A PROFITABLE INVESTMENT

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4307, 16 March 1901, Page 5 (Supplement)

A PROFITABLE INVESTMENT

cj? l f;e ““ such men as Farmer .V ’ ' vorl ? ln K early and late, firs t to pay O; the mortgage on the farm, afterwards n G tJie meadow laud adjoining his j oacli acquisition or farm mcadowland being only a irosh morsel to feed his appetite for property. It matters little to him that this one appetite was fed only to starve those toi chmch ami society, i[<‘ jifivcr won't to church or made visits, never read booivs or went to concerts. .Such things cast money, and according to his idea of proht :mci loss, did not pay. Mrs Sn.it h ? Yes, oh. yes, he had a i - ''/ ,0 u, ' ;c "ould work .so many hoiiis a dav for kj i.ttle pay as a wife’. 3 Udh (.ins fact m view, JMr Smith in his younger days had hastened to take unto nmselt tin- sfon test and spryost girl in tlio eoni; Ary, and he would tell you very emphatically that marriage was not a failure.

.M lv> Plinth, following her ideas of wifely duty, had .smothered whatever of motherly and womanly instinct she may have had, and followed faithfully in. her husband’s lead, making his dearest wish, hers.

Possibly .Mrs Smith, too, may be no .stranger to yon. They had come to middle life now- without children, and, as might bo expected, no very near friends. As ho sat waiting for the calves’ milk to bo skimmed, his sharp face, in its frame at grizzly hair and board, relaxed into an expression of shrewd satisfaction, and as ho rubbed his thorny hands together. ho proceeded to give his wife what he supposed to bo a bit of information.

‘'l saw Widow Brooks to-day, an’ I told her I should have to foreclose, and I wanted her to find another place before spring. That piece of meadow at tho back of her house cuts a line crop of hay, and I’ll need it by another winter.’’

instead of the look of sympathy, tho wife’s face only took on a worried expression, and tho lank figure in tho faded calico seemed to havo a more discouraged droop than before, as.. she said :

“Oh, dear! Why couldn’t you Jet her ho in peace ? What’ll become of her and lame Jimmy, now?’’ “Go to tho Pooriiouse, likely,” said Mr Smith, who did not exactly relish this stylo of sympathy. “Anyhow, I can’t afford to lob it run another year, ■ and lose all that fine crop of hair.” But tho clouded face only took on a deeper shade, and the yellow cream was thrown into tho earthern jar with unnecesary eiicrgy. as sho replied—- “ Goodness knows! we’ve got land enough to keep you an’ me and all our stock as long as wo live, an’ it seems to me ’twoidd bo a good plan to invest in a few friends in our old ago. I think it would bo kind of pleasant to have someone fooling friendly and grateful to us for a change.” “Why, 'Lizabeth, wbat’si come over you?” ejaculated her astonished husband. “Oh, nothin’; only I hadn’t had much to do this afternoon, an’ I’ve been thinkin’, and haven’t found any very comfortin’ thoughts. Here yon and I be Browin’ older every day of our lives. Do you know that. Timothy Smith?” In her excitement Mrs Smith straightened herself up and was pointing her remarks with flourishes of the skimmer. “Yes, I did. Knowed it ever since I was born.” Tho creamy interrogation point was brought a, little higher, and the wife went on—

“And did you never stop to think how many of our five hundred acres! ’twill take to cover us when we gat so wrinkled un and dried up that we can’t live any longer? An’ do you know of anybody on the face of the earth who would feel ono hit sad or shed one tear to see us buried to-morrow? I don’t, an’ I’m sick of livin’ so, that’s all.” .

Just then, jvithout any warning, the outside door opened, and a little girl walked in. Closing the door behind her. she went up to Mrs Smith, and, holding up a battered tin cup, said in an eager tone —

“Oh, ma’am, will you please to give mo a little of that milk?”

“And who might you be?” asked Mrs Smith, rather startled at this sudden opportunity for putting in practice her new doctrine.

'Oh, I’m Doxy 1 Walters, and I have the ciumingest little baby brother that ever was, an’ I’m afraid he’ll go back to Heaven if ho can’t have any milk to drink. Won’t you please fill this cup ? It’s so little.” Mrs Smith laid the skimmer down, Baying: —■ “What’s this you’ve been telling me? Now, don’t tell - mo anv wrong stories. What about the baby?” “Oh, well, he’s my brother, .and he came last night down there to the old barn by the brook, where mother and 7 are staying.” “Look here, girl, what are you and your mother doing in that old barn?” It was Mr Smith who spoke now. The barn in question belonged to him, and he proposed to have no sojourners of tins kind in it. “Nothing, only wo had to sleep there last night, because the train went off and left us. and we didn’t have anv other place to sleep. You see, it’s this wavFather died last autumn, and mother has cried nearly all the time since. We use to livo in Walton, but mother, didn’t have any more money, and so she had to sell our chairs and tables and things, and take the money to buy tickets to go away oft ever so far to live with Uncle Jacob. Do you know him ?” “No. But how did you get into my barn?” “Wliy. that’s easy enough. When we got to this town the ticket man said the train would stop for ton minutes, so mother and I got off to walk a little, ’cause I was tired sitting still. We walked down the road a little way, till we came to the barn, and just then mother turned round, and the train was just going off. And my little kittio was there in the basket, and our trunk, and mother’s little bag with the money, and tickets, and everything, was all on the train going to Uncle Jacob’s as fast as they could, and mother and I was out there in the road. Mother was quite ddVie up, and wo opened the door and went into the barn and sat down on a box and just cried, as hard as ever we could. I stopped first, because I saw a little mouse run across the floor, and I wanted to catch it, but I couldn’t. Mother said we would have to sleep 1 here, because she hadn’t any money. It was nearly dark then, and we couldn’t see anything in the bam but the box and a little hay. Mother put some hay in the box, and I got in and huddled down and played I was> a little mouse in a nest. Mother lay down on the , floor, and I oould hoar her cry until I went to sleep. ' “This morning when I woke up •>nd crawled out of the box there was that nice little baby, all done up in mother’s ehawl. Mother hasn’t woke up yet.

But I had better go back now, for if she should wake up she might want me.” The energy with which Mrs Smith turned to her husband showed that her mind at least held no doubt as to her future course of action, '‘Timothy, you know it would be downright murder for us to let these poor creatures stav in that barn all xugut. It isn’t a great way, and I tiiink wo can get them home with us all right, if you will yoke Dobbin to the dogcart. I shouldn’t wonder ir this was a good chance for an investment.” As Mr Smith took the lantern and went out to got the horse and cart, his action showed a very unsettled state of mind. He was thinking, and very serious thoughts they were, too. Altogether, ho felt very much put out with the world, and, as he helped his wife to arrange a comfortable bed in the bottom of the cart, her interest and j sympathy for the sufferers only made his dissatisfaction deeper. Soon all things were in readiness, and, leaving Doxy in the comfortable kitchen to await their return, they' drove down, to the old barn. They found, as Doxy had said, the mother was asleep, but it was the sleep from which she never would waken to know more of pain and sorrow. The tiny babe, however, mayo - abundant evidence of life by wailing ■ lustily. i

Mrs Smith took him to her arms and heart at the same time, and from that moment she felt ho was hors.

Mr Smith was still thinking deeply as they drove homeward with their sad burden. Two children to feed and clothe seemed no pleasant prospect; and yet from tho way his wife hold that baby to her bosom, ho know that this was her determination.

Later on in the night, as ho sat watching her coddling the little morsel on hexknee, ho ventured to say: ‘T think I had better take tho chil-

dron over to the constable in the morning, hadn’t I?” He received an"astonished look ns she replied; “I don’t really see what Sergeant Bates', has got to do with our children. I think we can provide for them a spsll longer. Aren’t you glad this little youngster is a boy, for now you can. have a son to help you to carry on your farm?” ? This also rather staggered Mr Smith. The idea of this morsel of humanity, which he could easily have put into his pocket, helping him to carry on his farm was more than ho could comprehend. Still it was rather an attractive picture. He might live to grow up, aud what a comfort it would be in his old ago to he able to say : “Timothy,” of course his son would be named Timothy, “you had better look after the men this afternoon, and 111 rest hero iu the shade.” ' A son would take so much more interest in things than hired men do, aud they could plan together how things should bo done. It wouldn’t cost so much,'after all. There were so many things on a farm that a boy could do, that it would pay his way all along, and then the comfort of having a son all his own. There was the little girl, a sensible little thing, and no- doubt she could help ’Lisbeth , a great deal. He was still thinking, but the wife who had lived with him so many years know by his face that ho looked with moro favour on her plan, and she decided on a bold move. Getting quickly up, and before ho had time to object, she laid the baby in his arms, saying “There, hold him a minute, for I must go and see if tho little girl is sleeping all right.” , ',. Then she went off, and the rough old farmer was left sitting with the tiny bundle in liis armi. Somehow the little thing lying there in its helplessness went

straight to his heart, and lifting the little puckered up face to his, Farmer Smith stopped thinking. ’Lisheth coming back, was met by the anxious inquiry. “Think little Timothy will live, don’t ye ?”

She was too wise to make any com- , ments except to answer his question, i “Live, I should say so! You just wait and see if I don’t pull him through.” And so, with tho adoption of this little stranger into his heart and home, seemed to come some of the spirit of the other little Bane who came to earth so long ago. At breakfast time Mr Smith had a bit of news for his wife. “Tell you what it is, ’Lisbctli,” said ho then, “I haven’t felt so good inside of mo, never. I learned a verse when I was a little boy. I can’t just got tho j words, but it was something like this: ‘He that gives his money to poor folks gives it to God Almighty/ and ■ I shouldn’t wonder if it was so. It came to mo early this morning how I wanted to do something handsome for a.startoff for our litt.o liulothy, so I just took myself over to Widow Brookses, and gave her that old mortgage, and told her to burn, it and keep her home. My little investment to put along side M , yours, and I feel as though I was getting mighty rich. Plow's the little hoy this morning ?

"Ho’s sleeping as pretty as a picture. I wish she could see him and know how her children would b© provided for, poor thing.” This last was spoken with tearful eyes and a nod of the head towards the best room, whore lay a shrouded form waiting to bo taken to its last resting place among strangers. Ten years have passed since that stormy night, and Doxy and Timothy, a wise little maiden and sturdy boy now, are making the farmhouse bright with their young life. Mr Smith has

said many times to his wife, “I tell you what, ’Lisbeth, that investment of ours has paid. It is making mo more of a human being every day.” '■Sheffield Telegraph.”