CHALK.

Otago Witness, Issue 1823, 29 October 1886, Page 32

CHALK.

By Alice, Author of " Fickle Jack." " Grandmother's Story," &c.

[All Rights Reserved.]

Chapter XVII. Working aud Waiting.

In the grey twilight of a winter's afternoon Winifred and Mary sat in their pretty parlour together. The gloom without and twilight within deepened the ruddy glow of the fire that was leaping in red flames in the grate, 1 casting a flickering light over the fair, delicate face of Mary, who sat on a low chair near the hearth. Her slender, girlish figure looked very slender indeed in her sombre, black dress, with its frilling of black muslin round the white throat. Her fair hair, thick and luxuriant as it had ever been, was coiled simply at the back of her head, and one long, bright tre3s having escaped, fell over her shoulder in a natural curl. She had been engaged upon some needlework until the light fading made it difficult to see, and it lay now in her lap as she listlessly gazed into the fire. So different in expression was Mary's face to the face bending down over some writing at the table near. A strong, resolute, soul shone in every feature of that face. Every line- told of purpose and decision— the firm, sweet lips were closely locked, the large dark eyes shone steadfastly.' Mary, turning her wistful blue orbs upon Winifred, gazed tenderly and long. Then she said softly :

"Winifred, dearest, do leave off writing for to-day ; you will wear yourself out." Winifred lifted her head and met the [ pleading eyes with a smile— a smile cheer|f ul and bright,— and laying down her pen.rose and crossed over to the hearth and looking down at Mary, said in reply : "It takes a lot of work, hopeful work, to wear a constitution like mine out, dear one. The worst of it is it ,is paid for so wretchedly tbat I am resolved to abandon writing, or at least, if not wholly, to intersperse it with occupatio"n of a more profitable kind. Do you know, Mary, dear, a lady has been kind enough to engage me as morning governess to her boys ?" Mary looked up quickly. "Have you not work enough, Winifred? j Oh, my dear, what have you not done, ever since papa brought you home 1 and I since mamma died your life has teen a slavery. I am nothing but a burden, and you are' a blessing. What should I have done without you since papa so strangely- left us. Three months,and no news. I wonder if he be dead, too, Winifred ?" " No," replied Winifred, musingly, stooping to stir the coals which leaped into a broad bright flame ; "he is not dead. I feel he is alive. I don't know how, but lam sure he is alive." "He never was cruel," resumed Mary, "or I should think this cruel of him ; but I believe he told mamma all he intended to do, and left; it with mamma to enlighten us. I wish he would return. It is so cruel to think that you should have to toil as you do." " Nonsense, Mary. Who am I that I should not gladly put to a use the education I owe to him ? If he had left me as he found me, I .what should I have been V

"You would have suffered less, perhaps, Winifred."

" And enjoyed less. Oh, Mary, if you knew how I yearned in my wretched childhood for love and kindness, how desolate I was, how starved in soul as well as body, you would know how full of happiness the years have been to me since your home first gave me shelter. I have known the pleasures and comforts of home; I have beenbeloved,clarling, and through any loss and suffering the knowledge is comfort inexpressible, sweetness inexpressible. We are in the dark, Mary, but the night cannot last for ever— in God's own time the morning will come."

" God cares nothing about it ! " exclaimed Mary with a passionate scorn that pained her friend. " Look, Winifred, my greatest^ sin was too much love — too fond love — too yielding and trusting. I meant to be a good daughter, a true friend, and a loving wife. If Charlie had only trusted me I .should have been all that, perhaps more, and his boy would have been born to an inheritance of honour and joy. When I think what may be before him through his fathers sin, I wish I had saved him from it that night before he was born. Winifred, my heart is growing hard. I have not deserved this fate ; my innocent boy has not deserved it. I was to have been a wife in a week had Charlie not gone. lam a mother and no wife. My boy is not even to know me as his mother. You are to go on suffering unjustly, how long ? I have not prayed since he was born — where's the use 1 The worst tliat could happen has happened. In God's own time, you say? God's time, if He is in the matter at all, seems after all evil has come that can come. Charlie gone— his boy nameless — my heart broken — your life spoiled and shamed — mamma dead — papa missing. What worse could be ? "

Winifred made no answer, but stood, pale and silent, lookiug still into the fire. " What worse could be 1 " she repeated in her heart after Mary. No one but herself knew how difficult she had found it to obtain sufficient employment to maintain them and at the same time to hide from Mary the struggle. People looked coldly upon her. She had applied in answer to many advertisements, but she had not those first-class references that the advertisers imperatively demanded. At length a lady had been kind enough to engage

her aB morning governess to her boys.' She sat down now and told Mary about it.

" She is a bright, rosy-faced little woman, Mary, the mother of four bright-faced boys. The eldest is a head taller than herself, and of course goes to school ; so also does the second eldest. My pupils are the two younger boys Ernest and Willie. Ernest is about ten and Willie six."

" Why deesn't Mrs Grant send them all to school ? " ' " She appears to have a great horror of the boys being away from her until it is absolutely necessary." Next morning Winifred rose early, and before it was -.veil daylight— the cold, pale wintry daylight — had swept and dusted the sitting room and kitchen, brought sufficient coals and, wood from the shed to last Mary the day ; then, lighting the fires in the bright grates, set the breakfast table while the kettle boiled : then, carrying Mary a cup of tea to bed as a refreshing awakener, dressed herself for the day while Mary drank her tea and donned her dressing robe and slippers. The girls then breakfasted together, and aftor breakfast Winifred set out for the house of Mrs Grant. It was a cold, windy morning,, but the weather counted for very little with the healthy girl. The quick walk sent the warm blood, coursing through her veins, and brought a glow of colour to the cheeks • that had been growing somewhat pale of late. The house the Grants lived in was a large, red brick house, standing in a trim garden. An indescribable look of neatness was visible even from the outside of the house, and although winter, .the garden looked warm and rich in colour— bright-lmed chrysanthemums were in gay clustering array, and shrubs of evergreen sheltered the walks from the wind. The neat housemaid, in a dark, warm merino dress and spotless apron and cap, opened the door to Winifred and conducted .her to the drawing room. It was a long, low room, with three bay windows on the eastern side, with hangings of lace and crimson. On each side of the fireplace were handsome bookcases, inlaid with various kinds of New Zealand woods, beautifully polished to show up the uncommon knots and delicate grains. The wainscoting of the hall and the doors, Winifred had observed, were veneered in the same delicate manner. Evidently the master of the house had a hobby this way. Nanged upon brackets and, tables of fancy woods were various odds and ends of porcelain— odd cups and plates of quaint devices, Oriental dessert plates, a Swansea tea set, and many other pretty, knick-knacks of more or less value. There was a centre ottoman under the chandelier worked with swans and water lillies on black satin. The carpet and soft white rugs bore no trace of soiling footsteps ; the room had the appearance of a rarely -used apartment ; not one of the gilt-edged books were out of place. Not a speck of ,dust rested anywhere. Surely no fire had ever insulted with its ashes and smoke the bright steel grate and fireirons. A show-room, evidently. No litter oi' music near the piano. No half-worn armchair suggestive of indolent hours of careless comfort. , Everything new and shining. Antimacassars of, the latest fashion were twisted into' odd and tastefal folds on the backs of the satin' covered chairs and low couches. The centre table was covered with desks aud books and dainty workbaskots, bnt nothing was ever used in this room, Winifred smilingly concluded when the mistress entered — a little woman, with a neat round figure and rosy, smiling face, and blue eyes that wore an habitual expression of astonishment, as though every event in her life had occurred just at the moment she least expected it.

"Good morning, Miss Chalk," she said, coming forward to shake hands. " How very punctual you are. Punctuality is a thing I delight in, and a virtue I endeavour to impress upon the boys. Come with me. This room is chilly, and so is the morning. I hope Tom and Walter will not take off their overcoats directly they get out of my sight. Boys are so careless. You can't imagine, and mine are so strong-willed," she added, smiling. She led the way through a curtianed archway and folding doors into another hall, the wainscot and doors of which were not veneered, but neatly painted. This side of the curtain and archway was home in the Grant's house ; the other side was for show. This Hide contained all the carpots and rugs that those four "boys" might fcread upon and roll upon, easy chairs and couches that would not spoil by being sat upon and wneeled abont.

Mrs Grant was the incarnation of neatness and motherliness. Her neatness reigned supreme on the veneered side of the folding doors — her motherliness on this. The little woman would have fretted her life away if there were not rooms in her house in which her neat soul could revel in the delights of spotless curtains, quaint china, and unsoiled carpets, but she would have died a lingering death to have inflicted unnatural restraints on those romping, healthy boys. So she struck a line ; half the house was given over to immaculate neatness, and half to domestic comfort. There was a side entrance into this hall, and the boys never dreamed of passing unconducted by the little mother as a rare treat, and in their slippers, to gaze on the accumulated wonders of the rooms of state.

" This is our general sitting room," said the little woman, opening the door for Winifred to enter. "We take our meals here, spend our evenings here, live here, in fact, when we are at home. That is pa's chair there, the red leather one, those arc the. books we read," indicating by a nod towards a substantial book case what books she meant. A miscellaneous collection — some in faded red, some in old brown morocco bindings. Many were boys' books — Gullivers' Travels, The Arabian Nights, Cook's Travels, and Hans Anderson's delightful fairy tales for children.

" This," continued Mrs Grant, is my rocking chair. " I have nursed all my babies in that chair, Miss Chalk. These are pa's favourite flowers in the bay windows. Are they not blooming well for this time of the year?" They did indeed make a bright picture between the faded red hangings. The room was; longhand, by its length appeared low,

but the ceiling was high enough for good ventilation. The broad fireplace, in wbicb a bright fire was burning, was at one end t>s the room, the two bay windows at the other, between which stood a mahogany sideboard. A dining table stood in the centre of the '•oom, covered between meals with a red cloth tablecover. One side of the room was the door leading into the hall, the other a small arch draped with red' curtaing like those at the windows. Mrs Giant lifted these, sayings :

" This is pa's workshop. Here is his lathp and bench you see, and here are his fancy woods. Cabinet work is a hobby of his, Miss 1 Chalk. All those beautiful tables and cabinets you saw in the drawing room are his. work. He spends many hours in this' little room, and because we do not like to seem separated of an evening, we have only divisioned the shop off from the sitting room by these curtains, which can be drawn back, and then you see we are all together. Pa and I both agree in thinking children cannot have too much of their parents' society or too' much home influence, and although both of us have our individual tastes, we never allow them to separate us from the boys. There at that little table by the fire I sit at my work many an evening while pa works here in his shop, and the boys at the dining table are drawing, painting, playing at draughts, or as their fancy takes them."

Winifred looked so interested, the chatty little woman continued :

"Pa thinks, and I think, it is very harmful for parents to put too great a restriction upon children in their presence. You seechildren will be children, and if they are not allowed to be natural in father and mother's presence they are apt to be wild out of it. So both pa and I make a rule never to say I No when we say Yes, and our boys know before they ask a favour it is sure to be granted 1 nnlessthere some very good reason why not. ,Now let me take your bonnet and cloak, Miss Chalk, and let me make you a nice hot cup of chocolate before you begin your work."

"Thank you, no," replied Winifred; "I breakfasted but just before I came. Are these my 'pupils ?'' she added smilingly extending her hand towards two boys entering the room. The younger boy was plump and rosy, looking as though he were fresh from a coldwater bath with fair hair and blue surprised eyes like his mother. The elder was slimmer and paler, with dark hair and large brown eyes. His face wore a singularly intelligent expression, and his features were as small and delicate as a girl's.

" Come, boys, and shake hands with your governess," said their mother. " This lady will be good enough to teach you, and you must be very diligent. I know you will be obedient, I am happy and proud to tell you,'.' she added, turning to Winifred," my boys are very obedient. Romps, rare, noisy romps, I warn you. You should hear this old room ring with scampering and shouting of ' puss in the corner,' and ' blind man's buff ' often of an evening — it is good the carpet can't wear any shabbier — but my boys are obedient boy,s. Now bring your books." "Ate we to study here?" inquired Winifred. ' „ 1 • , HYes, myi dear, if you will. The boys ,don"t mind me, and neither need yon. Most of the niorning I am in the bedrooms and kitchen' looking after things, and if I do happen to be' in here for an hour occasionally I shall be as quiet as a mouse, with my workbasket, at my own little table, and I shall be delighted to learn with Ernest and Willie."

This first morning with her pupils proved very pleasant. Winifred's gentle, bright manner with the boys soon won their confidence, and betore the morning Was over Willie had confided his greatest ambition to his governess — "to grow big and buy a horse." He was a bold, bright, daring little monkey, with an alarmingly candid disposition that did not hesitate about freely expressing his opinion on any occasion. " Well, my little man, what are you thinking of 1" had inquired a recent caller. " I was thinking'how ugly you are," responded this urn comfortably candid boy, and the parrot, the pet of the whole family, seeing a' fitting opportunity to distinguish himself, had chimed in : " How ugly, how ugly, you are !" Willie learned and repeated his lessons in an easy, off-handed manner —a manner that implied : "0, its easy enough to learn, and all right you know, but I think running and hammering a deal better." Earnest', on the other hand, was absorbed in hip studies. He had|the soul of a student young as he was. His dark eyes kindled, and his pale face beamed with pleasure as Winifred, led by the interested attention of the boy, wandered from the dry rules and discoursed more fully upon several subjects. Winifred had that knack — which many more learned people lack — of imparting her knowledge to others. Altogether, teaching promised to be more pleasant than writine, and certainly more remunerative.

Little Mrs Grant thought the new governess a treasure. She had been, as she said, " seeing about things " most of the morning, but had found an hour to sit in her corner, with a work basket almost as large as a cradle, and full of little coats to be made and stockings to be darned, busily stitching away and listening interestedly, leaving off every now and again to look an astonished, " Well, I declare !" As Winifred expounded some fact previously unknownu to her.

Mrs Grant was not an intellectual woman. She was exceedingly intelligent and immeasurably practical. She had no theories upon exalted subjects, but many practices and principles of downright goodness. She could not tell you what Shakespeare had said about mercy, but she wouldn't, think twice about finding an excuse for the most guilty wretch. She was almost ignorant of St. Paul's exposition of charity, but she would trot off cheerfully with a heavy basket packed with nourishing beef tea and calves' foot jelly to anyone who needed it, saint or sinner. To see people eat well (she had a small appetite herself) was a great delight to her. To know of anyone hungry— children especially — would keep her awake all night. It was a picture to see her in the midst i her boys, her eldast a head taller than she, [the rest aa tall, and yet her slightest word was obeyed; her approval anxiously swgb-

for. Even "pa" a big fellow of 6ft deferred to her opinion with infinite respect.

"Pa " had not fallen in her estimation as little by little she dropped his Christian Baine of William. William was dear as the handsome lover who had won her maiden heart. William was dearer as the husband of early married life. But as those bright boys grew up arouud her, as their father " pa " was more precious in her eyes than even they. He was dignified and crowned in the little woman's heart by years of patient, enduring tenderness, both towards ncr and his children. She loved andjeherished him as her husband ; so tender and true ! She adored him as a father, so wise and kind was he, aud the most fervent expression of her love and pride for him was in her words : " Boys, I have no higher wish for you than that you grow to be men like your father."