"THE HAVEN,"

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14103, 3 July 1909, Page 3 (Supplement)

"THE HAVEN,"

BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS. Author of "Sons of the Morning." "Children of the Mist," "The Whirlwind,"

" The Secret Woman." " The Mother." etc.. etc.

[COPYRIGHT.]

CHAPTER Xll.—(Continued.)

•Presently his toilet, was completed; his beard and hair were trimmed, and he put on his hat and, coat and departed. To the quay Mr. Peach went; but when he was out of sight from the. group at the coffin house he made a detour, worked round behind them again, and presently proceeded in a direction exactly opposite to that on. which he had appeared to journey. His way now took him past the dwelling uf John Major, and here he stopped, cast suspicious eyes in every direction, and then approached the door. But a couple of fishermen came down the street, whereupon Mr. Peach slipped away from the door, and pretended to take no interest in it. When the men had passed out of sight, however, he crept back again. Thrice he was frightened off and thrice he returned. His manner suggested a timorous bird that has found a treasure, but dare not take the risk of possession. Anon the folk began to come back from their place of worship, and Mr. Peach lost heart altogether. His enterprise, whatever that might have been, was abandoned for the present. " I'll try again when 'tis the quiet time after, dinner, and the people be in. their houses," he said to himself. The man then went home to his abode on the outskirts of the town, and walked in a little garden, where every grass blade kept its place. Here were roses, day-lilies,.lark-spurs and pseonies, arranged with desolate precision and exactitude. Over the iron wicket gate drooped a laburnum, and screwed to the gate was a brass plate with the name of Titus Peach upon it. During these uneasy moments,' before further endeavour, Mr. Peach found peace in the contemplation of his growing , things. He visited his kitchen garden presently, frightened away a blackbird from his cherry tree, destroyed three caterpillars, and then went indoors to dinner. He ate in the kitchen, and the old servant who waited on him shared the meal. She was inquisitive, but Mr. Peach remained very taciturn. He ate little, though he drank hie usual pint of beer. Then he went back to his garden and smoked his pipe in a little grotto made of shells, splinters l ef quartz, and pieces rof coral. This erection the work of his own hand through a space of eight years, air/ays soothed the spirit of Mr. Peach ; and it «id so now. He started presently with renewed energy and renewed hope; and as Sam Brokenshire had knocked at John Major's door a month ago, so now did Titus boldly announce himself. But he did not come to see the fisherman. , Indeed, he knew very well that the Jack and Lydia was far away somewhere between Lundy. and Ireland. .«Mrs. Michelmore answered the door. She wore her usual black Sunday gown and her customary long-suffering expression.-: ; " Master's ' round land,'" she said. He extended his band and she shook it. They were very slightly acquainted, Emma sometimes used Mr. Peach, in conversation, as an example .of the prosperous sort whose fortune never fails. "I know," answered Mr. Peach. "I know your, brother's away, and I hope he's doing well, as he deserves to do. But, if I'm not here at a Wong moment, I'd like to have a bit of a tell with you, Mrs. ifichelmore." ' ; , " And welcome. You can't be worse company than my own thoughts," she answered. "Lydia's gone mooning out somewhere. She's very much changed from herself since her father said she shouldn't take your nephew. So I'm alone—as far as one can be with such ghosts as I've got in my mind always. Come in the parlour and I'll dust a chair for you.". " : ' " They sat together presently, and Mr.' Peach allowed- his round, amber-coloured eyes to rest on the figure ■: of Mrs. Michelmore. He thought it neat and shapely. "I could wish my nephew was worthy of your niece," he said. "But I won't talk about that, though I've got a great opinion of Samuel myself." "There's something in the wind, and I wish her father was home again. • 'Tis all of a piece, and will end in confusion and tears and the bread of sorrowlike everything else belonging to us." . • "Don't say such dreadful things, I beg of you." ' ' ■

; What's the use :f pretending? Have you, ever heard our history? I'll tell '.t to you if you can bear to hear it." : '■

"Anything, about your family would be very interesting to me," declared Mr. Peach. "In fact, a uch more so than ycu might guess."- . , " Then toko my life—my .married life. We buried four; and then I buried my husband, who fell off the pier-head in the dark, though a. liar here and there said drink. And then there was Uncle Stooks went mad, so we buried him. And then there was poor young Bolder, the barber's brother, tokened to my sister Sarahthrowed off one of they swinging boats of Hancock's to Brixham regatta, he was, and broke his neck; so we buried himand none, ever lifted a finger for Sarah again. And then there was my sister-in-law — went home a bit back along and left John a widow-man and helpless as a aheap. And then comes this business of Sam Brokenshire; and I've cried rivers over it, and so have my niece jjr and what will be the nest blow only the watching Lord can tell." " Terrible interesting ;■■ but perhaps there's a bit of good luck coining," ventured Titus. "Surely, 'tis time and more than time the -wind set into a milder quarter like."

Slie looked at him with wonder. You can say that with such a history laid bare afore. you! Never no good luck for us, Mr. Peach. "lis too late to nope | for it or expect now. Such' a thing would ; throw lis off our balance very like, and make us loso our heads altogether. I doubt if we could stand it after ail these years. No, no; evil fortune be our food, and we can't expect any other meat now." "But of course it depends a lot on what you call luck," argued the man. " Now you might say that I had good fortune. * . I don't deny it, mind youin a, way. The barking yard does very well, and everybody knows that I use the best stuff I can buy," and so I get' twice the number of sails that any other barker gets. And there's my house up the street out of the townall ray own. In fact, I've got property and so on. And yet I'm not satisfied, I assure you." • . - ' • ' ■ •' " That's to say, you're a human creature. Who is satined?" - " The question in my mind be this: Whether my luck will run to the high water mark of a man's good fortune and get me the wife I want —or stop short of that." • ■', " "lis most unlikely," she declared,-"and* you'll tempt fortune once too often if you try it. A wife you can pick up, no doubt they be commoner than cast horseshoes but— However, I suppose you didn't como to ax my opinion on such a question as r thai?" ' " Just what I did do," he . answered.; " I'm a bachelor without much knowledge of epi; you're widow, and a wise one. I've always felt a great respect for you, though so little acquainted. And that was ecause you ban't one of they laughing, , prattling

womenthe sort that are never cast down, , but always pretend to be gay and hopeful: I couldn't abide a creature as never bad her solmon moments; and for that matter I'm no laugher myself; and for all my iuck I ban't feared to face the dark side, as we all should. In fact, my wife must have a- • character and experience. I'm not a, fine "'■■;- figure of a man, and I don't rely upon myself so much as vpon what lies behind mcThere'sthe barking yard and my house and - gardenall solid things that won't run away. And any sensible creature must take- = the rough with the smooth." . " You must find somebody as could gei> ■ ' to care for you i yourself, however; for if , her soul was set 'pon your goods. only, ' you'd feel all the. time she wanted you to ; die and make 1 room for another—a very • common thing in hi t'xbani.'' He looked nneasv. " .- v"I; couldn't stand that, I'm sure. Twould spoil life without a doubt if I felt the woman had no use for me," declared Mr. Peach. : - = - • '„. ;■■',■'■' ■ ----- -:.:■ ; 'i " Then what you've got to do is to find somebody capable of liking you apart from the property," she explained. He shook his head. •- 'Tis almost too much to expect; but 1 ought to be thrown in, certainly. I've * _ right to be asked to be took as a serious item. I'm an immortal soul, whatever may be the matter with my human body." Mrs. Michelmore regarded him in doubt. "I don't exactly see why you should cry: stinking fish at, your age. You're thin and homely ; but you've got a spry way with , you, and plenty of manhood. Nobody goes cleaner to church of a Sunday. Your voice is a thought: weak and piping for a. male, but any sensible woman would soon get used to it. I suppose you'll be sixty or thereabouts?" ■ " "Fifty-eight to-day. In fact, I chose the day for luck." " "Ah! Well, I wish you a few happy returns of it yet. Between sixty and seventy we break up as a rule, and feel the grave beginning to yawn for us. But such a. man as healthy to the eyes, though no doubt you've got your secrets , hope to enjoy life a bit longer, I dare say." "Thank you, I'm 6iire. And I leel the same. Such a word from you means & great deal, because you never was one. of . they dashing, hopeful women; and never known to chatter about every dark cloud, having a silver lining, and such-like." "No, you won't hear nothing about sil- :' ver linings from. me. I only tell what I know." •' "And so—and so," continued Mr. Peach, after a pause, " I've felt, though but slightly acquainted, that you and me have a, mournful lot in common, and should never get above ourselves, or take our happiness ; • for granted, or think that we are going to make earth what only heaven can be. In fact, in a word, after thinking upon it for , two years, I be so certain as a man can be certain of anything with his poor, feeble intellect,: that you and me—eh? Don't look at me like that, there's a good creature! At least I've a right to speak . 'tis a free country. And I can't pay you no more respect than by axing you.'' " "Do you mean an offer of marriage?" she asked. : w "I do with all my heart." " And you haven't spoken a dozen words to me in your life!" " But I've thought the more. You can't make that a grievance. • I've worked up to a terrible high pitch v of respect for you ; ■ and if you'll take me I shall be a proud man. And as for a husband, you know what a husband should be better than' LI can—-your first was a very upstanding ■'% figurebut I'll be the best I know how, and very glad to learn, and always terrible anxious and willing to fall in with '; your views and opinions in r general." "Say no more," she answered. "'Tie far too crushing and sudden. ; I can't grasp it. i Besides, why for -should I be so selfish? , 'Tis so sure as death that my luck won't change at sixty-onefor that's my age, , though I dare say it surprises you a good bit to hear it/;} But if I .was to take you, you'd have to share my dark prospects, and I think too well of: you to wish any : such thing.", «■ "I'll chance your luck "and back mine,"' he said hopefully. "If you think well of ■ me, that is very good ; fortune for me in itself, i. The » only ', bad luck that can come , to me ;at this minute is for -you ,! to , say■■" 4 'No.'" , ' . ' ' She murmured something about ?' Michel-* , more luck," and was then silent. He urged his suit. , « ■ - - ; :';'':'; •" Don't decide in a hurry; .jbe j fair to y yourself, if not to me. Wait, any way, till you've seen the house, and garden. You've only had a look at me yet, and, as I said afore, I'mv out and away the worst part of • the bargain. "I've got many surprises for you, too. Of course, you've heard of my , grotto? Who hasn't? It took me years -'•,.• and years— shell and crystal and lobster claw put in its place by my own hand. 'Tis a • masterpiece—cool in. summer and warm in winter.;:i And the house be that peaceful _ that you wouldn't know yourself ■'•'. after this noisy street. Fruit, too, and my own well ;of sweet water, and every- - thing. In justice, you ought to see the! - place afore you decide against me." "John would never suffer it." , '■, "Don't you say that. He's a fair man afore everythingand religious— burning light and a lesson to us all, and a married man himself, though he's lost her now. He'd never stand between you and a homo of your own—and such a home. And,.remember this: I'm out every day of the week but Sunday. , You'd have a Teat respite Jjl from me. 'Twouldn't be like they men who live over their shops and muddle and fuss about at home all day. I shouldn't be in the way; ou'd have the house to yourself to do with as you pleased. And another • thing : I never come in the rooms after I've . been barking. : I've'got a shed down at the bottom of the garden, and there I change every stitch of clothes. You won't see a . spot of ochre or grease in the —nob : a spot." . ' ,<** You wander in your speech so," she ■ answered. "My brother was the subject. ■ , .How can I leave hima forlorn wretch with none but a love-sick daughter, to look after him?"

"Well, I'm a forlorn wretch, if it comes to that. He can do what I want to do and got a wifeafter a decent space of time.''" ? " ; "Not John. He's . had ■ one price; >i he won't risk another trial."

Mr. Peach began to lose heart. "At any rate, you might tlunk it oyer,'' ' he said, i "I grant I sprang it oh you. But ii§ the thought to offer suddenly came upon me, ! 'j like a giant in " the night; . and i though o-IS % was most afraid of {my ' own shadow in the; vy morning, yet I; managed to get through with it. as you see. . So I ask you, EmmaA Michelmore —yes, I will call' vou 'Emma* without: fear—l ask you to do nothing in v haste. Think about it and my great respect ■•'?# for you. And reedy though my voice may be, I'm a brave fashion of mail behind it,, and can look all. the world in the face. And .• why shouldn't I? So consider of it, and ax your brother his opinion, and get.him to . tell you how I stand in the town. 'Twill , come better from, him than -me.';; And walk v : - over and see round the; house and garden. You might do that, any way, without! committing yourself." ■■'•." ' \ ■ ,- , "That's 1 true,"; she said. :i "I'll - see the ■■ A house and garden, since you ;so much wish V p it; but don't hope, 7 I hold out no Hope at A quite" the contrary.:.;. I'm; not: : hopef'' myself and never was, and I won't, if I can' help it, make anybody else hbpefuller by so much as a shadow. ',', However, me and my niece will come over Wednesday afternoon, if that's convenient." : " Tea sbdl be ready—in the grotto. . I've;. :■ often and often wanted for to invito you, and I'm glad that you'll come. And you'n think about all I've, said, and look round.' every side of the subject—every side.. Of course, it's got a many." ■ " Yes, you've,a right to say that. ; , 111 look round every side; and if I find a terrible dark side to it—as I certainly- do , —you musn't blame me for : telling you." ' , "But try and see the; bright side, too, Emma," he urged. - "You : needn't; fear '.- that. I m only 3 too L| ready to pounce when chance offers a bright side to anything. But blind I won't be—/ not. at my* age—and least of all in such a; ? matter as"this." ; ':'■ # : v . , "I shall pray every morning ancL,evening . on my knees about it," he said, 'for that sort of man am I." Then he left her. (To be continued daily). ■ ■■ ■■ ■--■■- '■- - ' ■' '■;%'. ■ ■ '■'?■* ~- Teacher : "Johnny Jones, you will {.lay after school an hour and study your lesson." Johnny Jones': "Are you going to stay with mc?" "Yes." "Then I'd like to know. if ; you are punishing n-.- or X am punishing you." .. „ . ; '.;" ■■'''-" .■■■■■■■ i; ' : '.''v' i v' 1 . I ,'/ ■'■'■■'■I '"" , i"' : -'i., : >;v'"'.: ■' .''■:'■ yA':, 'V . ; '," : '< ■:■:'/ ; H S P^^'\^-'i^--t'^y^r^V'