COUSIN KATE

New Zealand Mail, 22 January 1902, Page 9

COUSIN KATE

(By G. W. Appleton.)

I had just arrived in England after ten years' service abroad, anti was now speeding by train to my old home in Kent, a day, too, before I was expected in order to spy out the land and take my cousin Kate unawares; and the reason for this was to be found in a letter I had that day received from my father. I took it out of my pocket and read it again for the twentieth time. There was no mistaking its import, and that was disquieting enough: “My dear Jack,” it said, “I have refrained till now to broach a subject upon which 1 have set my heart. Since your mother’s death I have led a lonely life, and it is now my wish that you should cut the service, take to yourself a wife, and settle down here as my nearest neighbour on as fine an estate as there is in the whole county of Kent. I will come to the point at once. Your cousin, Kate Fielding, upon her attaining her majority, last month, came into the entire Seleombe property and <£15,000 a year. Now, I do not know wliat your predilections may be in the matter, or, indeed, wnether you are still heart-whole or not. But Kate is a dear, good, sensible, level-headed girl—a wild sort of a creature once, as you may remember, but sedate enough now—and if you could bring yourself to liking her—and persuade her, if persuasion be necessary, to like you and make a match of it I should bo the happiest of men, feeling it to be an adequate recompense for your long absence, and a guarantee that I should never lose sight of you again for long. I am sending this letter to your agents so as to give ybu twenty-four hours of reflection before your arrival here on Thursday.—Y’ours affectionately, John Hamilton.”

“Just so,” I said, thrusting the letter once more into my pocket. “ The dearold governor is in dead earnest; but he is the worst matchmaker outside of petticoats in the Three Kingdoms. AYTiat! Marry that harum-scarum, tree climbing, bare-back riding tomboy, Kate Fielding! Not if I-know it. I don’t Want to offend the old boy, but ho must be a bit reasonable in this matter. We must argue it out together. Why, if I remember aright, she had red hair and a squint, and no girl can ever recover from red hair and a squint. Sedate enough now, is she ? She must have changed, indeed. Why, I remember her once fighting a boy twice her size for illtreating a three-year-old little maid. Gad! that was fine. I did like that. Why, hello! What is this? Here already?” I jumped out upon the platform. The old stationmaster touched his cap.

“ ‘Artily glad to see you back again, CapFn. Are you expecting the carriage down?" “ No, Briggs. Glad to see you looking younger than ever. Send up my dressingcase to the butler, and let the rest of the luggage follow to-morrow. " Right, sir. Then you don’t wish a fly?” “No; I shall take a short cut afoot across the meadows.” And with that I strolled down the familiar village street until I came to the hedgerows, and mounting a stile, caught a glimpse again of the old home. Beyond some two miles of intervening meadows lay a broad belt of woodland, and above it a square church tower, with gables and clustered chimney tops, russetcoloured in the slant rays of the setting sun. It wanted an hour and a half to dinner time, as I ascertained by my watch, and leaping from the stile, 1 proceeded down the footway between the high hedgerows, leisurely swinging my umbrella and thinking always of that little hoyden Kate and of what the immediate future had in store for me in that direction. I Suddenly I became conscious of an \ alarming change in the weather. The ] top of the hedgerows bent all aslant and the larger twigs beat the air like whips. I A great pall of darkness spread overhead, ! threaded now and then by lines of fire, and at last a loud smack right overhead . brought my reflections to a full stop, j “By Jove!” said I, “I am caught in a I thunderstorm, and a mile yet to go.” Quickening my pace and rounding a J sharp turn in the pathway, I perceiv'ed i barely twenty paces in advance of yie an ! adorable little figure, with skirts fiutter-i-ing in the wind and flossy hair all blown | awry, who was struggling wildly with a j red parasol that refused to be closed. Just 1 in front of her was a stile; the rain now began to come down in great splashes, a flurry of wind caught her as she was nearly over the stile, and the red parasol was i careering away in mid air like a parachute.

This was an opportunity not to be lost, and before she was aware of my presence I had leaped over the style and was handing her down on the other side, with my umbrella unfurled and ready. “Pardon me,”. I said, in my very best manner “As you appear to be going my way, will you permit me to offer you tbe hospitality cf my gamp?” She turned up the loveliest face in all the wide world, with the rosiest cheeks and the prettiest of dimples coming and going in them, and her white teeth showed deliciously as she laughed and said—- “ Circumstances would compel me in any case, and I thank you Very much,” and without further ado she put her head under the umbrella in very near proximity to my own. I never knew such rain as followed outside of the tropics. It came down in unbroken liquid spines as thick as your finger, and an umbrella, even of tlie widest capacity, was a very small providence indeed under such circumstances. Happily, however, before we had time to exchange a dozen further words, a sharp bend in the path brought us to an outbuilding, the door of which stood invitingly open. At that moment the sky opened wid9 with flame and belched with thunder, and with a common impulse we sought the opportune shelter. There was then an awkward pause, and a sense of embarrassment, in which we had aii f equal share. At last I said: “Are you living in this neighbourhood ?” *?Lor the present, yes,” she answered. Perhaps, then, we shall be neighbours. Ylv people live at Tbe Grange.” I You, then, are Captain Hamilton.” I was somewhat surpiised at this, but gave no sign of it; only replying as I reI know your father, ana have often heard him speak of you. I don’t think he 1 expects you to-day, however.” I Again I wondered, but hoping to obtain information, and feeling, somehow, that I had an honest girl to deal with, I at once blurted out the truth. “Can 1 trust you?” I said, quickly adding, “ Indeed I know I can.” | She laughed the merriest of all possible laughs—l have never known/such a merry I laugh as that girl had. “ 1 “Yes,” she answered, “I think I may j be trusted. But why the question?” ! “It is this. I have a cousin living down here—her name is Kate Fielding.” " I know her very well." “ That simplifies matters. I have not 1 seen her for ten years, and I thought 1 j would run down to-day and have a peep at her unawares.” j “You have a motive in doing so, of course ?” “Well, yes; but I must not carry my confidences too far.’' | “Don’t; I have not invited them.” j “Quite so. Well, I always detested this cousin of mine.” “ Indeed ! and why ? I like her very much myself, although speaking candidly she has certain faults.” “ There you are,” I answered, triumphantly; "tlie/chief of which is ugliness.” " She certainly is no beauty.” “Beauty! I can see her now—a redheaded, squint-eyed, mad-cap creature, climbing trees and fighting boys.” “Fighting boys! How shocking!” “Yes. I saw her once lick a boy as big as two of her; lie had been mauling his little baby-sister. But I liked her for that, and took her up iu my arms and kissed j her.” “Did she like it?” I

“ I think not, for she simply smacked my face and said ‘How dare you, sir!’ That’s what tlie little spitfire did. I suppose her liair is as red as ever?” “ Red! No, it is mouse colour.”

“Mouse colour! That’s odd; I never knew red to go mouse colour.” “Oh! it does sometimes.” “What about the squint?” " Her spectacles hide that.” “Spectacles! You don’t mean, to tell me that ”

“I do, hut poor thing, that is no fault of hers.”

“Certainly not, but bang it all! a cousin in spectacles. Who ” “ Who what ?”

"Oh, nothing in particular. She has come into a lot of money, hasn’t she?”

“ Heaps of it. Some girls seem to have all tlie luck.” “Pooli! said I, looking her over admiringly* “ What is money without ■” “AVliat?’* “Beauty,” I answered, as bold as brass; “ beauty such as ” She made a sudden bolt for the door. “The rain is over,” she said. “Look, there is the sum again. I must hurry away home, or I shall be late.” And then, to the very gates of The Grange, there was nothing but commonplaces exchanged between us. Not another word would she utter about my cousin Kate. At the gates we parted, and I watched her until she disappeared at a sharp bend in the road, and with a sigh I said, ‘No Cousin Kate now forme. Poor old ‘ gov’nor’—we shall have a bad quarter of an hour over this.” Then I sneaked round to the back of the house and furtively interviewed Simpson, our old butler, and soon after was dressed for dinner. On my way down I once more encountered Simpson.

“Is Miss Fielding iu tbe drawing-room, Simpson?” I asked. “ Yes, sir, and Mr. Dobbins, tbe curate. He dines here to-night, too, sir.” I thanked him, and girding up my loins for whatever might befall, entered the drawingroom, where my worst fears were at once realised. She was sitting alone at a little table turning over the leaves of a book. Mouse-coloured liair, spectacles, a straight up-and-down figure, ciau in black with a triangle of Honiton lace down the front; and sedateness enough in all conscience. Nothing was lacking in the picture my imagination had painted. I can just remember introducing myself to her, and being introduced by her in turn to Mr Dobbins. All the rest is a disordered dream—my father making a great ado over my premature coming; my taking this dreadful cousin Kate of mine'into dinner at the very moment the loveliest of apparitions appeared upon tlie threshold, and, with a glance of withering scorn at me, placidly taking Mr Dobbins’s arm, and being led by him to her seat at tbe table. And to drive me further mad was this awful cousin of mine with the mouse-coloured hair nodding gravely to every word of mine, but never saying a word herself beyond an occasional “Yes” or “No.” or “Oh! indeed!” while the radiant being opposite was beaming upon a delighted curate, and driving me to the very depths of despair. I held my peace, I remember, with tlie governor when the ladies had retired, thinking to have it out with him afterwards; and it was with a sense of relief when I entered the drawing-room again to find my Cousin Kate at the piano trolling forth a lugubrious ditty. All this I recall dimly, hut remembrance clears as I see that radiant vision suddenly advance and seat itself by my side. " Ah!” I said. “at last."

" Captain Hamilton,” came the astounding reply, “ I am afraid you are an imposter. You told me you came down here to—well—to be, at least, polite to your cousin Kate.”

“Hang it all,” I said, somewhat testily, “I am afraid I have done my best to be polite, but it has nearly killed me all the same.”

"I don’t believe, indeed I know that you have not said one pleasant word to her this evening.” “Well,” I replied, pointing towards the piano, “there she is. Ask her?”

" Ask her. AVhy should I ask her ? I am not speaking of her, but of your cousin Kate.”

My breath began to come quick and fast as I again pointed to the piano. “Pray,” I asked, “who, then, is that blessed woman ?"

" AA’hy, the curate’s wife, Mrs- Dobbins, of course. AA T ho else?” Then a glorious light suddenly dawned upon mo. “Oh! you little wretch,” I said; “it is you, then, who climbed trees, and thrashed a bov, and smacked a rude man’s face for kissing her without permission?” “ Alas! good sir, I must admit the soft impeachment,” and tlie peal of merry laughter that burst from her lips at that moment, even drowned Mrs. Dobbins’s lugubrious ditty, I shall never forget to ini' dying day. , * * * * *

Some little time afterwards my father had liis dearest wish. I did not think it

worth my while, after all, to argue the point out with him.