Chapter 111. Lessons Given and Received,

Otago Witness, Issue 1832, 31 December 1886, Page 4

Chapter 111. Lessons Given and Received,

A new era in life opened out for Pparl, and brought with it great happiness. Three or four times every week she might have been seen tripping along the hilly roads of Timaru, her music books under her arm, on her way to the Wards, with her sweet face all brightness. By degrees the expression of childish wonder in her eyes gave place to 0110 of awakening intelligence and thought, for hor lea3ons did not end with music ; book after book wa3 lent and quickly returned, for ths hunger for knowledge once aroused in hor was not easily satisfied, and she learnt well and quickly whatever interested her. Nor was the ploasurt on her side alone, for Laurence received if oot not more than he gave. At first she listenend to the strange wonders he talked, but aa tho months went by and these wondars were moro and more understood by the giM, she too talked with with him on the questions strange and deep, and in the twilight of miny a winter afternoon whan it was too dusk to see any longer to paint or draw, or to read the notes of the music, pupil and teacher sat idly by the fire discoursing upon many .things wonderful and sweet, while Martha, Bitting opposite, listened in silence, fearing th t the awakening Rpirit of Undine would ba too poetic for real life. •

It never occurred to Martha, ki'»d easy eoul, that, poetic or not, Pearl was comfortably active and practical too, and that the houso was a wonderfully different place to what it had been upon the occasion of her first visit, for with such grace and tact had Pearl endeavoured to fulfil her part of the contract that under the pretenseof assisting Martha she gave her many a lesson in cooking and cleaning, but Laurence was well aware to whom ho owed many a dainty little meal that awaited him, and the tidy appearance of his book shelve* and the rooms. One small room he called his studio, had benn bare and comfortless the first time Pearl saw it, but arriving early one morning, she suggested to Martha that she might be allowed to help make it comfortable.

'Well, I do declare, you dear .soul, how thoughtful of you, just what I have been intending to do for weeks past. There is a crimson carpet upstairs will just cover the floor, and curtains the same shado in a trunk somewhere.' And so tha two set to work, and when Laurence returned in the evening he found the comfortleaa barn transformed into a cosy, snug room, with carpet, curtains, easy chairs, and sofa, a bright fire burning ia the grate, and his favourite pictures hanging upon the wall. But Martha would never be a good housekeeper, having bsen, as she expressed if, 'whirled from one country to another, and having only to pull tho bell in hotels when anything was wanted,' her experience was limited, and on those afternoons when Pearl was not expected, Laurence, vary often found a grate full of dead ashes when he returned expecting to dine. Sunday was Martha's great cleaning day ; every room was -turned topsy turvy, but, as Laurence said, if you were only patient towards evening things righted themselves, and a real good dinner was served up. No persuasions would induce Martha to keep a servant, she Miked to have the house to herself,' she said, and ' do things her own way,' and she did them sometimes better and sometimes worse, and Laurence smiled and patiently endured. So two years went by and Pearl was eighteen. It was Sunday evening, and old Ned satin his easy chair before the tire. Once more the logs roared up the chimney and a storm raged outside. Upon the rug, in her favourite attitude, sat Pearl, her face quiet, and gentle, and sweet, her eyes gazing into the fire, Presently she spoke, and her voice was softer and the intonation sweeter than of yore. ' Grandfather, I will paint pictures in the fire.'

Ay, ay, my lasß I' ' There was a picture painted two years ago of a little girl grown clever and wiser. It was a picture of the future then, it ii of the present now. She knows many things, though very ignorant still — many things now ahe never dreamed of then. But in that picture Bhemust paint a figure of a teacher — a teacher gentle, and patient, and wise. A scholar and a gentleman, who has given her such glimpses of his mind and heart that she reveres and honours him with her whole soul.

Well drawn, my lass, and should be so.'

' I see, too, the figure of his sister,' she laughed softly, • with a face of welcome and outstreched arms, taking the girl always and always to her loving heart, and the girl loves her for her kindness, for she lost her mother long ago, and had no woman friend till Martha came.'

1 A queer un, but a real good un, lass, I said so always, and I stand to it I The picture of the present is the dear old ship's carpenter, sometimes down on the beach working at a boat, while a snatch of his favourite song reaches the maid on the cliff above.

And lashed to our raft In the wake of our craft, There floated a little child. But the strokes that fall upon his work axe

not so vigorous as of old, and when he climbs the zigzag path to the cottage on the cliffs his steps are slower than they used to be, and when he sink? back in his arm chair he often sighs as as though he were tired.'

' 'Taint in the picture, lass, you've grown a sight clovarer than you used to be at many things, but you don t paint pictures in the fire near as well as jou used to do ; sighs and such liko are not in picters, laBB !'

'Made it a stoiy and a picture both,'concluded she ' for it must go in. I Bee the girl in all thia time

* I see her, too,' the old man broke in, leaning forward and gaa'ng where she gazjd,' 'I see her in all this titne growing prettier and cleverer. A lady sweet in all her ways, yet I never see her onco ashamed of her old granddad and her humble home. I see her always a bleß3in', always a cheery, bußy, lovin' little lass, and I Bays— God bloss her !'

She kissed his rough hand and laid her soft cheek upon it, stHl gazing into the fire, and sat silent for a time. Presently she continued.

' The old man has toiled too long ; he must rest now, and tho young girl — Oh, happy girl to be able ! —must work now for the two— can work for the two. A blessing on the great good heart of her teacher ! The old man must go out on the sea to fish no more, down among the boats to work no more, but will tend the flowers in tho garden his little lass used to tend, so that when she comes home again "

'She isn't going away,' the old man groaned.

' She is— a little way, to Christchurch, where ladies have protnioed to give her work to teach their little daughters to paint and play, and, oh, my doar, my doar ! I see that girl happy in her work, and never lonely, thinking ever of home. I sgo her writing letters overy week and sending money to the good Bhrp's carpenter who toiled for her for long yearß, and then when he was not able sat by the fire at home and let his little maid play at working for him, His hands grew hard at his toil and his back ached ; hers will be white and soft at her work and her young frame never weary. I see in the picture Laurence and Martha often with the old man, so that he is never lonely — never sad.'

The ashas fell upon the hearth and the rain beat upoQ tha window panes, and for long there was no sound heard in the cottage save the ticking of th 9 clock and the wav6s moaning upon the shore. At length tho old man spoke.

'Is tbat tho last picture ? Isn't there one where she comeß home again ?'

' O yes — yea — yos, O yes, O yes 1 Home again and rich ! and never, never goea away any more.'

Silence again, and the wiud and tho waves moaning. Then again the old man spoke, ' Wben doeß Bhe go ?' 'The day after toncorrow,' All night the wavos moaned upon the shore, and tha~wind about the cottage on the cliff.

It was Pearl's last evening at home, and Laurence and Martha had been invited up to tea.

' Raally and truly, I never was so taken by surprise,' said Martha, • Such a shy little puss to insert advertisements and receive engage ments, and make all preparations to go, aud never say a word, not even to Laurence. lassure you when your dear little note came this morning Laurence was so dazed he drank tha milk instead of his coffee, and walked into town without his hat. Then he gathered up all your pretty sketches, the books you and ho have read together, aud your music, and locked them up in a cupboard in bis studio till you come homo again, my dear.'

Pearl laughed and chatted gaily, and by and by went to the piano, and sitting down sang hi a voice that thrilled to the hearts of two of her listeners at least — ' I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With vassals and seris at my side. And of all who assembled within ihose walls That I was the hope and the pride. I had riches too great to count— could boaafc 01 a huge ancestral name ; But I also dreamt, which pleased me most, That you loved me still the same. I 1 dreamt that suitors sought my hand, That knigutß upon bended knee, And with vows no maiden heart could withstand They pledged Lheir faith to me. And I drean» that one of that noble host Came forth my hand to claim ; But I also dreamt, which pleased me most, That you loved me still the same.' 'There, grandfather, darling, which pleased me most, that you loved mo still tha same. Now, Laurence, p!eis9 sing your song,' contiauad Pearl, 'and I will accompany you.' ' When other lips and other hearts The tale of love shall tell In language whose excess imparts The power they feel so well, There may perhaps in such a scene Some recollection be Of days that have as happy be^n, And you'll remember me.

' When «oldnes9 or deceit shall slight The beauty now they prize. And deem it but sv faded light Which beams within your eyes ; When hollow hearts shall wear a mask Twill break your heait to see ; In such a moment I but ask That'll you'll remember me.'