THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 1419, 1 February 1879, Page 31

THE NOVELIST.

ft Harry— the love of her girlhood, the huab»nd of her young womanhood.

" I wonder who this Harry's mother was ?" Bhe thought, "and if she is lhing still ? "

And she tried to imagine how a mother must feel when the child she has nursed and reared, who bears about in himgelf the very heart of her own being, goes away to battle to kill or be killed. "It is hard," she said, "hard, hard!" And pressing her lips for a moment upon the sod that covered the brave young heart, sho rose and walked away. From the cemetery sho went to the main street of the town, and going into a dry goods store, proceeded to examine satins and ribbons.

" Can I have the goods on three months' credit?" she asked, after deciding upon several articles.

" No, madam," answered the clerk, curtly. " I have orders to the contrary."

"Very well." A despairing look fell upon the pale, aweet face, and Mary Grant walk out of the store and to her little home of three rooms over Tom Hanson's bakery.

What was she to do next ? Sarsnet and Co. would trust her no longer, and they had been her main dependence. She sat down in the middle of her tiny Bhop, and looked with a sort of stolid grief at the specimen bonnets and hats that Bhould have been finished long ago, at the old ladies' caps that seemed, in their grim imperturbability, to be giving her a Bilent lesson upon the fallacy of human hopes. How she hated them at that minute, this little milliner, who six months before had sat contentedly making these same caps, with their black dotted lace and purple bows and illusion ruchings ! But, then, she was sustained by hope, and that makes all the difference.

Mary Grant, a soldier's widow, came to AHandale with less than $50 capital in her shabby little wallet. She had a few pieces of furniture, and a letter of introduction to Sarsnet and Co. from a city merchant, who had done the firm many a good turn first and last. With these assets and sundry liabilities, the young widow had hoped to strike a favourable balance, and build up a business by which she could support a humble home. But she had not been fortunate. In the first pl»ce, Mahitable Pillsbury, an old maid, with bank bills aa numerous as her wrinkles, had set up a business a block or two away. Her show window was gorgeous with pattern hats, rich ribbons and laces, and she kept a standing advertisement in the Allandale Enterprise. It made little difference that Mary Grant's millinery was artistic, while Miss Pillsbury's was only showy and " stylish." The Allandale fair ones were not artistic themselves, and aimed at nothing higher than keeping up with their neighbours. So it happened that the widow's hats and caps stood upon their 'standards, till, as I have said, they Beamed to leer at her with ridiculous and accusing aspect. She could not make her first payment to Sarsnet and Co. on time. They gave her an extension, but she failed again to pay the whole amount, and at last, as we have seen, the firm refused to trust her for goods.

She sat there, thinking of those disappointments, and wondering, in a dull way, what she should do in the future.

"I'll clear the show-window," she said, and put up a tin sign for plain sewing, or fine washing. I should like the washing best. Wouldn't that be a bitter pill for the aristocratic Grants ! At any rate, I believe I could earn my living that way, and now I am getting in debt every day." Just as Mrs Grant arrived at this disagreeable conclusion, the shop bell rang.

"Somebody for a yard of five- cent rib bon," she muttered, going languidly to the door and opening it. A bright, sweet-faced girl of twelve years or thereabout, came in and asked for a straw hat. While the milliner showed her assortment, the child explained that she also wanted a bonnet made for their baby, little Sally. " She's two years old," added the customer, "and I want something suitable."

••Why didn't your mother come and bring little Sally ?" asked Mr 3 Grant. "We haven't any mamma , at least, not here in this world. She died two years ago ! when baby was born." " And who keeps house ? " " I do," answered the child, quite simply, "You?" " Yes. Papa is too poor to bi>e a housekeeper. Aunty Baker, mamma's sister, wants him to break up, and let her have baby ; but papa and I can't bear to, and so I'm housekeeping, and papa helps me. Aunty says its ridiculous ; but we would rather have our own horne — wouldn't you, ma'am?"

" Indeed I should, my dear," answered the widow, her eyes glistening,

" You see," said the girl, growing quite confidential in Mary Grant's sympathetic atmosphere, "my papa's a minister. He preachts at Hunt's Corner. His church is small, and they don't pay him much." " And there's nobody home but you and papa and baby ? " " No. We had Harry once, but he went to the war. Papa thinks numma was never bo strong after that. He thinks if Harry bad staid at home, mamma might have lived. You Bee, she used to lie awake nights and think about him, and she cried ao hard whenever ahe beard of a battle."

" And Harry was killed at last ? " "Yes, at Frodoricksburg. He was wounded very badly there. Papa went to him, and he died the same day, and papa brought him home. Poor Harry ! "

"So that is the ' Harry ' whose grave I saw," thought the widow, as she laid her hand tenderly on the child's head, and kissed her cheek.

'' Now I must go," said the little mother. "Papa will like this bat I think ; and you will have baby's bonnet by Saturday — won't you? 1 ' ' ' Yee, dear. But you must tell mo your name before you go."

" Ruth Fredericks. Papa is the Reverend Henry Fredericks. I wish you could come and hear him preach. I think his ecrmons are beautiful, and mamma used to think so, too."

Ruth went away, and the milliner stood in tbo door looking after her, and smiling at her sweet naivete.

The status of Mary Grant's affairs were not changed when she went back into the little shop, but somehow her heart was lighter, her spirit more hopeful. She selected some silk and lace, and began mak iug a Normandy cap for baby Sally, humming a tune as she worked.

Her thoughts were busy with the lonely family and its sad hißtory ; with the young soldier, and sorrowing wife, and the patient, brave young housekeeper playing mother so sweetly, and loving her father with such simple reverence.

" Life is not all sham," she said. " There are true hearts, noble and unselfish. God is still with us in human love, and in this beautiful world that he has created."

The slanting rays of the sun fell into her room, a robin sang outside in the elm, a pot of roses blossomed in her window, and she knew that crccusea and violets were awakening from their death-like sleep in the bosom of the earth.

The old ladies' caps were not taken down that night. Indeed, they had changed their appearance andseemed to smile benevolently ; and in the early evening a veritable old lady came in and bought one, paying a good price.

She expected company Decoration Day, she remarked, " and wanted to smart up a little." It was a neat, tasteful head-dress, and other old ladies, seeing ifc, came for more. The tide seemed to be setting with a faint, perceptible motion, towards the neglected shopMary Grant took courage. "I will have an openiDg," she said, one bright, electric May morning. " I will make the prettiest things I can think of, if it takes my last cent to buy material. And it will, lam sure of that. Never mind, there is still the fine washing left."

So she wont out and bought silk and lace and white chip bonnets and pale blue and rose pink ribbons of Sarsnet and Co.

When she gofc home with her purchases she had twenty five cents in her purßa. Her rent was paid for a quarter in advance, and she could live on eggs and mush, with an occasional roast potato. So she was secure against homelessness and starvation for a short time at least.

Her delicate fingers flew, and dainty fabrics grew beneath them. She was full of inspiration for her work, and in a short time the little show-window was full of fresh, artistic designs.

She smiled when she thought of her past discouragement, and attributed all her new courage to the advent of Ruth, and the making of Sally's Normandy cap. In some way it "got out" in Allandale that Mrs Grant had beautiful new styles. Minnie Ferguson, the rich manufacturer's daughter, heard this rumour, and rode thither ip her carriage. The sight of that carriage acted like a magic. As many as half a dozen young ladies who saw it, visited the shop the very next day. The pretty spring bonnets went off like hot cakes.

"They are unique," said Mibs Minnie, and straightway the word ' ' unique " waß in the mouth of every one of her troop of followers. The widow was seriously in danger of becoming the fashion.

In the meantime Ruth dropped in to see her whenever she came to town on errands for her household. The child-like woman and the womanly child grew to love each other very soon with no common love.

The confidences grew longer betwen them, and coon Mrs Granc felt as if she had known about the minister's family all her life. Many were the visits that she made to Harry's grave.

Often in the bright May afternoons she took a trifle of work and sat by the green mound, now purpling all over with spring violets.

" He shall be my soldier," she said to herself. "On Decoration Day I will come here with the loveliest flowers I can find, in the early rr.orning] long before the town is stirring."

She kept her word. At dawn she stepped out into the rosy light with a basket full of roses and pansies, verbenas and mignonettes. Through the silent streets she hurried, meeting no one, thinking only of the love and grief throbbing in the country's heart for her dead eons.

The cemetery lay serene in the glow of the new day. Birds were flitting about here and there among the new graves, and now and then a gush of music quivered through tlae air. A shaft from the rising sun shot athwart Harry's grave as the lady approached it. She smiled as she paw it. " It's a good omen," she said — " a symbol of the light in which bis spirit dwells." Once by the grave, she sat down and began weaving her roses into a wreath for the young soldier. The pansiep, alrrady bound in a dainty bouquet, she placed upon his breast.

Sitting there, entwining the white blossoms with their dewy leaves, she murmured a prayer — the Litany of Decoration Day : "God have mercy upon all mothers who weep to day ; give them the true blossoms of consolation, the lilies of peace, the roses of triumphant faith."

"Amen," said a deep, eolemu voice at her sido.

She turned quickly, blushing scarlet, and saw a tall, grave man standing near. His hande were full of flowers, and ifc was plain that he, too, had come to decorate the grave of the soldicr-bov.

The man and woman looked into each other's faces, and then moved by the same impulse they clasped hands with a close and cordial pleasure.

" You are the lady who has been so good to my little Ruth," said h<\ "And yon are Harry's father ? " Said fiho. Ifc was a strange introduction ; but in five minutes' conversation there in the fresh dawn, by Harry's peaceful grave, brought them nearer together than days of society intercourse would have dorm. Ifc touched the weary, aching heart of the father very deeply to tea this sweet stranger bringing flowers to his soHier boy, and the widow was inexpressibly cheered in return by the. sympathy and tenderness to which she had so long been a stranger.

Mr Fredericks told Mrs Grant that he should bring Ruth ami Sally to town later, to see the orremonies. Thereupon Bhe invited them all to her house to dinner, and ihe invitation waa r.cceptcd. The baby wpro her now cap, and looked

for all the world like a meadow daisy. Mary Grant fell in love with Sally at first eight, and after an hour's acquaintance, the little one followed her new friend round as if she had known her all her life.

Ruth was in a state of delight so intense that she could express ibonly by affectionate looks and actions— now stroking her father's cheek and lusting him, now leaning on her father's shoulder ■with her arms round his neck.

This visit was the first of mnny. Under the new inspiration of loving friendship, the minister's sermons and the milliner's bonnetu prospered alike. After a hard week's work, it was a delicious rest to walk to tho little conntiy church and sit in the pew with Ruth and Sally, listening to the gospel of faith and charity. A trip in town, a sti oil among books and pictures, and an early tea with his new friend, made life for weeks io cime easier and sweeter to tho minister.

And so it fell out that, by-and-by, they concluded that it would be wiser on the whole to make one family.

There was a milliner needed at Hunt's Corners, as well as a wife, mother, and housekeeper ; and Mary Grant undertook, with remark&ble cheerfulness, this fourfold relation. The machinery of the household began running with great regularity and precision from the day that the niiinsber married the widow. The new wife made dainty bonnets and pretty trifles of lace ; a new housekeeper ruled the kitchen, the minister worked m his study, and Ruth went to school.

"It was my children who brought us together,'' said the minister, on next Decoration Day, aa the two stood among the graves with their offering of flowers.

" Yes ; little Sally's Normandy cap saved mo from despair, and Harry's grave brought us face to face."