THE HEROISM OF SILAS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1756, 1 November 1905, Page 11

THE HEROISM OF SILAS.

(By Rita Kelley.)

- Mary Mehitable hurried down the middle of the road. Sire was watching every bush and its shadow in a panic of fear. Never before had she felt so utterly unworthy of being the wife of a soldier.

It "was all because of the Sponsby burglars. They had been nicknamed the Sponsby bmglars because the Sponsby residence had suffered firjrit in a long series of robberies which had terrorised all Greenburgh. Breathlessly she stumbled up the hill and into their own lane. A gleam of light shot from £.i. kitchen window. Silas was home! Running and stumbling, she gained the porch and fell prostrate at her husband’s feet.

“What’s ailin’ you, Alary? Scairt ag’in?” ;

The tolerant contempt in her husband’s voice was sweetest music in her ears. She opened her eyes and looked up at the six feet two of Silas Shrub. “The Sponsby burglars!” she gasped, staggering to her feet. “I’m ’most soairt to death! Sarah Sponsby, she’s just seen em up at Schaedler’s.” “Humph!” Silas shifted his quid of tobacco. “When did you say Sairy seen ’em?” . “Just a half hour back,” she cried shrilly. “They were standin’ right back of the stove, a tall man an’ a short one, an’ watohin’ ail the time George Anderson was gettin’ his check cashed. That old man Scshaedler, I shouldn’t wonder if he was mixed in it. Sarah said he winked at ’em an’ said that seventyfive dollars was ’most cleanin’ him out of cash. They followed Anderson out the store an’ up the road. Sarah, she kept close behind as she -dared, an’ they turned into Anderson’s an’ asked for a drink!”

- “Oh, well, don’t get excited.” Silas pulled down the curtain of the window nearest to him, and, fumbling in his striped waistcoat, drew out a rumpled piece of paper. “Good thing I didn’t get Jim’s last check cashed,” he said, studying the signature on the back. “I didn’t mean to tell you,” he said without looking up, “but I seen ’em, too.”

“What?” Poor Mary Alehitable scurried to him like a frightened chicken. “Where ? Here?”

“Well, set down an' keep cool!” He shook off her tight clasp and swept a satisfied glance over tile plaid suit freon which he seemed to he shooting like ah elongated bean-pole. “That new city girl over to Smith’s has been wanting to hear how we licked the Spaniards, but I didn’t stay long. 1 thought you- mought he seairt to come home early an’ find the house empty.” This bit of husbandly devotion quite overpowered Mary Mehitable. For the thousandth time she wondered why Silas, after coming hack from Manila, had chosen her to share his triumphs and honours. It could not have been the tidy farm she owned, for other eligible widows lived on the outskirts of Greenburgh. That he might have been influenced by the fact that Mary Mehitable’s only son was married and held a well-paid position in tbe city, while other widows were blessed with encumbrances in various stages of growth and development, never entered her mind. Children are apt to get on your nerves when you are a hero of two wars. Silas had seen service in both Cuba and the Philippines, so tbe village always referred to him as “our hero of two wars.”

Sometimes the villagers wearied of hero worship, but it never palled on Mary Mehitable.

“Jim’s clothes are real becomm’ to you, Silas,” she said. “They do be a little short in the sleeves, hut your cuffs piece out all right. He’ll he bringin’ you some new ones when he comes this week —summer ones, mebbe.” Then her mind suddenly reverted to the burglars. “Do you know where they went? You don’t suppose they’re here ?’*

“No,” he answered, chewing hard, “I guess not.” Something in his ton© caused her to seize the lamp and make an extended tour through the rooms, locking and bolting doors and windows. When she returned, her husband was sitting by the stove, his head buried in his hands. • “You ain’t sick, Silas?” “No,” he growled. ‘ What’s the matter with you? Go on to bed!” “I’m sorry I got seairt an’—flurried you,” she quavered. “Flurried? ,W!bo said I was flurried? Do you think I’m some fool woman afraid of her shadder ? Go on to bed I”

Mary Mehitable slunk up the stairs, but the light was still burning when

her husband followed her half an hour later. She sat bolt upright on the edge of the bed and almost screamed: “Silas Shrub, what are you doin’ with that piece of fire-wood?” “Pshaw, Mary!” said Silas. “What you got to know everything for ?” _ He blew out the light and placed the stout piece of hickory behind his pillow.

The clock struck eleven. Very -cautiously Mary Hehitable raised herselif on one elbow, then sat up straight on the-edge of the bed. " “What’s the matter now?” growled Silas, sitting up with suspicious suddenness. .

«I just got to light the lamp,” replied the woman in a dry, choking voice. “Seems as if I’d go crazy, lyin’ here in the dark. You ain’t slept a mite, either!” “How can I with you flouncin’ all over the bed?” was the response. EVen in her timid heart, iViary Alehitable knew the accusation to be unfounded. She had not moved a muscle. She put one bare foot on the rag carpet ; then something icy and cold clutched at her heart. Steps—steps on. the back porch! She could hear them as plainly as if her ear was against the door.

She turned to her husband with a sense of relief which pierced even her terror. Even as she touched his shoulder", fear seemed to fall from her. The worst was over. The burgiars were here—but so was Silas.

“Silas,” she whispered, “don’t you hear ’em?” • i A gentle snore was the only reply. A curious thought took possession of Mary Mehitabie’s brain. The snore -did not ring true.

“Silas,” she said, shaking him vigorously, ■‘they’re here —the burglars! cret your club ! Wake up, Silas!” The man rolled away from her with a snore that shook the rafters. For a second, Mary Mahita-ble sat as one paralysed. Then came a long, creaking, grinding noise from below. The burglars were forcing the dining-room shutter. The woman flung herself forward m a frenzy.

“Silas', are you gcin’ to let ’em -murder us in cold blood ?” The man threw his h-and over her mouth.

“Shut up, you durned* fool! If we let ’em have what they want, they wc-n’t do nothin’ to us. I left the tin box on the table, handy fer ’em to get at. Somethin’ told me our turn was coinin’ to-night.” The woman listened to the hoarsely whispered words like one in a dream. Then her mental vision cleared. The tin box ! There was more than, -money in that box —-her marriage certificates, one long golden curl from her dead baby’s head, Great-Grandmother Talcott’s solid silver spoons. And Silas had left it handy—right where the burglars would -get at it! With a wild cry she flung aside her husband’s hand, seized the billet of hickory wood, and ran downstairs. At the foot of the stairway her ears were assailed by a smothered yell, a tremendous racket, mixed with strange She knew what had happened. With a sliout of exultation, she sprang toward the trap door in the corner of the kitchen. Silas had left it open when he brought up the stick of wood, and the burglar had plunged into the old cistern, with its three feet of water!

“Silas! Silas! Silas!” she shrieked as she flung her full weight on the trap door. i “We’ve got him! We’ve got him! Hurry up !” There was no answer from up-stairs, only a terrific voice, booming and roaring" under her swaying, quivering figure. “Oh, Silas!” she almost sobbed, as her arms began to yield to the fierce pressure of the man under the door. “Won’t you come, Silas? I can’t hold out much longer!” Again the door seemed to heave and revolve beneath her. The man below was a Samson for strength, forcing his way inch by inch up the steps. Then, suddenly, the room was suffused with light. Silas stood at the foot of the stjairs, lamp in hand, fully dressed, ©he turned faint and giddy. Up, up came the door. Her strength ebbed from her finger-tips. She felt herself rising, rising—then blackness. “Well, Mary, you’ve gone to the limit this time!” It was her husband’s contemptuous tones. .“Don’t you think you’d better stop your foolishness before you get the town marshal up here arrestin’ your own son?” She turned her head slowly, and her glance rested on a tall, strangely familiar form, shaking itself free from water, beside the kitchen stove. “Jim,” she said dully, “is it you?” Something in his mother’s voice made the young man forget his own plight. He lifted her trembling figure and laid her on the sofa.

“I thought I’d surprise you and get here for supper, but there was a freight wreck at Grafton, and wo had to lay there five hours,” he said, patting her trembling hand. ‘‘There, Mary Mehitable,” said Silas, putting some kindling into the stove, you go up where you belong, in bed, an’ I’ll fix up something hot for Jim here. You ain’t worth a whoop, ’cept to raise Ned ’bout nothin’ l” Jim turned suddenly on his stepfather. and the sarcasm in his voice was

out of all proportion to his bedraggled appearance. “I suppose you thought I was nothing when you stopped to dress so carefully to receive me! Ox perhaps you dressed so as not to shock the neighbours when you led off the burglar your wife had caught!” Alary Alehitable rose unsteadily to her feet.

“Don’t, Jim. Talkin’ ain’t goin’ to help things.” She drew herself up with a pathetic attempt at dignity, and looked straight at her husband, who sullenly continued his labours at the stove. “I reckon you’d best go upstairs, Silas, an’ take off them clothes. Jim’ll need ’em to wear to town tomorrow. I’ll get- his coffee ready, an’ you needn’t set up for -me. I’ll be doin’ some packin’ yet to-night.” Silas’ jaw dropped. He looked at her questiomngly. • “You ain’t goin’ fur, be you, Mary Alehitable ?”

“I reckon I’ll go home with Jim for a while. His wife’s been wantin’ me to come, -an’ —an’ I kind of feel the need of a change.” Her voice fa-ltered piteously, and she turned her back on the tall, awkward figure starting up the narrow staircase. Her son held out his dripping arms. ‘Mother dear, we’ll he glad to have you just as long as you’ll stay!” And there, on his water-soaked, bruised shoulder, she out her heart.