HE WAS ALL THE WORLD TO HER

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1717, 25 January 1905, Page 13

HE WAS ALL THE WORLD TO HER

(By Juris Prudence.) When a man has done a hard days work in his office, and, after dinner, has settled down in a comfortable armchair with a pipe, and a book, and his legs crossed before the fire, to enjoy an evening’s idleness, he takes it very ill to be summoned to further business. Yet, when a smart maid-servant presented Miss Blithelie's compliments to me with a request that I would favour her mistress with a call upon a matter of urgent private business, I had not the heart to refuse. Miss Blithelie was only known to me by sight, and was a little old maid, who lived two doors further up the terrace. Her hair was grey, and her features were sharp and pinched-looking, and she wore small high-heeled bod>fs and earrings, and upon/her nose A gold pincenez. By these marks, and the little toy terrier which she carried in her arms, I knew her. I had never spoken to her, but evidently she had discovered my profession.

Reluctantly I put off my slippers, laid down my book and pipe, and drew on my boots. Miss Blithelie received me in her draw-ing-room with profuse thanks for my prompt response to her summons, and profound apologies for the necessity which had driven her to send for me at such an hour. The little toy terrier on the floor, with a squeaky bark, protested against my intrusion. “tyeiet, Elephant! Be a good dog, 11 she said, reprovingly. The little lady's grey curls were fluttering round her neck, her earrings were bobbing below her earns, and her brown eyes were dancing with fun and merriment, as I have seen a child's after the accomplishment of some special piece of mischief.

When she addressed her diminutive dog, which we could hardly locate otherwise than by its bark, by the preposterous name of Elephant I, with difficulty, choked a laugh. The little lady observed my strangled mirth and looked at me.

“Excuse me/ 1 I remarked, apologetically. “You are laughing at mv little dog/ 1

she replied, and laughed herself. It was the clear ringing laugh of a happy child. “It is his name/ 1 I said, and, seeing she took no ioffence, I laughed outright. “That’s right/ 1 she said, approvingly. “Elephant and I laugh all the day long. You won't offend my doggie and me by laughing. 11 I already felt on friendly terms with this pleasant old maid, with the bobbing curls and earrings. “Why did you call such a midget Elephant, Mie> Blithelie? 11 I inquired. .“The friend who gave him to me gave him his name/ 1 Her voice took a sadder inflection. The sparkle died out of her eyes for a moment, and a strange look, as of sorrow. crept into them. Yet it wasn't sorrow. It was the absently reflective expression that one sometimes sees in the eyes of a person seeking to recall a thought and failing.

I wondered it I had accidentally stumbled on the romance of the old. maid’s life.

“I wouldn’t have him called by any other name for the world/ 1 she said. “Quiet, Elephant!” for the little dog was barking all the time. It jumped on to her lap and began, to lick her hands. She took him in her arms and held him close to her face.

“Not for all the world, doggie/* she said. Then she put him back on her lap. The merry sparkle was back in her eyes again. “He is a brave little fellow.” The little dog leaped to the floor and stood on his hind legs barking. “Quiet, Elephant! Apologise.” The canine midget uttered three more squeaky barks than usual, hung his tiny ears, and curled his inch of tail between Ills legs. “Be friends with the gentleman.”

He jumped on to my knees, and rubbed his black little nose against my hand. “Good doggie/ 1 she said, a/nd he bounced back again to her lap. “But we are detaining you with our little foolishness, Mr Prudence.” “Not at all/ 1 I said. “We shall go down stairs to the parlour.' 1

With the little Elephant in her arms she preceded me. The table in the parlour was spread with paper, pens, atnd ink. The little old maid became very solemn as soon as we crossed th#

threshold. Again the strange, strained, absent-mindea look appeared in her eyes. '‘Perhaps you will think mine a strange request for a lady, Mr Prudence. X wish you to make my will/' “I compliment you on your intention. Miss Blithelie. It is a very proper thing to do; a thing which every person should attend to." "Oh, I am so glad. I thought you would call me foolish, as the others did, and try to put me off." "Have you made your will before?" "I do not think so. I wanted to, but the people sadd I was foolish; there was no occasion for such formality. I am glad you think it right." "Please give me your instructions now, and I shall call to-morrow evening with the will ready for signature." "Could you not cLo it now?" "Well, if it isn't too long, I might. "Oh, no, it won't be long ! Just a few words! I might have done it myself, but then I thought it might not be legal. I might make a mistake, and I wouldn t like that. I wish to be very correct, Mr Prudence." "What am I to say then?" She had grown very sad-looking as she sat before the fire staring into it. Even the little dog seemed to recognise and be affected by her demeanour, and lay on her lap curled up in a %iilent ball. "Everything to Arthur, Mr Prudence. Jnst say he is to get all I have. It isn't mnch, but I want him to get everything. You know how to express it in legal terms." All that was necessary, I saw, was a short deed—what lawyers call a General Statement. So I wrote on until I came to the place where it was necessary to insert the name of the legatee. "Now give me the gentleman's full name, Miss Blithelie." "Just ‘Arthur/ Mr Prudence. I don't call him anything but Arthur. Everybody will know." "But the law requires the full name." She put her head down on the little dog's back. "Doggie and I just say Arthur." The little terrier licked away a tear from her cheek.

"The law is more exacting. You wish it done legally, you know." "Oh! it must be legal. There must be no room for doubting my intention. Arthur King," she whispered. "Now his address, please/' "I cannot give you that; he is away." "Abroad ?"

"But we don't know. He went away. Is the address really necessary, Mr Prudence ?"

"We must identify the gentleman in gome way. There may be many Arthur Kings in tbe world. Is be a relative?" I inquired, thinking that by inserting the relationship all doubt as to tbe identity of the legatee might be removed. She did not answer for a little, but sat silently fondling the little dog. Then a light broke on the sadness or her face, and she looked up with the pleased expression of one who has unexpectedly solved a difficult problem. "Say 'who gave me doggie/ That will do. won't it?" she inquired. By this time I was beginning to be troubled with doubts concerning the state of my client's mind. She was not mad; no one could call her that. But was she not troubled with an hallucination ? Her manner seemed to indicate an aberration of some kind. She was delighted with her own suggestion and 1 could get no further help from her. "Please put in ‘who gave me doggie/ Mr Prudence. It will please Arthur, and ■how him I have not forgotten," So, to please her, I inserted the words, and while I finished the deed she continued speaking, apparently unconscious of my presence. "Why did he go away ? Doggie and I cannot tell. But he will come again somo day. We are , waiting for him—weary waiting. It is a long time now since Arthur went away. It cannot be long till he comes again. That will be a happy day foi us, doggie. A happy day! And we wx* I never weary any more/' "Will you sign now, Miss Blithelie?" She took the pen, and, in presence of the maid-servant and myself, signed the document,

“I am at peace now 3 Mr Prudence/ 1 ehe said." If Arthur comes back too late he will understand. Sometimes my heart tells me I may not have long to live. But doggie and I don't give up hope. Only it is well tog prepare. I haven't much to leave, and no one but Arthur to leave it to. He is all the world to me. Is it quite legal ?” she inquired, as I handed the completed deed to her

"Quite legal/ 1 I said. "I am glad of that. Now doggie and I will clear away the papers/ 1 All her alertness returned t? her. Briskly she gathered up the papers, pens, and ink, and placed them to one side. Then she locked the settlement in her desk. Her eyes sparkled with the merriment that was in them when she greeted me in the drawing room. The little dog approved the change, and set to barking again. "Thank you so much for doing that for me, Mr Prudence, 11 she said. “T am glad I have been of service to you 11 'You will come again to see me. I am very lonely sometimes. Without doggie I should die, I think. Perhaps Mrs Prudence might call to see me/ 1 "She will be glad, I am sure, if you will look in upon us any evening 11 "Thank you. I shall be pleased to. Now, say 'good night/ Elephant. The little dog stood on his hind legs barked twice. The little old maid laughed. her earrings trembled, and her curls shook. "Arthur taught him to do that before he went away/ 1 she said. I went home sadly pondering the case of poor Miss Blithelie Was she quite right iu her mind I wondered, or had some affliction robbed her of her senses? And who was Arthur? True to her promise, Miss Bhthelie* called uDon us, and my wife and she became great friends. My wife scouted the idea of anything being wronc with her mind. She had never met such a happy, humorous old maid, and, as for Elephant, he was the dearest little toy of a •log that she had ever seen. I had not

told her, of course, all that had transpired at my first meeting with Miss Blithelie, for, even to a wife, p professional man must not tell the busmessof clients, however strange or irrational it may be. And Miss Blithelie never introduced the subject of her will. Neither did I care to make inquiries regarding ihe relatives of tho old maid or her circumstances. There would be a sort of meanness m such conduct, to which I could not reconcile myself. It seemed like prying into the seorets of at friend. A year slipped away, and I was summoned again to call on Miss Blithelie on business, in the same manner as I had been before. Again she received me in the drawing-room. She wished me to make her will, she said. She conducted me to the parlour, where the table was spread with writing material as on that former occasion. Her conduct was the same as at our first meeting. I went through the form of asking her instructions. They were the same as formerly. She displayed the same sadness while I wrote, and the same cheerfulness and gratitude when the will was signed. That night I left her convinced that, at least on the question of the succession to her estate, Miss Blithelie Avas the subject of a delusion. For some years longer she remained our neighbour and our friend, the same happy, pleasant, mirth-loving little woman. Ajad Elephant became as much at home in our house as in his own. Occasionally he would run in on his own account. Only when she died was the mystery of her will-making disposition explained. She was found dead in bed one morning, having slept away in the night. And, even in death, the smile lingered on her lips, only more beautiful it seemed than in life We advertised ber death in the newspapers, and a lady, who was her cousin, and only relative, turned up. “Poor Cousin Madge!" she said. Yes, she was wrong here," and she tapped her forehead, "ever since Arthur King died,"

"Who was heP* "They were engaged to be married. The wedding day was fixed, and invitations out when he took a serious illness, pneumonia, I think,, and died within a week. The shock turned poor Madge s head. She was never the same again. But innocent., and happy, and harmless! She did not think he was dead. He had gone away for a time, she always said, and would come again. She lived oak in that hope. Her father was alive then. He bought her an annuity before he died, and she has lived upon it ever since. Poor Madge! He didn't come to her, but she has gone to him, and now she knows." , . , ~ ... The little old maid had really left no estate, save her furniture, which was sold to pay her rent and a few trifling debts. There was little over, blit what there was, the cousin took. She allowed us to keep Elephant. But, after the death of his mistress, he too lost his happy ausposition. He gave up all liis little tricks, and we had no longer to complain of nis barking propensity. He would run to the dioor of his old home and stamd mournfully on the doorstep barking for admission, only to return to us more disconsolate than ever. And he died S1 j months after the mistress who had Loved him so much for the sake of the man who had given him to her.