KATIE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 20333, 14 August 1929, Page 5

KATIE.

i;\- JACK JiUGBY

A SHORT STORY.

The first lime I saw licr was on a dreary rainy night in winter, with the hail and rain driving in at th 6 vide verandah, and sending cold gusts of wind through the open door of the ladies' waiting room at the railway station. It was not exactly the place one would expect to find a child of hei age and appearance alone in, but being busy I took no notice of her at first. Finding sho still sat on in the samo place hour after hour, while trains came and went, and all was bustle and hurry around her, I cam", up anij asked her what she wanted. Sho looked up half frightened at mo, and crouched closer into the corner of the scat at iho end furthest from the fire. " Are you waiting for someone by train? " No, sir," shaking her head solemnly. \)ij you wish to go yourself ? " "So, sir,".-with another crave lit t!o bhake. " Do you want anything! " " No, thank you, sir." "Then, what are you waiting toy•* " I asked, half puzzled, as 1 looked down on Ibe sad. forlorn, white-faced little \ creature. " Please, sir. I'm waiting for my papa." she said timidly. ".For your papa. Where is he?" Over there," indicating v.-if.lt a gentle motion of the head the building opposite. " What! At the hotel? " 1 exclaimed. " Ves." she answered, with a bright pink flush. " What is he doing 7 " " I don't know." " Docs he know you are here 7 " " Yes, sir." " Told you to come? " 1 asked sharply. " Yes," she answered again, in a submissive little whisper, which, together with her woebegone little face, began to disarm my hostility. " Where is your mother? " " She is dead." she answered in an awed voice, with a catch in (he breath that forefold sobs. "Ah ! Has she heen dead long ! " " Yes, a 10115 tim*. She died last week." " Poor little thing," I murmured, looking down sympathetically. 1 don't know whether it was the strain of answering those hard questions, or the tone of pity in my voice, bul the barriers of grief gave way, and the broken-hearted, mother less little thing shook and quivered head to foot with sobs. I sat down on the hard bench beside her and waited till her grief was a little spent, and then tried to piece her history together. She had neither sister nor brother, mother, nor home. They lived in a room belonging to some poor woman, which they had for the nominal rent of one shilling a week. Her papa didn't wprk, 110 one would £ivc him work, but lie used to work once, a long time ago when they lived in a beautiful house away down there on the terrace and had nice things to eat, and mamma was with them. Yes: papa did try to get work so she could have food and clothes, but people told him th» tilings he wore were too shabby to go into a gentleman's office in, and ho had no money to buy others. It was lonely when papa went out, and sho had rather come here and wait than stay in. ! I got the information from her bit. iby bit as the sobs subsided. She said her name with Kathleen, but they called her Katie, and it seemed to suit the sad little face. "Arc you hungry, Katie?" I asked; " Yon have been here a long while, and I haven't seen you eat anything." " Not very, thank you; I did have something to-day." " What ! Don't you have something every day ? " I asked in a slightly horrified fonn. " Oh, yes, most days I do," she added hastily, "Jf Mrs. Morris thinks I'm very hungry she gives me a piece." " And what does your father live on T " " iie. has something sometimes, too, bul lie says he is case-hardened ; if doesn't matter aboct Inm. as he is used to j<- " " Poor little mite! How old are you : " I'm seven years old." she. answered proudly, smiling at me through her tears. And then I put her in the corner of the seat nearest the fire and found somo cakes for her to eat. and sat watching her ravenous appreciation of them: but she covertly slipped two into her pocket. " Wiio are those for. Katie?" " For my papa," she answered with such a wealth of affection in voice and eves. Just then the hotels began to disgorge their evening's work, and a drunkard came, staggering across the rails, when the child sprang up with a wild, glad crv of " Papa. papa." and ran forward, clinging to his hands as lie reached the door. He had been a gentleman. There was just the slightest imprint of it left. He took off his liat and replaced it in a manner only known to a gentleman, and when ho spoke liis voice had modulated tones of careful training in spite of the thickness caused through drink. His language was also well chosen, though I detected the sycophant. He thanked me for my goodness to the child of a broken-hearted man—his motherless little daughter. There were some tender hearts left in the world yet, thank God. And then they went out. into the darkness, and I had to hurry a way to signal my last train. After that Katie came regularly night after night, and I got to look for her in her place in the far corner of the seat. When it was deserted by passengers sho would slip to the other end and warm herself.

it also became a custom for her to partake of my night's lunch. Her sad forlorn little faeo had brightened considerably since our first meeting, her eyes were large and round, and when she looked up at me they had the affectionate look of a faithful dog. Most nights the tnan came over quite intoxicated, ui others only partly so, and on a few rare occasions he came perfectly sober: it was at such times that, ono could judge to what a low level the man had sunk. Jt bo could get the child away withoutattracting my s.ttenfion he would do so. if not bo would lean himself at the entrance in a shame faced way. Ife had been a bis, finely proportioned man, but. through drink and poverty was shrunken ;ind debased looking. Ho would fake his ,-oat by the lapels and hold them across his breast, trviug to hide the soiled, torn shirt; his clothes, which bad been patched and worn to the last degree, were shiny with age. Altogether he a most" wretched wreck of what otherwise might- have been a well-to-do middle,a god gentleman, a> I learnt later on: but. the devotion of father and daughter was wonderful.

When perfectly sober he would carry her home in his arms, with her frail white ones twined lovingly round bis neck; when not in a condition to carry her she would lead him. If mattered not whether be came, drunk or sober she sawno defects in him, and met him with the same, unaffected delight each time. I could liken her affection to nothing but the love of a dog for a faithful master.

Through the winter months she came, through the. spring, and the early part of summer, when the days lengthened and Hie nights grew short, and Christmas was close upon us, and still Katie and I were fast friends.

" Do von know it. is nearly Christmas time. Katie?" 1 asked her ono evening. " Yes. i know it is." she nodded. " And what would you like for Christmas V

(corrmour.)

" I'd like fo sec my mamma," she answered, looking up.with her large wistful brown eyes. "But"you can't see her, my dear," 1 said. " No, I know I can't," shaking her head very sadly. " Is there 110 little present you would like I'" T continued trying to draw her out. " Wouldn't you like a dolly, now? " Yes, I 'spect it would be nice to have a dolly. 1 used to have dollies one time, but my papa has no money to buy any now," she said in a quiet resigned little voice. Christinas 10 vc was one of our busiest nights at the station, and I found my tirue too fullv occupied to notice or even think of my little friend. Specials were running all the evening, and the waiting-room was crowded with passengers. loward midnight they began to thin out, and then 1 saw Katie standing a lonely, forlorn lilt]" figure in the corner, ousted out of her seat, watching the hundreds of happy faces that came and went with light laughter, merry words, and overflowing baskets; mothers and daughters and brothers and sisters. What » sad little child sho must have felt. I had happ> hearts of my own at home, and mine ached for the neglected child. But I bad not forgotten her; there was a brownpaper parcel lying in the corner of mv oil ice, and the'first breathing space that came I went and got it. " Sec what old Daddy Christmas sem you. Katie," I said, going up to her and giving her the parcel. " For me?" she asked, opening her eyes wide. "Yes. Shall 1 unfasten it?" I cut the string and rolled a large flaxen haired talking doll into her arms. She drew one delighted Ohand stood speechless. She laid it down in her arms and it went to sleep, she raised it and it awoke, she pulled a string and it. said-"Papa," another and it said " Mamma." The delight of the child was unbounded. She kissed it. and squeezed it, arid cried, and laughed, and then she laid it down and kissed ine. Of all the sifts that I have ever presented to a child or adult, none has ever left me, with such keen sense of pleasure as the giving of Katie's dolly, and knowing what 1 know now. I wouldn't have missed the giving of that doily for a ransom. A train was whistling round the lastcurve. and I went out to signal her in. The line was clear, and I was signalling her " All right" as sho slowed down to the station, when, something flashed between me and the engine, and then I saw a staggering figure coming 011 to the rails on the other side. He was hurled backward by two small hands, and then the train swept past me in a long line of lighted carriages, while 1 stood holding my lantern, sick with dread. There was a babel of confused cries, and the train stopped When I got down they were taking her from under the last carriage—what was left of Kate, and a man who was drunk a moment before was sober now, and trying to take her from then). There were two doctors there, but. they could do nothing. She was dying, though quite conscious. Just then the bells be, gan to ring, and she looked np at the wretched man who was passing through worse than death —trying to smile through her agony, and said: "It's merry Christmas papa—don't, you hear the bells? Where's my dolly?" The gentleman gave me a dolly—and I—want to show—mamma. ' Tlicy buried her in a shady spot in oik of our prettiest hillside cemeteries, and I obtained leave to go as a mourner, anttook back to the shelter of my home foi a few days one of the most miserable mei the sun ever shone on. In spite of oir vigilance be managed to evade us, ant three mornings after we found him linde the train near the spot, where Katie bat saved his life and lost her own. About a year rifter, while in the dis charge of my dufv, I was accosted by i very superior and dignified-looking lad; of advanced age. "I believe vou arc the gentleman t< whom I owe <t debt of the deepest grati tude ?" sho said. " I am quito at a loss, madam," I replied, raising my cap. She Handed me a card. 011 which was inscribed in simple letters, " Lady Jane Ainsworth," saving at the same time. "Might 1 ssk the favour of a short conversation with you ?" Being at liberty 1 showed her iulo my office. It was scarcely fit for such as she, hut was the only place of privacy I had. In a few words "she informed me that she. was Katie's grandmother, and mother to that disreputable father of hers. At the time of the accident they were advertising for him as heir to title and estates in one of the finest counties in England. He had quarrelled with his father years before and left home, when they lost all trace of him. Theio was another brother between him and the title then, but be had sine? died: and this devoted mother bad come out herself to look for him. She traced him from head man in the Government Survey Department to a drunken suicide'* grave. He had lived, under his mother": maiden name, which accounted for fherr not being able to trace him. And thei she. began to pour everlasting blessings ot me, though I disclaimed having ever don< anything to deserve the praise. It was I that showed her to those thre< lonely graves, unmarked save for a fev flowers which we had planted. On them now stands a massive granitt cross with his name as the last heir o Ainsworth, and underneath that of hi wife and Katie.

She tried, before leaving to obtain some relic—soma little memento of her son. when I bethought me of Katie's brokpn rlollie, which we had treasured away since that night. The train had gone over Fhe body, but the head and legs were quite intact, and what had once for.a few brief moments given a child such keen delichi has how become a sacred treasure to a sorrowful woman.