 13, Issue 1062, 2 July 1869, Page 4

KITTY.

IN THREE CHAPTERS.— CHAPTER I. (From 'Chambers' Journal.') . The Combe was a delicious old farmhouse, all red brick and rich greon ivy, nestling low down amidst the warm soft hills of Midlandshire. . To call it a farmhouse, however, hardly gives an idea of what it was. Approaching it from the back, by the poppy-edged path through the cornfields, and down the daisycovered hill-slope that brought you right upon it with a run, it was a farmhouse. There were accurate haystacks roared about it; there were tidy pig-sties and cowhouses, and cart-sheds and long low barns ; and there were the deep utterance of the kine in. their comfortable shelter, and the impertinent cackle of turkey-cock, and goose, and fowl. But approaching the Combe from the front, it would never have been known as a farmhouse at all. Its little diamond-paned windows peeped out upon a broad lawn, edged with laurels, and box, and daphnes, and studded here and' there with a copper-beech, or a cluster of dark pines; it had a broad carriage-way leading up to the house-door ; there wero seats upon the lawn under the spreading trees ; its window-sills were filled with blooming and scented plants; and everything was so bright and smooth it might have been a small mansion, br a gentleman's quiet country-seat. But ifc was a farmhouse for all that, only a very prosperous and wcll-regulatcd_one.._- - Attoeh'ed'Krtllis delightful, cosy Combe was a vinery ; a broad, aslant-roofed, oldworld thnig, glistening and scorching in the sun under the south wall ; and in this vinery wero the Combe's master, Michael Courtney, and Kitty, his ono daughter and | only child. As the two stood together under tho slope of sunny green loaves and purple fruit, they did not look like father and child at all. Mr. Courtney was bent and shabby, and looking lost or scared in his rough, grey, country-cut clothes, that would have assumed his shape when he was out of them, so long had they been worn upon his great wide form ; Kitty was in a charming morning dress, that had no fold upon it but those given by laundress and modiste, and she wore it with such ease and prettiness of demeanour, as gave perfect assurance she could accommodate herself to silks and jewels, and " society," every bit as well. Old . Michael looked hard-worked, unwieldy, poor; Kitty had iitheness, and. grace arid beauty, with Vair of having nevor done anything in her life at all. So as they stood Side by side in the tinted sunlight, unless heed were paid to what the two were saying, and to the manner in which thoy said it, the tie that bound them could never have been guessed. Every word of. their little history would have had to be told. "Never mind, pap," were Kitty Courtney's words. . This was her baby-name for papa, and it was the. one still most frequently' on her . lips. "It is no matter, dear. -Come with me." .: ■«I -can' V Kitty," Isaid -W& Courtney ;^ "I can't, I can't;" and though his daughter was touching kis arm to persuade him

to come away, he did not yield to her, but put his hand up to his forehead, and rubbed it with a sort of testy despair. " I must," he said again,i'i difficulty and in trouble; " I must— l must— sco if it will grow !" "Next year, pap,. dear, perhaps," Kitty soothed him, and smiled oufc. "We 'will como and look at it again, by-and-by. Come out into the garden now. It is too hot to stay long in here. Come, dear; come." Then one can understand, as Kitty tries again to win her father away, that this is only the memory left to her of the great active man whose voice was round and cheery once, whose hand was sure at his gun, whose saddle was as often his resting-place as his chair. Then one can understand that this is but the ruin of bright friendly Michael Courtney., The ruddy skin is soft, and white now; the hand never gets its aim; the eyes are dulled;, and there is a look upon the face that means that something has been taken from n, arid that its trouble and distress must, ever rqsfc there, whilst that something remains away. .. But there is the love left for what the dear father has been ; there is the great pity for . what he is now ; and with him, on his side, J there is the flickering recollection of the old life, the old pursuits, making all novelty distasteful, and leading him to linger in the greenhouse this sunny morning, with the anxiety only of the occupation that was his pleasure in years gone by. Kitty could not induce him to go now. She tried again, with the pleasantry she would often break into, and that would sometimes win. "You think a vapourbath is good for me, pap, " she said. " You are turning noctor, now mamma is too active to let j/ou continue fanner, and "you are forcing 1 mf to take what you prescribe. But do come away, to please me, dear. Do let us go." "But it ought to grow," said Mr. Courtney, rubbing his head still, and worrying himself over a young plant that was sickly, and shewed only a few stunted leaves. "Why doesn't it? Where did ifc come from, Kitty ? Who brought it ?" "Don't you remember?" asked Kitty. The.name she would have to utter was one tliat always gave her heart a check ; and, even before the audience of this dear father, she held back. " Como, who was it now?" she cried, trying, to evade an answer. "Remember, pap, dear. Think!" "I can't Kitty I I can't !" cried Michael Courtney ; his hands up despairingly to his forehead, appealing, as it seemed, for memory, just as he would for sight, had he been blind. Kitty was touched and penitent. ''You shan't try, pap," she cried. " I will tell you. It was— it was— Mr. Musgravo, from Bracklington House, pap, dear," " Mr . Musgrave, Kitty ?" "Yes, dear. Abel — Hamilton — Musgrave, of Bracklington — House." " But didn't he die, Kitty ?" " Yes, pap ; your old friend, the father. But it was — it was — Mr.— 7 Mr. Abel, the son, who sent the plant. And, perhaps, pap, dear, it doesn't thrive because he doesn't thrive either I" " Why, he was very rich, Kitty, I sold him my spotted mare !" "Yes, old Mr. Musgrave, dear. But when he died, you know — and it is only two years ago — ifc was found that he had not so much money as people thought ; and young Mr. A — Mr. Abel could scarcely keep on the factory, and at last he failed." "Ah, I don't remember, Kitty; I had forgotten," said Mr. Courtney sadly. He was conscious still, afc times, ofhis helplessness; and when he was, that made Kitty pity him so yery much the more. " Never mind, love," she cried tenderly. "I can remember," old Courtney went on with his lamentation, " what happened years ago, but nothing that is going on today !" "Nevor mind, love," Kitty answered, again. "What doe 3 ifc matter? When you were young, everything was very pleasant to you ; so keep on thinking about it. Don't trouble about what conies now. It isn't nice, pap, dear, at all." Mm. Courtney appeared now, and did in one order all that Kitty's coaxing, in all these minutes, had entirely failed to do. Sho was one of those tall, .thin, upright ladies, dark-eyed and' dark-haired, with a just distinguishable trace of down upon tlie upper lip, who are admired for dash ahd bravery when they are young, but who become somewhat too candid and masterful when they are getting old. She possessed, as all her breed do, small features, which were pretty, and a small head ; she had well-marked eyebrows and excellent teeth, with a particularly lax tongue, and a good solid quantity of self-belief. But she was a good creature ; an active leader in anything that was right ; a thorough abhorrer of everything that was wrong. She was not tender, but she was true ; and all honour to her. " Catherine," she cried, as she came to tho inner vinery-door — no baby-namos with her — "bring your father to the drawingro^m, as quickly as you can. I see the Folletts at the turn of the road, and you musfc go to them, as I am busy, and chat till I come. Make haste 1" And Mr. Courtney suffered himself to be led away by Kitty without another glance or word ; and she placed him in his chair by tho open-drawing-room window, just where his eyes could best fall on the sea of hills in front of him, and where the sun was shaded nicely from his smooth bald head, and then tho door was widely opened, and the Misses Follett were ushered in. They wero good-natured girls, rather loud-talking, rather loosely made, longhanded, fair-haired, dressed neither in good taste nor in garments of well-assorted colours ; but they had a faculty for keeping the neighbourhood alive with picnics, and teas, and dances, and so they had their purpose in their generation, and fulfilled it in a very pleasant way. Much gossip fell from them about the town bf Aberminster, two miles distant, whore they lived, and from which they had just walked ; and then Mrs. Courtney had finished the business that had kept her this short while from thorn, and came bustling in. "You have come about the picnic, of course," she cried directly she. had shaken hands and said how do you do. " Have you fixed what day it is to be ?" Kitty could not resist a little laugh. ! "Mamma loses no time, you see," she cried. "She is a first-rate economist in other things besides her farm. Only let a social sun .shine, and over goes hor hay 1" "And why not, Catherine ?" asked Mrs. Courtney, surprised that her rapidity should be taken for rapidity, or for anything but the proper opposite to sloth. "I know Jane and Sophia would not come out to the Combe without they had something to come about ; and of course it is the picnic. I was sure it was the picnic when 1 saw them on the road ; and I ani not wrong, my dears, am I ?" "You are quite right, Mrs. Courtney," one Miss Follett said ; and " That was the very thing," the other Miss Follett said ; and then, whilst Mrs. Courtney rang for plates and glasses, arid they were brought, and she produced and served delicious rice-cake and gooseberry- wine, tho visitors made known between them that an early day in the ensuing month had been fixed on, and that the Zooms unanimously chosen for the gathering was the squire's seat, Ashbury Hall. "Of course the ladies invite the gentlemen," further made known one of the Misses Follett,

"Of course," said Mrs; Courtney, refilling tho young ladies' glasses with her clear gooseberry-wine. "To be sure !" "Well, then," said the other of the Misses Follett, "we are puzzled about Abel Musgrave. In his case wo don't know what to do." Kitty was open-tonguod in a moment. "Puzzled!" she echoed, with a quick flush. " Why, Jinny and Sophy, what can you mean!" "Catherine," Mrs. Courtney interposed, " don't bo so hasty over nothing at all. Jane and Sophia mean, of course, because he has failed. It might not be agreeable to some people to meet him now he has become so poor." "Mamma!" "Well, he is poor, Catherine," the arithmetical Mrs. Courtney said. " All the pity and liking for him in the world cannot alter faots. He is very clever, and pleasant, and considerate, but you can't make money out of thoi,, so it's of no use to try." "But the meanness of letting money make any difference 1" Kitty in her warm indignation criedi "At Christmas, when he was laid up with his broken leg, he couldnlt visit, of course ; but now that he is beginning to get about again, and wants a little cheering, to turn from him merely because ho has lost his money, is a great deal too bad !" : "Mirid, I don't say it would make any difference to me," Mrs. Courtney began. "Oh 1" cried Kitty, a little bitappeased. "It was of others I was thinking. But be a little calm, and we will talk it over. Let us see." ' So,- whilst the Misses Follett partook heartily of their cake and wine (a walk through two miles of lanes and highways would have given sweet flavour to less dainty fare), a canvassing was gone through of Master Abie Musgrave f and his fate was settled. He sliovild be invited to the picnic, the verdict' went; whereupon Kitty cooled down a - little, although, when the Folletts had finished their visit, and she was walking with them, without her mother, to the Combe gate, she gave them such further fillip for their hesitation as from other lips would haye sharply stung, " How commercial you are, with your weights and scales 1" she cried. "The people you visit must have a precise value, the same as so many pounds of tea 1 You will be counting boiies next, and if any one : have the misfortune to lose a finger* you'll say he mustn't associate with us, who have our normal ten !" "Nonsense, Kitty, how wildly you talk," said; one of tho Misses Follett ; and the other didn't say much more ; partly ber cause there wasn't enough in thorn for much "say ;" and partly because no one— except Mrs. Courtney— attempted anything against Miss Kitty. They would have come off badly in the venture if they had 1 "Why, people with one arm — soldiers, inj tired mon — mustn't sit at the samo table with you," was Kitty's next cry; "and what of people who are minus two ! Really, Jenny and Sophy, I hadn't thought you could bo so mean !" The throe had got to the gate now, and tho Folletts took their rubbing laughingly, as ib was intended, and then they went. Kilty stayed a minute at the gate to watch them to the bend of the road, and then, as she was enjoying the quiet and the sun, the thoughts that were nowhere if they were not, with Abie Musgrave, were sent suddenly scattering by the sound of a horse's hoofs. Mie turned hastily to go away. Stirred on a subject very dear to her, she was in no mood for the commonplace chat that must have come from her if the rider proved to be any ono she knew; and she was just making her retreat behind a laurel hedge, when tho horseman rodo swiftly up to the gate, and she saw it was tho very he "of whom her thoughts were full ! It was the man whoso misfortunes were to bo overlooked — it was Mr. Musgrave ! Sho was back again to where she had started from directly, her face one bright ; open smile, A moment beforo, sho had imagined words upon her lips, that had I coloured her cheeks with blushes as sho thought of them, and that she thought she must have uttered if Mr. Musgrave could have come before her ; but now, face to face in this way unexpectedly, usage — or, it may be, self-defence— gave her its involuntary armour, and she met him with only her ordinary pleasantry, and with a frank open hand. He was better ? she hoped. And ho was enjoying a ride this nice summer day ? He would move a little while she opened the gate, and let him in ? He would stay, of course, now that he had come ? " No," Mr. Musgrave answered, thanking her with a face and hand as frank and friendly as her own. He would like, but as he couldn't, he must keep on saying no. Then Kitty laughed, and said she saw through it all, " You saw the Folletts at the gate," she cried, " and you want to catch them up ! I wish I had known, I would have kept them, just this one minute, back 1" "Well, they are not so far," said Mr. Musgrave — a tall, brown, bearded man, with eyes that looked down on Kitty very contented and bright. "If I am so anxious, I could catch them up." "Don't let me keep you, then," said Kitty, making a very elaborate mock-bow. But she wanted him to stay with all her heart! " Thank you," laughed Abie, in her own vein. "You are, as I ever find you, e»tremely kind." "Good bye," then," went on Kitty. " I won't detain you. Why don't you go ?" "It is such a pleasure to see you, Miss Kitty," said Abie, imitating her lavish bow. "The few moments I have to spare, I would rather spend where I am." If this had not been said so banteringly, it would have been exactly what Kitty would have liked to hear ; but how could she tell whether, underneath Mr- Mus- ! grave's jesting, there was a meaning as warm as her own ? She could only give her little laugh again, therefore, and she bent to stroke the horse on which Mr, Musgrave sat. "It is a pretty creature," she said, toying with its mane. "It must be a treat, now you aro lame, to be able still to ride." "It is a treat that is only mine," answered Abie Musgrave, " through tho kindness of Edward Sumner. I cannot afford to keop a horse now, Miss Kitty." Kitty spoke in a lowered tone. " Not one, Mr. Musgrave?" she asked — "not one?" " No," Abie quietly answered her— "not one. The Bracklington House stables are useless now ; I might as wellhave them all pulled down." " You must miss Old Sol, then, sadly," said Miss Courtney, " I know you havo ridden many a pleasant mile on him." j " What color was Old Sol, Miss Kitty ?" ! asked Musgrave, smiling again, and making her look up with a smile too. "Why," said Kitty, recovering hor usual way, "he had a blue beard, of course, and a spotted tail ; and his legs were yellow, and his back greon ; and his head and ears were the now mauve I" "It was a clever thing, then," laughed Musgrave, "to sell him, and especially for a fair sum 1" "To be sure;" cried Kitty; "just as clover as you should be; bufc no more. Any one could soil a grey horse or a brown!" " Well, look at this I am on now," said Musgrave, "Does he look like my good Old Sol f How could you be deceived I"

"Poor old horse!" cried Kitty, seeing then it was really Musgrave's attached old friend. "I am so glad you can havo him still." "Yes, it was very kind of Sumner, " answered Abie. "He bought him of me, and said, whenever I wanted him I only had to aski But now> the thing is, that I cannot ask, Miss Kitty ! , I cannot afford a ride now in the middle of the day. I must mind my business. I was obliged tp come out this morning to see the squire—he had written for me ; bufc I have outstopped my time now, and I musfc go." He held his hand oufc to bid good-bye ; but ifc did nofc seem as if he wanted to be away. "It has made my ride the pleasanter," he said again, " having had this little chat with you ; but I must not over-stay ihy time." How Kitty wished that words would come to her that would be right to say 1 How she wished the choking at her heart would go, arid that she could speak to Musgrave as she would to any other man 1 •^When — when will you come to see mamma!" she hurried out, because she knew ihe time was vanishing in which she could say anything at all. She could not speak as calmly as she liked, but she must say something. "You — you are such a stranger at the Combe I" , f'l am a stranger everywhere now," said Musgrave gravely. "I , must use myself to that." . '?Not here," said Kitty, letting her eyes fall the moment she had ventured to lift them up— f not at the Combe 1" Could Abel Musgrave guess what her pretty trepidation . meant ? Did he knowwhy her laugh was gone, and why her blushes rose so whilst he. held her strangely trembling hand? Kitty could not tell. If. the knowledge had been of all things the best life to her, it could not come to her, and she must stay unwise. She knew that Abie. said he. had spent many happy evenings at the Combe ; she knew he said that he must come .soon to thank Mrs. Courtney •for having been sp kind to him when he was ill; for having thought of sp many little dainties to do him good ; and she knew he said again that he . could not over-stay his time, with thafc strange lingering thafc had sounded in his voice before ; but sho knew no more. He had let go her hand at last, and he was gone. . (To bb continued).