Only a New Sealander.

Otago Witness, Issue 1581, 11 March 1882, Page 25

Only a New Sealander.

*t V Mawon Comabfobd. AY, May. where in the world fIBH "£**« ba * kitchen «v, i 3«\»Rllc«l7C shout back in no very amiable iSOl^Si/! voice, for it is Saturday, and fJgg§§SE3§g3 the Biddy who ' did ' for us IB^S^Sm has given warning, and is busy JggSKa at (ftbis particular moment *z&F&Mjfr' packing her trunk on the land- *&**" ing. ' Therefore it b that Miss Mabel Ohapley is in, the back : kitchea peeSng apples. Not that I . slie feels it avery deKraaita^podUpn^oh dear t nOrl , AVmy nsme\ &BWto& and encounter the grey eyes of my h*lf-brpther Hal, who, with » spring perched himself on the,broad,oldfMhionea window-sill Now lamhi no mood for comaany at the present moment, especiaUy the company of my half-brother* who in the greajteattease created{«to.my thinking. .way of opening «•• oamnaign-'iwheredid you leave your sistew? 'Posfn,Dythe fence/ «ay« Hal, eyeing the down and teiGertieitbtime, expect a fallow to«.be> runnings after a girlatjife hot weather.?;] ; ; • •„ * Ifcb a pity y&wdon!t,run after them a little bit more/fl retort».and Bob m o doubt seeing pockeU and wiOksaway whistling* ' Dear little, B^Se^re^phed^heendofjthe garden, patbThe turn* »nd cftmei bade to the window,: ThaitfegoodnelM, .tbe apples are in.the oven. . ' * WeNiSraafcdoyoui.wantsniow?', I enquirtd •Sofeg i lonijruyour, fiiend Jnlia'a oomiig today, taft *•**• •■' - s ' ; '< i L T 'uu * Qfil^dear, me, «o n\* fa j and here I am with every, thing, to see to.; I quite forgot all about It' Uiv] ■■' •' --; tei ' ! '' ■ "••''■■' "' ' ■"' '• Eretty girli, Julia,', lays Hal^. after a pause, to wbioh remwrk'l vouoHsafe' no answer, being busilr •employed ploldng out the best of twelve or*nget f or aediert. . -'■■' . ■ • There is tUenoeiagain for about ten mmutes, whenitbbrbkwbyHal. ; r * Mfcy^lkDOw of inch a capital lark.' ■< 'Ariw*lal?k')' ; - ''')'■"' '• • ' '•' ' ' ' ' . « No* ia mud-lark rather". Yon chooae to be grumpy .to-day j<l rbeKeve J****fe }°™>> ,' , : * Perhapu'l am. .^Well, what'a this lark ! ' „.-- •Well/ ; Bays, Hal, •you peel an apple, all In one piece, youfenowrr-I mean the skm— and fasten it on the hall, door, and the first ma> who, paBB6B ovec>the door Btep-wUI ibe your huahaatLi fTberenow.' ' -v «Babitf've>b.ear<i of that long ago.' ; ' "Bat you've never tried it yet.- Come op, May,' Just for the fun of it, you know; and 1 11 chase after the kids for the rest of the day.' 1 Hal/ 1 ,remonßtrated sharply ; but for all that- the apple.is peeled, and ' joßt for the fun of itiyou know/ is fastened on the hall door by: myßeff, for in aplte of my nineteen years I am just uurready, for fun as anybody. It- feela delioioußly cool on. the long, low Terandahi with the breeze from the hills fanning my hot face, and I.yield to the- temptation of Bitting flown arid falling In a day-dream insteadof—aslought— returning to. the kitchen and finishing my work. „ ' ■' ' " » Oarhojase is a dear old place. Having been built by one of the firat Bettlera in Otago, and. havin* been enlarged bit by bit, it would ba rathe£patohy-looking £ere:it not for the roaes and ,natiro.,oreefaerß: climbing in all rotrndit/ It is of course very .wild- looking,' for we do. not boMt a gardener, but I love it all the fatter for its wildness, being rather wild

Jfam iWT'« P^J! 11 ?*.'. I "*^ th 6 wh S nauorama'of Dunedin laid <?ut before me, with fig churches arid foyers, mansions and cottagep, vlsinfr.and falling like'tbe waves of the sea. A* I g&ze, my thoughts wander back as far as I oanremembM :— when> mere child' of ten I Btfxyl on' that- selfsame verandah, gazing after » cab slowly descending the alope to 1 • town'— the tram oars wej?e not in-vogue then ~the said cab containing' my sole parent, who was dopartinp- for Victoria, in search of more coin of the realm. , ' . ' ' i have a vagU9 remembrance of crying. a great deal, and being consoled with boxes cf sugar-plums and' various other things suitable to my tender years ; and from that time till his return— five years afterwards— was the leading imp of iniwhfaf in a school in the neighbour - hood," presided over by two ancient and austere dames, whose delight it was to teach the young idea hoy to shoot, in Home style, an attain ment m\ ic-i was never a'ocomplisbed. Anri thero I met with my darling friend, Julin Sedgeley. • My father returned, I have aaid, but not •lone. A. year before I had heard from 'madam ' of his marriage in Melbourne, but did nut fi udjp lnycelf concerning what my stepmauiM would be like. It, however, did frighten me a ' lentle bit ' when he wrote, saying, that Mrs Ohapley and the children would arrive by the Annooo in thp month following. Fur what children could there b- ? They had only been married a year ; surely be had not married a widow I Tbe idea was nvnatroua, and I put it out of my mind a* such. But it was the oase, and (when the Arinooo duly arrived, on her pasg#ng©rlUfc might be read, ' Mrs Ohapley and •uten cbUdrt n,' ■'■ •• *"• " ' ' ■ Tha;fh6ad of the family' arrived by the Iwk( bout, tad wo were duly jpiuOlod ia ow

present abode. Of course I bade farewell to madam and my school days for ever, and at the present time have occupied the dignified poßt of 'governess to the kids'— to quote Hal— for two years, , The last-mentioned personages, in the form of a scream from one of the twins, call me back to every, day life, and I rush out to ascertain the 'pause. Soothing two angry children, especially those of the dear departed Mr Bur : goyne, does not improve my temper, neither does the absence of two oranges, on my return to the kitchen. The ' biddy ' has, by this time got her goods and chattels into the hall, and is ready to say 'good bye,' with the addition that she would have stayed longer, only she cooldn't stand the mWufl.' ' Nor any one else/ I say to myeelf, for I have learnt by experience that . speech la silvern, but silence is golden. She departs, and Xsit down to make my stepmama aware of the fact j and to dißpatoh,a note to the Registry Office for agiti • who is .willing, aotive, and useful,' 'and .made of stone/ 1 feel Inolined to add, but don't for various reasons. I have just finished these important missives when there is a ring of the front door. be 11. ..' Of courße it is" Julia,' I say, making frantio efforts, to rid myself of a. big cooking apron, in whioh, I have been arrayed all morning. , Ding dong goes the bell again, and still the thing won't come unfastened. I v gefc v bot ■ » n< * .angry, all to no* purpose, for in the end, I have to go with it on* T '0, Julia won't* mind, she's used .to .me, I think, making" a' ruahfor the door, ready to spHng into her arms. , But it is not< Julia. l see, as I open the rdoor. To' my consternation, it is a young gentleman, who, politely, lifting .his hat, inquires, the way, to Mr Sedgeley's. j, , - , ■- .. *. , I know, and tell him so in an awkward, stupid manner, while,, all the while I can see heis laughing at me. "Then it flashed acrosß my brain that Hal will be the proper person to. show tHe> way, {for Hal-^due perhaps to. an inquiring' turn of mind— knows everybody and. everything about Roslyn ; so accordingly 1 *-lF you will wait a minute I'll aak toy brother to show you the way.' ' A thousand thanks,' is his answer. It was really very impudent of him to follow me in without even being asked, but he was in the hall before it, and there was, nothing left but to' ask him into the dining room, the door of whioh Btood open. f 'New Zealand is a free country' certainly, but ihat is no reason for him to oome in like that,' I think as I rundown *he garden path In search of Hal. '! •"' ,•-. ,'• I find that young gentleman .perched up in, the remains of what was once a fine apple.tree, finishing the last of 'my precious oranpes. .. I have a very natural inclination to wring his juvenile neck, but I restrain, for: my hospitality as • lady 'of the house ' is at - Btake, and I ' ' Hal*, dear,' I say, (you wretch I think) there, is a gentleman inside wanting to know the way to^Mr Sedgeley's j will you show him ? ' .s ' 1 ! Can't you go youtseM ? ' ' 'The ideal-N0,!,.,- „ " , „,, . *. 1 ' Send oife of the kids then.' '. I'll do nothing of the kind. Get down this minute and gaopyou'il db without your oricket ' cap on Monday.' ;'' ' ' ''" '','' '„ \ Thus adntonishscliHal. slides down" from his perch, while I proceed' to, the house; to find the BtrWer looking. o>er jwy , jo^ap^album. lac Impndenoa'tOfMm vy> ri 1 He does not notice my, approach, so I pause near tae.door to have, a gooalook at him. Hts 'Iwide-awake '. is on"the floor/and lean' se'e'tiis ■ bairisb'rbwnand'very'cu'Hy/Beb also that he ( "Sala very brown moustache;' ) ,;"' ll ' " ' t would have liked to observe further only >hejlpoked»up and caught right of me in the: doorway* ?■?* . iJ -. ' . *• '• • , f My 'brother will be here in. a minute/ 1 remarked, for want of ..something better, as I move across the room (I have divested myself of ?my apron) to draw up the heavy Venetian blindf s M 4 .-.-.;. < Allow me.' And in a moment the blind is drawn, up. to, Ha proper, position, and, I am. drljbwn up to the height of conf usion. „ ,\ iM , Here Hal, like a good angel, appeared on the sc|ne, and saved me, from committing myself .further.' ••■>'''•■ ; ; »i .v.; • •/'*'•, ". v ," 1 May I know to whom I am indebted , fort this kindness V the stranger asks at the door. Evidently he takes my, silence for a Bign of offence, fQr he continues : - ■ ,' ',Thiß is my, first, visit, to; New, Zealand,, hay r Ing only arrived .from America last evening, and am on my way to myuncle'a; and if ha liveß in this neighbourhood it is very likely Tve will meet again-isn't it V ' ' • " ' " ' " "' * .. \ WtiaSfare you Mr Sedgeley'a nephew ?' I ask, all my shyness ge^ie. '"'""' ■ •■ j ' * The' same,' he sayß, hughingf at 'my eagerness. ' I really thought you were offended. ' «. 0 dear, not at all, t] l answer. "I am Mabel Chapley',' and Julia is the greatest friend I have.' , '/ v • ' "' ' -„■''•' ~ f And I ; am Arthur Gray, Miss Chapley; and as; that brother of yours is getting impatient, I'll say good-bye.' I echo the .wish, and he is gone. As I close the hall door afteir me something catches in my, j sleeve, and looking down I behold the forgotten app>-*kin,dangling on .the door knob. „ ," '\ .Instantly, Hal's words came Into my mind 'and the,tirßt'man,who passes overthedoor will be/jyour husband.!,." What folly J As if ever I wonld, haye r a' chance of gaining what • every girl, no matter, what ihe-Bsys to the con- . trary, delights to gain— a lover. For, although , I say it myself,-, I. am deplorably plain, with | only a big, stating p^|r of black eyes, to redeem j me froni total ugliness. And besides,,. who in | the world would be Bothered with such a mite 'as I am,t (I have changed my mind since thea) Bqt to opntinue ; V . „«,,' I I proceed. to the kitchen, where . I .find the 'children,' headed by.Hal, clamouring for, their', dinner, and forgot about my ugliness, the stranger, and everything, in butting bread and tinker, and •• delivering lectures round the Dinner over,: I wash up, and then change my dresa, ready to . receive any more chanoe visitors. • None came, howrevar, except the new servant in the| shape of a very tali and higb-cheeh-boned you'og person, whose age I set do*>> in my mind »s thirty. * A£ttr a good deal of preliminary examination aa to character and so forth, she states that tbe place will snit, and I feel as if a weight were lifted c if my mind. • • Are you the missus ?' she inquires, as she prepares to set to work. , ' 0 dear, no. I forgot to tell you that Mrs Obapley is on a viaifc to Nelcon f. . • Are there any children ?' is her next qaes- • Seven,' I answer, trying to look as though seven were nothing to my mind. ' But 'I take ohar«e of them myself.' • Oh, well, I guess I'll Btay. Bless ye, miw, I don't mind as loog as I'm comfortable., I'm a lorn lone widdy,' with not a, living soul belonging to me in tDis dirty hole of a country. Aa I aays, these 'ere 1 immagrate fellows ought to be kicked for bringing us poor>eetunrout here wid, their fblne promises. Bliss them and theiriJrbmi«e»,Wl//ji< , ~ >„ , .;. Olearly,B«%~tbe ' lonelorn widdy » rejolpoi in the lovely oognoaumot Betty— baa not fallen go plewot Uncs Mhe laud Qt my bMb, But

to hear that land oalled a ' dirty hole ' by anyone—and by Betty, of all people— makes iby naturally hot temper rise, and it v only the thought of her taking her departure that restrains me from 'giving it her 'there and then. However, I only postpone that«very natural inclination, and mentally consigning her. 'monarch of all she surveyed' m the kitchen, put on my hat and go for a stroll in the garden. Mrs Ofcapley was expected home to a wees, bo on the following Monday we had what papa calls a 'confounded turning of everything upside down.' .Well, on Monday morning, of course, we were very liusy— so .busy, in fact, that when bin; « John ' cornea to the door with the weekly supply of vegetables there ia nobody in sight— neither Betty nor the extra slavey— to receive, them. It is not my place to go the door at all ; but, dear me, I'm not proud, so I went. 10 , ' John,' I cay, holding up a head of celerypapa's favourite vegetable— ' Jiow much ? , ' Two penny,' says John. * John, you too dear.' . .»-.-. 'Two penny ; me make? no muchee pront/ 'One penny half-penny,' I venture. ' You welly hard,' aayß John. • •Nonsense. I'll give you one penny and a-half, and no more.' * Alii ; one penny epeny— alh ; , and the bargain is struck, much to my secret exultation— for have I not gained an ' epeny.' Juat here, happening to glance across the street, I see that wretch, Fred Sedgeley; and Arthur Gray, $sq , perched on the top rail of a fence, in earahot of the foregoing conversation. Of course Fred grins. Mr Gray cornea across, hat in hand, while I— oh, I wish the earth would open and swallow me up, vegetables and all. But mother earth does nothing of the kind, so I - make a demure little bow to the strange gentleman, thereby causing the eldest hope of the house of Sedgeley to stare. f How in the world did you two get acquainted ?\ „ 'By the most natural method,' saya Mr <Gray. ' Didn't I tell you ? No j it was not you I told, now I remember.' ' I think it must have been a Jew, for I'm a Christian, and you didn't tell me. How was It, May?' * Ask Julia,' ia my reply. It vexed me to think how, friendly this handsome big Yankee waa with Julia already ; but then she was bis cousin, and I waa only Mabel .Ohapley— and a New Zealander. 'Of coarse I'll ask Julia, as you won't tell me j but don't you think your vegetables will spoil in thiß wind, ma'am? I only ask. seeing *s they're so dear this morning.' . Oh, I could have murdered him in cold blood or hot, just then. There we had baen standing all the while, making, no doubt, a very effective, picture, with Mr Gray, minus his hat, which he had to keep in his hand for the wind, 1 leaning, againßt the old stone- wall, Fred on the other side.with his foot on a oabbage to prevent it from being blown. away, and myself in the centre, unconsciously hugging that unfortunate head of celery. , , . , 1 And you've made such a bargain, it would be a pity to let it spoil,' saya Mr Gray, glancing at the celery. ;.-:' : Mt would,' I. Bay desperately. - Where waa Batty?' * ....-.• ' Lawk a,, mifasy, miss, is it you ? says Betty herself j appearing round a corner. She'd been gossippjng no doubt. , • , ' Yes. it's me,' I answered in an awful voice, 1 tiike .those,' vegetables jn, , and open the hall dofcr for those'gentlemen.', ,,,,'. . , ' Xes.mlßß,,to be sure misa,'-saya Betty, won* deringly staring at the.gentlem.en and at me, aaaiieopenß* the door. \\ ■ ./ / ,-., I leave,them to find their way in as beat they can, .while I dash into, the kitphen after Betty, and -' give ifc her ' on the spot. ; ' . >: I felt a little bit, cooler after the. outburst, and made pay way to the dining-room, where I expected, to find the, cause or causes of all my woe.. But the room was empty, and wondering at the audaciousness of Fred in taking anyone into.the drawing-room without leave, made my waythith.er. But no; that room was.tanantlea> alsjp, and I , had { begun to think they had taken their departure, shocked with the recep; tion.they had met, when.Freda face peeps out of the room next the kitchen, and Frod'a yoice Bays—'.",', ,', „ , ■ .. ■ if „ ' ,^ '. I've, introduced Gray to our snuggery, ' May, and he hots he never was- in a jollier room in hialif^' r

-01 , , »'■..' 'His, life mast have been a very short one,' l answered, in accents akin to those of a crabbed old woman ,6f eighty, ' and I think it's as ditty as it's jolly.? '0, no ; .it's not dirty at all,' .Mir.Gray finds it necessary to say, whereupon the ' lady of the house' snaps him up and aska if it is one of the Americans 1 characteristics to tell fibs. > *

',0, 1 aay, you know, this won't do at all,' cries Fred from the window, where he is sitting with' his legs hanging over into tbe garden. '<■■ 'No ! what wonld yon like— lies ? ' asks , Mr Gray laughing. His langhter is aatohing, for Fred is infeoted with it,, and then myselfi We feel better after that, and then I recollect I have not asked what brought my visitors over bo early. ♦ HaWt you got a message for me from Julia, Fred?' • •To be Bure,' answers Fred, fumbling in his pockets. -' Confound it— l've lost it;' 1 You never had it,' says Mr Gray. 'Is it 'one of the characteristics of New Zealand, youth to tell fibs ? Behold your missive, Miss Ghapley/ handing her a note, while F/ed mumbled something about 'tables being turned.' .

', •My dear child/— Miss Sedgeley wrote— 1 1 know you will never forgive me for not coming to see you, but we have, been so busy lately., „ ' ' What dp you think of my coz. ?_ Does he I come up to your standard of perfection ? He's perfection in the money line anyway, owns v goodness alone.knows how many dollars. Mean to catch him if I can, and let the Hon. Grigs go— to Jericho if he likes. But what I intended ito write about was this,— we intend .haviug a picnic on Saturday ; Mrs C. won't be home till Monday, I know, so you can come. - ' Fred suggests the beach. How do you like the idea ? We can take the trams both ways, and the van will go down first thing with the 1 spread.' 'Now, May, be sure and say what time you'll be ready, and Fred will come for you, ' ■ • Till then adieu, from ' Thine ever, ' Julia/

•Hope it's not bad news, ma'am. What do girls find to write to each other about V in quires Fred when I have finished raadiog. k ' Wouldn't you just Ilka to know ?' I answer. '(Well, I can guess, and that's as good aa knowing, ftayday' 'o;is it ? Well, as you're so smart, guess/ ' About the picnic?' queries Mr Gray, whose presence I had forgotten for the time being. ♦Well, it's hardly likely to be about anything else. ' scoff* Fred. ♦ Can you come, May V ♦ I don't know yet— l'll see.' IDo try and come, Miss Chapley, If you don't, you will rob one person of all enjoyment/ says the owner of 'goodness alone knows how many dollars/ in a very soft voice. ; 'Yes.iiheHon, Grigs, for instance/ breaks in Mr Fred, who, an usual, had. been listening when bp shonWtr

'Let' the Hon. Grigs go/ I unconsciously, quoted, ' to Jericho/ was nearly added, but I caught it back in time. ,-. . _ •0? course.let him go, I'm not acquainted with the Hon. Grigs, but whoever he is, let him go, and you come Miss Ohapley/ assente the ' dollar gentleman' once more. , • As for letting him go, he!U be.there without the letting ; and now, miladi, I give you exactly twenty seconds to make up your mind.' ' But my.mirid is made up already/ and the, gentlemen take'their, departure, with the understanding that Fred is to callfyr me at 9 a.m. on Saturday. ' And if you're not ready look put for squalls/ is bis parting injunction,., " We, did get 'Bqualls/ although not the kind Fred meant, as the next part of my story will Bhow. , , , !