Maggie Ryan.

Otago Witness, Issue 1340, 4 August 1877, Page 20

Maggie Ryan.

! _ . " But just let. me stay until morning, ma'am. It is cold; dreary^and dark .along the road, and, indeed; I've no. place to go but Widow Yarrow's, and that's -miles ■away."- ■ ;. . .••*'-', _„ „.■', ,> . So spoke a, Bad* wprn-lobking woman, standing on, the threshold! of a,well-to r do farmer's house, just aa the last rays of light' were fading from the evening sky. The person she spoke to, a large' woman in a bright, flowered- dress, and '[white apron — the mistress of the house-r-turned away pettishly. : t /,.■',; "You came at night, Maggie, it.seema to me,- and you can jgo at; eight: , jjou don't suit. I never; saw > such t shiftless ways in my life. And' Jane. Smith is here, and I've only one bed, for the-ser-vant, and I can't expect a tidy girl like Jane to sleep with— well, .with strangers. I've paid you for your three days,' "and goodness knows you've worried .me put of my senses since- you've been, here, 1 and I can't keep you, another, night ;r and -r the earlier you go the sooner] you'll get" there, wherever it is." 3 <'i • . • .-. iA "Well, that's true, , any way, , then, ma'am," replied the, woman,,. "'and you are mistress in your own house ; but God knows it's not a dog I'd be* drivin' ,o,ut at night," Then she tied her little pittance in the corner of a pocket-handkerchief, and walked away out of the gate and up the road, not looking .back once.; Her heart was heavy as lead, and <flh«t was

angry at & world that had been a very hard one to her. "Three years since Pat went away," she said to herself, "and never a word from him. He's dead, no .doubt ;. and it's the last kind word J^ve heard. I wasn't shiftless and good .for nothing to him. 'Maggie,' he'd often say, 'I'd change yon for nobody's/ wife.' Och, he was a man ; and as good- to me when I was faded and worn-ouCwith the hard livin' and rarin' and losin* the childer, as he was when I was.Ti-pnrty girl, with cheeks like roses, and he was a boy courtin' me. Och,. Pat, where did you go to at all ? Yon died in a dith like a dog, may be ; for all these hard-hearted gentlefolk care, we all might." She turned and shook her fist back at the house she had just left, only a bit of the roof visible over the rising ground now. ; "My heart was aching for the childer and for Pat," she said; "but you could have no patience if a pertatie was burnt, or a towel not that smooth. You sent me out with the night falling. Bad luok to ye and to all your like." Then she plodded on again ; but the woman she had, left was not as bad as she fcadjjTOcied her. In her thrift and tidinessf she could hut understand this untidy, careless being. She knew nothing of the misery at her heart, or the sorrow that had made her forget the pots and pails. She was actually half afraid of her, and anxious to get her out of the house. She had felt it a great mistake to hire a tramp from the road, as it were, and she had paid her and was conscious of no cruelty. „, . , The daylight fled apace ; the moon, risen long ago, became visible — a faint streak of new moon that set in a little whiles-only the stars were left — and Maggie, wandering on the road with her bundle under her arm — a bundle of rags and odds and ends tumbled together in an old flannel petticoat — began to lose her knowledge of it. Here and there she saw lights in a window, but they were no promise of hospitality to her. If she could get to Widow Yarrow's, that personage, who took the labourers to board, would let her lodge while she could pay ; but where was the widow's cottage — to the right or to the left? She could not tell in the darkness whether she had taken the proper turning. Hard by a rushing sound, as of water. Danger there, perhaps. The railroad was somewhere at hand, and though Maggie felt that the world was a pnor place, she did' not feel ready to meet death yet. "I'll drop down in the grass somewhere," said the poor woman. " And God between me and harm. If I could find a bit of hay now, 'twould be a comfort. A . „ ,. She'&tr§tched for ward} tpeeririgjjhixuigh,. the darKnees,- and her foot struck some loose branches : that lay upon the ground with a cracking sound.*- ... "Wiat's that f'^said a, voice verynearher in -a sharp whisper. - . "JtV;in imp. erf a squirrel," siid, another voioe. "Goon with your wort, Jim. The mail, train will be along in 15 minutes." TJp that rail . Hi ! We'll have them this time*"- „-'._._ "flqli| your ; tongue, fool," said the first yptoe,; "You're half drunk, I tell you I.flunk'it was a step." And new Maggie, who had sunk flat upon the ground, knew aIL Those who whispered near her were train wreckers.

">l'|l make.nanoiw," said she. " It's none pfmy business." But lying on the grass the sharp strokes of steel on steel smote her ear ; she could not forget them. And suddenly it came npon hep that r it was _ neither more nor less, -than murder that she waa waiting there to see— that in lying quiet while it was done she helped to do it. " God forgive me ! " said poor Maggie. "m do it ; but what am Itodo 1 How am Ito stop them 1 It's my own death I'll bring about, nothing else—" And just then the sound of a steam whistle far away caught her ear. The train was coming. "Ready for them," said the voice she had heard before. "Come into the bushes."

She heard them tramp away, and arose to her feet and looked about her. There if as no house in sight and no help near. Suddenly a thought struck her. She had matches in her pocket and her dress waa a thin calico— it would burn like tinder. In a moment more, she had torn it off and had the matches in her hand. As she struck a light she heard a pistol click. " They see me," she said, and held the match against the old calico, and as it caught flourished it over her head. She felt a bullet whiz by her shoulder ; another struck her, but now the glare was bright, and the train was close at hand. She rushed toward it, waving her burning dress. Thank God ! they saw her. The' train slackened its pace — it stopped. Men with lanterns in their hands sprung from it and hurried towards her. - And the old dress, burnt to tinder, dropped to the ground and she sank beside it, the blood flowing from a wound in her arm. "They've killed me, I belave," she said faintly as a man bent over her. " I can't show you the place, but it's— beyant there— the rails — they've ripped them up, the villains !" Then she fainted. When she came to herself she was by the roadside, and lights felTover her, and she heard people talking of the hairbreadth" escape they had had and of her bravery, .'..Too. risked death to save ua," said ° n s woman.' "You shall be rewarded. My, little children were with me." ' Aa^? am B oin g to meet my wife," said a gentleman, " She will not let me

forget you, if I have so ungrateful a heart. You shall be well cared for now, and when you are well, you shall never know want." . O/ " Indeed, th6n," i ßaid another voiceone that sounded 'familiar to her — "indeed, I am not ricn^but I'd have been loath to be killed to-night. I'm juat on the road to what I've be\n seeking two years. I found out yesterday where my missus is, and FmVgoin' to her — she's breakin her heart for me. I haven't much ; but there's a couple o' pounds if you'll take 'em, good wdfiaan, and God's blessin', too, for the, sake of Maggie Ryan, that you've -saved from bein' a widow." And a strong hand folded over her weak one, and would have left money in it, but she caught it tight. ■ "It's Pat Ryan!" she cried; "came back at last. Don't you know Maggie, Pat?" And two great arms folded her close ; and the poor soul who had tramped the road, desolate and forsaken, an hour before, was happy as angels are in heaven. It might not be " great good luck " to you to be a flagman's wife, and live in a little cottage on the roadside, but Maggie thinks so. " And oh, Pat ! " she often says, "how little did I think when Satan was in my heart, and I was willing to lie still and let happen what might to the heartless gentlefolks, what I was doing to myself and to you ; and after all, it's kind hearts j they had, and gave you the illigant place, and me the shanty, and the cow, and all. Good luck to them."