THE SIN, THE SORROW, THE CRIME.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2293, 5 January 1900, Page 6

THE SIN, THE SORROW, THE CRIME.

Haekar.iato this day the least pulsefal village to be found anywhere within the Immediate ken of civilisation. The widow Searton's general shop, where yon could buy anything and everything a pious housewife might need, stood in the most remote part of it. It was, indeed, on the verge of tbe black moor which spread heavily out towards what was in the eyes of the wide-faced children the myUic, the unknown almost the terrible. Yet there was a good cart cot from the place across the dark waste, fair on to the high-way, which curved right and left to busy hives of human industry. So those living in what was called " the end house " could go to and fro between it and the bustle beyond without passing through the village. Indeed, the latter was the longer way for Mrs. Scarton or her son Steve, but the reverse for hef neighbours, so much did the main thoroughfare sweep and writhe on itself. -

" Too wiO be the death of me. You will have murder on your souL God have mercy on you, and snatch you from the sinful path yo« now delight to tread. To think that 1 should ever have bone such a monster of iniquity. I tell you, Steve, I will not stay here tojfce hjflpd;by you. I will and leave it all to ypo. And a nice mess you will ■take of things. Still," added the widow, with • sort of bitter satisfaction, as through her raining eyes she ssw her handsome son ykdim^ M the poorer you aie,themore and yea get closer and closer oomyifuions, the better it will be for your souL Money, and yea have had too much of it, is taking you straight into the awful pit." 1 Mis. Scartoa did not mince words when she talked to her son, especially when the occasion was his return from the big city beyond, shsttoed la health and pocket. " Don't talk nonsense, mother," returned Steve, angrily. " I'm neither better nor worce than other young fellows of my age. A father would not be so hard on me as you are. You can't turn a lad of spirit into an old woman, try all you know. I would rather be in llllflildfcj you are so fond of mentioning' thsu stand here all my days measuring stuffs that should have been milled into paper years ago; cutting cheese a skunk might turn up his nose at; doling out musty tea at a million per cent, profit; and generally piling on the unsophisticated ones goods friend Noah got weary of in the Ark. " You villain ■" Her boy's passionate utterances galled the widow' where one word antagonistic to the faith she found such solace in raised a sore. Her fsee darkened. She raised her hand to sbikehim. "If you do that!" vaunted he, who bad got al) his passion from her, " I will ." Heavy kn'ockings at the door made them both subside. It was only Mrs. Tetcum, a i elation of the widow—distant as families usually accept the term, and distant geographically, as the natives of Hucker understood the distinction. She lived quite at the other end of the village. It had taken her a full quarter of an hour to get from her hoose to that. Another spell to listen outside and bear how the quarrel was getting on, then, lo! at the nick of.the moment, she appeared on the scene I It was away the fairies of Hucker had. " Keally, Stove," said she, In her most agreeable way, and after the usual dull amenities, "I am thankful to see yeu once more at home. It's where you should be always, ■ay dear. It almost killed me to hear that you were in the hands of the police." Mrs. Tetcum broke down, and cried. " What are you talking about ? It was only by chance I waa in the club when it was iJJIiu. " flßto you, there were titled people in tbe mess ss well as me. That's nothing.

But how did you come to hear of it I" " Hear of *it !" iterated Steve's mother, " Why, George Ben;, the carrier, brought three ' Leaders' dowu with him, and they were soon napped up at sixpence apiece by tile gossips when they heard your name was among the men taken. I thought I should have died for very shame." Steve looked serious. " Forvige me, mother," said he, kissing her forehead. " I never meant to give you thi» trouble. I could not imagine that the news would travel right out here. Any way, it was only unlucky chance that made me the victim of the raid. I had not been to the place before, did not mean going again, was not in it for mere than five minutes, when, snap! and there I was." " Ay! Satan is always searching and seeking, seeking and searching, and aye finding," said his mother. Her heart looked wistfully out to him. " And you will bide at home ■ow r she went on io softened accents. " I am very lonely here. I might be killed in my bed any night, and few be any the wiser, for a long time." " Keep a good heart, mother. I've ' had some,' as they say in town. A rest will do me good. 11l give the shop a show for a yeai or two any way.'' " A noble boy—a noble boy!" gurgled Mrs. Tetcum, who then again sank into mellowed moisture.

" Brag is a good dog but Performance is better" said Widow Scarton to hsr son. " I pray that God may keep you firm to your good resolution. If you fail in it I shall be soon in my grava."

"Things have sharpened up a bit at Widow Scarton's since Steve has mended his ways, and is now not above helping his mother," went the smaller talk of the small Tillage. ' Steve had picked up amazingly. He handled the sugar like an old grocer, and weighed out flour for all his fist was worth. Over the bacon he bothered the conscience ol the scales with the shortest of his active fingers. He seemed a godsend to the little, but money-making shop. No one disputed this until, at last, Mrs. Tetcum's wondering whisper found echo, and over the close firesides the question was eagerly asked: " Why does no one ever see Widow Scarton behind her counter now? " Steve had always a ready answer for all inquirers. His mother was ill; she had gone a journey; she was delayed on her return from this cause or by that. He could bring out letters from her showing that she was happy. So op, and so on, till question sank from weariness, and horrible suggestion grew apace. He was strenuous at his business day by day, looked more and more disconsolate, and grew » violet tinge within the cavities of his eyes whence once a bright light showed. Suspicion got ground to its keenest edge when he went sway for a few days saying he .was to bring his mother home and then returned without her. This happened many times. All talked things in a quiet way, but not one dared to take any practical step to settle beyond all tussle whethrr Widow Scarton was alive or dead. The nearest constable lived five miles off, when he was at home. Steve at last failed to come back for a wealth of time. You i might want a staylace, or a wang of soap, and make your own ears ding with your knocks at the door to the loss of yourknuckl? skin, and still go empty away.

It «m need that at last made the villagers break into the " end house." They did not expect to find much stock, t for Steve had been more of a seller than a buyer. What they did look, and search greedily for, was a body—the corpse of the ( Widow Scarton. It waa tried for high **d | low in the bit of a hoose. Delved for in the garden behind. Hounds were lured over the moor with the hope that they might bring it, or what remained of it, into the light. The distant police, once roused, blundered along with cheerful alacrity, and {failed to make a step to a record. A go&d time passed before a man could be found who was sufficiently daring to reopen the widow's shop on the edge of the moor. He searched the house right through without discovery. Finally,being a man of ideas, he went on to the roof. There, between the two chimney stacks, and well out of view from the road, he found, strung up bv a rotting rope, the very shocking corpse o* —Steve Scarton. The supposition at Hucker is that Mrs. Scarton did carry out her threat and leave her son "to it all" And that he. getting to 1 the last of his resources for accounting for the absenoe of his mother, took his own life rather than face any investigation which might involve (he tearing open of some old misdeeds of his own. Up to the date of writing this true narrative no trace of the Widow Scarton has been lit on, alive or dead. She mejaow come forward at any momeat. Who can tell ?