SHORT STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 14989, 10 May 1912, Page 4

SHORT STORY.

A MAN'S LESSON. BY H. R.FOGG. i _ ■■■'-': Copyright. "Mv, people have farmed this land for a hundred and fifty years," said Farmei Clayton. He looked anxiously at the voung man before him, a young man -whose hearing was assured and whoso mien was wise. ~■./ ■ . ■ . ■ "Sentiment, Clayton was the reply. "You'll find another farm, better land, elsewhere. The formal. notice I sent you must stand; vou must take it seriously. But I'm not harsh—you'll not be asked for rent for the twelve months to come." Turning his back on the depressed farmer, oft Moor Top Farm, and on his own greystone house, Oswald Greenfield strode downwards in the direction of Brookdale with pleasant anticipations of his meeting with Laura Deyne. He discovered no incompatibility between his attitude to Clayton, and the idyllic thoughts ho nourished concerning Laura, whom ho hoped that day to ask to be his wife. In his mind he condemned Clayton as a clod who could not or would not see that a man has a right to, do what ho likes with his own, and then dismissed the matter, enjoying the crisp air of the moorland, and indulging sentimental reveries that merged into affectionate forecasts of the future. This confidence was natural and characteristic. By it he had won, ! early, in life, success which had enabled him to acquire an area of the moorland. In Soyland Hall he lived, for the greater part of the year, pursuing his , lucrative researches in the realm of industrial chemistry. The grounds of Soyland Hall had been laid out, and now he proposed a big scheme of afforestation, and had marked out Moor Top Farm as suitable. So Clayton was under notice to quit, and Greenfield was quite unable to appreciate the man's grievance. It never occurred to him to wonder what Laura Deyne would think of the matter, nor to imagine J Clayton's feelingsythe simple fact was that the land was his to dispose of as he thought fit. Laura was back from a trip abroad. Previous to her going they had been firm friends, and the confidence that each reposed in the other allowed that friendship was ripening into something else, when Laura was invited to pay a visit to friends settled in America, and went immediately. On hia way Greenfield passed from the bare' upland to a tree-hung road that ran parallel with a. brawling river. ,On .his right rose a grassy ; bank, out .of which sprang the slim stems of the silvery birches and stout young t . oaks, all bare, while green V firs flaunted * their perennial attire m the midst of their denuded fellows. ' ■ t ' ; ■ Beneath the. wayfarer's feet. the leaves lay thickly strewn, their edges picked out in crystal by the early frost, and there was no sound ' of footfalls. Hence two pedestrians whom Greenfield was overtaking had no idea of. his nearness, and he was startled to hear one of the men say, "Aye; poor Clayton. It'll be a wrench. Man, he was born tbeer, took his wife home , theer, an' his little ,'uns were born theer. How would yo' like to ■ be torn:, up by th* roots?" •■■l ■''■ A" field; path afforded] Greenfield an opportunity of avoiding them. He dismissed the conversation from his mind with a shrug of impatience, and gained Laura Deyne's homo aglow from his sharp walk. ""It is good -to see you again, Laura," he said. s They sat together in a cosy room, in view of ■ a : spreading landscape where near green; fields, with their grey stone fences, merged into, distant blue heights. In the middle distance stood Soyland Hall, and Greenfield felt that the time had come to ask this girl, to him the queen of womanhood, to be its mistress., "Yes, it is good to be home. I have made up my mind to all sorts of projects, beginning with the garden here." ' She spoke a little over-eagerly, -. and he felt a sense : of disappointment. He had hoped that: another garden would be shortly claiming her attention. : " Laura,"—his .6 voice was unwontedlj soft, for a while he was his unspoilt self— "I have been waiting for you to come home. I want; you to be my wife. You speak of projects. " I have # projects whicli I . want to be ours, not mine alono. Oh, don't imagine that this is mere conceit," he went on hastily, preventing her from speaking, "we were near friends already. I never had such a friend as you. = People say that I always : succeed; hub I neyex had a desire like this desire. - It has dominated everything since you went away. Even before. And I have simply lived, these. months, wishing for the moment thai has come, so that I might ask you for what I hold to be the finest thing in the world, yourself." . Ho stayed, and for a while they sat in silence.' Laura found a difficulty in replying. Speech would not come. The simplicity and earnestness of: his words af : fected her deeply; a ferment of doubts and decisions perplexed her soul, and then I an inner voice cned out, ! "You cannot! You cannot!" r Gravely Laura Deyne turned to hei suitor. Before her she saw a man, fine of ■•• feature and of noble: bearing, one whe had proved his mettle in the world of men, able and interesting, wise and courteous. And her reply, ; when at last it could find utterance in words, was a blow to al! Ids hopes. . ; " I am sorry, Oswald, but I cannot. Be my friend if you will, stilL -1 will be youi friend, but I cannot be your wife." ,;..'>; Greenfield knew her nature, recognised that there was no coquetry in her reply and shortly took his leave. The girl re mained in her * seat by the window, hei clear grey eyes searching the horizon. "Perhaps," she said meditatively, "] am harsh. Her gaze wandered to the edge of tin nearer moor, to Soyland Hall and Hill Tot farm. It almost seemed she could se< through, the walls of the little farmhouse see Clayton bemoaning fate, looking for ward /with dread to the transplanting o: all his activities.. And then . "No. I could have done no other. H< does not 'understandhe will never un d erst and. It. is one defect in a fine char acter, but oh! what a defect!" . Greenfield had met his rebuff with out ward calm, but once outside on his home ward journey, he recognised utter defeat and realised more than ever how pleasur able had been his anticipations as he had tramped down to Brookdale. The attrac tion had gone from the vision of the ? up lands where land and sky met in a din line of haze, from the southward dip when a hundred times he had watched the filmj veil of the town's lights spring into being, The physical delight of the upward climb the mental pleasure of \ pondering hit future plans, had departed. Acutely he realised that the greatest of his schemes the vital hope, had infused all else, and without its consummation all besides was sapless and spiritless. Clayton's steading he passed without a thought of its occupants. He was sunk in selfish disappointment, passing through the fire of hie first set-back, his soul as yet untouched with any hope of recovery. A spoilt child of success, he had never yet truly tasted its fulness. For failure is the tonic "thai makes men value achievement. Thus fai his first failure had given him nothing but a sense of injury and loss, for which-he blamed none but fate. He awoke on the following morning tc a feeling of discomfort. The atmosphere of the last few months had been dissipated; now he saw everything through a medium which accentuated the outlines of life in stark, uninviting rigidity. From his window he surveyed the land he had meant to people with young trees, to prove an old contention that these moors should and could be afforested. Now he felt nc interest in the business, till suddenly he remembered that he would need it more than ever, to fill the void. Laura Deyne was not for him;' the reason he could not fathom, cave that it must be "someone else." In any case he knew her character, and believed her reply" was final. Therefore the tree-planting became more necessary than ever, and, having breakfasted, he seized hat and stick and made for Clayton's farm. Clayton was seated by his stable on^ an upturned box, looking blankly before him. " The wall is down, Clayton, at the corner.. the three-acre fields , .You'll hay?

those young pigs put if it isn't made up." | "Aye. I suppose that's so, Mr; Green- 1 field, * I'll be looking after it some time to-day." ' l -.." What ails you, man V "Nothing! Why?" V- ; "As a ; rule you'd have that wall ((repaired directly. I never J knew you slack about that sort of thing." . | Clayton laughed ruefully. '•■ j ".What's the good, now 1" , The question was brief y and ; the answer also, but the; : - man's it, gesture ' conveyed; ' much. Greenfield turned on his heel, and , ' resumed his walk. A flash of understand- ! > ing had come to ..him. What was that ho » had heard"How would you ' like to be '■ i turned out?" No, "torn up by the roots," j was the phrase. He and Clayton were in the same boat, for had he not himself ex- j perienced the frame of mind when one says, " What, is the good V - . ■ ' > '=' . Old habit re-asserting itself, he brushed . away sentiment, and again fell to con- | sidering the tree-planting idea. But continually. the sympathy, for Clayton in- j creased. Put away with impatience" it re- . turned more vigorous, and finally his ciri cular tour was completed,' and he was back 1 at the starting-point. " Look here, Clayton. I've been thinking. It's hard on you having to leave here. I take your notice back. -You may stay as long as yon Wish." ; ,' ".Do you mean it, Mr., Greenfield ?" i Clayton's words were eager, ho had sprung to his feet, instantly, a different , man. At Greenfield's smiling repetition of Ins words he turned swiftly towards the house, and was soon to be seen in excited conversation with his wife. ' 1 • Half an hour later he was whistling cheerfully, hard at work on the repair of the breach in the loose, stone wall. Oswald Greenfield heard him, and ■ ex- , periencod a pleasure he had never known before, the pleasure of having given way. Later on that day he was in the yard of.Moor Top farm, delighting his tenant with an explanation of improvements to be commenced forthwith, when a note reached him by hand. :It was from Mr. Deyne, asking him to call if he would be. good enough, as his advice upon an investment would be appreciated. Greenfield started* at once, reflecting that evidently Mr. Deyne knew nothing of what had happened, though personally to see Laura would not embarrass him, nor, he thought, would she be embarrassed. As he rang, it occurred to ''..■-. him that his errand on this occasion was a little more prosaic than on the last, when the maid opened the door and asked him in. "Master; is out," she said,• "but Miss Laura is in." The welcome in. Laura's eyes a little astonishe'd him. ■ '.■'■'.. - > , . ~ . " Your father did.not say any particular time, in his note, so I came right away." "Oh, you- came to, see father," said Laura. Her inflection puzzled him. Was there not just a suggestion of disappoint- (. ment ? "■..-.' . ;'-.;" Yes he wrote to me. If you don't mind , putting up with me -, for a while, I'll. wait." They were in the same room. - The sun was sinking rays lighting the gold of ' Laura's hair. Her colouring enchanted him; in her eyes he saw a look he had never seen before. , VI saw old Mrs. Clayton, at mid'day," said Laura. " She seemed so happy, Oswald. ; I feel quite glad for her." v ( 1 "Oh! Yes; I know what you mean." His words halted a little. .." It dawned upon me, what it meant to them.".! ; ;.; "Why, Oswald, from your manner one might think you were ashamed of having let them stay." No,'.' said Greenfield. ... "To be frank, I feel a little ashamed of; not having felt before what it meant to them. I knew it,' but did not feel it, if you understand what I mean." : Laura nodded. " Yes, I know what you mean exactly." Greenfield knew for the '. first time what tender kindliness a woman could express' by the mere tone of her voice. " Why,** he said, "you must have been thinking me a thoughtless beast. I never j even thought that you would know or Care what happened to 'the Claytons, any more than I did myself. I've been getting fresh; , light on things." ■■-■'~ , - . i,T < - The girl leaned forward; he could not see j her eyes...',. '(,",. V . '; , .( " Oswald,-.what- made, you .know?" "Fellow-feeling! I found Clayton, des- , pondent. The strange thing is, I believe ;■ he'll appreciate what I've given back to him more than ever before." ' "And yourself?" v Still he could not see her eyes. ,'■' "'",'■' ';(" Myself ? Oh, I cannot expect to get( back what I've lost. You see it was not a reality—only a dream." , "How do you know?" ■ She lifted her face, and her eyes shone upon him. Greenfield looked into their depths, and saw her soul. He took her in his arms—"'-. was his. He asked no , question, but learnt in that moment a '"; hundred truths that need no words for ex- , pression. .' 1" .Through the closing shrouds of evening . they looked from the window. Soyland . Hail and Moor Top farm, twin blurs on the • line of sky, were just'visible. ! "I have also received back something I i had lost," Laura said, her hand on bis ! shoulder. In one of those houses a man j has been made happy. In the other I will I • try to make another happy." J > Again Oswald Greenfield kissed her, and » inwardly confessed himself a child at her , feet. •~ - -' *' ;