A STORY WITH A SEQUEL

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXV, Issue 5008, 4 July 1903, Page 2 (Supplement)

A STORY WITH A SEQUEL

(By D. Lechmere Anderson). “Accepted,” whispered Mary Oswald as, opening the paper, the title “Jack’s Lass” swam before her eyes. It was her first story, uud it was accepted; but her eyes bud none of tbo bajtpy light of a new-born author, and yet the acceptance of this story meant much lo her. A poorly-paid dressmaker in a little east coast hsiiing town, she had fallen behind a little with her rent, This story would enable her to pay. i "Brief, bright, and brilliant.” She had repeated these three words over and over again us she wrote it, but when at last it was ended, what was it? The story of her life in two thousand words. Vos, it was brief enough, but bright or brilliant —who sliall no the judge ? What s’ko had written had been written from the heart. New that it was published she half reproached herself for sending it. Bho left as if she liad hared her sorrow to the world, hut she comforted horsed with the thought that she had not put her name to it. ’

“Not that it would have mattered,” she muttered, with a wan stare, as site turned to her work again. She sowed Jong into the night, ! and only lay down to rest when her 'lamp sank low for want of oil; but sleep had forsaken her. As day broke she rose auu putting her blind, looked towards the east and watched the sun rise from the depths of water, flooding the ocean with its warmth and colour.

The sun was high before she tore herself away from ilia glorious scene, but morning had come, and with the morning nope. Her heart felt lighter, happier than it had; for montns. .Probably it was merely the knowledge of being free from debt, but Mary felt as if her God bad spoken to her in that sunrise and bade her - work and hope. Another night had passed, another day had oome to bring her nearer to the time when, lifei’s labour ended, heaven’s rest would oome.

Three years before, Mary Oswald had bade her lover good-bye at Glasgow. Jack Forrest was mate of a large vessel which traded to Australia, when he returned her father had given consent that she should marry him but the months came and went and brought no tidings of the ship. Long after it was given up for lost Mary prayed for its return, but at last the day came when even she could hope no longer. Then, as if heir cup of sorrow was not already full, her father died, and it was found that all be left would barely pay his creditors. No one thought of her; there was no one to plead her cause even if she would have permitted it, and two months later she applied for a situation in the North and got the post. For a time all went well, but her health began to fail, and at length she had to give up her work and content herself with solving at home.' : Sad and lonely, it was little wonder if she sometimes wearied for the long- night’ to come, and she made no complaint, and no one guessed the agony she concealed beneath her cheerful face.

Out in the tropics a homeward-hound vessel lay nigh becalmed, her sails flapping slowly to and fro. Upon the horizon the masts of a second could be seen approaching her. “Will it never blow, Ned?” exclaimed a young man, as he and the second mate of the first ship walked backward and forward upon its deck. “It will blow hard enough before night, if I know anything of the weather,” retorted • the other,, ■ smiling. “These streamers look ominous. But what’s your hurry, Jack? A day or two longer doesn’t make much difference.”

Perhaps not to you, but after three years' death . Oh, Ned, I—l’d give anything to know how they all are." “They I” replied Ned Cutter, laughing. “If you had said she you would hare been nearer the mark. Don’t think I can’t tell when a man’s in love.” “Hush, Ned. Don’t speak of it. She must believe mo dead. ; Her father never wanted her to marry me ; there was a rich man he fancied for. a son-in-law. I could not blame her if she bad forgotten mo, but, oh, the weary longing to know the worst. Now, do you woiidor if I weary for a gale?" Ned Cutter did 1 not know what to answer.

“Three years is a long time,” he said slowly. “It was fortunate for you we wore biown so far out of our course. or perhaps you might have waited ’’ "Until the end,” interrupted Jack. “And if anything lias happened at home I feel as if I could never forgive you, Ned, for seeing the little flair 1 hoisted. I feel as if nothing could go right with me, and almost wish Bill Bates had let me drown when our ship struck an iceberg and foundered. A falling spar stunned mo. and I would have gone down with her if Bill had not hauled me aboard a boat. For three weeks we drifted, and when at last we sighted laud we had barely strength to reach it. Out of ten only four wore left. Two of the four we buried there.”

“I wonder you didn’t go mad with delight when you saw us coming. But, cheer .up, you will soon get nows of home. See. that trader’s sending out a boat. Letters from hpnio. ;I expect, but she will* probably bring 1 papers for us.”. ; ;

“If they are not quick," added Cutter', glancing at the sails, “they will bo too late, for here comes, the breeze. Your bad luck has surely turned, Jack, when you have only to'wish for wind for it to come. We shall have a spanking gale by night, and from the southwest, too. s Three weeks should soo us safe in Glasgow town.” Then seeing Jack still looked downcast, Ned impulsively held out his hand. Jack grasped, it heartily. “I expect the signal you kept;flying on that island.” continued Cutter, “spelt Hope U> you. Keep the pennant flying. Hope and Trust is a maxim that never did man harm. Of course I don - know anything about your sweetheart, but something tells me it ! will come right.” Jack’s eyes grew dim. “You have been awfully good to me, but sometimes I fear to hope,” Half an hour later ihe boat came alongside. The letters for home were willingly taken in charge, a bundle of newspapers seized upon with ravenous greed, a friendly word or two, and' the visitors were gone. It felt like a breath of heather to Jack as ho road the titles of the papers. “Horald,” “Advertiser” and “Scotsman,” all were well-known bo him, but a copy of the “Weekly Herald” fascinated him. From boyhood he had gloated over its pages, its very typo was familiar to him. As the groat ship glided swiftly through tho water ho sat down, his face towards home, and opened it. , Ho did not read at first, but skimmed from one page to another, recognising a well-known writer here, tho name of some place he loved in Scotland there, till tho heading of one of the tales attracted his attention. “Jack’s Lass.” “Cn the pierhead,” that was where

he had said good-bye to Mary and—it came ujion him as a shock —this girl’s name was Mary. After that lie read on breathlessly, and when ho had finished sat staring at the open page.

“X cannot understand it,” he muttered. “In the beginning it is my story, and iu connection with a lictitious heroine—Jack’s Lass believes ho is dead, is waiting him, loving him, true to him, until death comes to take her to him m the world above. Mary must believo mo dead; but no. it. cannot bo her. This girl is a dressmaker, is poor and almost starving.” Again he turned to the narrative and read. “After her father’s death nothing was left to her.” The paper dropped from his hand. “Oh, God, it is my lass!” Jack no longer doubted it was the story of his sweetheart’s life, and one great weight was lifted from his heart. .Mary was alive and loved him. But his spirits sank again as ho remembered that she was suffering. Tiio days that followed seemed like years to liim, but oven years come to an end, and in less than the three weeks Ned had prophesied Jack said good-bye to tbo ship and was once more in Glasgow. Ho drove straight to Marys former homo, but they knew nothing of her there; he called on everyone he thought likely to know of her whereabouts, but ho could find no clue. It was nearly morning before ho gave up the search. Heartbroken, ho returned to his hotel. Vlas ho to lose her after all? For hours he tried to plan some course for tracing her, when his eyes fell upon the paper that ho had brought with him. Ho sprang to his feet, his eyes sparkling with delight, for he know he had found the duo bo sought. Long before tbo oflioe of tbo newspaper was open ho was there; Hvon after business bad commenced ho had weary minutes to wait, but at length the editor arrived.

. With ready sympathy he listened par tiently to Jack’s tale. i

“Certainly, I will help you if I can. The writer’s address is Mary Oswald, Castle street, A . I hope that sho is the lady, but I need not ask,” «e Jack’s face grew radiant.

“If there is a sequel to the story, Mr Forrest, will you lot me know?” he said cheerfully as Jack left the office.

Jack hardly took time to thank him. His heart was throbbing madly, .Jack’s lass was found again! A sequel! Ho throw his hat above his head, to the astonishment of the wayfarers; but what did Jack care.

To Jack the express which flow along the lines crawled like the veriest canal boat. It was six o’clock before ho arrived, and he was tired and hungry, but he wont straight to Castle street. “Is Miss Oswald in?” he asked, the old landlady. “Ay, sir, she’s in. Who will I say is wanting her?” “Tell her——” began Jack; but tho fear that his sudden arrival "might frighten Mary unnerved him, and he blurted out— “I am her sweetheart, and she thinks that I was . drowned. Will you break it to her gently'?” Tho old Scotchwoman’s voice shook as she answered—

“Joy doesna kill, they say, but I am feart a’, tho same; she’s far frao strong. But, oh, laddie, lam glad to hear your news.”

‘Tell her, do ~not keep me waiting, this suspense is terrible." And as tho old woman went into Mary’s room Jack waited in the lobby. The door was ajar. Jack could hear each word that was said.

The sound of his sweetheart’s voice was almost more than ho could boar; be could hardly refrain from calling out her name. “Has anything happened?” he heard her ask.

“Happened, ay, but naothing ill, I have board strange nows. A lassie wha lost her sweetheart will hae a Uoht heart the night. He was a sailor, and she thought ho was drowned', but mohbo you diuna care to hear o’t?” as Mary continued sowing, though, her work was shaking, and her landlady’s keen eyes saw a small spot form, upon the linen.

- “Oh, yes, tell me; I should |iko to know.” •’ “He went away three years ago ” “Three years 1" cried Mary, letting her Work fall upon, her Jap. “Yee; and a’ that time she hae thooht him dead, but now he’s hamo again. Do you think she will ho glad to see him? What’s the matter wi’ you, bairn P You surely are na greetin’ P She doesna ken he’s homo, he was frightened the news might hurt her, so he got her stupid old landlady to come and tell her, just as I might be tollin’——” “Jack! Jack’s home I” gasped'Mary, turning her eyes beseechingly on tho old woman's face. “Oh, toll mb tho truth at once; tell mo it is true? 'Jade? My Jack 1” . Mary had risen to her feet, and tottered as if she woro about to faint, but Jack had heard his name, and, unable to wait longer, had rushed into the room in time to catch his sweetheart in his arms. Three weeks later there arrived at a certain editorial office a piece of wedding cake and a card, aud_ across the latter was written in a sailor’s rough handwriting, “Jack’s Wife: The Sequel to Jack’s Lass.”