Madge Miller's Awakening.

Otago Witness, Issue 1674, 22 December 1883, Page 6

Madge Miller's Awakening.

By E. HUDSON.

«. {Written for the Witness 1 Christmas Number.)

Chapter I. A Kainy Day. T was a rainy day. Now a rainy evening, -when one has not to go out, and the fire burns brightly, and the lamp is lit, and books and papers straw the table — a rainy .evening, under such .circumstances, is not at all an uncomfortable time ; rather pleasant, indeed, than otherwise, for a sense of the discomfort without heightens one's enjoyment of the pleasures that gather round ' our am fireside.'

But a rainy day, whea the grey mist shrouds the landscape, and raud lies inches deep on the ground, and everything is ,dank with moisture — such a day has little to recommend it, even in the city ; but on a farm, where certain outdoor work must be done, rain or shine, a wefc day is altogether disagreeable. So thought Madge Miller, as Bho stood at the door Oi the Glenburn farm-home' surveying the prosp.eet. Not a cheerful' prospect at the best of times— -anything but cheerful now under this slow steady downpour. There were the stables and. byre, dank and dripping ; the farm-yard, up to the cows' knees in mud ; and .beyond that a grey plain, the hills that bounded it quite blotted out by the vain, Madge hastily cent the dinner signal -a lusty ' coo-e^e ! '—ringing over the place, and then, with a shiver oi disgust, turned in and shut the door. Bufc the scene within was not muck of, an improvement. She was in a large, unlined kitchen (into which the back-door opened directly, thus. ensuring a plentiful supply of fresh air all the year round) This ©kserfnl apartment served ?lso as dining and Jiving room for the family. On the open heaefch a lire of green wood ' smoked and smouldered, over which hung a gfea* pot of pigs' food, wed ,a smaller one containing the salt mutton aud potatoes for- the family dinner. Preparations ! for the meal tf ere $,lap sr.i3j.ble in the shape of plates, cups and saucers, knives and forks (the latter app&tently never polished), which were strewed ' promiscuously ' over the clothless table. Madge waa not the only occupant of i the room. Her mother, a hard-featured, weather-beaten woman, was down on her krteea at the fire, trying in vain to get the damp wood to burn ; while Kate, the elder sister., a strapping girl of twenty or so, stood idly gazing out of the window, a cloud of discontent aj?A ill-temper reßting on her rather good-iooking face. ' Kate, get out of the light/ aaid her mother snappishly. ' What's the use ujt, glowering at the rain that gate? it won't make it .stop the Booner. You may just get to your work, for there'll be no going out for you to-day/

'And to-morrow there's baking, and churning, and goodueas knows what to do. But I will go. There* only one week to the soiree no-w ; and if 1 don't get my dress, and leave it at Miss Kitt's, it won't be done in time. Madge has been a fine lady long enough ; Bhe may just turn to, and tako her share of the work now.'

' I have not been a fine lady/ said Madga angrily. ' I can tell you J had plenty to do at Mrs M'Kttnzie'B.' ' And did you drees up like that to do it V Bnecred Kato, glancing at her sister's neat print dress, with its bibbed apron, and plain linen collar.

Kate herself waa arrayed in a Hnseywolsey petticoat and a kind of bedgown, while her really fine hair, unbrußhed since the previous day, waa knotted at tho back of her head.

Ma^ge was slighter and more refinedlooking than her Biater. She had been away from home for a year, in service with the minister's wife in the village. But, finding the last baby off her hands, and no other forthcoming, Mrs M'Kenzie determined to try and do without a servant ; so Madge, to her great discontent, had to return to the farm. This was her first day at home, and she had already wished herself back at the Manse twenty times.

She helped her mother turn the contentß of the pot into a great dish, and just aa it was act on the table, the male members of the family — husband, and two sons — entered, bringing with them a liberal supply of the prevailing mud.-

Throwing the streaming sacks which had sheltered them into a heap on the floor, they sat down to the table aud immediately fell to, each helping himself, and taking the best he could get. The food was plentiful enough, but poor in quality. It waa a well-understood maxim at Glenburn that anything was good enough for home use. The best of everything waa sent to market, and only that which was not worth selliug reserved for home consumption. 'These taters are only half-cooked/ grumbled Mr Miller. 'And serve you right/ retorted hia wife Bharply. 'If you had to do the cooking, you'd manage to get something better than this green wet stuff, I'll be bound ; I'm fair blind withe reek o't.' ' That's your fault, sir ! ' roared the father, addressing his younger son, who was eating his dinner in sullen silence. 'Let me catch you going pleasurin' another day 'stead of minding your work — that's all ! '

' Hoots, David, haud your tongue, man/ said the mother hastily. ' It's no' that muckle pleasure Jock gets, puir fellow ! '

' Or any of us, for the matter of that/ interjected Kate. ' And the races don't come every day.'

' You're aye for takin' Jock's part, Nance ; but he knows what to expect if this happens again.'

And then the meal went on in gloomy silence.

Kate eyed her father furtively from time to time, screwing up her courage to prefor what she knew would be an unwelcome request. At last, fearing lest her opportunity should be lost, she began boldly enough : ' I want some money, father. ' ' You're like to want it/ was the surly answer.

' I must have it ! ' Kate's yeaaty temper bigan to rise. 'My Sabbath dress is 00 shabby, 1 can't go to kirk till I gat a new one.'

' Then stay at home, like me and mother.'

The Millers were Scotch folks, and nominally Presbyterians, but they were, in fact, as great a sot of heathens as any that might have been found in New Zealand a century ago. It was years since either David or hia wife had entered a place of worship, and work went on on the Sabbath very much aa on any other day. But ap the young people grew up they learned the value of that holiday, and would not allow themselves £0 jpe done out /of it. Sunday was often the only day, for weeks together, when they could see and be seen, mingle with their neighbours, and hear or repeat all the news and gossip that was going. Glenburn lay nearly five milea from the ' kirk,' but even on the wettest of Sundays Kate and Jock at least would manage to get there either on horseback or in the dogc&r.k Not that the service was ever known to j&o them the least good. Their behaviour in churofe was notoriously irreverent, especially when, jinotead of the grave and severe Mr M'Ken&ie, sc>me 'young gouk' new to preaching, and, easily flurried, happened to occupy the pulpit Ad her father e&iQJba so coolly of her giving up this much-prize^ J^oliday, only | the wholesome dread of injuring her sause tied Site's tongue. ' i ' Money here, money there,' he grumbled ; 'I might be made o'- money. Why, you had a new dreaa only the other day.' Yet he knew Kate's request was reasonable, and that he would have to grani it, but it was not in him ,to do .the thing graciously. ' I had one a yeas ago/ s&id Kate, sullenly ; ' and if, after slaving as £ do, I can't have at least one new dress a year, I'll— l'll go where I can, that's all.' Her father said nothing, but eyed her closely aa he reached down his cash-box, and unlocked it. He threw down & sovereign. 'Will that do?' ' No, it won't ; I want three of them.' The money was g|7e.ri pngracioußly, and received untliaakfully p

* Wherever you go, my girl,' aaid her father, aB he relocked the oash-box, ' you won't stay long, with that temper ; no one but us would put up with it. You, Jock, get you to that harness, and have it all mended by to-nighc D'ye hear 1 '

&nd, throwing on hiß sack. Miller went out again into the rain. 1 Temper, indeed ! ' Baid Kate, flouncing up from the table. ' I wonder who I got it from 'I I know one thing : I won't put up with this state of affairs much longer. Slaving every day, and all day long, and then to have to aßk for every sixpence one wants, and have it doled out in this fashion. I'll not put up with it.' ' Well, you needn't,' said Madge slyly ; ' all you have to do is to smile on Sandy Burns, instead of snapping the poor fellow's head off every time he speaks to you, and you may be Mrs Alexander Burns any day you please.' * And what the better should I be for that ? ' retorted Kate scornfully. . ' Look at Jess ' (their eldest sister). * Didn't I tell her at the time that George was just marrying her because she was "the best cheese-maker in the district ? And there she is, stuck up in that out-of-the way place, with three bairns already, and maybe a dozen to follow. No, when I change my condition it shall be for independeuce, not slavery.' • 'Kate, what are you going to do?' said her mother. * When I know myself I'll tell you,' was the answer. ' Madge, you can just clear up by yourself ; I've got the cheese to sac to.' And Kate left the kitchen. Madge surveyed the dinner-table in disgust, contrasting it with that at the Manse. 'Even if we had a nice white cloth, where would be the use of putting it on ? ' she thought, glancing at the little heap of mutton bones, the cheese rinds, and slops of tea which marked where each person had been sitting. Madge, however, did not stay long gazing. She soon had the things washed and put away. Then she surveyed the floor. * It looks like a pig-stye,' she said to her mother. ' Shall I scrub it 1 ' ' What's the use ? ' said Mrs Miller indifferently ; ' it'll be as bad again by bedtime, if you do.' So Madge contented herself with a vigorous application of a stiff broom. After that there waß an hour to spare before it would be time to feed the pigs, and calves, and poultry ; so Madge escaped to her bedroom, hers and Kate's. Such a room ! A garret rather, neither lined nor ceiled, and only to be entered by a ladder and a hole in the floor. It had two windows, one in each gable, but neither of them could be opened. Usually at this hour the bed was still unmade, and everything in most ' admired disorder,' but Madge had learnt some lessons in neatness during her stay at Mrs M'Kenzie's, and to- day the room looked as tidy as such a comfortless apartment could. Besides the bed and washstand, the only other articles of furniture it contained were two large unpainted chests, which stood one tinder each window. Madge went to hers, and having unlocked it, took out a pen, a bottle of ink, and some sheets of paper. Then, converting the top of the box into a table, she began to write, and suon became so completely absorbed in her work that time passed unheeded. Kate's shrill voice recalled her at length. ' Madge ! Madge, I say ! what are you wasting your time up there for ? Do you know it'B four o'clock, and the pigs to feed, and the dairy to see to, and the tea to get, and goodness knows what else to do ? The piga may starve for me. The more one does in this house, the more one may do, and get no thanks for it, either. ' And so on, and ao forth — Kate's tongue was endless. Madge put away her writing with an impatient sigh, relocked her box, and climbed down the ladder, stiff and numb with cold, and with kneeling bo long in an uneasy posture. Chapter 11. Breams. The next morning was fine, and immediately after breakfast Kate set off on her shopping expedition. ' Come home as soon as you can/ said Madge, assisting her to mount. ' Indeed, then, I won't ! I'll have to | be home by dusk, as there is no moon, J bjit you needn't expect me a minute beforV j Madge had a&fciialpated some such answer. Home, to the you#g Millers, was a place to be quitted gladly, and returned to with reluctance. i ' Well, mind and don't forget to call at the pout-office,' she said, trying to speak in a careleeis tone 5 ' fche newspaper must have been waiting there theae two days.' ' Bother the paper ! ' snapped Kate. 'Selfish old croas - patch !' retorted Madge, and then was sorry Bhe had said it. She was sick and disgusted with her liorae life —^vi,th the rude, corpse ways, the Beiußhneiia — above all, the constant scolding and jangling that went' on from morning to uight. She had returned with the determination to try ans introduce at Gleuburn something of the refinement and courtesy that obtained at the Manße. But already her ardour was cooling. - She began dimly to perceive the great truth that whoso would reform others must himself be reformed. 'I am

as bad as the rest of them — how- can I hope to do them any good?' thought Madge, with a discouraged sigh. She longed to be alone, but leisure was a rare luxury at GHenburn. Except during harvest old Miller could never be gob to employ hired labour. , He saved money, rather than made it. The farm was bo large that, with all their exertions, they were ever behind with the'work ; but in D*vid Miller's opinion it did not matter j how hard his wife and ohildren worked. What was a family for, if not to aave the expense of hired labour ? And it was all for the general good ; every penny saved was a clear benefit to all of them. (But it was a benefit they would never realise as long as he was alive.) Madge was kept busy the -whole day, and had, besides, to listen to her mother's never-ceasing fretfulness and fault-find> ing. It was a weary day, but the thought of what the evening might bring kept her I up. ' Though ' .1 am a fool to expect it, i after having been disappointed so often/ When Kate returned' tea had long been | over. Madge had cleared away, and now I sat patching her brother's moleskins ; .with Davy, at the other side of the table, making up his father's accounts ; Jock was out in the byre, attending to a sick cow ; the old man was taking his evening pipe by the fireside ; while Mrs Miller was still busy, setting the dough to rise, and finishing off odds and ends of work, | Kate returned in a ' holiday humour.' i Her shopping had been successful, and | she had gathered a gotA store of gossip which she was eager to iy^art. ' Here's your paper,' she said, tossing a copy of a Dunedin journal into Madge' v a [ lap ; * and here's a letter for father.'

Madge handed over the letter without looking at it, and Boon af ter^managed to slip away to her room,

Lighting a tallow candle which ornar mented a battered tin candlestick, she proceeded with nervous haste to tear the wrapping off her precious paper, and search its columns for a certain long-looked-for article. Of course, being in a desperate hurry, she opened itatthe wrong place, but "at last she found what she wanted — the column headed ' Original Poetry.' Madge gave one eager glance. No — yes j ah, yes — there it was, * Evening ' ; then four stanzas ; and then the signature, 'Daisy.' For a moment Madge could see no more. Her. eyes swam, and the paper trembled in her hand. She was experiencing all the raptures of an author who for the first time sees his thoughts in print. Gradually she cooled down, and road the verses over and over again. Poor little jingling common-place they were, with the usual hackneyed rhymes, 'hours,' 'bowers' — 'night,' 'light,' &c, &c. ' But they were short, and! tolerably smooth, and so had gone in to fill up a corner. Happily for Madge, the thought that such might have been the caae never once occurred to her as she sat there reading and re-reading her yerseß with all an author's joy and pride. That paper contained, among other thingß, an account of a great battle, and the description of a wonderful discovery in science, but all was as nothing to the young author— for her the paper held only those four verses. Boor Madge ! I can tind it in my heart to pity her very sincerely : poring over her poor little lines with such exultation, and fancying herself a poet. She v)as one in her dislike of all that is coarse and rude, in her yearning for beauty and harmony in her life and surroundings ; but these feelings of themselves did not qualify one to write poetry. She did not look much like a poetess, poor Madge ! with ' her common-place features and countrified air. She had nothing to recommend her but a pair of gentle eyes. ' 'Daisy,' she murmured to herself. ' Daisy Miller ! How pretty it sounds; Oh, how I wish it was my real name! Madge is horrid ! '

The first ec3tacy over, she longed for somebody with whom to share her wonderful secret. But, alas ! who would care to hear it ? who would give her a word of congratulation and encouragement? As Madge was wont to say of heraejf, ? She was not of the crying kind,' or she would certainly have shed a few tears now, for loneliness is far harder to bear in the momont of success? than in that of defeat. As it was, hey throa^' tightened unplea* santly aa she gazedJßTt Her precious poem, and thought of wnfir would be said if 'they knew who wrote it. 1 Her father and mother would storm at her for wasting her time over such rubbish ; ' while aa for Kate and the boys,' thought Madge, 'what fun they would make of me; I would never hear the .last of it. I wonder if he likes it,' she murmured, firm in the belief that 'he' and all who took the paper could not fail to notice and read fcer poem. Poor Madge ! 'He little thinks it is all osring to him, though. If we had not got talking of phrenqlogy that evening, when he examined my bumppi and told me I ought to be able to write poetry, I'm sure I should* never have thought of doing such a thing. I always imagined it was awfully hard work, but it is quite easy when you know how to do it.' And Madge felt immensely superior. ' I don't think I shall ever have the courage to tell him Jam "Daisy," buff should like to know his opinion of it. But, oh dear, when shall I see him again? If only-^- ' " ■ ' - ' 'Madge, .come down the stair this minute, ye wasteful hijszy, burning candlg up there like that ! And here's youi? father crying on his paper.' Hastily outting out her cherished versea, Madge threw down the paper, and clambered Blowly after it.

When she joined the rest of the family she saw that some unusual subject was under discussion. They were talking earnestly, *nd the letter Kate had brought home lay open ou the table. * Where will he sleep ? ' Mrs Miller was saying. 'We have no spare room. ' * We must make one, then ; a pound a week is not to be turned away for want of room.' IHe can have oura,' said Davy ; ' JocV and I can sleep over the stable. ' 'Who? What are you all talking about 1 ' asked Madge. 'If you had stuck to your work, instead of wasting time and candle up there, you'd have been as wise as the rest of us,' * It's that artist fellow that's staying at the Manse,' explained Kate. 'He wants to come here for the summer, that he may sketch the scenery; though what there is worth making a picture of I don't "know It was well for Madge that her sister* sharp eyes were turned away. Her. faoe turned scarlet, and she nearly let thr chair she was lifting fall from her hand. She sat down in the darkest corner, took up her patching again, and listened iD silence to the discussion. ' It'll be more work for me,' grumbled Mrs Miller, ' and goodness knows I've enough to do already ; but much you care how hard we are worked.' And yet she was quite as eager after the Weekly pound as her husband. f You will have to get help,' said Kate.

c Never name the word ! , I'll have no "helps" about the house, spoiling the cheese and butter, that you two strapping lasses may daunder about— mind ye that, girl!' , ' Oh, it's all the same to me, said Kate impudently ; « I shan't be here.' They all stared at her. ' Miss Kitt is going to recommend me to her- sister, who is a dressmaker in town,' explained Kate coolly ; ' and if Mrs Smith will have me, I mean to go and learn the dressmaking.' She expected this announcement would cause, as Bhe phrased it, 'no end of h row,' and her expectation was fullj realised. David Miller thought it would be hard enough when marriage should deprive him of his children's services. The ide? of his children setting up for themselves, and forcing him to employ hired labour drove him into a furious passion. - Mrs Miller took his side ; but Kate'p tongue and her determination were i< match for both parents. Davy did not say much (he never did on any subject), but he threw in a quie sneer now and then, which only served t" harden Kate. There was no love los 1 between her and her eldest brother. In the midst of it 'all Madge once mor< threw down her work, and slipped away to her room, but this time in the dark These sort of quarrels, which were only too frequent, had always been hateful U her, and were more so than ever now But the news of the expected lodger had raised a tumult in her mind which lef ■ no room for other thoughts. It was nine o'clock ; she would not go down again; let them fight it out by them selves. So she crept into bed, and gave hproelf ut> to dreams of love and fame. Poor Madge ! mmmmmm _ mmmm Chapter 111. Dreaming Still. It was very evident next morning that . the storm of the previous night had niti t cleared the social atmosphere. Kate was sullen, Mrs Miller more than -usually cantankerous, and the old man in one of his worst tempers, increased by the fact that Jock was missing. Madge turned sick to think of what would happen when the boy came home. Davy alone seemed unmoved. He made a good breakfast, appropriating -with his usual quiet selfishness the best he could get, and leaving the rest to shift; i for themselves. To be sure, Jock's absence did not perplex him ; he knew the boy, had run away — had indeed lent him a sufficient sum of money to take him to Dunedin, but of that Davy modestly did not think it necessary to speak. So the mother fretted and the father fumed for the next ten days, and then came a scrawl from Jock. He had left home * for good,' was going to try a Bailor's life, and had shipped on board a London-bound vessel, which was to sail the day he wrote. Kate was gone by this time, her departure having been hastened by the miserable state of affairs at home ; so only Davy and Madge were left. Davy went, about precisely as usual, as grave, and methodical, and silent. - *He wouldn't care if we all went, and. left him alone here,' thought Madge, little guessing, however, how exactly she had hit the truth.

If it had not been for the lodger, who was to arrive by the end of the week, Madge's prospects would have been dreary indeed ; but in preparations for his arrival, in dreaming dreams, and at all odd moments * making up ' verses, she managed to slip through, the days, and at last the eventful Saturday dawned.

The boys' room had been well cleaned, and all the best pieces of furniture transferred to it ; still it did not look as nice as the one he had occupied at the Manse. Madge wished Bhe had. some flowers to put in it, but there was neither garden nor orchard at Glenburn.

The house stood in the midst of flat fields, and looked as unattractive without as it was within. A narrow lane—in winter a very Slough of Despond — ran from the main road to the farm-yard

gate, and jolting over the deep ruta in this lane came the spring cart that Saturday afternoon. It contained the artist and his belongings, Davy having driven down to the settlement to fetch him.

Out of respect for the occasion Mrs Miller had put on a clean -apron and her Sunday cap, aud she and her husband stood on the door-step to welcome their lodger. Madge hovered in the background — eager, yet shy.

Wilfrid Gracey — a tall, light-haired, loose-j oin ted young fellow, with a general air of indolent self-Batisfaction — 3wung himself lazily out of the trap, and shook hands with his host and hostess, peering beyond them, however, to discover what sort of a girl Madge was.

'It is the M'Kenzies' servant,' he thought. 'Am I to shake hands with her, too ? She is the daughter. I suppose, for, now I come to think of it, her name is Miller. Well, here goes ! How do you do, Miss Miller 1 ' And Madge, trembling, placed her band in his, glancing up at him as she did so.

' j?y Jove ! What did that look mean ? I do believe she's smitten, poor little thing ! ' And Mr Gracey smoothed hia fair moustache, and smiled graciously down on simple Madge, who, full of her daydreams, and believing that Gracey had come to seek her out, had allowed her eyes to betray more than she should.

Gracej had not been long in the Colony. He was a distant relation of the M'Kenzies, and had been staying at the Manse while Madge was there. In a careless, good-humoured way he had taken some notice of her. He liked to be admired, even by a servant girl, and he was quick enough to see that Madge admired him. Had she been pretty, it would probably have fared ill with her ; but she really was not worth making love to. He was dabbling in phrenology at that time, and had laughingly told her she ought to be a poet, judging from the shape of her head. Madge took him seriously — tried ; and finding, much to her surprise, that she could make lines that would rhyme, was incontinently seized with the desire to appear in print. A.nd her very first effort was successful ! What with that, and being fond of reading, and comparing herself with her illicerate relations, Madge began to think nerself a heaven-born genius ; and she had no doubt but that Mr Gracey thought io too, and had come out to Glenburn on purpose to oultivate her acquaintance. Poor Madge !. She had fallen in love with this man at first sight ; she made an idol of him ; the least little bit of notice — a smile, a careless word — served to feed ' her passion. There was something dogWke in her devotion. As his wife she would have served him humbly, with a life-long fidelity and obedience ; and such a little love in return would have served to make her happy ! Infinitely as he considered himself above her, Wilfrid Gracey was not wotthy of Madge Miller. Up to this time he had not deliberately given her any encouragement — had not indeed bestowed a second thought on her. But the confession he had read in her eyes flattered his vanity hugely.- Without any special cvii intention, or a thought of the terrible pain he might be the means of inflicting on Mad^e — prompted indeed, as his impulses usually were, solely by the desire of self-gratifi-cation — he now began to ' make love ' to the girl. That pastime was always agreeable to him, but in the present case it had an element of groteaqueness and incongruity which he found irresistibly amusing. Her worshipping admiration did not embarrass him at all : that was quite right and proper — simply his due ; ■neither did it moye him — except to laughter. • She is so clumsy, and so lamentably plain,' he thought. * The only good point about her is her eyes ; what a pretty soft grey they are.' He was looking down into them at that moment, for Madge stood before him. She had ventured into his studio, as he called the Millers' parlour, in which he had arranged his easels. He was Bupposed to be hard at work, but Madge found him lounging on the sofa, smoking and reading a novel. < She had brought in her cherished scrap-book, full of her own manuscript verses, and also that one precious poem in print. 'Your taste is so good, Mr Gracey,' she said shyly, ' I wish you would give me your opinion of these verses. They took my fancy, and I cut them out of the paper.' Gracey glanced lazily over them. ' What rubbish those editors will stuff into fill up a corner,' he thought ; and was just going to say so, when a glance at Madge's unsophisticated .countenance revealed her secret.

He bent his head over the paper again, biting his lip to hide a smile. ' What a jolly lark ! The girl wrote 'em herself ! Fancy a poetess with purple hands and freckles, breaking off in the midst of a fine frenzy to go feed the pigs or turn the cheese ! Shade of Sappho ! this is indeed " too utter" ! '

As soon as Mr Gracey could command his face, he looked up and said with much seriousness :

' These lines show great originality.'

' Do you think so — oh, do you 1 ' * Decidedly. And the versification, too, is so smooth. Where did you get this poem % ' ' I—l1 — I cut it out of our paper.' .' " Daisy." What a musical name ! Do you know who the author is ? ' And he looked up suddenly. Poor Madge \ Blushes never added to

her charms, and her face was now one fiery glow to the roots of her light hair. 'It is yourself ! ' cried Gracey, and laid one hand on her shoulder.

He would have taken her hand, ' but really one might as well touch a nutmeggrater,' he said to himself, with a little shudder.

' " Daisy " ! Of course I see it now. No wonder I liked them.'

'And you think— you feally think I can write 1 ' aaked Madge eagerly.

' Would the editor have accepted this if you could not ? I shall always call you Daisy now. May 1 1 ' he murmured sentimentally. The idea of this elegant gentleman suing to her for such a favour ! ' Oh, I should like it 1 You taught me to write. Yes, by what you said about my bumps. Don't you remember ? ' 'Oh!'

He had already forgotten his fancy for phrenology, and was now dabbling in some other science. 7 have already used that word in reference to Wilfrid Graoey. He 'dabbled' in things— just th-tt ; he could never be said to have a crazd or a hobby, for that implies earnestness — an element entirely wanting in hia character.

' Oh, then I may consider you as my protege* ? ' Madge assented, with more blushes, though not quite suire what a protege* was.

* Have you more of your work here ? ' taking the scrap-book. ' Ah, I see. You must let me keep this to read.' Not that he had the slightest intention of wading through those pages of not very clear manuscript, but the request was, he knew, expected of him. When Madge was gone he threw himself back on the sofa, lit another cigar, and took up the scrap-book. He smiled sarcastically at the poor writing, the occasional slips in orthography, and the very faulty rhymes, which even a casual glance discovered. He tossed the book down contemptuously, aud turned again to his novel. ' * Chapter I"v\ * One Christinas Eve, During the next two months Madge was often very glad that Kate, with her keen eyes and free tongue, was away from home. Mrs Miller never noticed the new light that had come into her daughter's face. She grumbled at her for her unnecessary care of her own appearance and of their lodger's comfort, but attributed it to the ' five-lady ways' she had picked up at the Manae. She might noi have been so blind, but since Jock's disappearance she seemed to have in a great measure lost her interest in life. She worked as hard as ever, but the Bpring was broken. She was a hard-natured woman, but she loved Jock, and fretted ovtr his absence more than anyone guessed. For she never mentioned his name — only the sore heart reacted on the temper, and she scolded and worried from morning to night.

But this state of things hardly affected Madge. She was too happy — happier than she had ever been in her life. Yet her happineßs (like that of moßt people) was rather prospective than present. When she should have published her volume of poems (for to that height her ambition already soared), and have become a distinguished character, and the wife of a great aitist — then Bhe would b) happy, for of course she was* to be hia wife, and of course he would be great, when he should find time to work up some of the numerous sketches with which his portfolio was filled. Madge loved to listen to his descriptions of the paintings he was going to execute, and Wilfrid Gracey was only too glad to find an auditor, and one who believed in him so implicitly. To describe one of his projected pictures he found almost as satisfactory as an hour's work at it would' have been;

* But when will you begin 1 ' asked Madge one day. ' Oh, by-and-bye,' said the artist. He was lounging in the rocking-chair, with a cigar ; Madge was clearing away his dinner-table, and loitering to talk to him.

4 We artists, my dear Daisy, must not be hurried. Inspiration is everything. Don't you find it so ? ' Madge blushed scarlet with gratification and embarrassment at being thus placed on a level with such a genius. She had on a brown wincey dress, and a green neck-ribbon — a pretty scarf in itself, and its purchase had taken .almost her last shilling. There was no good genius to tell her that green was the most unbecoming colour Bhe could wear. ■ ' Poor thi»g !' thought the artist ; ' it's a thousand pities she is so destitute of taste,' ( You can put the inkstand on the table,' he said aloud, ' and my desk. Thanks' — leaning back, and watching her wait on him. ' I think that is all. lam going to be very busy this afternoon j please see that I am not disturbed.' Madge, dismissed, went back to her work. She had plenty to do, for the morrow would be Christmas Day, and Jess and her husband and the children were to drive over to dinner at Glenburn.

Left alone, Mr G'racey leisurely finished his cigar, then he drew up to the table, spent half an hour looking through the contents of hia desk, wrote part of a letter, and then took up a novel and readtill four o'clock, when the fancy took him to borrow one of Miller's horses and ride down to the village.

Madge, who had not heard him go out, was disappointed when she brought in

the tea-things to find the room empty. The table was in the greatest confusion. She began to gather the papers together. Tn the midst of them waa her scrap-book. Gracey had kept it all this time, and she fondly believed he muat know all the poems by heart, whereas he had not read one of them quite through. He had written an acrostic on her name in the fly-leaf, and Madge opened at it, to read it again, for the twentieth time. As she did so a letter fell to the ground. Picking it up, her eye caught the commencement of it — ' Darling Madgie ! ' Poor Madge ! what a thrill went through her. Never doubting that the letter was for her, she began to read it, ' Darling Madgie, —

' 1 have been going to write to you for months, but you know my little weakness — procrastination. And I wanted to be able to say that the nest was ready for my bird, and bid her take wing across the wide ocean to her new home. And my pet thought I had forgotten her for some new face ? Never fear that : there is not one of these Colonial girls (so far as I have seen) that can compare with my Queen Madge !

' There is a namesake of yours in the house — a great, raw-boned, red-armed Scotch lass, who makes cheese, and — writes poetry, save the mark ! Such a mixture of vulgarity and sentiment as she is ; I get no end. of fun out of her. When you and I meet '. Here the letter broke off abruptly, but Madge had read more than enough. She was not of a volcanic temperament, or Bhe would probably have given way to a wild burst of passion, and torn the letter into shred 3. She simply laid it down, and sat quite still — a dull, stupefied look in her eyes, and a dull, aching pain at her heart. She suffered dumbly, without the relief even of tears, but none the less keenly. For what pain is more cruol than that inflicted by the treachery of one we have loved 1 Madge's shy, repressed nature had opened out under the (as she believed) kindly, sympathetic notice of this man. She had believed him to be her friend, and had spoken to him more freely and revealed to him more of her inner nature than she had ever done .to anyone. And to think that all the time he had just been amusing himself with her — ' taking her off,' in order to make fun of her to this other Madge, to whom no doubt he was engaged. It was bitterly humiliating. • But worst of all was the shook to her faith. Who— what — could she ever again believe in %

' He was the first friend I ever had,' she muttered, rising as the shrill voice of her mother summoned her to the kitchen, 1 and he Bhall be the last.'

She went about her work as usual that evening, but made so many blunders that at last her mother, exasperated beyond measure, asked if she had gone * clean daft.'

• I've got a sore head,' was all the explanation she got.

' Then get you to your bed, before you do any more mischief. If Gracey is not home by eight, he'll get no tea the night. I'll not fash myself for a man as thinks all the rest of creation was born to wait on him. He's been here three months now, and we have not seen the colour of his money yet.'

Madge attempted no reply. Thankfully she escaped to the solitude of her own room, taking with her not only a Bore head, but a sore heart, too. Poor Madge ! She dreaded meeting Gracey again. It would be almost impossible for her to hide her feelings, and to betray them would but add to her mortification.

For the first time in her life Madge lay awake all night. She heard Gracey come home at a late hour, and heard him leave again about daylight. She was surprised, for he was anything but an early riser. ' Perhaps he has gone to the Saddleback at last,' she thought.

He had come to Glenburn on purpose to sketch the sunrise from that hill, but had never yet succeeded in getting up early enough to do it.

' If only he would never come back ! ' thought Madge.

The wish was granted.

On going to set his room in order next morning, she not only found things (as Wilfrid Gracey was sure to leave them) in the greatest possible confusion, but noticed at once that all his belongings were gone.

He had left a note for Mr Miller, stating that urgent business called him to Dunedin, and they should hear from him in a few days.

* Shall we indeed ! ' was Davy's comment on that.

'If he means to do us out of our money,' said old Miller, ' he'll find it not so easy. He shall pay up, if I have to follow him to Dunedin. But there's his uncle or cousin, the minister — for very shame he'll not let honest folks come by loss in this manner. I'll ride over at once, and appeal to him. 7

What a wretched Christmas Day that was to Madge. With that dull pain at her heart she had to bustle about, to welcome Jess when she arrived, and amuse the children.

Miller returned in time for dinner, and in good humour, for his just demands had been at once satisfied, though it was evident that the minister was greatly annoyed with Gracey's behaviour. He explained that this sudden journey was owing to a telegram received by Gracey the previous night, apprising him of the unexpected arrival in Dunedin of his future wife and her mother from England.

Madge had yet another mortifioation that day. Her father had brought back the weekly paper with him, and in the • Answers to Correspondents ' column she read :—

Daisy. — Your lines on 'Christmas' are far below our standard ; they possess no originality whatever. Evidently poetry is not jour forte.

This would have wounded Madge cruelly a little while ago ; now she hardly felt it.

As soon as the kitchen was clear she brought down her scrap-book and stuffed it behind the fire, and as she watched it shrivel up and turn to ashes, she said to herself :

' What a fool I have been ! '

After that things went on pretty quietly at Glenbura for some time, the only excitement being a letter from Kate announcing her marriage to a draper's assistant in Dunedin. *He is quite the gentleman,' wrote Kate, ' and you should juat see the presents he has given me.' Mrs Miller no longer had room to find fault with Madge. The girl went about her work in a grim, determined manner ; never touched a pen, rarely opened a book, and grew almost as sharp-tongued as Kate. Trouble had not softened her, and there was a perpetual struggle between the irritating sense of her folly and the pain of wounded love. ' If it had been an enemy that had done this, then I could have borne it ! ' was the cry of her heart. Chapter V. la Dunedin. Three years have passed ; again it is Christmas Eve. The sun has set, the western horizon still glows with a pale, clear light, but darkness seems visibly creeping over the deep blue vault. The young moon shines with a faint glimmer ; near her, and almost as bright, hangs the evening star. Not a breath of wind stirs, a deep calm broods over .Nature ; the air is sweet with the fragrance of new-mown hay. Madge Miller had stolen out to enjoy the quiet beauty of this hour. She was leaning over a low gate that led into the cows' pasture. She could hear them chewing the cud as they lay half-asleep about the dewy grass, and their sweet breath came "wafted to her in a wandering breeze. Madge was altered — paler, gentler, more refined-looking than of old. Sorrow had wrought its gracious work on her. The last three years had been one long trial— first with her own grief, then »rith family troubles ; but Madge would be a better woman all her life for the lessons her troubles had taught her. And so good was brought out of evil, aa it always ia if we had but the faith. to> believe it and the patience to wait for it.

Madge was thinking something like this as she stood watching the sunset clours fade slowly in the gathering dusk.

' Good evening, Miss.'

She had not heard the approaching footsteps, and staited to find a man at her Bide.

'Good evening,' he repeated. And then, as she turned her face to him ; ' Why, I declare, it's Madge ! ' ' Jock ! Oh, Jock, where did you come from 1 '

And Madge clung to him, crying. There had never been any great affection between them (though that waa partly because, as so very often ftappens with members of the same family, they really knew very little of each other's mind and feelings) ; still he was her brother, and Madge was in a softened mood.

'If only you had come home six months ago,' she said. ' Mother wearied sore for you in her last illness.' ' Is she gone, then ? ' ' Both, Jock, both ! '

There was a silence of some minutes. ' I was in China then. Poor mother ! And she wanted me ! I did not think she would have oared. She was always '

JNagging at me, Jock was going to say, but paused.

'It was just her way,' said Madge, understanding. ' fche never meant the half of what she aaid. She fretted after you dreadfully, though I never found it out till aho was taken ill.'

'Im very glad— you know what I mean, Madge. Did./ic leave me any message 1 '

'No.' Madge shuddered: *It was an accident. He was thrown from his horse—only last Monday.' 'And I came home, hoping that bygones might be bygones, and we might spend Christmas all together once more. Where are the reßt 1 » he added, after a pause.

' I left them in the parlour— Jess and Kate, with their husbands and Dayy — all quarrelling over the will.' ' How are things left 1 ' ' Davy gets everything.' 'As I expected. It is what he hats schemed for for years. I see it now. And what is to become of you ? Are you married 1 '

.'No, nor like to be. Davy has to provide for me as long as I will live here, but I shall not trouble him. I can earn my own living easily enough. And Davy is going to marry Sarah Shaw.' 'Not Tom Shaw's Bister? Why, she* must be ten years older than he. I remember her for a regular skinflint j they will be a well-matched pair ! Well Madgo 3 you and I are left out in the cold ;we must stick to each other. I'vehad enough of knocking about, and havesettled down in Dunedin as a carpenters Will you come and keep house for me V

'For how long? You'll be getting a girl of your own soon. '

Jock laughed.

' Plenty of time for *l*at ; I haven't pitched on one yet. It's you will be off first. You look quite the Jady, Madge.' ' Wait till you see the stylish woman Kato has become. You are improved too, for that matter.'

So he was. Tho awkward, lubberly youth, with Handy hair, light wyes, and the complexion of a tutkoy'a egg, li;vl developed into a strong, sturdy man, sun-browned and boarded.

{ Tf you aro really in earno-d./ continued Mad#e, ' 1 will jump at your offer. It will at least give too a few months' rest, and change— a thing 1 really need.'

Jock waa serious enough, and — her eldest brother being only too glad to get rid of her— the New Year found Madge installed <as mistress of a neat littlo fourroomed cottage in a pleasant part of Dunedin.

The day she arrived there was a bankrupt's sale going on in a house across the street, and Jock availed himself of the opportunity to add several necessaries to his modest establishment. He and Madge were about equally proud of their house, and their supper that night was a very cheerful affair as they talked over tho arrangement of the furniture and proposed plans for future improvements. For Jock hoped in time to own the house.

' And a fine anchor it will be if I'm ever seized with another roaming fit/ he said. ' A fellow thinks twice about leaving a place when he is a householder .'

In the midat of their planning a low, timid knock waa heard. Jock answered it, and came back in a minute.

' It's that poor lady from over the way,' he hurriedly whispered to Madge. ' She has to stay in the empty houHe all night, and has come to beg a bit of candle. Let us give her a cup of tea ; ahe looks wretched/

' Bring her in at once, poor thing ! ' And Madge got a fresh cup and saucer, and set a chair for the guest. She did indeed look in need of some refreshment — a delicate, helpless-looking lady, with a baby in her arms, and another, just able to toddle, holding by her dress. She was evidently thankful fox the tea, and was soon talking eagerly about her troubles. ' That horrid Wilfrid ' had gone off, and left her to manage everything by herself.

'But it's just like him ; he never will be troubled with business. And how I am ever to get to Invercargill to-morrow, with these two children to look after, I don't know.

' Oh, never you fear ! I'll see you on board the steamer, Mrs Gracey' said Jock heartily, ' and all you will have to do will be to sit still till it reaches the wharf. You'll be sure to find your husband waiting for you.' ' Indeed then I dare say he will have forgotten all about us ; that would be just like him/ said the poor woman bitterly. Madge had started at hearing her namei She regarded her curiously. So this was Wilfrid Gracey's wife — his pet, his bird, his queen, and the rest of it !

' I need not envy her,' thought Madge. el£e l£ I had had my own way, what a •fetched life I should now be living ! '

They would not allow the poor helpI,?0B creature to return to her dismantled horoe that nighfc. Madge gave up her own room to her, fortified her next morning with a substantial breakfaßt, and at parting pressed upon her a well- filled lunch-basket.

1 You and the children will be glad of it before you reach your journey's end/ Bhe said; and would not listen to any thanks.

' I wonder/ thought Madge to herself, as she watched iter guests depart, ' if the romance of love is always so short-lived. There is no love lost botween Kate and her husband. As for Jess, poor woman ! she's fairly worn out what with, the bairns and the work, and George is always finding fault. And now look at this couple ! Well, well, Madge Miller, you are the best off, after all. There is nothing like being one's own mistress ' And this (two years later) Madge still continues to assert, but not perhaps quite bo vehemently. Jock iias found for himself a nice little wife, and. Madge must seek another home.

'.And you will bo a fool/ is Jock's brotherly advice, ' if you don't take John Anderson at his word. He is steady, and well-to-do, and has been faithful to you for nearly two years. You have snubbed him unmercifully, but if you don't relent now you deserve to die an old maid.'

'That's no such hard fate/ protested Madge. But it certainly did not seem a very cheerful one. She had found it very pleaJ* an t to be mistress of her brother's little .cottage, and did not much relish the prospect of going among strangers in a subordinate position. And if she could only bj-jng herself- to trust John Anderson's proffeSeione, she felt she co^ld 'like him.

The issue is not <ktf.ided' yet ; but Jock sb ready to wager there will be a double wedding before the New Year begins to grow old, and I should not much wonder i£ he were right. THE END.

—It has been said that ladies have generally great fear of lightning, and this has been superficially ascribed to their natural timidity ; but the truth is that it arises from tin * consciousness of being attractive.