chapter 11.

Otago Witness, Issue 918, 3 July 1869, Page 20

chapter 11.

It was long past five o'clock on the following afternoon, when the third-class train, drugging its slow length along, crawled into the gas-lighted station belonging in the large and important county town of Brigham. Mary Maokworth was chilled, and crampod, and hungry, and weary, but nevertheless full of delight, which had been increasing for tho last hour or two, as the names of well-known places were shouted out, and as now and then through tha darkness dimly loomed tho outline of hills, towers, and churches, all familiar landmarks.

As hor bright face appearod at tho window, a hand was laid on the door, and a tall, woll-grown lad, a year or two younger than herself , and very like her, holpod hor eagerly from tho carrago. " Well Mary !" " Well, my dearest old Harry !" woro tho greetings of the brother ana sister ; and then followed the inevitable questions and answers about luggage ; aud then followed the rush to seoure it ; and thon they onferged into the street, whore several vehioles wore waiting. "Thero is the van ! " oxolaimod Mary, " and old Dobson and his old horao, all juifc as over." " Yos, ; but you're not going in tho van," said Harry, importantly; "Dobson will tako your box, but I have borrowed farmer Muroh's gig for you and mo. Horo it is ; you haven't forgotten how to climb into a gig, Mary, hay© you ?n? n '* Wot J/»

laughed Mary, as she scrambled finto^er 1 ' apronrove'i?!he*'kileeß' i ; '"jump-in Harry/ I long ito^bV^pffTiho^r'^ra: they all-?" ■ "All flourishing except Cill&7-s'h'e"'k'a <^ie<i!e i ' of- 'poor* 'goods', this, wintsrf-bue there/s nothing much* the .matter with her!. V,; " And J>ck andX'auriy ?'\ ,, f < Oh, they're all right— grown like beans," answered - Harry. ''How'liome-like it all looks,'* cried Mary, with sparkling eyes, as they left the town, and emerged into the dark country~road,, * "Better than- all the swell London shops, eh 1 " said Harry with a smile. "Hollo!" The exclamation was caused by a mail phaeton, drawn by a pair of high stepping horses, which met them at the moment. A groom was driving ; otherwise the carriage was empty.' " What a grand affair for this part of the world," cried Mary. V Who can it belong to, Harry?" '" Can't imagine. Oh, yes, I can, though. The great banker, . Mr. Langley, has bought Nettlehurst, and I dare say it is one of his concerns going to meet the down express, at five-fifty." "Mr. Langley who has the bank of ißrigham ? Why,' I thought he was dead ? " "To be sure : he died a year ago— the old man did, that- is— and left' the bank and money, and all the rest of it, to, his cousin, who was as rich as Croesus before, they say. Tho London bank of the same name belongs ,to him ; but that's always the way. Wealth attracts wealth." " And the new man has bought Nettlehurst ! Then the poor old Hathaways are quite gone out of the land, I suppose ! That seems sad." "A precious good thing, bad lot that they were. There have been painters and paperers, and all sorts of doings there, > all the summer, and the banker is coming to take possession new, they say. I bet anything he's coming to-night." I dare say it will be a good change for all the poor people about Nettlehurst, especially if his wife is nice." "He has no wife, I believe ; another old bachelor, like Mr Langley, But he'd going to give a ball, I heard some people saying, by way of house-warming, so I suppose he must have some sort of womankind belonging to him to do the honors." "Oh how I should like to go ! " cried Mary, eagerly. " Much chance of that ! Do you suppose he'll ever hear of your existence 1 Why, Nettlehurst isn't even in our parish, you know ; it's right over the hill; and we don't know this man, nor anything about him, except that he is first cousin to old Langley,— and beastly rich," concluded tho boy, giving a vicious cut to Farmer Muroh's steady old Dobbin. " But how delicious it would be ! Fancy seeing Cilia at a ball ! She would be the prettiest girl there, and how I should enjoy watching her, aud hearing what people said ! " "My dear, you don't suppose any of us could ever go to a ball 1 Why a fly from Brigham would cost fifteen shillings, let alone clothes and gloves and things. Balls are not much in our Kno, nor anything else worth having." The tone was even more desponding than the words, and Mary leaned forward to look into his face, which he immediately turned, so that the light of the gig lamps should not fall on it. " What is it, dear old boy V* "Ok ! nothing— only the old story," said the lad in the same tone. " I'm sure you've heard enough of it, Polly, in my letters ; you must be sick of the subject." And he gave a sort of laugh. "Tho Army?" "I never can fancy anything else, never ; and I know my fathor wouldn't mind, though it isn't much in his line. And once in it I'd make my pay do, and never ask him for a farthing. I'd got to India if I could. But of course it can't be — I know that well enough— but it is hard Kneß." "It is indeed. Couldn't we save?" "Savo out of two hundred and fifty pounds a year, and with seven mouths to toed ! Do you suppose I'd ask such a thing ? With mother wearing herself out, as it is, and poor Cilia who ought to be having port wine and good things all day long, they say, and the little ones to be looked after too I No, I'm not suoh a selfish beast as that ; I have never told anyone but you. But somehow," he said turning to her with a brighter face, "one can't help telling you everything, old Polly." "What does papa moan you to do ?" " Hasn't mother told you ? I couldn't bear to write about it, but I daresay it'll be all right -when I'm used to tho idea. Mr Bagshawe hat offered me a place in bis office under old Hobts. Forty pounds a year to begin with, and a rise if I behave myself." "An attorney's olork ! " cried Mary, her color rising. "Oh I Harry, I hopo not." There was a long pause. Mary broke it by saying with renewed cheerfulness ; " After all, Harry dear, God knows best, if we could only think to. You'll be a good man, and a gentleman too, whatever you are. I know that." Harry muttered something, and then broke out with : "Tho iniustico of the thing is what makes mo frantic. To sco that fellow Langloy, for instance, throwing away sums on hia horsna and carriages, and balls, and stuff, when a quarter of tho money would sot vi all up for life. And that old twaddle, Lowthor, pocketing hi* nine hundred

pounds a, year for; the living,; and vjust giving^my father two hundred pbuifdß'for "doing all his work. I've no , patience..? " Has Dr. Lowther been heard of lately*" said Mary, trying, to -lead away from the subject. " Sent my father/a cheque, as U9ual, for the almshouse dinner on Christ: mas day,< and the school feaßt, and all that r and hoped' we would accept all the complements of the season, stupid old bloke." v ' Mary laughed irreverently at her brother's mention of the rector, w,ho, though nominally resident, yet suffering from a variety ol nervous complaints, really spent almost one-half of tHe year at Ventnor, and the other at Malvern ; and even when at Farley, seldom emerged from his comfortable rectory. " But mamma said that Dr. Lowther was really much worse," she remarked. Harry shrugged his shoulders and laughed, and at that moment, as they reached the top of a long hill, Maryuttered a joyful exclamation as the lights of Farley twinkled out in the broad green valley below. The descent was rapid) and in about' a quarter of an hour iheyxpassed over a picturesque old-fashioned bridge, and entered the; stragling, irregular village Street. The " Blue Anchor " stood with hospitable open door ; then came the blacksmith's open shed, casting its red warmth and light into the chilly evening ; further on the village shop, the centre of gossip and business in Farley. Cottages stood on either side of the road, some detached, some in blocks of two or three together. Harry drew rein at last before a little garden gate leading to a whitewashed cottage, not much above the laborers' dwellings by which it was surrounded ; but it was home; the home of Mary's heart.

In a moment she was at the open door — in the little passage— in the small square parlor — fond arms were round her, eager hands were freeing her from her cloak and shawl, all the dear voices were talking at once, and nobody listening to anybody 1 And when the first buzz of welcome subsided, it was more delightful still : when Mary had taken off her bonnet in the little room which she shared with Cilia, and had come down again to the sitting room, and when Harry had returned fr >m putting up the gig, and when Mr Mackworth had come in from hia parish work and had added his affectionate greeting to that of the rest, then Mary gaily insisted on resuming old habits and performing all her home duties — to try, as she said, to fancy that she had never been away. She lighted the candles, trimmed the fire, helped to spread the supper-table, and afterwards to clear it away, and finally sat down, between her father and mother, and with Cilia and Harry, and the two younger boys close by, and talked and listened, enjoying the full tide of home talk.

The first interruption came when her boxes came, which was not until late, Dobsan's progress, never rapid, having been further delayed by the number of Christmas hampers ho had had to deliver. Mr Maok worth said that Laurry and Jack — two sturdy brown creatures, ten and' eight years old — had better help Harry to carry up the boxes, and that, as it was nine o'clock, they need not return : but Mary looked so piteous and imploring, and so earnestly begged that one box might be opened then and there, and that the boyß might stay and help, that he gave way with a smile, and settled himself in his arm-chair to see what the box contained. The first things to emerge were the various small pieces of finery which Mary had bought for her sister : nothing very costly, but dainty trifles which Cilia was known to prize : a pair of kid gloves, a collar and cuffa of the latest fashion, a few bright ribbons, and such like feminil'ties, at sight of which the alight, pale, golden-haired girl colored j with pleasure, and Mary's eyos sparkled with pride and love. Then came Mrs Mackworth's gift, the warm eervicable shawl which Mary hung over her mother's shouldors, and then draw baok admiringly, watching the long soft folds which hung gracefully on the still elegant figure. " You look so nice, mother dear." she said, kissing the worn face which had once been as lovely as Cilia's : " doesn't ■ho now, papa ? And isn't the shawl just like herself— so nice, and soft, and grey* I chose it out of the heap directly." Thore was a laugh at this : and Mrs. Mack worth returned her daughter's kiss, as she assured hor that her rheumatic shoulders would bo thanking her all tho winter through. Laurrr and Jack were made happy with a ball and a peg-top : and Barry with much roal aatuf Action took possession of the knitted stockings in which Mazy exoolled. Then, rather timidly, for All his ohildron stood in somo awo of tho cur*to, she laid her gift upon her father's knoa. Mr. Mackworth put on hit tpeo* Uolos. and itudiod tho title. "My dear I This book hut been my root fgg evor ftinoo it camo out. But. Mary, my daar, thin it a ooctly gift Have you found Fortunfttua'i punef" "I'll tell you

f exactly Kow fr was* papa.'* And she elated the history of; her long vain quest, journey to G.rueby'a, . and of Ihe J Mle- r adventtire which had befallen her. Everybody grew rather excited ; and the boys began to make a series of not ,too brilliant jokes about thechivalrous "unknown. It was plain, Harry averred, that he -had 1 fallen in love at first 'sight. jWas Mary sure. that he had not hung on behind to find out her address ? Cilia joined in with small witticisms, but ended by a little laugh and toss peculiar to | herself, and the -remark : "But it's no \tise, Harry! This dear old Goody won t make a heroine' of romance ! Not in your line,- is it, Polly ? " " Ah ! if it had been you now, Cilia ! " cried Mary, laughing. The curate, awaking from the study of his new possession, and becoming alive to the fact tha^ his children were talking nonsense, ordered the little boys off to bed, and suggested that Mary's box might as well be removed. As she stooped to close the; lid, ohe exclaimed, "Here is the mysterious brown-paper parcel left at the bottom, and it had not any of. your things in it Cilia, after all. What can it be if" She took it up, and was about to open it, when the sound of little shrill voices floated in on the frosty air, and the boys came tumbling down in extraordinary deshabille, to beg that they might stay up to hear the school children singing Christmas carols. There was a rush to doors and windows, and Mary threw the parcel upon the table, and thought of it no more. , , That was a delightful evening ; and the midnight chai; with Cilia was delightful too. But when Mary^ had insisted on the weary, eager girl ceasing her chatter and going to sleep, she herself lay awake for long hours, and her thoughts were not Sleasant companions. Home was more ear, home faces were more beloved than ever ; but coming to it all with a fresh eye and a matured mind, she saw, as she had. never seen before, how the whole family was groaning under the heavy) pressure of poverty. v But that, at all events, I'll see to," thought she ; " while I am at home,' Cilia and the dear mother shall always have something that they can eat ; but how will it be when Tarn gone 1 Well, sufficient to the day is the evil thereof, and I have. six whole weeks to spend at home." And comforted by tins thought, Mary Mackworth slept soundly on this first night of her return.

(To be coiichided in our next.)

The following extract from a private letter, received by the English, mail, and euoted by the Lyttelton Times, shows that the Australian, preserved meat is rapidly gaining ground in the manufacturing districts of England. The letter is dated from Dudley, Staffordshire, March 25th :— This month the provision dealers have begun to sell about here, beef and mutton from Australia. It ifl preserved in some sort of way in tin cons, in quantities of two, four, and six pounds, free from bone, and retailed at eightpence per pound. The demand for it is dreater than the supply, for our English beet* and mutton fetch ninepence and ninepenoe half -penny a pound, which is a high price.

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