FICTION.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXVII, Issue 3436, 18 May 1898, Page 1 (Supplement)

FICTION.

THE STORM. [By Zack.] The Outlook, A sudden gale had sprung up from the north-east; great blSck-backed gull and feoble-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 cliffs led past a cottage; light shone from tits < windows, and in the kitchen were three I women. The youngest lay fit a truckle i bed, a baby against her breast; an old woman, tall, gaunt and white-haired, sat I ait a table, the Bible before her, muttering J srv or familiar passages with awkward lips; (the third moved softly about the room I ’preparing shipper. She stood a moment I iby tho be-tl, as the child broke into a low, jiong wfj.il, - 1 ‘ Poor lamb I’ she said; ‘ho frets as if ' ;you‘r breast was cold to him.’ ‘ Maybe ’tis cold,’ replied the sick girl , Indifferently. ‘Aye, but not to-night, Nun,’ tba other protested, ‘ and his father out in n storm like this I’ •

‘ The Lord have mercy on the lad !’ exclaimed the old woman, glancing up; ‘ he’s got that scamp Bab Tapp wi’ him in the boat. Scores o’ times I’ve told Joss ’twould bo safer to sail’long o’ decent folk.’

, Nan stetaed uneasily. ‘Bab’s as good as the *ost o' ’em,’ she muttered, ‘ and a long ways handier.’ ‘Handy wi’ his tongue belike,’ retorted

the old woman; ‘ there ain’t his equal for Hying in this hero parish ; ’tis only rcason- ■ ablo that the Lord should be angered agin Ihim; though maybe the Almighty will :miud that. Joss has been a good son to ime and snare the boat.’

She v/as silent a moment, listening to (the continuous clamour of tho massive •door-bolts that barred back the storm, "‘Aye, that Bab,’ she burst out fiercely, they should cast him overboard the same as tho men o’ Joppa cast tho prophet Jonah, son of Amittai. Who

knows but the Almighty may be speaking

now by the voice o’ the wind ?—“ Cast him out, cast him out, and the raging waves of the sea shall foam upon his shame.” ’ i

‘ How dare 'ee speak such words as them 1’ pried the girl, springing up in bed. ‘The Lord ain't no Moloch to devour men's lives.’

‘And what's Eab Tapp’s life to thee ?’ replied the other, sternly. l lt ill becomes ■a mother with 'her first chile at breast to be taking such thought for furron men's 'lives.'

‘ Come, come, mother,’, Interposed the third woman, * let Nan ho; supports on the table, and you’d feel better for a snatch o’ sommat,’

‘ I did well t o name 'eo Martha,’ cried file old woruan, turning bn her. ‘ Your (thoughts be too much taken up wi’ the ithings o’ 'this world. What, call have I dor bite w sup when the great starved isea ia hungering waiter my son? Aye, but J»oas, lad, lad,’ she continued to her- , ‘ and you that fond o’ whistling 1’ Martha made no answer, but, pouring 'Out a cup of tea, brought it to the sick girl.

1 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. ■‘.’Tie salt as the sea 1' she exclaimed, pushing the cup from her with a shudder. * Seems as if I knowed the taste o’ drowning.’

J And well you may,’ exclaimed the cM woman, * when your man is forced so nigh tO It.’ - / 1 ;

‘ Joss will not be drowned,’ replied her daughter-in-law, carelessly. ‘ What-for should he bo - drowned ? Oh, my God 1’ she ended,/with abrupt change of voice, as the hurrying 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.

1 Poor heart 1’ said Martha, stooping and raising the, baby in her arms, ‘he frets over things.’ She walked to and fro in the little kitchen, her face pressed close against the child’s; her soft brown hair mingling with his soft downy fluff. ‘My o'ffli chile,’ she continued meditatively, “ was wonderful contentsome.’ 4 Year own chile 1’ exclaimed the harshvoiced old woman. “ Why, your own chile was borti dead.’

‘Her was.never dead to me,’Martha answered, gently. • 1 1 used to talk a deal to her lying, there so close and trustful agin my heart. But now I sorter feel that ’.I mo and Jim had another chile, maybe ’twould bo horn 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, eoiuo clear.’ 1

- 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 I’ “ No,’ rejoined her mother •in - law, •sharply; ‘ha’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,’ she added, ‘you ain’t never seen Eab but twice.’ :

‘ No, I ain’t never seen him but twice,’ the girl repeated. “And when yo did meet never spoke

much to oao ’nothor,’ continued Martha,

wonderingly. ‘ No, us never spoke much to one

’nother.’ ‘Aye, certain,’ exclaimed Martha; ‘ why, tho last time ho coined in here ’twas a matter of three weeks ago; you was sitting up in front of the lire nursing tho ' 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. ' Them were his words. Do you mind, Nan f’

’ Yes,' said the girl, softly, ‘ I mind.’ ‘ ’Twas a queer question I reckoned to bo 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 horned him, same as I did ruy little girl.’ ‘ No.’

‘ Yet ’twor my chile that tvas bom dead.’ ‘ Ayo,’ the girl answered, fiercely, ‘ and ain't mine born dead too ?' Tile elder woman glanced kt her in astonishment. **What ails you, Nan ?’ she exclaimed. ‘ Why, the poor lamb is calling for the breast.’ ‘ I den’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. Tho girl, turning away her head, made

no reply. Without, the storm clamoured more fiercely, and the faces of tho listening women grow white and tense. ‘ Pray for them at sea,’ exclaimed Martha, glancing at her mother. ‘And ain’t I praying for ’em ?’ expostu lated tho old woman 4 passionately. ‘ Say tho words . aloud, motheiv and let us join in.’

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 hWcffus combat, and the thunder heaved its way through their clamour with a noise like the splitting of mountains.

* 0 God I ’ Bobbed the woman, ‘be Vvor a good son tome; a good t'd'd to me.’ She was silent a moment, and the storm without up-reared itself against the cliffs, rocking the cottage in its heavy embrace, • O God ! ’ she burst forth again, ‘Ye would have spared Sodom for the sake of ten righteous men, and t’war a terrible big and wioktd citv~“spare the boat c&us'e o’ Joss. I wouldn't have axed BO bold if wor a ship; but it's nought feiit a boat, mortal small and tiddlellwinkie, wi’ only dree men &u’ a lad in it; and the lad’s a deWOta't lad come o’ respectable church folk, no chappelites a-setting' o’ theirselves up above their betters. Happen You’re angered agin Rab Tapp, and well you might be, for he’s hot over and above conspicuous in good works; still, he’s young—and youth’s laming time —but, if Ye bo terrible set on cutting him off—and I’ll not deny the temptation—then, O Lord God 1 speak to Joss through the mouth o’ the winds, same as Ye did the men o’ Joppa, so that he shall rise and cast Rab forth into the deep, and the sea shall cease her raging.’

As she uttered the last words the sick girl sprang from the bed and caught the old woman by the shoulders, 1 How dare ’ee mind the Almighty o' Rab’s weakneses at such a time I ’ 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 oa the sea to-night,’ the girl answered, ‘ deal Wickeder folk than Rab, and why should the Almighty be special took up wi’ he ? Oh, ’twas cruel, cruel o’ ye to put Him in mind o’ the lad 1 ’ ‘ 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 ? ’ remon-

strated the old woman fiercely, *My first born, that lay at my breast and milked me trustsomo. 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 I ’ she exclaimed, and would have taken him in her arms, but ha put her gently aside and came towards the girl, who stood barefooted on the cold stone floor, her long brown hair curling over her coarse night-gown. ‘ Nan,’ he cried, ‘ sweetheart, woman, wife, God’s given mo back to ’eo 1 ’ ‘ And Kab ? ’ she said hoarsely. ‘ The soa 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.