Short Story.

Manawatu Standard, Volume XLI, Issue 8073, 25 August 1905, Page 7

Short Story.

"Molly."

The Now Zealand summer sun blazed down on the dusty road along which the lumbering wood-drays made their way from the hills, across the fifteen miles of plain, to the little town sleeping in the sunshine on tie ■ sweep of the blue Pacific.

It was very hot on the hillside, and Jack Creed rode-slowly, his hat drawn down over his sunburnt face, and his back turned to the plain below. At the top of the hill the road van level for about a mile, add Creed spurred Bis lathered horse to an easy cant rr. In front of him a small dark blur showed on the white road, and as he approached the blur took form and shape. Creed regarded the fig-are curiously—it was that of a little girl-in a short cotton frock trudging on before him. He drew level with her, and then pulled up sharply.

"Molly!" ho exclaimed. "Why, what on earth arc you doing here ?" The little girl looked up. Her face was very red, and her wide-brimmed hat hung rakislily on one side of her head. Her eyes dropped before his questioning glance, and her face, if possible grew redder. "I'm just—just walking," she replied,

"Yes, but walking where?. At any rate you won't mind me walking with you part of the way ?" he asked. Molly looked up into his face. and smiled.

" Oh no, Mr -Creed ; I'd like it!" Presently Oread proposed a moment's rest.

" Now, Molly," he began, as they sat on the grass and faced the plain below, "we've always been friends, haven't we? Good friends ?"

Molly nodded. '' Well, doesn't it strike you as rather a^ mean thing not to trust a friend ? I've guessed that you're running away from home, and you won't tell me where you are going." Molly sat bolt upright. " Somebody's told you," she said. She made a movement as though to rise from the grass, but Creed laid a strong hand over the little scared one.

"Aren't you going to trust me yet, Molly ? Then I don't think your friendship's worth much!"

Molly pressed her lips together and avoided his eye. " It's no good trying to make rue go back," she said defiantly. "No oae wants me. Mother won't miss me—she doesn't love me any more now, since since daddy died." A picture rose up before Creed of the widowed woman, absorbed and brooding over her own grief, and the lonely neglected little giri. Suddenly he understood.

"And so because your mother has had to go through great trouble you want to make her suffer more?" he asked.

" I don't!" retorted Molly, violently, "ghe doesn't cave—l'm only a bother." Looking up, she caught Creed's eyes fixed upon her pocket and the obtrusive legs. "Oh, that—that's Amanda!" she explained hurriedly. "I thought she might do for-for some little girls to play with when I'm a governess." She paused, and then, putting both her hands over her face, she said slowly: "That's'not true! I'm the little girl that wanted her, and I don't care if you do laugh."

Two big tears rolled down between her fingers, and then Creed leant over, took the forlorn little iigure in his arms, and held her close.

" Hush, Molly 1 " he said, gently, " you must go home again." " I can't! I can't!" she sobbed. Mother doesn't love. Mother won't care."

Creed laid his tanned cheek tenderly against her tear-stained one. "Listen, little woman," he whispered. " I know you're in trouble and I want to help you. Your mother does love you, Molly. She loves you very dearly, but she has been through great trouble and it is hard yet for her to think of anything but that."

" I know she doesn't care • she won't be glad to see me. I can't go back—l can't—!"

" But won't you go back and try ? Do jo'u remember when the mare fell with you at the fence in the lower paddock and you broke your arm? You never made a sound when the doctor set it, did you"? That was pluck—real pluck; but if you go back to your mother now, tell her everything, and ask her to let you help her in her sorrow, it will be a finer, braver thing than you've ever done in your life, Molly. You don't want to be the worst sort of shirker, a moral coward, do you, little woman ?"

Molly wriggled herself out of his arms and regarded him with tear-reddened eyes.

" Haven't you ever been a moral coward ?" she asked.

Creed looked out over the plain for a few moments in silence.

" Haven't you ?" she repeated. " More times than I can count, Molly," he answered, slowly. " And after tonight I shall be a greater one than ever."

Molly moved closer to him end looked up into his face.

"You're in trouble, too," she said sadly ; " but I s'pose I can't help you. Little girls never seem any use in the world, somehow." ■

Creed turned and caught her up in his arms again. " Oh, little MoMy," he said with sudden passion. " I want help badly." " Won't you tell me about it, anyhow ? You saicl just now that we were friends, and that friends ought to trust each other."

Creed half sojiled, and then his face grew dark again.

" You wouldn't understand, dear, if I could tell you —but perhaps my trouble began like yours, because I, too, was so lonely and wanted someone to love me." -« . . .

" And have you got someone's love now ?"

"I've got something which passes for love sometimes, little girl." " And is the someone who loves you nice ?" Creed was silent for a moment. " I don't know that you'd think her exactly nice, Molly." " But she loves you very dearly ?" Creed laughed unpleasantly. "I fancy that she has loved many others before as dearly and—forgotten." " Then she won't love you for always ?" " No, Molly, I don't believe she will." " And you're going to be a moral coward for her?" " Yes, Molly; a greater blackguard than I've ever been before." • " Then I don't think she's worth it," said Molly, frankly. - Creed looked down at her again, and fimiled softly.

"I believe you're right, little girl," ho said. " She's not worth any man's life and honour; but if I throw.mine a.way there's not one soul to.care, so whairdoes it matter, after all ?" "I care,", said Molly, stoutly. "And I won't forget, like she would. Are you going to see her now ?" Creed nodded. " And if you never saw her again you wouldn't be such a moral blackguard ?" . Creed smiled ~ " Not quite such a rank outsider, Molly." "I don't want you to be a moral blackguard and a rank.outsider," said Molly, miserably. . Something in the pitiful abandonment of the child's grief as the frail little body shook with sobs in his arms struck at Creed's heart with a queer, sharp pain. "Molly," he whispered, "would it help you. if we made a compact —each try to run straight, and not be cowards and rank outsiders in the future ?"

" Molly's sobs lessened. •'Would you promise'?" she asked. " Yes,", answered the man slowly. I mayn't succeed, but I'll try." Molly raised a face which mingled dust and tears failed to make anything but sweet, and smiled at him.

"Now—please take me home," she said.

"Ten years later Creed and Molly stood together leaning on the dock-rail of an outward-bound New Zealand liner watching the white water astern in the gathering darkness, as the steamer throbbed down Channel.

"Fancy yoii knowing me after five years !" said Molly. "Why, I wasn't even grown up when you left New Zealand! I've been staying with my uncle the last eighteen months, you know, and now I'm going home again— home to the dear mother. But what's taking you out to New Zealand once more ?"

Creed said slowly, " D i you remember one day on the hillside ten years ago, Molly ? You saved me from making the greatest mistake of my life. I have done my best to keep that compact, dear."

" Then we've helped each other," answered Molly. She tried to speak lightly, but the voice shook a little. " For you made me understand my mother's love. "When she took me in her arms that day and just sobbed and kissed me,. I—" the girl's voice broke.

•' Oh, it's so foolish 1" she said, trying to laugh. " But—I —I always want to to cry when I think of that!'

Creed's hand suddenly closed over hers in the darkness'and gripped^it hard. " Mo^y," he qaid, " do you remember saying that you didn't want me to be a moral. coward and., a rank outsider ? Will you come and help me to run straight for ever? Could you try to love me just a little ?" "Nora little," she answered softly. The big steamer throbbed on down Channel into the night, and once more a man and a woman passed together through the gates of happiness and came into their kingdom.—Bosemary Eees, in M.A.P. J