OUR ROBIN,

Mataura Ensign, Volume 10, Issue 678, 17 June 1887, Page 7

OUR ROBIN,

Chapter VIILt- {Continued). " Well, certainly not as mourners," he answers, a look of thought stealing into his eyes—" merely as witnesses. The fact is, I have been thinking over your advice, Mies Wolstencroft, and I have come to the conclusion that you were pretty right about my poor old friends " — glancing down at the'pile of books under his arm almost affectionately ; " so I am going to dig a hole and bury them.' "Do let me have a peep first. Put off the funeral until to-morrow/ pleads Robin.. "On no account ! " replies Jack, falling back a few paces as Robin holds out an eager hand. " You do not know what you are aeking ;' it would be most dangerous to your peace of mind." I do not think Eobin believes this oracular statement ; but she has the good sense not to contradict him. Throwing down her book, she rises, with a laugh, .dec]*s*sng herself delighted to assist at the camingifSremony. "You will have to excuse me,"- 1 say, for at this moment I become aware that Harry is rapidly making his way between the flowerbeds to our retreat; and then I further explain apologetically — "There are so few mornings left, you know." "Just; so/ answers Robin, laughing. "Shall I carry some of those books? "she. continues, turnina to Jack. " You look rather heavily laden." "No, thanks," returns my brother resoluoely; and in ray secret heartl conte to the conclusion thaWhe is afraid to trust Robin with the volumes, lest womanly curiosi'y should lead her to peep between the forbidden leaves. So Robin and Jack disappear, through the trailing branches of my arbour, and a few moments later Harry enters from the opposite direction. "Oh, Harry," I 1 say eagerly, when our somewhat lengthy greeting has come to an end, "do you know last night has worked wonders for Jack ! Eobin has actually persuaded him to give up reading those horrid old books over which he was alwajs poring ! I shouldn't wonder if she induced him, before long, to take some interest in the pursuits of ordinary mortals." - . 11 1 wish she would persuade him to marry her/, remarks Harry, with a meditative smile in his kindly eyes. , "Ob, Harry," I cry again ; and this time my vpice is expressive of the most profound horror at the treacherous suggestion — c< Oh, Harry, how con you say, or even think, of. such a thing ? Of cousae Jack will never love again ! " • . " Umph ! " mutters Harry, while the amused look deepens in his eyes. " I hope you may be mistaken, Bee Bee. If some sensible girl could only be induced to take him in hand, it would? be the making of him." - "And do you mean to say," I returnj, rather indignantly; "that, if I died, you would marry someone else ; or — or—supposing you died, I 'should ever dream) of doing anything but sorrow for you to the end of my days ?" "Look here, little woman," says Harry, placing his strong a<m round my waist, " what is the use of supposing this and.supposing that? We are both of us tolerably strong young people, and likely, so far as I can see, to ! live to a good old age. At the same time, if anything ever should occur to shorten my days, it would not make me any happier to think that my death must cast a gloom over the rest of your remaining life; indeed it would rather conduce to m ike me miserable. We have but one short life allotted to us in this world, and we owe it not only to ourselves, but to our fellow- mortals, to make that life as innocently bright and happy as we can." •' You don't love me, you can't really love me, or you would never say such dreadful things!" I say, almost weeping. ! " Not love you ! Bee Bee, look me in the face and say that again, if you dare ! " says Harry, placing his hand under my chin and forcing me to meet his gaze. " I love you with all my heart, little woman ; but lam no dreamer. My calling is, of perhaps all callings, the most precarious, and you are too sensitive for anything; if my ship — " " Oh, Harry, how dare you, dare you cay such things ! " I cry in an agony, and placing my hand' over his mouth to prevent the utterance of further horrors. Harry does Dot dare. He calls himself all kinds of unpleasant names for having touched on such a gloomy subject ; then, the storm having somewhat abated and a perfect reconcilation taken place, we leave shelter of ' the ash and wander about the grounds. In 1 the course of time our steps take us inthe * direction of the Lovers' Walk. J About half way to the summer-house a 1 most amazing tableau meets my eyes indeed ' for the moment it nearly takes away my k breath. Under a sweet-scented lime-tree, » which is now in full flower, sits Robin on a * little mossy mound. By her Bide Jack is > reclining in an attitude of the greatest ease * and contentment. His right elbow is buried 1 in the yielding moss, and his upturned palm 8 supports his head. In his left hand he holds 1 a small volume bound in crimson and gold, s out of which he is evidently reading aloud to r his companion. f While Harry and Jack are engaged in 6 exchanging civilities respecting the weather, c tbe crops, and the dusty state of the roads— '<• in fact, about anything and everything which does not touch on last night'B adventure I bend down and whisper into Robin's ear/ " Is he reading to you out of one of those a dreadful volumes?" a j " No, indeed," answers my friend, with ar n upturned glance of ely triumph. « He is

reading * Evangeline,' and, what is more, he reads uncommonly well." " I had no idea that you cared-for pathetic poetry," I say, a little scornfully* " Well, Home was not built in a day, you know," confides Robin, still under her breath. 1 In a week I dart say he will be reading the' PiojcwicTc Papers." ,' ■ 4 ■:-.,- .-, ,;; '•> , I give an unbelieving shake of my head, but do not flatly contradict -her. So many of her extraordinary predictions respecting Jack have come true that I feel the ground slipping from under my feet^nnd have consequently lost some of my self-confidence as to my knowledge of my own brother's character. ■ It, turns out to be just as well that I held my peace, for again Robin proves herself a true prophet. Not only does Jack make acquaintance with the pages of Pickwick and itber unlikely works, but he frequently joins us in our daily walks and dvives, and he even goeß so-, far as to" .volunteer himself as escort to some amateur theatricals which take place in the neighbouring county tiwn. "Robin's visit, of a month steals on into eight weeks, before I can bear to hear her departure mentioned, for she has not the heart to leave me until I have in some meaeure recovered from the dire loss of Harry's daily visit. Then, however, her friends in the North grew clamorous, and, as her visit oannot be prolonged for ever, we are obliged to bow to the necessity of her departure. Aunt Louisa, who had looked forward with dread to -.the advent, is overwhelmed with sorrow at the idea of losing her. . .•.•»■ " I am sure," she confides to me, with a doleful shake of her head, " everything will get back- into its old groove as soon as she leaves us. John will shut himself up in his study again, and you will take to alternately weeping for Harry and gazing moon-struck out of the window." • : .. • .'.-.- I do not coincide with this gloomy view of matters, and yet I feel vaguely that much of the sunshiny brightness which !prevades the house will leave us when Robin's merry and often playfully mocking laugh ceases to echo through the rooms. ! On the morning of her departure, when her tfoxes strand all labelled in the hall, she takes me aside for a few moments into the empty dining-room, and, after cautiously shutting the door, says, with a gleam of fun in her hazel eyeB — " Bee Bee, do you feel yourself equal to a shock— a thorough galvanic battery ?" •■:■ •■■ I "Is it anything about Harry?" I ask, breathless. "What should I know ab mt Harry, you goose ! No, it is something which concerns Ja — , your brother. " Has he been digging up the books again ?' I ask, still unsuspicious. "Of course not ! " answers Robin, flushing slightly. " But, Bee Bee I—now1 — now don't be too much startled — but — but — he asked me to marry him.". . •' .■, ; • "Asked you to marry him ! Impossible ! " " No, it is not impossible ; why should it be? Am Iso very unlovable ?'' . • " No, no," I . answer, recovering my shattered senses a little, "of course not, Robin j only it staggered me at first ; " and then suddenly it flashes across me what an admirable arrangement it would be for everybody, should Robin accept him. " Oh, Robin, dear, dear Robin," I say impulsively, flinging my arms- round her neck, " do say • yes ! ' It will bo the making of John ; and it would 'be bo cheering to have you as a sister I " •" I have said 'yes' conditionally," admits Robin frankly. " Conditionally ! " I repeat) after her dreamily. Surely Robin cannot be very deeply' in love .! No one deeply in love would accept an offer conditionally ; but then, again, Robin is such a practical little body. ." Yes, conditionally ; and not only have I made one oondition, but several," declares Robin, with a determined noil "In the first place, he is to get hiß hair cut two inches shorter ; secondly* be is to walk or ride every day, wet or fine ; and, thirdly, he is to earn, either with his. head or his hands, one hundred pounds before I really think of the matter seriously." , . . „ My heart sinks within me. •' The third condition is impossible," I say despondently. "'Jack couldn't do it. He has never been brought up to anything. How could he earn a hundred pounds ?" ,*' * Where there's a will there's a way,' " quotes Kobin. " I leave him to find out how j it .simply has' to be done if he wants me." ; "But why?' He has a thousand a year, without wo) king." "Just bo ; as it has enervated his nature. t He should have been born a poor man, and' had to work for his living." " Oh, Robin you are a thorough Radical ! Besides, your conduct is senseless. It would be much kinder to refuse him outright. He can't even earn a shilling, so far as I see, let alone a hundred pounds. He used to be able to work' a lathe a little ; but lam sure the candlesticks he made wouldn't sell for much. He never could make a pair ; there was one always taller than the other. "Oh, you delicious oldgooBe!" laughs Robin, as she gazes, with a new softness in her eyes, straight into mine. ; " Robin, do relent," I say, counting on that half-pathetic look. : "No, dear," she answers, quietly, but decidedly j "he must prove himself a man. He must prove 'that, should ever our money take wing, he could -keep me by his own efforts. Don't thiqk me bard, Bee Bee j it is for his own good — and, notwithstanding my seeming hardness, I love him very dearly.' ." Not so dearly as I do Harry." : A strange smile flits round Robin's mouth. " Just as dearly, though not in the same way," she answers, with, a kias. Then Jack appears at the door, and — oh, wonderful ! — lt is I, Bee Bee, who am de trop. ."-.There is nothing to be done but to accept the situation j and,- with*, some excuse about " sandwiches," I glide away. #*.# . # # As, in the oft-told fairy legends, the unlucky Prince always managed to overcome the obstacles placed in his path, by a fate, so does my brother Jack vanish the giant that intervenes between him and happiness. • .■•':•• Our small home-farm falling vacant about the end of Robin's visit, a brilliant; idea enters his head. He takes the management thereof into his own hands, and engages the services of a practical working bailiff. Soon a deep interest in his healthful occupation springs up, and what he at first undertook as a means of winning Robin becomes the engrossing business of his life. / Before Bix months pass over our heads, he is honourably entitled to claim Robin, nor is he slow in availing himself of that privilege So, while tho bailiff is left in charge of the prosperous farm, there is a gay wedding in the North, after which aunt Louisa and I return home to await the arrival of the newly-married pair. ': So our merry light-hearted Robin is caged,' and Jack the dreamer transformed into Jack the practical man of business ; for, having once felt the delightful stimulus of work, he clings ever afterwards to the management of the home farm. Under his c^re, it yields not only the coveted hundred, but, before many years are over, thousands of pounds. Aunt Louisa still lives at Podmore, to alternately spoil and gently scold her second generation of nephews and nieces. As for in j self—well, Harry's ship came back some years ago j and, as a rich old uncle left him some money about the same time, instead of settling him to work, after Robin's example, I not without some difficulty, persuaded him to leave the Navy. K. Y. Z. THE END. ( i