THE Philanthropy of Johnny Crowther.

Northern Advocate, 23 April 1898, Page 2

THE Philanthropy of Johnny Crowther.

(conclusion) ' A tall, gaunt form, clad in a sailor's garb, moved smoothly over the surface of the water, uttering a low, yet deep, weird groan; But that was not the worst part by a long way, for the creature was not like a living nian ; it had no head upon its shoulders. It had a head — the horror of it — but the head hung by the hair from the man's hand and the eyes gleamed like balls of fire. Now| all this may seem very foolish in the writing, but let the boldest reader find himself in a like position as those watchers on the cliff, and he is brave indeed r if his pulse does not quicken at so grim a sight. The ghostly object grew nearer, and the more distinct the form became, the more alarming it grew. The Reverend Richard Westeott steadied himself; he would teach them a lesson now, though in truth he was far from comfortable 'Don't move, men, wo'll show this ghost we are nut af i aid.' And with that he picked up the rifle and crept closer to the cliff's edge. 4 'We know your trick,' he shouted, ' sjieak, man, or I fire.' A low moan was th,e only answer, and the speaker's lips" grew white. ' I have warned you,' he shouted*, ' when I have counted three I fire.' Again that moan. ■ * Good Lord, parson ; you'll never ; fire on a ghost.' But the man with the rifle look no notice of the words. ' One — two— three ' ' The rifle spoke out bravely, and the bullet reached its mark. The figure swayed so lightly, ' moaned once more, and then slowly i disappeared into tho darkness. The parson wiped the sweat from his brow. i ' Well, lmust say,' he was beginning ; but then he stopped short, for he [ was alone; even plucky little Mrs , Westeott had fled. ' It's no good, Dick,' she answeied sturdity, when that uight he taunted her with timidity and desertion. '.I love the dear Flamboro' folk, and I am not very frightened, even when they have been spending an evening at a certain public-house, and I am ; getting quite accustomed to the smell i of fish and tar, but I'll never, never, never grow used to their ghosts, not to please you or any one.' L 'It was not a ghost !' returned her l husband stoutly. t But then Mrs Westcot-t turned upon | him almost fiercely. * ; 'Dick! Did it walk on the top of the water and carry its head iv its | hand like a horrid parcel ?' [ ' Apparently, my dear.' ' ' Were its eyes like fire, and did it [ groan enough to make your blood i freeze?' * Tt certainly did,' agreed the other honestly. ' Very well, then; that's quiteenougli for me ! I am surprised that you, as a husband and a father, should make light of it ! Just fancy, if dear baby had seen it !' Of course, there was no answer to that last clenching argument, though, perhaps, to the ordinary mind it may be difficult of comprehension ; but then young mothers understand that sort of thing, aud Mrs Wesbeott was a very young mother indeed. f So the baffled clergymen betook himself 1o his study, there to smoke and ponder over tho problem of old Crowther's ghosfc. ' I wish I'd used a real bullet instead of a red wax one,' he mused; 'but then I made no doubt it was a man, aud I didn't want to kill the fellow. It was not a man, though — of that I'm certain/ And in this unsatisfactory slate the matter had to be left. Next morning the whole village was agog with the news. The Parson, Mrs Parson, thfo churchwardens, and old Crowlhcr — assuredly the most righteous assembly in all Plamboro,' if not in all England — had seen tho ghost, and— had fled. True, the parson, 3 being more accustomed to deaihs and spirits and such-like, had been the last to flee, and had even fired a bullet — a courageous if a somewhat' foolhardy action. But the ghest, so the story ran, had caught it in his fingers and flung it back again, while the caves and cliffs and ocean had resounded with its fiendish laughter. Ay, and there were worse tales abroad, for tht lady tip at the parsonage had kept hei bed that morning ; the wife of the senior churchwarden had declared thai her husband had talked in his sleei all uight, aud luid not eaten onougl breakfast to nourish a dead kitten while his colleague, the junior church warden, complained of lumbago in tin back. Let them all call their disorders bj what name they would, Plamboro knew the true one. It was ' Ghost : blight !' If those three were spared t<

their admirers they were lucky indeed. With a heavy heart the llevereud Richard Westcott turned liia steps towards the shore that morning, determined to consnlt with old Crowther on the best steps to be taken. But when he reached the cottage he found hia visit destined to be fruitless, For the door was opened by Johnnies -•little darter.' 1 Father be out, sir,' she began, and for a moment the parson fancied her eyes twinkled as site added, ' Polks from ihe Dog and Bottle were anxious to hear about last night.' Her hearer moved impatiently. 1 Tour father should know better than to gratify such foolish curiosity. You are not frightened, apparently,' he added, more kindly. ' No, sir ; I b ant frightened,' agreed the girl readily. ' And yet you live much nearer to the haunted Bpot than any one else !' remarked the clergyman, watching the girl's face keenly. The girl smile.l and repeated , ' I bean't afraid,' with charming hardihood, 1 That's right !' returned the pastor. 'I only wish the other folk were as sensible as you are. But I wish Mr Crowther was in, for I want to see him very much.' 'I'll fetch him, sir, if so bo you'll sit 'down -aud wait,' suggested the ' little darter,' polishing a chair with her 'apron. And upon her visitor agreeing to that she aped off toward the village, for the .Flaniborq' folk will never realise that tlieir beloved ' town ' lies a goodly stretch from the cliffs. It was a curious little cottage, long siuce disappeared, for it was placed in dangerous proximity to the water. Polk had laughed when old Crowther had built his quaint little cabin ; but he had paid no heed to that,, declaring that after a long life spent upon the deep he could not sleep ' unless so be as the waves was a-knocking at his door. The parson glanced about him idly ; all was wonderfully shipshape and cleau, save that in one corner on the floor thero lay a great pile of wet cord* Now, this puzzled the visitor not a little, for the old sailor was not a fisherman, and the cord had apparently but recently been brought from the water. , '.Night lines or somethiug of that sort,' he said to himself as he rose from his seat. But as he did so he felt for just an instant that the back of his coat had become attached to some stick y substance against which he had leaned. 'Dear, dear,' muttered the parson, ' I had thought old Crowther's cottage too clean to spoil a good coat in.' And wilh that he turned to examine the cause of his disaster. Upon the back of the chair against which he had been r leaning was a sailor's jacket, and there, right over the breast pocket, was a patch of red wax. For full five minutes the clergyman sat and pondered ; then got up and elotfly began investigating the room. ,' Heaven forbid that I should play the spy,' he muttered, *yet this matter is too grave fornice distinction.' Yet despite his words he would not let himself pry far, nor had he need. Over the mantleshelf there hung an old foghorn— a broken, patched affair; and yet to a close observer it bore signs of having recently been used. The parson took it down, and very cautiously put it to his lips. That was enough, for the sound was not unfamiliar to him. Then he wrote a few words upon the leaf from his pocket book, placed it on the table, and, hastening hjjjgfemuf; himself in his study. "^^?> To another the whole affair had been a laughing matter ; not so, however, to the clergyman, for his brain was quick, and already he had guessed enough to cause him trouble and perplexity. ?3& 'Heaven forgive me,' he muttered a second time, 'it I should seem to trifle with the truth.' Yet though his words were earnestly spoken, his mind was already made up. 1 Eh, what do you say ? Mr Crowther? Yes, show him in.' And amomeut later Mr Crowther entered. The clergyman shook ;hands with him in a friendly fashion, placed him in his own easy chair, and then began— 'Yes, I sent for you, Crowther, for I wanted to tell you to take no further steps in that smuggling matter : I have discovered the truth.' The old man's face was too tanned and weather-beaten to change colour, yet he shifted uneasily. ' Discovered the ghost, Bir ? ' he faltered. » 'Ah, you, like me, connect the

ghos'jaiid the smuggling. Yes, I had all along imagined that the "ghost" was invented lo scare away the watchers lest they should discover the evil work. But there, we'll leave that part of the miserable business aloue. It's the man for whom my heart bleeds ; yes, and for his poor wife and iittle childjvi.' ' Maybe you've w.-.-Aa a mistake, sir?' hazarded Crowtlit! 1 . ' No, no, there is no mistake ; I have enough evidence for my purpose ; the man must go to prison, though his wife and children starve.' Old Johnnies lips were dry, as after much fumbling he brought out. a littlo bag. ' Will yo take tins for the woman and childer, sir ? there be guineas in it.' But the clergyman, pushed it away almost angrily. 'Do you think money can make up for dishonour? Will money give the woman back a blameless husband — the children au honest father ? ' 'Maybe you're wrong, sir, arter all ? 'repeated Johnnie. But his companion shook his head. ' What be his name, sir? ' ' You'll hear it soon enough.' The old seaman's face showed signs of mental agony. 'I'm sartin sure you're wrong, sir.' 'Nay, Crowther," I'd thank you if you could prove me wrong. But I'm afraid you won't ; I tell you I'm positive I know the man.' Then all the fightiug spirit in the old sailor came to the fore. ' And I tell you ye don't,' he growled. ' I telled you ye were wrong, and now I'll prove it/ I know the man myself as does the smuggling.' But again the clergyman shook his head. * No, no, no, Johnnie; it won't do. It is just your kind heart trying to save a fellow- creature in distress.' Old Johnnie glanced about him with something Jike terror in his face. The}' were alone, those two men ; there were none to overhear. ' Maybe 'tis a kind heart,' he growled out huskily ; ' maybe it isn't ; taint sartin myself; but one thing I'll nwke my affydavy — it be a preoious sight blacker than folks has any notion of.' It was thoughtful of the clergyman to gaze out of the window, for it gave old Johnnie a chance of drawing the back of his hand across his eyes, and yet have his weakness unwitnessed. Then he went on — ' The chaj) as does this thing ain't altogether a bad 'un.' ' 1 know it, Johnnie.' 'He wanted money to help the folk around him ; he didn't spend over much on himself. 'I know it.' j£ ' And it didn't seem over blatiflH do the Government out o' their oH torn money when he paid all fair ana square for his trading, 'twarn't stealing like, and it were fine sport a-diddling them cute chaps they set a-watching ; ay, and it were fine to Ree the parson shooting nt a dummy ghost, as a little lass on shore, and a chap on a boat was pulling about between them, like a kid with a toy. Ay, and it were fine to sect' churchwardens a-run-ning at t' sound of -a fog-horn, like a couple of scuttling rabbits.' 'I'll be bound it was,' said the parson. And his voice was so hearty and full of kindliness that the old Adani died out of Johnnie Orowther, and he became humble once more. ' But the chap as did it all sees the harm now and he nint going to let another fellow suffer, 'cos he's not an out-and-out wrong 'un aiter all. No, he's 6orry about the whole business, 'cepting the churchwarden part, and he's sorry for 'is little darter, and he' sorry 'c's diddled the parson.' ' I know it lad, I know it.' And it was wonderful what a ring there was irt the diddled parson's voice. It wasn't Mr Orowther, noi yet Crowther ; it was just • lad ,' and the word had a ring in it which can only come from a true man and a brother. 'Well, anyway, it finished poor old Johnnie, for his h«ad sank low, and only his sobs — gasping, thick sobs, like those of a drowning man — for a while broke the stillness. But when he did look up, his voice had the old, half-humorous, half-defiant ring, and his words were scarce what one looks for from a penitent sinner. ' Ye'd have made a smart captain, parson, 'long of a man-o-war, , and if you know such a deal, maybe yon know I'm naught but t' smuggler myself, and maybe you've gotten the constable ready to march me off. I'll take it kindly if you'll let me go the back road, and quiet like.' Aad then the parson had his hand on the old man's shoulder, and his eyes were dim with love and sympathy. But, alas! his words wero hardly orthodox. • Blo^o- the constable, man; there's lunch on (he table in the next room, and after xhat we'll settle this matter up between us. I have got to ask pardon for sailing as near to a lie as I've done for a long while. I told you you and I would stop the smuggling and lax^p%%b.os{;, and I fancy we've done it tnre time, eh, lad ? ' And with that the parson and the smuggler left the room arm in arm.