NEITHER STOREHOUSE NOR BARN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13453, 1 June 1907, Page 3 (Supplement)

NEITHER STOREHOUSE NOR BARN.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY ALLEN EAINU, Author of "A Welsh Singer," "By Berwen Banks," " Torn Sails." " A Welsh Witch," " Queen of the Bushes," ! etc.. etc.

all rights reserved. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER YL—(Continued.) 1 After supper, sitting' in the red glow of the ■ culm tire, Ohven timidly asked, "Could I stay longer with you, Seba? ;Perhaps 'tis because you are Post s sister. | but I am sure 'tis partly because of your i kindness and because I am so friendless and lonely that I feel s.o sorry to ieave you |to-morrow. I thought/ my aunt in Manchester would be ready to receive me at ■once, but she can't- for anothei nine days, so as I must stay somewhere on the road there's glad I would be if you could keep Ime till then."

"Dear, dear! as long as you like," said Seba, tier large heart warming towards the friendless girl. "The longer the better! you are company for me, merch-i, and somehow I am growing very fond of you, and of him, too, the voung lad." - Of course I will pay you," said Olwen. "I am very poor, but 1 have enough to pay my lodgings, and to carry mc to Manchester, and then I suppose I will be all right. Oil, Seba, to sleep every night in that little white room, with the flowers all round me, and the bees humming, arid then to be with you all day, I would like it to last for ever."' "And what will become of the bachen'" , . " Oh, be will seek for lodgings for himself, and for work to do, or perhaps, she said, "he will go on his journey alone; it was onlv a chance that we met." "Well," said Seba, "it was Providence, I think, merch-i, for it would be very lonely for you to go so far by yourself, and coming "from Rhydyser here all the way on vour feet you must be tired already." ' Recalling that journey, although she' only answered, " No, I was not tired,' j the memory of those days 01 idyllic lite in the woods brought with them a pang of regret. "I will go to bed now though, I think, she said, and in the little white-washed room, with its dark rafters and moonlit window, she, sat down to think. From the next room the heard the same soft monotone that had greeted their arrival ; it was Seba reading her chapter, and Olwen pictured the old brown finger moving down the page, and as she laid her head upon her pillow a strange sense of safety and blessing seemed to "flow in upon her from that gentle voice. But in vain she tried to sleep, for she still ■ seemed to hear the organ at Rhosmor, and Gwil's music instead of soothing and calming had only a disturbing effect upon her. "She felt as if she had come to a turning in the path of life, where she would leave the golden past behind her to face the dry uninteresting road, that stretched towards the future and Manchester. | She tossed restlessly on her pillow, and tried to cast from her the unreasoning depression which had suddenly fallen upon |liei spirits:. ' . Gwil was different to what she had thought him, a youth— lad, yes, one of those village lads he had appeared to her when she first met him in the woods of Coed du, kes than a week ago. -Was that possible? Could those few days have altered him so much?. In the swelling i tones of the organ he seemed to her to have revealed his inner self—a youth no longer—a man full of noble thoughts, of beautiful dreams hopes he had said. What did he mean? A conscious blush suffused her face which she was glad there was no one to see, and again in fancy she heard the rich harmonies that had floated through the old hall, and started into life the deep mysterious throbbings of a woman's' -eart. Had those few days in the woods of iCoed du the power to chuijge her: too? And she tried hard to shut out the dawning truth that she too was altered in spirit. • • In the early morning she fell asleep, to dream of a deep flowing river on which she and Gwil floated down with the stream— suddenly they were in the rapids, in. the foam and flood, and she awoke with a cry as she saw the boat sink, while she and her companion were separated and borne away in different directions. "Oh, it was a terrible dream !" she said, as Seba, roused by her cry, came in to inquire, but Olwen told her nothing more. "Your breakfast, is on the table, merch-i," she said, "because I must go to Ehosmor. I am going early to take the old mishteer his cup of tea." When she returned at ten o'clock she brought the news that Gwil was gone, had been gone for hours ; but had kept his promise and delighted the old man by playing to. him before lie started on his journey. " Dear anwl, poor master was quite sad," she said. " ' Twas pity to hear him say, '1 wish he could stop with me, Seba, but, poor fellow, he must finish his journey alone, like me!' "

" Had you ever anyone belonging to vou?" said Olwen.

" Yes, husband and two children, miss vach, but I am nob unhappyCaton Pawb! I wouldn't be selfish ; they are happy and safe, while I am here waiting." At Rhosmor, Gwil had slept, as he would have expressed . it, " like a top," never waking till the sun was high in the sky, and the song of the birds came in through the open window like a psalm of rejoicing. These blackbirds spoke to him in musical 'phrasing from brushwood and briar as he ran down the wood to his bath in the river, and hurried back to regale himself and his kind old host with a feast of melody, ending up with Beethoven's " Adieu." For a whole hour he sat at the organ, and then with a sigh, wondering when he next should have such a glorious chance, he left the house and turning away from the river began his journey in an opposit© direction. , Yes, he had slept soundly, but he had dreamt so vivid a dream that it tinged his thoughts, and .so directed his course for the day. . , He had dreamt that he stood amongst a company of toilers, some had worked with ponderous sledge hammers, some had delved in the ground, some had wielded the pickaxe, and dug out the ■ blocks of coal; others had bent over folios of paper, while others had stooped to the weaving with the rest., and eagerly tried to reach to a coil of wires, of rings, and cog-wheels, which lay on a ledge beyond his reach. " Will nobody help me to get at my work?" he cried; but all were too busy to heed him ; and still he stood with empty hands, looking up at the ledge on which stood the implements which he de.sired to reach. Disappointed and saddened he turned away to see in the distance a white shining figure, who had approached quickly through a golden —with a beautiful tender face— angel— woman with outstretched hands. A heavenly smile was on her face, a smile that Gwil thought must have been his mother's, so loving it seemed, so strangely familiar. His heart bounded to meet her—she would help him, she would reach down his tools and let him work like the rest, and he eagerly begged her assistance, pointing up to the ledge where they lay beyond his reach—but that angel visitant, with a heavenly smile still illuminating her face, pointed also, not up to the ledge, but down to the ground, where, lowering his eyes, he saw a heap of tools that looked. like implements of husbandry —a spade, a plough, and beyond them a stretch of green field and brown furrows. He stared at them in puzzled bewilderment, and raising his eyes to ask the meaning of his dream, he found the vision had faded away ; and it was. full five o'clock when he a.woke from his heavy sleep, with his idream vividly impressed upon his mind, and he started up with a feeling strong upon him that surely here in Rhosmor his mother had drawn near to him, and had smiled upon him. "A farmer," he thought; "well, in my deed, if I had only a farm I would be content, but at present my road seems to lie in a different direction, 'and I must try that path. It would never do at the beginning to be turned from it by a dream," and he

tried to forget the strange suggestion "of st his vision,, but kept the memory of the jin radiant smile that seemed to speak to him it of a mother's love. in The dream was in his mind as he sat at h jthe organ, and delighted the old man up-jla [stairs with his music. It was in his mind,!hi too, as lie bade Seba good-bye, saying, t ""So, I.won't come to breakfast with you, ie for I must be early at the farm if I expect w work in the hay-fields— can do well til] : f the ten o'clock meal, and perhaps you s i won't see me to-night, Seba, but if I can hi II will come back. Tell Miss Olwen she «■ |must not start alone on her journey tell e: I her I shall be back in good time." a "Very good, machgen-i, I won't try and persuade yon, but look here," she said, lay- it ing her hand on his arm, and looking earn- b estly into his face. "I didn't like to ask: a ] miss vach, so I must ask you. You are <}, not brother and sister. What are you to! ' each other, then?" t< Gwil flushed to the roots of his hair, the. a question arousing a host of hopes and fears. "Nothing! dear anwl, no!" he w said at last, "only friends, we are, who S i have met by accident on the road ; we are it" I from the same village, and I am sure her ji, ! father (he is dead) would be glad for me k |to take her safe to the end of her journey. f ( I must go, or I will be late for the hay- L, fields," but Seba laid her hand on his arm. Lj " Are vou sweethearts?" ! j What should he -ay to thL woman, y whose face and presence impressed him with the truth and goodness of her nature, h] "No, we are not," .he said at last, lookingh, up at the placid face, "but I wish we were. L I. hope you did not ask her such a ques- L tion; such a thought has never entered her mind." - ( 1; " Well, take her safe tc wherever she's fi going; let no harm come to her, for she is f the sweetest little lass I have ever seen." j " harm shall come to her," said Gwil, a "but I must go, Seba—bore da." "Go you straight to Werngoppa," she \\ called after him, "most likely they will f hire you. Over there where the cocks are v crowing it is," and with this vague direc- • tion Gwil set out, and it was not long be- j, fore ho came in sight of a white farm- 0 house surrounded by its fields of waving f; crops. The cocks in'the yard were crowing a lustily as he entered. This must be Wern- v goppa he thought, " Now good luck attend me, though in my deed I didn't notice a a scythe in my dream," and he knocked at g the open farmhouse door, through which I he could hear the clatter of the early break- l: fast. The mistress and two or three of the c men came crowding to the door, and in 1; answer to Gwil's request for work looked {, him well over, and seemed struck by his a strong arms and broad shoulders. "Well, indeed," said the farm wife, "the , harvest's begun, and we want a good work-

man." I "Canst mow?" said one of the men, look- g ing critically at Gwil, and thinking that in c spite of his' broad Welsh, and his free and a easv manner, there was something different c in -him to the men of the country side. t "Humph," said Gwil, "give-mo a, scythe c and see! Aye, aye! There isn't much in jthe way of work 'comes amiss to me," and [ in the meadows he. soon proved his words, > mowing down the meadowsweet and hare- . ! bells apparently with as little compunction , as the best of ' moreover comporting , , himself in such a friendly good-humoured way that before the last swathe was laid £ low in the evening he had become a general c favourite. f At the supper table, which was spread , under the sycamore tree in the farmyard, c he drew 1 long sups of his eawl in good rustic style", and held his long slice of barley < . bread" almost at arm's length as the others j did, endeavouring in everything to accommodate himself to their ways and manners, ( . and all'confessed he was the smallest, most , , "taliedd" man in the hay field. _ i ! Gwil saw the favourable impression he j > had made, and rejoiced, for it meant work i ' and wages to him, more money and more , i "wheels," for his mind .was set upon re- , pairing the injury to his model, and be j \ knew without the sinews of war he could »do nothing. . ' ' „ ' ; " You can help in the bam if you , said the mistress, as she paid him his days i wage—she had liked his open face and Ins , : steady work, and was anxious to keep him > on the farm as long as she could ; but Gwil . I was not to be baulked of the happiness, the prospect of which had gilded his toil . all day, and promising to return next morning ho sauntered slowly out of the farm-'-a" Hoi/' shouted Ifaxr,- lilie head' - servant, 1 '. after him. "Will you come and have a 1 blue with me?" ■ "Yes, will I," said Gwil, and together ) thev clumped down the read to the hamlet, 5 where at the Plough Inn they drank a blue - apiece, for which Ifatt paid, and then an- : other, for which Gwil paid, and having ,' thus passed through the usual peasant test 1 of good comradeship, he took his place in i Ifan's opinion as a good sort and a tidy s labourer. . . 1 .Entering quite into the spirit of his new i circumstances he parted from his companion with a friendly: good-night, and turned into , the woods of Rhosmor with a cheerful whisd tie, little heeding the heavy parcel of ;' groceries which he had purchased at the 3 village shop as he passed. Reaching the 3 more wooded part of the valley, and seeing 3 a wreath of blue smoke rising above the 1 trees, he put on his coat and hurried -his l footsteps, -for he knew that smoke must rise from Seba's hearth, and he pressed on " towards It, singing as he went. _ . , As matter of fact he had not intended , to return to the cottage this evening, but f the memorv of a fair face had drawn him irresistibly, and he had thrown discretion a to the winds, for why debar himself from a happiness which would soon be beyond his s reach? This was a terrible thought, and he ! recalled the happy days of their woodland i wanderings with a longing which he felt would only increase with every moment of d separation. Only to think that she had r been close beside"him all those days! to cat , to her, and to hear her answer at once. li Such joy could not be expected to last, and '. vet he knew that henceforth his In© would 1 ba incomplete and empty without it. e When he reached the wooded river banks e hope and courage had returned, and with i every step that brought him nearer that i wreath of blue smoke the romantic dreams s of youth and love grew stronger withm e him.' , , , . ' ? The little gate was open, and entering 3 the cottage ho found it empty—out in the Y cwrt a glance around showed lam the old '- boat moored by the steps on the other side of the river. Seba was at Rhosmor then. a Olwen, had she gone, too? And he turned - 1 eagerly towards the little garden, where at r the further end he saw her sitting on the o-round amongst the thyme and marjoram * with a basket of weeds before her. With a • warm glow at his heart Gwil welcomed the d sight, and imitating the slouch of a tired d labourer, his broad shoulders approached ,f between' the gooseberry 'bushes. '» " Dei anwi! there's beesy you bin, he said, B in the Welsh-English patois of the peasant, 0 but ho stopped suddenly, Ins hands fell at ; > his side, his eves clouded, his face blanched '• a little, for Olwen was not weeding now: " but was leaning, against the hedge, her d hands hanging listlessly on her lap, her ''' brown eyes hidden bv the drooping eyelids, c but white and still, as she was. a glance , showed him she was not asleep, for he saw d two pearl v tears well through the dark " lashes and trickle down her cheeks. X At Gwil's boisterous greeting she started II up" but stooping again over the herb bed > tried to hide the blush which had spread 5 over her face at the sound of Ins voice. • ' l "But what is it, Olwen? What is the 0 matter?" he asked. i- _. * CHAPTER VII. j. FAREWELL TO PARADISE. >r In a moment Olwen had started to her e feet with a cheerful face and a reassuring n voice. ; ~ .. ... . l- "Nothing, Gwil," she said, nothing at o all. indeed, only it is very warm to-day, % and the sun has given me a headache, and Is Seba is at Rhosmor— is the matter, y Gwil," but he had seen the pale, sad face, a the tell-tale tears. ?. " There is something the matter, Olwen ; t, tell me what it is." )f . "Nothing indeed," she said again, trying d to laugh, "only I am a little tired, for I ie have been to Aberlaswen to-day. I went a is message for Seba. and in the post office I 1, found this letter, 'tis from Aunt Susan, and g 'tis all right, you know, 'tis to say she s is changed her plans, and is not going to stay d with her sister, but hits come home and will be ready for me at ouce." y "At once!* When?" said Gwil, and all l- music had gone out of his voice—" not to:e morrow?" it "No, the next day; 'tis all right, Gwil, g only what we expected, vou know, and what ,e my' father wished her "to do. Pantcynon i

tation is the nearest here—it ir about eight! dies, and I must get there by ten—l found • t all out in the village, arid a car is com- i ng to take me at eight o'clock, and Posy, las sent my box to Abcrlaswen : it came; ast night by the carrier, and 'tis coming! tere to-night in a cart." • j She had borne herself bravely, had stead-;, ed her voice, but suddenly the courage! rhielj she had called to her aid seemed' a desert her. Site flagged a little, and itting down under the hedge again lent' icr shoulders against it as she had done: vhen Gwil first saw her. Following her, sample he sat down beside her, and after; i moment's silence said, "'Tis what we ex>ected, of course, Olwen. but I didn't think; t would come so soon." His voice was, ioarse and hard, "and you have settled it .11 without my help. Are'you learning to! to without me already?" ! It would be too late if I had waited till; o-monow," she answered, in .a voice al-j nc-st as hard as bis own. "Is it all over, then?" said Gwil, "our vanderings through the woodv glades in nin and shade, and at night, Olwen, when' :he moon was shining, and the owls wtre looting in the dusk, and no one seemed to >e alive but you and me. Is it all over 01 ever? and can you talk now in that calm ,-oice of leaving it all and leading quite a! lifferent life? of stations and towns and, journeyings without a tinge of regret in [ ,-our voice?" j They were sitting side by side against, he fern-grown hedge, her hands fallen listessly beside her, leaning her head back; ivith. closed She seemed to wait .vhile the wave of sorrow that had reached. ier should pass over her head, her hand ay close to his, and he grasped it for the' irst time, holding it firmly in his own. She felt the tremble in his'touch, the eager, passionate appeal, and over her pale luce a. vivid blush spread its rich glow. j "Olwen," he said, "do you know what it is to me this parting? I am poor and friendless. I am twenty-five, and entirely without prospects, and your father's words,' ' Gwil Parry is an honourable fellow,' ring in my ears. You say it is all right, and. Dnly what we have expected, and what your; father would wish, and so it is, but for ill that, Olwen, I am miserable," and his! roice trembled with overmastering passion.i She slowly raised her disengaged hand; and pressed it upon her bosom. " No," she' said, " it cannot be wrong to tell the truth!; [am suffering too, Gwil. Will we ever meet again, d'you think? I don't see; how it's going to be. I am not fitted to live in a "busy, smoky town. I shall be friendless and alone. Oh ! will we ever meet again?" "•Yes, yes," said Gwil, eagerly, " only tell me that you wish it, Olwen; only say you know what is in my heart—give me leave to come back and tell all I surely I shall cut out some groove for myself. You don't want riches, neither do I—the sky, the air, the sea, the woods will be riches to us— only to be together. Tell me that you feel the same, that you will keep the memory of our happy wanderings safe in your heart until I return; then some day I will suddenly break in upon your reiipectability, and say, ' Come, Olwen, come with me to the woods

again, to be free, untrammelled, to be always in touch with nature.' Will you come when I call?" •■',-' "Yes," she said, for a moment raising her eyes, brimful of tears, to his. " Yes, I will come wherever I am— grandeur, no fashion, no dull responsibility shall prevent me. Only call to me, Gwil, and I will come." " You know what is in my heart, Olwen. Must I be content to wait three years before I know what is in yours?" " There is no need for words between us, Gwil," she said. "I feel now that nothing can alter our friendship—we must part, but we can trust each other, and whatever happens, I shall always know that I have a friend across that big blue water, who will return to me when he can." " You will write to me sometimes, Olwen? I couldn't live without hearing from you?" " Yes, I will write sometimes," she said, " not often, because perhaps Aunt Susan will not be willing." ■■ ■ They were interrupted by the click of the little gate, Seba coming in from Rhosmor with news that a cart was standing on the road a few hundred . yards away, as near as it could come, for there was no road tc the cottage. " The wheelbarrow I must take .out," saic Gwil, hiding all sentiment under a brisl business-like manner,.. and ..Olwen, with.t sudden glow in her heart inspito of the shadow of parting, followed his role, and clear ing away her weeds, met Seba-with the as tounding news of her intended departure or the morrow. '.' Dear anwl! Dear anwl! there's clever you are, mereh-i, to do so much business in so little time, and here's the bachgen coming with your box in the wheelbarrow. Well indeed, 'tis wonderful! And to-morrow you'll be gone like a bird that has flitted in through the window for a little while Ach-y-fi, lam sorry. I could almost wish had never seen you, miss vach!" but tin sight of Gwil's packet of groceries on the table comforted her a -little. " Well, in deed!" she said, sorting them over with he! rough.old hand, " sugar. and tea and chees< and candles, these are good things. Yor have brought a lot of comforts into my life machgen-i, but.you have brought something better than these —love and music an< the pleasure of your company. I will be al ways hoping to see you again, my little chil dren, coming in there at the doorway as yoi did when you arrived." -'.. " Yes, hope on, Seba," said Gwil, a tid< of love and trust flowing in upon his heart " Some day, when the bees are hummku and you are reading your, chapter in th< quiet afternoon, perhaps we two will com< in at the door as.we did before." " Yes, I am sure I will see you again, m; little children, some time, somewhere. Corns

to tea," and at the sunny window on through table Olwen helped her to lay the tea and while they enjoyed the simple fare tha Gvvil had brought, the birds sang to then from the tall thorn bushes that divided th little cwrt from the garden. Seba was not a little excited by such ai unusual event as the arrival of a cart s< near her cottage, for at the stile the roai ended in a broad common. "3 don't remember such a thing ere; happening before," she • said. "Ach y-fi! to-morrow is very near, but a let ter from your aunt! you must go, merch-i though 'tis a trouble to me to lose you There's glad I was to think I would hav company; but what am I talking about? had better company than you before yo came, and after you're gone I won't be alon ' —but, indeed, my little children, 'twas nic to see you, and to hear your voices." "Yes," said Olwen, "I know, Seba, yo are never alone—good angels are around you ! and as dear father used to say, 'Thougl : like the birds you have neither storehous nor barn, yet He careth for you.'" "Yes, b't shwr, merch-i." When the moon rose that night, and shon ' full into the hall at Rhosmor, Gwil sat one ' more at the organ, and flooded the hous \ with his music. Olwen sat in the shadow c [ the window seat as before, and ere he ha ' played many minutes the tall old man wit ' the" bushy crown of white hair came in si! 1 entry through the doorway, unseen by Gwil ; who went on playing while Abel Hughe '. settled himself on the stairs as he had don ' the night before. , The bats flitted by the casement, the owl | hooted in the chimneys, and Olwen sat o in the deep window entranced by the swell iug strains, which seemed to her to blent with the moonlight that streamed in upo ! her, even as she had felt when the myster: ous harmonies had reached her from th woods of Coed du, and- never again, sli thought, could she separate in her mind th beauty of the moonlight from the. charms c . Gwil's music. ; But a little while ago and he had no ' entered her life; now what would it b i without him? to pass the long, long day , alone, to face a new life in a strange town I How dared she ventur- upon such , future?—and only one thought had powe , to chase away her sorrows, and that wa that come weal or woe, come parting o ; death itself, Gwil's heart and hers wer indissolubly united. ; Hark! the music was interrupted—th [ player had seen the old man, was greete i warmly by him, and again offered th [ rough accommodation of the night before l which the young man thankfully accepted ; promising 'to play for an hour in th - morning before he left. ! ''Thank you, thank you," said Ab< Hughes, " and now go on again," an I Gwil, with a- glance towards the window - resumed his music, throwing his very soi into its harmonies and directing ever , melodious phrase, every tender messag ijto the slender, silent figure sitting thei i{motionless and entranced.'

Yes, what he might not express in [mi words be would speak through the appeal-Jin ing strains of the organ, and ah J how he job j played that night! How Olwen's heart pa was by turns uplifterl and bowed down-a ! |by its passionate expression of love and;?*'' parting, until.;'her'eyes filled with:' tears,jib and with clasped hands, she looked out of. Sat the round moon sailing overhead, and jnt i longed for wings that might bear her away [fid • to the realms of bliss, where sorrow nr.djow separation were, unknown, or back with! jGwil to the woods, to the long, dinih 1 * i avenues of greenery, where the cuckoo sang[Tl and the streamlet whispered—where the] 011 | doves cooed and the rooks cawed in the tree- \to tops. "Oh, Gwil! Owil, come!" her; %vi heart cried, "let us turn back, let us leave the grey towns to the stiff, proper' 1 people, who are more fitted for them than a " !you and I!", But alas! two hours had!-? 0 glided by, the music was dying down, the; old man was shaking hands" with Gwilj a again before disappearing into the dark in: passage. "" ;^ a i "Yes. lam ready, Seba," she said, slip-jS ping off the window seat, "but oh! I am sorry to think I shall never sit here again J ba —never hear this lovely music—never" see; the moon over those pine trees again!"" 1 ' land she waved good-night to Owil, who M was closing the organ : "but Seba a»! she i had scarcely reached 11.. green velvet 0 " walk before he had caught them up. m- ! "Sena," ho said, laying his hand on the [SI ■ old woman's arm, and looking straight. ~ into her lace, which in the moonlight ..'■ ,looked strangely peaceful ami calm with! the beauty of a holy old age. "Seba, | as yon will see these woods, and paths again," ■you will hear the river flowing by its;,] 1 'banks, you will see the moonlight on the;" [grass, but we two will lose it for ever ■ ' ; to-morrow, this is our last night together, jj" [Seba, may I take her through the woods;!! and round the meadow alone? When; 11 l [people are going to part they have a few _. .last words to say to each other." j I "But, to-morrow," paid the old woman "' J with a smile, "to-morrow, my little child- 111 ' jren, you will still be together, and leave r [old Seba- alone." iP ! ') "To-morrow we will be in the world," L" 'said Gwil; "to-night we have to bid farewell to paradise." j She considered a moment, and then said!** [jwith an indulgent smile, "Well, well! Is" 1 'have been young myself once—l have J** 1 I plenty to do at Rhosmor for an hour,, .then I will be on the steps waiting for jyou," and together they turned away. ,gl ,j (To be continued on Wednesday next.) iai i ================== r