OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 897, 10 May 1889, Page 5

OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH. By Frances Hodgson Burnett. (Concluded.) Had not all the charitable ones in the legends given their garments to the poor ? Why should she not give her cloak ? In an instant it was unclasped and snatched away, and the woman was gone. She did not even stay long enough to give thanks for the gift; and something in her haste and roughness made Elizabeth won* der, and gave her a moment of tremor. She made her way back to the place whefe the other woman and her children had been sitting ; the cold wind made her ghiver and the basket was very heavy for her slender arm. Her strength seemed to be giving way. As she turned the corner, a great fierce gust of wind swept round it and caught her breath and made her stagger. She thought she was going to fall—indeed she would have fallen, but that one of two tall men who were passing put out his arm and oanght her. He was a well-dressed man in a heavy overcoat ; he had gloves on. Elizabeth spoke in a faint tone. ‘ I thank you,’ she began, when the second man uttered a wild exclamation and sprang forward. ‘ Elizabeth 1’ he said. * Elizabeth !’ Elizabeth looked up and herself uttered a cry. It was her Uncle Bertrand who stood before her, and bis companion, who had saved her from falling, was Dr Norris. For a moment it seemed as if they were almost struck dumb with horror. And then her Unole Bertrand seized her by the arm in such agitation that he scarcely seemed himself at all—the light, satirical, jesting Unole Bertrand she had known. ‘ What does it mean ?’ he cried. ' What are you doing here, in this horrible place, alone ? Do you know where it is you have come? What have you in the basket? Explain—explain. ’ ■■■, The moment of trial had come, and it seemed even more terrible than the poor child had imagined. The long strain and exertion had been too much for her delicate body ; she felt that she could bear no more, the cold seemed to have struck to her very heart. She looked up at Monsieur de Roche* mont’s pale excited face, and trembled from head to foot. A strange thought flashed into her mind. Elizabeth of Thuringia,—the cruel Landgrave ! Perhaps she would be helped, too, since she was trying to do good. Surely, surely it must be so ! ‘ Speak !’ repeated Monsieur de Roche, mont. ‘ Why is thiß ? The basket, what have you in it ?’ ‘Roses,’ said Elizabeth. fßoses. ■ And then her strength deserted her, she fell (ipon her knees in the snow, the basket slipped from her arm, and then the first thing which fell from it was—No, not roses. There had been no miracle wrought. Not roses; but the case of jewels which she had laid ph the top of the other things, that it might be mprp easily carried. ‘ Roses !’ cried Uncle Bertrand. * Is that the child is mad ? They are the Rowels of my sißter Clotilde.’ Elizabeth clasped her hands and leaned to* ward Dr Norris, the tears streaming from her uplifted eyes, 4 Ah ! Monsieur,’ she sobbed. f You will understand. It was for the poor; they suffer so much. If we do not help them-r-T did not mean to speak falsely—l thought that the good ’ But her sobs filled har throat and ehe could not finish. Dr Norris stooped and caught her up in his strong arms as if she had been a baby. ‘Quick!’ he said imperatively. ‘Wo must return to the carriage, De Roohempnt. This may be a serious matter.’ Elizabeth clung to him with trembling hands. ‘But the poor woman who starves,’ she cried ; 4 the little children. They ait upon tho step quite near. The food was for them. I pray you to give it to them.’ 4 Yes, they shall have it,' said the Doctor. 4 Take the basket, De Rochemont—only a few doors below.’ And it appeared -that there was something in his voice which seemed to render obedience necessary, for Monsieur de Rochemont actually did as he was told. For a moment Dr Norris put Elisabeth on her feet again, but it was only while he removed his overcoat and wrapped it about her slight, shivering body. 4 You are chilled through, poor child,’ he said. And you are not atrong enough to walk just now. You must let me carry you.’ It was true that a sudden faintness had come upon her, and she could not restrain tho shudders which shook her. She had not recovered from them when she was placed in the carriage which the two gentlemen had thought it wiser to Jeavo in one of the more respectable streets when they went into tho worse ones together. 4 What might not have occurred if we had not arrived at that instant!’ said Uncle Bertrand, when he got into the carriage. * As it is, who knows what ilness ’ 4 It will be better to say as little as possible now,’ interrupted Dr Norris. ‘ It was for the poor,’ said Elizabeth, trembling. 4 1 thought I must go. I did not mean to do wrong. It was r for the poor.’ And while her Uncle Bertrand regarded her with a Btrangely agitated look, and Dr Norris held her hand between his strong and warm ones, tho tears rolled down her pure, pale little face. She did not know until some time after whatj danger she had hew in j that tho pari

of the city into which she had wandered was one of the lowest and worst, and was, in some quarters, the home of many wicked people. As her uncle Bertrand had said, it was impossible to say what terrible thing might have happened if they had not met her so soon. It was Dr Norris who explained it all to her as gently and kindly as was possible. She had always been fragile, and she had canght a severe cold which caused her an illness of some weeks. It was Dr Norris who took care of her, and it was not long before her timidity was forgotten in her tender and trusting affection for him. She learned to watch for his coming, and to feel that she was no longer lonely. It was through his care that her uncle permitted her to send to the Cur<§ a sum of money large enough to do all that was necessary j it was through him that the poor woman and her children were clothed and fed and Eroteoted. When she was well enough, he ad promised that she should help. him among his own poor. And through him though she lost none of her sweet sympathy for those who suffered—she learned to live a more natural and childlike life, and to find that there were in the world innocent, natural pleasures which should be enjoyed. In time she even ceased to be afraid of her Uncle Bertrand and to be quite happy in the great beautiful house. And as for Uncle Bertrand himself, he became very fond of her, and sometimes even helped her t • dispense her charities. He had a light, gay nature, but he waß kind at heart, and always disliked to see or think of suffering. Now and then he would give more lavishly than wisely. And then he would say, with his habitual graceful shrug of the shoulders : ‘ Yes, it appears I am not discreet. Finally, I think 1 must leave my charitieß to you, my good Doctor Norris —to you and Little Saint Elizabeth. 1 (The End).