THE APPLE OF DISCORD

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1847, 31 July 1907, Page 7

THE APPLE OF DISCORD

(By Mary Talbot Campbell.)

Tlx© oranges were brightly yellow and. the apples were polished to a rosy allurement in open box or barrel. Little Dick Richie eyed them hungrily as he clung to his big 'father's hand and strove to understand, with slowly groping wits, the jokes at which Mr MacDonald, the grocer shouted with laughter. “Anything else, Mr Richie?” “A dollar's worth of sugar.” - As MacDonald turned to fill the order, the father chose a great, luscious apple, and biting into it with all a Missourian s noisy enjoyment, asked, with his mouth half full: “Say, Mao, ' why is a donkey like a Scotsman ” ... Grocer and boy eyed the vanishing .Jonathan with differing emotions as the man replied: : “Both stubborn and good at carrying a load, I guess.” “ ‘Hoots, man!’ but that's not so worse. It’s because he walks beside the banks and braes.” With shaggy head thrown back, Mr Richie led the roar with infectious heartiness as he sent the apple core flying through the open door. “Come, son, or I reckon mother’ll think I’ve traded .you for groceries.” The child trotted along, giving a frequent hop to keep up. The small brain worked laboriously toward a fixed and original conclusion, as was its custom, though the child of few words seldom gave his mental processes verbal expression. It was saicl of lias father's family that" the men never fully matured till forty, but carried their slowly perfected strength and virility of brain and character into a vigorous, telling, old age. Dick had begun the slow conquering of his years.

“Mother will tell father to naughty things her boy did to-day.” The placid voice was stirred by no emotion as Mrs Richie rocked serenely, her eyes on the latest novel. Dick pondered, and eventually worded his thought:

“You wall fordet it.” With a patient sigh, the mother brought her mind back to her small son, and finally grasped his meaning. “Bring me your slate, Dick. I can c forvet what is'written down,” she said. The boy obeyed with deliberate dejection, but paused in the clutch of an idea. Childish eves again mirrored serenity rs he laid the slate, with'its banging pencil on his mother’s lap. Once more stern maternal duty claimed her, while a curious boy, with head a-tilt. watched the forming of the telltale words. “Now hang it by the double string to that nail in the woodwork be a good bov, or there’ll be more.” By dint of much tiptoeing the thm~ v/as done, his crimes dork-sted. awa?tinGf tlm comma - of judge, trial, and sentence. But the child 'once more stood before a mother dfitfd. to his little world, £vnd tolc; her: “T will wub it out.” She answered vaguely, “Don t burner dear!” The accused made no further confession. While Ada Richie dressed for the afternoon. Dick stood alone before the. slate a tongue .churning w’+hin ■*' soft ballooning of bis puffy cheeks. Then taking puckered aim, he fired a splattering shot, and bringing cuff and elbow to bear, rubbed the offensive little “tattletales” into a deserved oblivion. And forgetfulness stole over the ease-loving mother mind through a combination of absorbing novel and celestial conduct on the part of Dick.

But the tragedy was not to be averted. The following day the oeok took the boy to the grocery, and while gossiniug wi f b a friend, paid no attention to him. On his return, Dick offered his mother a largely depleted half-pound box of choice chocolate drops. “Why, how nice! Did Mr MacDonald give it to you ’’ “No ’m" -“You don't mean Jennie bought it, dear?” , “I just tooked it. They s lots more. Forgone© the book was closed and laid aside." . . “You did’nt steal it. Dick The boy was puzzled by the term, distressed by her facdf® “I iust booked it.” “Oh. my boy! mv little boy! What have you done! What will your father say!” A sense of undeserved blame and impending disaster crushed the child into his mute armour _ of stubborn unresroneiveness, while things seethed within, but found no outlet. Unclasping stuff, sticky fingers from their stolen delight, the mother lifted to her lap a rigid little figure, whose life seemed centred in a pair of mutinous eyes, at war with her troubled ones. TJnpliant, disconcerting, lie gazed back unwinkingly while she explained with broken voice the rights of ownership. A s her tears at last overflowed and wet bis face, the child was swamped in a slowly sucking desnair, which suffocated any defence his faltering tongue might have given him. The mother crushed a resisting curly head against her breast, for Dick resented the union of scolding and coddling, though totally unable to voice the thought.

“Why, my son, they put men in gaol for stealing—taking what belongs to another ! If you weren't a little child, Mr MacDonald could have you arrested." Life swept over the boy in a choking flood as, with a sharp effort, he sat erect, tense arms holding her off, while he battled mentally with a fear bigger than himself, the inner voices clamouring, the boy dumb. The pained eyes in the baby face smote the mother: “Little heart of my heart 1” she cried, and sought to cradle him in her arms: but the boy made his escape, and going to the slate, brought it to her silently. “Son, it is written on mother's heart/’ “Can't you wub it out?” “Only my little boy can do that." Then the judge came, and the small thief was at the bar of life. Tom Richie was sorely pttzzled in dealing with the boy, as Dick seemed struck dumb, while his eyes, with their suffering protest, as if against some injustice, 'hurt the father#

“Answer me, son. Do you understand now?”

The boy’s throat went dry, and the: curly head gave mute denial. “i don’t believe the boy has any moral sense, Ada. But, come. One thing is certain. Dick, you've got to take that candy back, tell Mr Mac Do- i kl you stole it, and ask him to forgive ; you. You shall at least understand chat punishment follows steading, and 1 never forget this day as_long as you j live, because I shall take you through i he streets dressed as a girl. You will bo little Rachel, not Richard.” iff sob of a one-worded prayer, “Daddy!" and speech fled.

“Tom, you’re wrong ! That’s too cruel! don’t! He’s so little." He turned on her fiercely. v'/hose —my only sow shan’t grow up i be a thief.” •; his sister’s dress was slipped over Dick’s boyish attire, wave on wave deadly sickness and scorching shame; swept the boy as his head drooped, | and slow, scalding drops baptized, with j the waters of bitterness, the sham girl, j “Now a hat." _ j The father’s voice was harsh, his eyes i were averted from his wife. j In mercy the mother gave a sun bon- 1 net, pulling it well over the working j face as she whispered: ~ ; “This will rub it out, precious! Your' jours have washed mother s heart quite, clean.” ’ „ I ‘•'.ihat’ll do, Ada! \ A-ouiver with throbbing agony, Dick •vas led through the streets, desperate fingers clutching the open candy-box,, while tears gathered .on lie chocolate drons. At the dragging burden of the wee; halting figure, the father hurried to have it done with, the first doubt of his course making its way through his mind. The boy fought with all ris slight weight against his awful doom, but clung with fingers of dying faith: to the “Daddy," who had never failed him before, as in later life one s heart cleaves to its childish creed when brain and life would tear them asunder. Endless blocks, years of torture, a bonneted head pathetically drooping, but at last a girl with a boy's wet race stood before MacDonald, sobbing explosively : |

“I—d-did—'teal! P-lease—fordive me!” An ague of anguish shook the box till 'chocolates rolled upon the floor. “Why, what little girl have we here? God, man! It’s your ain bairn!" The boy was snatched to the ocots brawny breast, then tossed up beside the sugar-scales as the matter was made plain. A burring rush of queer, tender words bewildered, but comforted, the child, as bonnet and dress were torn off, flung behind the counter, and a storm-tossed youngster came into his own again, the heritage of manhood. Wet eyes slowly dried as Dick discovered himself once more a two-legged animal.

“Look up, laddie! Men must aye face the world square, chin lifted.” Abashed eyes laboured wearily up, as Dick knew himself forgiven, till a misty smile dawned in their grieved depths as the little boy met the big one in a long look of. perfect fellowship. The humid sympathy in the man’s glance moistened the dryness of the boy’s choked heart, and a welling word of bubbling confidence burst from parched lips. Then, with a swift clutch, two arms went tight about the Scotsman’s neck, and as the whole story was whispered with telling brevity, the man grew throaty and glared over the curly head at the waiting father. “D'on’t tell,” Tom Richie heard the child say. “No, my bairn! You wee mannie! ’ Then turning to the father, MacDonald eyed him in eloquent silence, his right arm still circling the child, whose sticky hand lay upturned on the man’s left shoulder as the tiny body drooped and cuddled to his great friend. “Unless ye become as little children quoted the grocer, his eyes afar off. Then turning their gray keenness on the father ho spoke: “I’d advise you, man, ;o put yourself next to your own bairn before you sleep tbe night, lest you be more like a donkey than any Scot I know,” . With a forced laugh, Tom Richie backed up to the counter, saying: “Mount your burro, son, and we’ll ride home to mother.” Timidly, with unplayful gravity, the child obeyed, but a sudden buck from his restive steed sent the boy into hysterical laughter, followed by a convulsive catching of breath as slowly Dick s tired head drooped while the donkey paced quietly homeward. A mother, with yearning eyes and eager hands for her little one, gave out no warmth of welcome to the laden father. “Mother’s man.* The words were balm, and soon, in the kingdom of her arms, sleep reigned. When Dick was ready for bed that night, Ada, at a sign from Tom left her boys alone in the shadowy light of the fire. Father and son clung mutely together in the dusky, brooding silence. From her bedroom the waiting mother it length heard the child’s halting words as ho struggled for expression. Ihen came a man’s dry sob, and the boy s stammering comfort. Creeping stealthily nearer, Ada saw Tom rise precipitately, place the dim, white-gowned little figure in the big. armchair, and kneel before him with nusky words: “Little man-child, there are two kinds of fools, big and little. I'm the big rind, son, and don’t deserve a manly little chap like you to bring up. I stole, and taught you to; but I'm sorry, Dick, nd promise never to take another apple or anything that mine if you will just forgive me, son!” “Daddy, yes! Det up! Daddy, det up!”

‘‘‘And if you say $», Dick, I'll put oil mother’s dress and go to Mac— —" “No! n-no!” and a tiny body shook with a passion of torturing sobs against his father’s heart, which was wrung >y the sharpest regret of his life. Holding the boy tighter, he comforted him soothingly, their teary faces sad and glad by turns. “And to think, while Daddy was torturing you, little man, you were planning to save him from gaol, and making dear old Mac promise not to tell about that apple!” _ _, _ , “Daddy, I love you! Daddy, I do! Tom Richie rose, holding his son, i wet humility in his caressing glance. “And, son, tell Mac to burn those sissy clothes." A child’s choky laugh, and the strangled man pulsed to the triumphant heart-beat of the boy’s speechless de~ llS L'he mother smiled through tears at the dumb expressiveness of protruding link feet, widely spread by the father a breadth, and kicking happily at the hg thief’s back as he carried his comrade in crime off to bed, a sturdy leg under each arm. —The “Century. ’