FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1367, 12 May 1898, Page 7

FICTION.

THE STORM.

[By Zack.]

The Outlooh.

A sudden gale had spaing .up from the north-east; great black-backed "gull and feeble-winged puffin had been forced alike through the smoking mists inland. Night fell amid the clash of wind and sea. A narrow track winding round the clifißs led past a cottage; light shone from the windows, and in the kitchen were three women. The youngest lay in a truckle bed, a baby against her breast; an old woman, tall, gaunt and white-haired, sat at a table, the Bible before her, muttering over with awkward lips; the third moved softly about the room preparing supper. She stood a moment by the bed, as the child broke into a low, long wail. ' Poor lamb !' she said; 'he frets as if your breast was cold to him.' •Maybe'tis cold,' replied the sick girl indifferently. 'Aye, but not to-night, Nan,' the other protested, ' and his father out in a storm like this!'; ' The Lord have mercy on the lad !' exclaimed the old woman, glancing up; 1 he's got that scamp Eab Tapp wi* him in the boat. Scores o' times I've told Joss 'twould be safer to sail 'long o' decent folk.'

Nan stirred uneasily. ' Eab's as good as the rest o' 'em,' she muttered, ' and a long ways handier.' • Handy wi' his tongue belike,' retorted the old woman; ■' there ain't his equal for lying in this here parish ; 'tis only reasonable that the Lord should be angered agin him; though maybe the Almighty will mind that Joss has been a good son to me and spare the boat.' She was silent a moment, listening to the continuous clamour of the massive door-bolts that barred back the storm. 1 Aye, that Eab,' she burst out fiercely, 1 they should cast him overboard the same as the men o' Joppa cast the prophet Jonah, son of Amittai. Who knows but the Almighty may be speaking now by the voice o' the wind?—"Cast him put, cast him out, and the raging waves of the sea shall foam upon his shame."'

' How dare 'ee speak such words as them!' cried the girl, springing up in bed. ' The Lord ain't no Moloch to devour men ? s.lives,' 'And-what's Bab Tapp's life to thee ?' replied the other, sternly. *lt ill becomes a mother with her first chile at breast to be taking.such thought for furren men's lives.' " . .

•Come, come, mother,' interposed the third.woman, 'let Nan be; supper's on the table, and you'd feel better for a snatch, q' sommat.'

'I did well to name 'ee Martha,' cried the old woman; turning on her. 'Your thoughts be tob much taken up wi' the things, o' this world. What call have I for bite.or sup when the great starved sea is hungering after my son? Aye, but Joss, lad, lad,' she continued to herself, l and: you that fond o' whistling!' ■;". Martha made no answer, but, pouring out a cup of tea, brought it to the sick girl.

* Happen 'twill quench your thirst a bit, Nan,'she said.

"Taint that kind o'thirst,' replied the other, wearily. ' Take it all the same, lass,' Martha urged, and the girl drank. -' 'Tis salfc as the sea!' she exclaimed, pushing, the cup from her with a shudder. ' Seems as if I knowed the taste o' drowning.'

'And well you may,' exclaimed the old woman, ' when your man is forced so nigh to it> ? <

' Jpss. will not be drowned,' replied her daughter in-law, carelessly. * What-for should he be drowned ? Oh, my God !' she ended, with abrupt change of voice, as ifca linrrying scream of the storm wrenched its "way through the cottage, ' why did yer make the sea ?' She flung herself back in the bed and the child began once more to cry, but she paid no heed to it.

' Poor heart!' said Martha, stooping and raising the baby in her arms, ' he frets over things.' §he walked to and fro in the little kitchen, her face pressad close against the child's; her soft brown hair mingling, with his soft downy fluff. 'My own chile,' she continued meditatively, 'was wonderful-contentsome.'

•Your, own chile!' exclaimed the harshvoicedbid 'woman. * Why* your own chilo vftß iron* deaoV

' Her was never dead to me,' Martha answered, gently. ' I used to talk a deal to her lying there so close and trustful Elgin my heart. But now I sorter feel that if me and Jim had another chile, maybe 'twould be born dead.' 'Aye, and no wonder,' retorted her mother; ' a more shiftless body than Jim I ain't come across; always trapesing round in searching work and never finding it. He's a poor stick; the sea never gave him no call, and you can sit here and eat your vituals content, come storm, come clear.'

The sick girl raised herself on her arm. ' There's one thing I never could fathom.,' she exclaimed with sudden interest, ' and that's his being own brother to Eab. Why he ain't no patch on him !' ' No,' rejoined her mother -in - law, sharply ; ' he's more fool than cheat, for certain. If 'twor he~out in the boat wi' Joss, happen the Lord might overlook him.'

The girl's dark eyes flashed, and Martha interposed, in a hurt voice, ' Maybe Jim ain't so quick at the take up as Eab; but he's mortal persevereshous at trying. Arter all, Nan,' sbe added, ' you ain't never seen Eab but twice.'

' No, I ain't never seen him but twice,' the girl repeated. 'And when ye did meet never spoke much to one 'nother,' continued Martha, wonderingly. •No, us never spoke much to one 'nother.'

'Aye, certain,' exclaimed Martha; ' why, the last time ho corned in here 'twas a matter of three weeks ago; you was sitting up in front of the fire nursing the chile, and he jest stood over again 'ee by the chimney - piece, sorter thoughtful. "Do you love it ?" he axed: "do you love it ?" —but you didn't make no answer. Theln were his words. Do you mind, Nan ?'

1 Yes,' said ihe girl, softly, ' I mind.' ' 'Twas a queer question I reckoned to be put to a mother ; but there, you ain't never been terrible took up wi' the chile.' «No.' ' Maybe you didn't speak to him sorter tender a-fore you borncd him, same as I did my little girlr' 'No.' ' Yet 'twor my chile that was bora dead.' 'Aye,' the girl answered, fiercely, ' and ain't mine born dead too ?' The elder woman glanced at her in astonishment. 'What ails (you, Nan?' she exclaimed. ' Why, the poor lamb is calling for the breast.' ' I don't hear it call,' the girl answered,

stonily. Martha looked down with sad eyes at the child on her knee. ' You don't love it terrible tendersome,' she said. The girl, turning away her head, made no reply. Without, the storm clamoured more fiercely, and the faces of the listening women grew white and tense. . ' Pray for them at sea,' exclaimed Martha, glancing at her mother. ■ .'And ain't I praying for 'em ?' expostu lated the old woman' passionately.

. ' Say the words aloud, mother, and let us join in. J

The old woman clasped her hands, worn with toil, knotted with age, and sank on her knees; her thin lips trembled, but no words broke from them. Wind and sea, as if in derision at her helplessness, burst into more hideous combat, and the thunder heaved its way through their clamour with a noise like the splitting of mountains.

' O God!' sobbed the woman; ' ho wor a good son to me; a good son to me.' She was silent a moment, and the storm j without uo-reared itself against the ciiXTt>, rocking the cottage in its heavy embrace. 4 0 God 1' she burst forth again, ' Ye would have spared Sodom for the sake of ten righteous men, and t'wor a terrible big and wicked city—spare the boat cause o' Joss. I wouldn't have axed so bold if wor a ship; but it's nought but a boat, mortal small and tiddleliwinkie, wi' only dree men an' a lad in it; and the lad's a decent lad come o' respectable' church folk, no chappelites a-setting o' theirselves up above their betters. Happen ' You're angered agin Eab Tapp, and well you might be, for he's not over and above conspicuous in good works; still, he's young—and youth's laming time—but, if Ye be terrible set on cutting him off—and I'll not deny the temptation—then, 0 Lord God I speak to Joss through the mouth o' the winds, same as Ye did the men o' Joppa, so that he shall rise and cast Kab forth into the deep, and .the sea shall cease her raging.' As she uttered the last words the* sick girl sprang from tho bed aa£ caught the

old woman by the shoulders. ' How dare 'ee mind the Almighty o' Eab's weakneses at such a time!' she cried passionately. ' And do you reckon that the Lord has forgotten 'em ? ' replied the old woman in a hard voice. ' Ain't they all written in the Book o' Judgement ?' ' There be scores and scores o' folk on the sea to-night,' the girl answered, ' deal wickeder folk than Eab, and why should the Almighty be special took up wi' he ? . Oh, 'twas cruel, cruel o' ye to pat Him in I mind o' the lad ! '

| • Ain't the names o' all sailor men written on the same page, that the Lord may read and choose in the winking o' an eye? And shall I see my own son cast away for fear o' speaking out ? ' remonstrated the old woman fiercely. *My *first born, that lay at my breast and milked me trustsome. Shame on ye to think o' stranger folk a-fore your own wedded husband.' While she spoke there was the sound of heavy knocking on the door without. Martha-crossed the room, shot back the great bolts, and a man, pale-faced, drenched and battered staggered in. The old woman gave an abrupt, keen cry. 'My son!' she exclaimed, and would have taken him in her arms, but he put her gently aside and came towards the girl, who stood barefooted on the cold stone floor, her long bvown hair curling over her coarse night-gown. ' Nan,' he cried, ' sweetheart, woman, wife, God's given me back to 'ee 1' ' And Eab ? ' she said hoarsely. ' The sea has taken its toll; Eab's drowned,' he answered. ' 'Twas he I loved, not you !' she cried, and fell at the man's feet as dead.