THE CHRISTMAS GUEST AT THE LODGE.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXIV, Issue 13947, 2 January 1906, Page 4

THE CHRISTMAS GUEST AT THE LODGE.

(By H. M. BURNSIDE.) Author of “ Quite a Little Romance,” etc. [All Rights Reserved.] “ Who was that went through the gate just now, Polly? I thought I heard it click as I washed my hands,’ said a stalwart, elderly man, clad in brown velveteen, as be entered the cheery living room of th© lodge of Park Manor from some outer premises. Polly, a handsome, buxom woman,, still active and capable, was preparing their evemhg meal, and tho appetising smell of broiling steak pervaded the oosy little glace. £< lt was Miss Ivy,” she replied; “the rest of ’em are still at the church. Miss Ivy said she’d suinmut to do, afore tho others came in, and she wished me “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. Tho same thought struck me when I took th© 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 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 sweet-natured 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 no.w, 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 lie's worth to’ have him back. Aye, I fear the 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 te 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 oak door was slowly pushed open, and a face peered in. Polly screamed, and throw her apron over her head, and Joe strode past her. “ Hush. Polly!” be said sternly, opening the door wide, “Sir, sir, Mr Clive! Can it really be you?”' he cried, as a young man and closed the door carefully behind him. “Hullo, Polly! dear old Polly!” he exclaimed, “you are surely not going to have a fit of th© old ‘ strikes ’ at the sight of mo- I’m your own boy, Nat, weU and hearty. Give me a kiss, nurse, an rl ©ay vou are glad to see me.” The colour came back to Polly’s rnddv clmeks as she drew the tall young head to her motherly bosom, stroking and rocking it as if be had still been tho habv she used to nurse. “Glad,” she sobbed. “Oh, Master Nat, my own boy. Thank God, T 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 ns—it won’t he for the first time cither.” “ I will thankfully, Joe. I’m as cold as an iceberg, and as hungry ns 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 Mary and the Colonel.” “All well, sir, and Miss Ivy ” “ Yes—l know Ivy’s all right. I saw her and tho young ones' at the church. I ventured to peep in, seeing the 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 is the fellow, surely it can’t be my cousin Bob? I couldn’t see his face, but the figure reminded mo 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 pulled down the blinds. “ Why, it was Bob. Tell me, Polly, does Aunt Mary —Ao they all still believe mo guilty?” “ No—no, Master Nat dear, nor the master neither. Joe here was just telling me so, for w© 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 were innocent.” “ But Bob! If I am cleared how is it my cousin Bob is here?” “ So it was him as done it. I guessed as much,” muttered Polly. _ “ Well, my dear, there’s nothing against him as anyone knows. He’s ia high favour with the Colonel, and they do say as Miss Ivy ” “ Hoots, toots, woman, you know '

bettor,” put in Joe, as Nat sprung up. “ Set you down, sir, and finish your supper. Miss Ivy has pined and pined, and never a bit of colour in her sweet face—it wasn’t till just lately dhe’s seemed to pick up a bit. Mr Annesley’s sweet on her, and I'm told the Colonel favours it, but Miss Ivy’ll 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 ns blind es a bat. Tire fact is, sir, they all think you dead except Miss Ivy, and we'll have to be careful how we tell them.” “ But Bob knows I’m alive?” “Does he, sir? He’s never said so, I’m sure—indeed he’s always the one to insist you’ll never come back. Likely he’s so keen bo get Miss Ivy,, he doesn’t want them to know. Well, sir, sit you down in that big 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 hag under the big rhododendron by the back door, I’ll go and' fetch it, ’ —but *Tce was already outside, and returned in a minute carrying a shabby bag. As he reached the threshold, a merry party of young people hailed hiin from the gates, and he went to open, it with the bag still in. hie hand, leaving the door of the lodge partly open while he shut and locked the heavy gates. “ There—they are all in now, and we fihan t bo disturbed. There’s 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 cash my quarter’s cheque for me, the Colonel nad just sent it up. I d got a touch of ‘ flue,’ you see. He was in and out of my rooms as he liked, so I wasn’t surprised that ho spent some time in the sitting-room before I heard him go out. He brought the cash in the evening, and after that, bo my surprise, I didn’t see anything of him for two or three days, Then the first evening I was about again, he rushed in, looking pale and excited. > ‘ A nice mess you have got yourself into, young man,’ he exclaimed. ‘What possessed you to forge your guardian’s name for such a large amount, I cannot understand. All you can do now is to get out of tho country at once.’ ; “ ‘What are you talking of, Bob, 1 replied hotly. ‘ I have forged no one’s name. Why should I?’ “ ‘ All I can say is, I’ve seen the cheque with my own ©yes, and I’ve just mot the Coion el. 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 his lawyers, and vows he will take proceedings against you at onoo. It’s no use your denying or protesting, Nat—fact is fact. I just rushed off to you, making plans on the way. We are old pals, lad, and if you’ll, trust to me I’ll undertake to get you out of the way in time.’ “Bob was so vehement,”_ went on Nat; “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 name. I had my quarter’s allowance, you see, and I’ve earned a bit here and there, so I got on all right. I’ve written regularly to Bob, but with the exception of a wire telling me to ‘ keep dark,’ 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 covered with attempts at imitating the Colonel’s signature and my own. I remembered the hours he had spent in my sitting-room that day. He was hard up, I knew, and he had. evidently forged the cheque in order to raise the wind; copying the signature from the one I had entrusted to him, and then fogetting to destroy the proofs of his crime. There were seme torn bits of a cheque, boo; my cheque book had been lying beside the blotter. He then took both drafts to the bank. You see, not having dared to draw tie money, I hadn’t opened the cheque book either. “ Soon after that I met; a fellow I had known slightly in London. He seemed 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 homo-sick. The thought of “ivy drew m© like a magnet, so I ventured to come home, and here 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 get the money, after all. The bankers and the 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 to keep you out of the -way, lest it should all oomo out.” “And that he might marry Mies Ivy,” put in Polly. “And now, by your leave, Master Nat, I’ll go up and break the good news at the house.” As Polly left the lodge the gate bell rang, and a boy from the station called not: “Hi, missus, if you’re going up to the house you can save me the tramp, as I’m in a hurry—Mr Annesley the gent who was there, wants his man to take his things to London by the night' train, as he’s called away sudden. I’d ought to a’ oomo an hour ago, but I couldn’t get away.” “Mr Annesley gone!” cried Polly in amaze. “ Ay, went off by the 5.50! Seed him myself, he came on straight from the Church decorating, and looked as if he’d heard bad news—only just caught tho train, ho did !” Nat Clive and Keeper Joe inside the lodge door, stared at each other. “That clinches it,” exclaimed Joe, slapping his log. “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 a million diamonds. She had been Nat Clive’s nurse from the time he was brought a tiny orphan child from India, the dying bequest of Colonel Graham’s dearest friend and brother officer. And under the roof of this kind guardian and his wife, “ Aunt Mary” as he called her, he had grown to manhood like a sou 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 chosen the law as his profession on concluding his University career, and was settled in rooms _ in town, pursuing his studies and eating Ills dinners, • 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 stood in the little parlour holding both bis hands, while joyful tears shone in his kind old eyes. A few minutes more and Nat was mounting the steps of the old Manor, tins

centre of a tumultous and rejoicing throng, who welcomed him as if he were indeed the cherished son of the house. It seemed like a happy dream to the wanderer to be in the midst of them all again, and yet here ho was, seated in ma old place 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 girts as of old. There were the servants, and the babble of voices and laughter—the same deer faces, just as he had so often pictured thermal! in his far away exile. “Then you wouldn’t change me for Bob Ivy?” he asked mischievously. “Bob! why Ivy just hated Bob—w# all did,” unexpectedly exclaimed a goldoii-haired fairy behind him, before Ivy could reply. “Yes, indeed, Nat,” chimed la Charlie and Jack. “We hated ' Bob the sneak’ like anything. We did not want him down for Christmas but father would have him—and- ” “Hush, hush, my dear,” said gentle Mrs Graham. “It is Christmas Eve., What was that you were singing this morning, Charlie? ‘ Peace on earth, and mercy mild.’ I do not like to hear you speak of hating anyone' like that.” “ No, you are right, Mary,” said her husband. “Bob’s sins be on his own head, let him bo no more mentioned amongst us: rather let.ua thank God that w© have our dear Nat with us again, safe and well. Hark I there are tho Christmas bells!” Nat could not, for the moment, collect his ideas and realise his happiness • when he woke on Christmas morning, after a sound night’s rest in his own room; he had had a short but entirely satisfactory talk with his guardian the night before, and knew that no shadow of stain remained on his name. “If you had only remained to face the thing out, my boy,” said the old man, “you need never have gone, we knew you oould not have been guilty of such an act.” , “ I have wished it myself a thousand times,” rejoined Nat. "If I had been quite my own man—if I had not felt so 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 h© went to the window. A light snow had fallen' in the night, and his eyes drank in the fair familiar scene with delight. And by and by when Nat’s clear tenor voice pealed out, and the dark head and bronzed face towered above the others in the Manor Park pew of the old church, all the village knew that “ Master Nat ” had dome home again—and crowded round him in the churchyard with welcomes and congratulations. “ After all it was I who found you out, Nat,” exclaimed the 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 your face peering in upon us. The light fell right on it, but Ivy said It was only fancy, then when Joe opened the gate he had a bag in his hand, and I caught a glimpse through the open door of someone standing beside Polly in the firelight, and it was I who told them all at tea time that there was a “ Christmas Guest at the Lodge.”