NEITHER STOREHOUSE NOR BARN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13485, 11 May 1907, Page 3 (Supplement)

NEITHER STOREHOUSE NOR BARN.

If,- • g., — , I ' „,PUSHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

' JY ALLEN KAINE, ,v ; ' ~l inr 0 " A Welsh Singer," "By Berwen V 1 Banks." Tom Sails," "A Welsh } V ' Witch," • " Queen ° the Bushes," M• etc.. etc. ' : ■

. : , —-— • . t'rV' all BIGHTS RESERVE. , - [COPYRIGHT.] (gill;-■ •' ' ' ——-'■■■■'' <■■■; - ■■ CHAPTER I' AWAY TO THE WEST, A BED sunset sky barred with gold and purple, a brilliant star,'a blackbird's song doming up from the dim, grey garden. Of just these things Olwen Meyric was con- . scions as she stood one evening in May • under the old porch of LLanidris Vicarage. • gj, e -as conscious, too, and shrank from " the thought of the empty house behind her, tao house which she must leave next jay to face the world alone and penniless. It was little more than a month since - licr father bad died, and now his successor ws waiting to take possession of his living, and of the old vicarage, where Olwen had spent an idyllic indulged by ' • father, petted and spoilt by Posy, her .^l-;nurse. Her mother had died at her birth, ■ and this had but ' strengthened the bond • ,1 between her and her remaining parent, ' When she grew older Posy had .married md taken up her abode at Rhydyser, the fillflge at the foot of the hill, but without relaxing her care and watchfulness over "little miss" at the vicarage. \ To-night, on 'the eve of her departure, • ' looking round at the familiar scene, and ;*!listening to the song of the blackbird, which ' she fancied she had heard in the same • thorn bush ever since she could remember, it was not unnatural that there should be - - tears in her brown eyes, eyes that had if" v hitherto only looked upon dreams and fancies, but they were now beginning, to open to the realities of life. They were stern realities that awaited her within »' ■ that deserted house—a cold grate, an empty cupboard, a, crust of bread and cheese on the bare table, a truckle bed lent her by one of the villagers who had loved and •' revered her father, and had looked upon his daughter as their queen. His death had been sudden; and so great had been his daughter's distress that she scarcely real- •' ised the terrible fact that she was left without any means of subsistence, i - How often had she . heard from her father lips, when his small income had rnade ways and means difficult, "Remem'V \ jer the birds of the. air, Olwen, they have : J- wither storehouse nor barn, and yet-He jaretb for them." It had been his favour- ' its text, and more than once she had heard him preach from it, but somehow to-night, when she turned her back on the sunset » ' sky, and faced the shadowy' darkness of ' : the "old house, those words did not seem , - jo reassuring as they had when all had . i been well with her, and . when even a small : income had no power to cast a shadow upon, her happiness. _ ■ V- .• ' She lighted the one remaining candle, and by its light we see that she is 6trong and straight, and supple, that her movei. Yi ments are graceful, and her face is fair. As foi her education, desultory and irregular as it has,been, she had .received it entirely .from her father, and being of an intelligent and inquiring turn of mind she had acquired a good sound stock of general *!. knowledge, together with a refinement of *'1 feeling and manners which she might have lost with a wider knowledge of. the world ind its ways. . /'_ j "••f'felFar 'from the restless haunts of .-men; M bad led a.life as simple aai'iciired as though they had. been the 4 . hermits of a forest glade, providing for 5 / ..their own frugal wants in field, garden, and household. :: Perhaps her education was vv not, one likely to help her to fortune or ; fame; such as it was, however, we find ?' her preparing to start on her way through the world . with that only for . her dower. But stay—' we must not forget the £5 '; which, after paying all expenses, remaini < ed from the sale of the vicarage furniture. As she ate her supper by the light of the tallow candle, and looked at the five gold- ' ' 1 en-, sovereigns ; spread .. on the table ■ before her, she felt richer than she had ever done before. This will- show how simple 1 and unsophisticated she was, and how un- ' fitted to . go lorth alone to meet the diffi- . culties of life. Several times she rose, and • going out -to the porch, stood looking ex- ' pectantly at the little side gate, returning , eacn time with a look of disappointment into the dimly-lighted parlour, <" At . last her expression changed, as a 1 thump at the door announced a visitor, the thump , quickly followed by the entrance of a little red-cheeked woman, wrinkled and grey, but the very personification of , cheerfulness and health. , -V ■ "Posy!" exclaimed Olwen, "I was afraid . • ■ you bad forgotten." - "Forgotten, dear heart? Not I," said the newly-arrived, Who had run up to Rhydyser without her hat or shawl, and now stood curtseying and smiling, and ■. slipping her feet out of her wooden shoes. '/ . "Oh, Posy! put your shoes on," said • Olwen. "There are no ' carpets to spoil - now." , • v",." f'*' <■ "Ach-y-fi no," said Posy, "they would' ,?!■.clatter &s if I were a donkey. Have you : had your supper merch-i? Come then, we • will settle all your plans to-night, if you ' must go to-morrow. Why not stop with. : me till your aunt's letter comes?" ."No, I could not bear to see the new people here in my . old home, and I must go somewhere, you see,, to make room for the Morgans. I long to see Aberlaswen once more, where father and I were so •. happy every summer; a bathe in'those beautiful waves and a walk on those yellow sands would hearten me up, Posy."' ,1 ,. "Yes,- indeed,. 'twill do you good- before • going to live in a town. Ach-y-fi — *;I '■ ; what are people making towns for? Go you straight to Seba, my sister; she is living on the way to Aberlaswen, about a ' mile from there I think, but I have never been there; Seba, she is a kind woman, g;- her house is close to Rhosmor ; she is taking care of the old man who lives there. He is a relation, to Gwil Parry, they say. Go you there, merch-i, I will 6end your aunt's letter after you there." "And what if Aunt Susan won't have me? What should I do then?" • "Well, come back to me, of course," Said Posy. "Yes, that I will, and I am not afraid. I remember how father used to say, ' See the birds of the air, Olwen, they have Neither storehouse nor barn, yet He careth . - for them.' " " Yes, dear heart, so He does, and you've Jot £5 in your pocket. Take care of them, mind; they will carry you safe to your \ aunt's house; and then you will be all ' ■ right.". { 'I wish she had answered my letter," ; - Ea! d Ohven, looking rather wistfully out Plough the blind-less window, where the - ~ r. , stars were beginning to glitter in the clear evening K ky, and the blackbird's song had ceased • at last. ■ "What can it mean, 'v- Posy? : ' - " ' "}Vhy, that the letter is rather long , coming, that's all. 1 will send it. safe to

Aberlaswen. post office, because perhaps * the postman won't' know Seba, 'but' she's 6 a good woman whatever. Only that basket j are you taking, 'dear heart?" \ '." . < "Father's knapsack—-yes,,'twill be light j strapped over my i shoulders. You know I am going to walk- the first part of the j way, 'twill; save my money, and I long for ( a tramp."..';'.;' ; ;.; : ; ' ~■:-;;' "»'-V.•'..■'. > ; -.;'," Yes, yes, go you straight to Rhosmor, j but • first : you must pass through Tre- < mathryn, 'tis a big "town.- .Your box will * bo safe in our barn with Gwil Parry's J rattle traps till you send for it, merch-i.". , "Gwil Parry?" "Yes, :he is gone to 'Merica. Haven't you heard this news, miss fach? Let me i tell you then.; Jossua Parry is going to ' be married in his old age, and he has turned Gwil out of the house." "Dear, dear. What for?"- . "Well, indeed, 'twas full time. .'; He said v himself 'twas full time, and 'if my uncle hadn't, done so, I'd have turned myelf out one of these days,' says, he, poor fellow, back .".Oh,- Posy,i they'll miss him in the choir! But'what has he done? Dear ' father thought very highly of him, and wouldn't hear a word against him. 'He's a fine honourable fellow he used to say, 'and has more brains than all of us put together.' What.has he done?".'.. "Well," said Posy, "first, 'twas those eld wheels and machines that he was wasting his time about, and then 'twas that girl he was keeping • company,, with; and Jossua swore that if he did not drop her and the wheels, he would turn him out of his house, and about a fortnight ago, who did he meet face to face in the lane but Gwil and the girl walking together! Then flare up did Jossua; and he told Gwil to go, so ' he's gone with his pack on his back, with some of those little wheels and springs, and that thing—that music, you know," and with her rough hands she imitated the action of playing on a concertina. "Oh, caton pawbl; he wouldn't part with that! And just a change of linen,- and \ that is all ,he did : take. The rest he has left in our bam; and you never sawsuch a lot of rubbish in your life—wheels, and chains, and things." " What a pity," said Olwen, rather absently, her thoughts being on the journey she t must take next day; for she was no more interested in Gwil Parry than in the other village lads, who sang in the church choir, but Posy once started on a bit of gossip was difficult to restrain. " 'Twas all the girl's fault, they say," she continued "she followed him. everywhere." "What is her name?" asked Olwen.. "Kitty, her aunt is calling her; she's got another name, because she a nurse in; a hospital, but I can't twist my tongue round it, riot I; Kitty Price is good enough for her whatever, and she's no credit to that! 'Twas a wonder Gwil Parry took up with her," she rambled on, " because we all know he's a fine gentleman. Yes, indeed, his mother was one of the Hugheses of Rhosmor, and how she came to many William Parry I can't think! And what does Gwil see in this girl? a dark creature like a gipsy, and such eyes! ach-y-fi, but they do say that;Gwil does' not care for her, only! she bewitched him." ' " "Poor fellow," said Olwen again, "perhaps he will get on in America," and dismissing the thought of Gwil Parry and his peccadilloes from her mind, she proceeded with Posy's help to lock up the doors and windows preparatory to being left alone for the night. • . " Are you afraid, dear heart? Will I stop with you? ; I can sleep on this chair," said Posy, observing that the brown eyes were full'of unshed tears.: •.'_._ ;"Afraid? No! 'Tis only ; parting with you makes me rather, sad," and flinging her arms round Posy's neck, for one tearful moment, the faithful old heart beat against the young ; girl's ; throbbing}: pulses; ; and then, Olwen loosened her clasp and stood white and straight, prepared to take ;up her 1 life ;■ believing : with the buoyancy ;of youth that when she had overcome the pang ;of .parting from the old home,, light , would shine on her path; and' she trembled no more, but dried her ' tears and smiled bravely as she let Posy out" through the front, door. Having bolted and locked it safely she turned to the empty passage, but stopped, startled, as she heard a whisper through the keyhole. :;;: ; ■ \;; -■? ■ •-< "Miss Olwen! fforwel!" Away 'went all her firmness, the bolts were hastily- t withr drawjv.; the .door, -sras; opened;.- and one*? more she"; was clasped to -Posy's" heart. '- Again, the door was closed and bolted, and; Posy jogged down the hill, -with ia squealing wheelbarrow bearing Olwen's box, which was :to rest in the bam until such time as its owner might send for it. • Who knows the scent, of the awakening earth at sunrise, the odour of the soil that exhales through ■; the % moss and grass on the sunny banks? ; Who has heard- the first shrill chirrup of the hedgehog ; as the warm rays penetrate his retreat under the dry leaves, the blackbird's cry of alarm in the brushwood at the first footstep in the wood; '■';.. the first flutter of wings '; in the treetops; the coo-coo of the wood.pigeons, and;. the 'soft, Whispered -greeting' of : the breeze at dawn amongst the leaves? Whoever is familiar with these things drinks of the real wine of life,' whose flavour never palls,: and whose elixir shall. thrill the heart as long as it beats at k all. And w'hoso knows them not, let him rise and wander forth on % the first summer -morning that greets- him, and taste of ■■ these joys that never flag. - ■■.■•.•;■.; . These were the delights that greeted Olwen as she turned; her steps from the old vicarage next morning towards the uplands that stretched away to the blue hills lying between Rhydyser and;- the north. Her road led by the churchyard that straggled up the side of the hill, where its " tumbledown wall, covered j with --, moss ; and wild thyme, scarcely defined the line between it and the breezy down. , Indeed they looked much alike, for the hillside was dotted about with grey, lichencovered < rocks,; that rose from the short, fine grass as the tombstones rose from the churchyard, and surely * all were God's acres out here, where there was no stain of smoke, no sound of human • toil and strife, but "peace only, and -the purity of the mountains and moors.

How the wild thyme perfumed the morn-; ing air! How the dewdrops glistened! How cheering was the crowing: of exultant cocks answering from farm; to farm! The cattle rising from their dewy couch as she passed, the sheep bleating to he let out of, their fields, everything giving a sense of awakening zest in the renewal of daily life. v': . ' '■'•"'' Olwen ; felt it all, for though she- had been born and had grown up within the walls of human habitation, no gipsy child had ever revelled more in- the delights of a' wild untrammelled existence, and as she trod the woodland path her heart beat high with hope? and expectation'of what her new life might have in. store for her. As the morning advanced she became aware of a change in the appearance of the lanes and hedges ; she was evidently drawing near the broad' highway that led to Tremathryn. She' had once ' visited the place in company .with her father, and had been delighted by the wonderful sights which she had : seen there; but she had nevertheless driven very contentedly home again in Owen, -the miller's, car, and had breathed a sigh of satisfaction as she and her father entered the bare vicarage parlour, and saw the homely tea laid in the crimson glow of the culm fire. : That peep into the world had been very pleasant, but still more so was this return to the rural peace and simplicity of their home. ."•.< . ;;,.-'.' ;- : \-< :; -

All that was a. year ago, when the thought of leaving the old vicarage had never entered her. mind.. Now, sitting- on the hedge side amongst the golden celan dines, she recalled that happy day, but refusing to he discouraged at the beginning of her journey, she < tried to banish all thoughts of the past, and unstrapping from her shoulders the light , travelling knapsack that had been her father's, and which she had filled with the few, requisites for her journey, she broke her fast on a hunch of brown bread, and drank the milk which Posy's forethought had i. provided, and set out on her way again, leaving ; tho more secluded lanes and following the broad road which was getting hot and dusty in the May sun. y

•' Not so sweet as the grassy lanes," she thought, but Tremathryn cannot be far now, and I am not tired." • '• Tremathryn, however, was further. than she thought, and as they drew near, although it was ;, only a small town, she shrank from the i smoke and dust which

to her country eye seemed to darken, the sky, and smirch; the houses. - ■** :']t She was thankful that' her road took her only by the outskirts of the gladly found herself once more beyond its precincts.",.':' •■-.: ' ; ''■-:•;' -'■'■ ■''."■■:'/ When noontide. came she had left the last signs of town life behind her; the white, the pink, the yellow-washed cottages with their neat thatched roofs and porches had given place to less trim dwellings, the pigs grunted about the road, the ducklings paddled in the ditches, the geese on the grassy edges stretched their long necks; and hissed at her as she passed ; cats basked on the window-sills; and old women with tuckedup " bet gwns" and wooden shoes washed their pails in the wayside- spring. ' : " No one took any, special .notice of her, and as she stepped out briskly with health coursing in her veins, a clear conscience, and a mind alive to the beauties of the scene around her, in spite of the sorrow that a month had Scarcely softened, she was filled , with a buoyant sense of happiness, for true happiness does not, require exemption from sorrow and tender regrets. The broad green borders of the .roadwayi were white with daisies, the west wind blew softly in her face, and she knew no sens* of fatigue. At a turn in the road a lum bering waggon came in "view, the waggone walking beside it,. and occasionally crack mg his whip as a friendly: reminder to m horses that though they were at liberty t( take .their, own time over, the journey, thej were not to stop entirely. ?; ' : •'Are you » carrier?" said Oiwen, ,11 English, with a feeling that so near a town Welsh might not be appropriate. .-; , ; "Yes— said John Lewis, econo mising his English words, his stock being limited.-'-.': -'-if .'-• '■■■' ,::-:■ ;"Can I 'have a lift for two or threi miles.'/" -•.•"■■ ~• ~.,'„ , "Yes, yes,"when we on top the hill.. ; "I can speak Welsh," said Olwen, ii ' that language. . .; ~" Oh, very good," said the man, his 1m [ passive - face brightening a little, and ta: '■ once began a string of questions, for sure ly '- if curiosity was ever personified sh< should be dressed in Welsh garb. \ Olwen,did not resent his inquisitiyeness ' but ' rather welcomed the companionabli ', interest of her new acquaintance. . '!. Where are you i going on. your feet b; ' yourself?" he asked. , ' , 1' ; "Tom going to Manchester, she an . swered. '-" '',:>-■; -.- ! .-■ ~,, , ' i'. John Lewis looked at her stolidly..for < , few moments, then advancing to the horses J heads; with much adjuration brought then •to a standstill. Then, making a - circui [ of his waggon, he took a look inside befor he approached Olwen, who had been look ing on him with some curiosity. • Emphasising the words with his whi] i handle he .said: . i " Look here,' merch-i! You are going a I straight as you can in : the ■ wrong direction." 'tion." ■ ■ • ' ' ! " Oh, was it that you stopped for?; In > deed, I'm sorry. It does not ■} matter th ' least . about the wrong direction, becaus 5 you see I am going . through Aberlaswen • and then to walk over the mountains to 1 wards the north ; I am hot, in a hurry." 1 ! John Lewis made no reply (the ide ' would; take some time to digest). He star! ; ed his horses afresh with a flip of his whii ; and a " Commop Darby, gee 'Joetsy., Presently he said, "Well, I never,, hear. ' of anyone reaching a place by; going th ' wrong way before," and at last dismissin, [ the subject as one too puzzling to undei stand,- he returned to his catechising, \lam , rested not till he hod found out his com ■ panions name, herbage, her circumstances . and a. great deal more. [ At last Olwen began to think it was he » turn to make a few inquiries. :: • Where' am I going? , Well, to the en iof, my journey,. Llangraig. I am goiri, - in the right direction, you see," he adde i with a shadow of a smile on his stoli* -, face. " ■''""■•■ ''■,'"■ "-'.•;- I "How i far? Well, about six miles', 0 I seven, and I must hurry too, or the dar > will be down before I pass Coed du wood t 'tis a long wood," he said, "deep and darl > and people are saying some nasty" thing , about it, so I'm never easy till I'm throug - it." I • The carrier's fears only awoke in Olwen' i mind a strong desire to explore the laby 1 rinths of Coed du wood. , :; "What do they say about it? Ghosi •or robbers?" she asked. ' '■' : "Well, they talk:';;of both, buol-;hav I never seen anything worse than ;myself i • it," he' said.with a chuckle, "and I ough ' tor know, becauselive-by.the tndoof it.'' ?M Do you ■ indeed asked Olwen, eagerly "I wonder can I lodge in your house tc ■ night?" :' • • * 1 :"Yes,' yes, why not?"'said John Lewis "my-wife is often taking lodgers." '■ An rambled on again, drawing nearer th : blue; hills, the country growing less trii ' and cultivated. ■'<, * ° ' When 5 at last they had crossed a slretc 'of downs, the, sun set in a golden haze, an [ the ; moon .rising ; behind them ; began ;t ( throw, long shadows across the road,- the; ' came upon a queer old house of grey stone [ two-storeyed, and with slated roof. .'" ■■;" It' was once an inn. where the coac ! stopped to change horses," explained th ' carrier, as they drew up at the door whic • stood open. " j ■■ i A buxom woman came hustling out witii , a "Well," and a nod, to her husband. .' 1 " The lil gel is going to Aberlaswen, • said John Lewis. "Can. she- sleep her , to-night?" , _ • , Again a ready " Yes, yes was accorded and Olwen followed the hostess into th . house; while the carrier, pocketing hi . small fee, and gulping down a glass o i something" which his wife . had brough ■ out, cracked his whip and ,was off agaii ■ oh the road under the wood, which he wa anxious to pass before tne night. . - ; A bright fire was burning in the kitche; when. they entered, ' and before it wa drawn a table on which a comfortable "tea was ' spread. Sitting before it was a girl , who held her tea-cup, suspended, while sh< . took a good look at the newly-arrived— a girl, perhaps three or .four years olde ! than Olwen, with a handsome though no ! pleasant face. Her dark complexion an . hair gave her a- somewhat gipsy appear . ance, her 'jet-black eyebrows made an a' ' most unbroken line across her foreheadunder them her eyes . glittered with an un natural sparkle, her red, thin lips disclose* ' a row of small white teeth,-which had ; . cruel look in spite of their beauty. ?\ t i "Sit down, merch-i," said the carrier' wife. "Will you have some "tea with us?' , and the dark girl made room for the new i comer on the settle beside her. "Are you going far?" she asked,'lookinj full into Olwen's face. • "I am going to Manchester," said 01 i wen, her face glowing with a hot vivii blush, a blush of shame for. the unreason ' able dislike which she felt for the girl : wh< i addressed her. She was very subject to these strong likes and" dislikes, and nov - felt an uncontrollable desire to move awa; from the settle. , t ;•; '■ ■'-■'; ■ • "•'■'• ;'•■: Is it too warm, merch-i ? Come an< • sit here," said the hostess, and Olwei gladly obeyed, but the ■ girl had seen th 1 blush, and wondered what caused it. ' "Manchester she. exclaimed, 'ii "Well there's a funn-*- thing! , I'm going there ; too, after I have stopped a bit with' uncle and aunt at Llangethin. We'd bet 1 ter go together." : # ■; "I am not going there straight," sai< Olwen, "I'm going round by Aberlaswei first." ■"" ' '- .■'. "''_"' V "Aberlaswen! 'tis round indeed. Why 'tis quite in the opposite direction iron here." - ' ' " :■'.', "Oh, never mind," said Olwen, a nttl ' annoyed. " I'm not in a hurry." "Not in a hurry? Dear anwl, how i. that, then?" and the red lips showed- th sman white teeth. • '• "Leave her ' have her tea first, poo thing," said Jane Lewis, seeing Olwetf annoyance, "then she will tell us'her nam and everything," ' " I can tell you that at once," said th newcomer, hoping thus to be rid of thei curiosity. "I am Olwen Meyric, o Llanidris." , " The vicar's daughter?" : " " "Yes." "Oh! I am going for my own pleasure tired to death I am of the dull. country 'Tis all very well for: a bit,' but ach-y-fi I'd lose my senses if I were there long." To this Olwen made no reply, but pro ceeded with her tea in silence, and tin two women returned to the conversatioi which her arrival had interrupted., ; , She was both 'hungry and tired, an< pleased the carrier's hospitable wife b] making a good meal. .When, she had finish ed she rose, saying. lam a little tired and will go to bed if you please.".-;

e "Yes, merch-i, there's, your bedroom, it and -she pointed to a, low door, leading out h i of the kitchen, " 'tis small, but ; tis pleasant; a i the window is looking to the wood. * s This idea was rather attractive to thwen, t! for the carrier's words, ghosts or rob- n t bers," had returned to her mind onoc or ir , twice, and she waited no longer, but bade h her nostess and her louger -night. g 3 Once in her room alone, she wrapped her s cloak around her, and opening the ncketty » i- casement sat long, looking into the dim ' v recesses of the wood, where .the moond light, streaming down the glade, slivered e the * dewdrops on the grass, and made [- dark shadows under the trees. There was _ d mystery ' in the dim aisles, and sitting there, listening to the voices of the night, c 01 wen remembered the carriers hint of h ghosts and robbers. ' . ■■■ ' > ' A light breeze whispered in the branch- J e es, on the ground the drifed leaves rustled c ,v as some little furry creature moved amongst e them. Even the flow of the river could * i- be heard through the silence, and surely, > e there was a sound of music in tho air. She listened intently as again there came 0 r's a strain of harmony, soft and distant, now (V brought more clearly on disc breeze; then;e silence, and she strained her ears to listen, i- longing to hear again the soft, sweet J ;r sound. . . .. . e ~ i £ . Oh! there it was, gently rising and fall- j is ing on the air, entrancing, enchanting it .0 kept her speelbound. What could it be. y so strangely soft, so full,, so far, so near, even in her very heart calling to her to in leave the haunts of men, and wander forth i unaer those silver moonbeams? T (To be continued.) a >- c S [Another instalment of this very interest- . , e ing story will be given in these columns j on Wednesday next and continued on Saturdays and Wednesdays until its com- | pletion.] i i- ===== ' 1 1