CHARLIE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2078, 21 December 1893, Page 8

CHARLIE.

(Specially Written for the Witness Christmas

Number of 1893.')

By ANNIE B. PQYNTEB.

" Very well ; all riglt, sir." The speakers were Mr Stephens, the owner of a large sheep station in New Zealand, and one of his shepherds, a young, stalwart fellow of about four-and-twenty— no one would ever dream of calling him handsome ; I do not think he would ever strike one as goodlooking, unless you looked him staight in the eyes. His nose was short, belonging decidedly to the class snub, and his mouth was certainly too large for beauty, but wide though it was his smile was manly and honest; and you had to look into his eyes to forget the plainness of the rest of his face— they -were of the softest, clearest brown. Have you ever gazed down into the eyes of a sheep, dog, or fox- terrier 1 for if you have, you have looked into the eyes of Charlie Brace. He was dressed in anold coat^that had once been dark gray, bub was now a dull green from the wear and tear of much work in many weathers, a pair of white moleskin trousers, and a Eof t gray felt hat drawn down over his eyes to shield them from the last hot rays of the setting sunf It was the end of a long, sultry day in December ; shearing was in full swing, and stout, fussy Mr Stephens had been more fussy than usual. He had arranged at the woolshed that the last mob of shorn sheep were to be turned out into the long paddock beyond the shed, but during the hour of tea changed hia mind, and as Charlie Bruce was passiog the garden gate on his way to execute his first order, he called him up to the verandah to countermand it.

As he stood on the verandah steps with his young shepherd before him, his eye rested with a fond glance on the graceful figure of a young girl who was slowly pacing to and fro by the dark, shady trees at the far end of the garden. She was accompanied by a young man of about six-and-twenty, who was bending forward every now and then to gaze into her eweet face.

Hugh Burton was a handsome young fellow, with his curly brown hair and bright, blue eyes, and was well known to be the successful lover of bonny Mary Stephens. He was the owner of the neighbouring station, and he had come over that evening to see how soon he might expect to get the shearers, who were to come to him as soon as Mr Stephens's shearing was over, and, it must be confessed, to see golden-haired Mary also, whose soft, blue eyes were now raised to his.

The sound of their light laughter floated up to the two men who stood talking, and the young shepherd moved uneasily as he heard them, and as his master finished speaking and turned again into the house, he hurried down the garden path. He glanced once at the moving figures by the dark trees, and then drew his hat yet further over his eyes, as though to shut out the sight, while a wild wave of emotion swept over his heart.

* " Good God," he thought angrily, " who's the likes of me to mind who she cares for 1 " And the colour rose in anger and shame to his snnburnt brow as ha thought of his presumption ; but he dared not look again, and, quickening bis steps, in another moment he had reached the garden gate.

The click of the latch attracted Mary's attention, and raising her eyes she saw the young shepherd unfasten his horse from the gate and place his hand on its mane as he prepared to mount. " Good evening, Charlie," she called in her soft, pleasant voice ; but he took not the least notice of it — not even so much as by turning his head — and springing into the saddle he galloped away down the dusty road.

He did not slacken his speed until he drew rein at the woolshed, and as he leapt to the ground and made his way to the yards he took off his hat and pushed back the wet, dark hair from his ho 1 ) forehead.

" God bless you, Miss Mary," he muttered fiercely, with which was mixed weariness and a shade of self-pity, too. "God bless you, Miss Mary, and may He help me 1 " "He cannot have heard me," Mary had said lightly as she leant over the gate he had so lately quitted, and watched the cloud of dust raised by his horse as he galloped alcng.

"I always like a talk with Charlie," she continued, turning to her companion, "we are such old friends, you see; we have known each other ever since I can remember anything ; we were just like brother and sister when we were little. I suppose it was because we were the only children on the station."

Truly bad she spoken when she said she could remember him as long as she could remember anything, for was it not his mother •who had taken her and nursed her so tenderly when Mrs Stephens died and left her little daughter but a few months old ?

Mrs Bruce had come as servant to Mr Stephens when ha first bought the station, and a year or so afterwards had married the head shepherd. Mr Stephens had given them a little two-roomed cottage beyond the bush, on the edge of which the homestead stood.

And it was through the bush she had trudged one winter evening to take charge of little Mary when Mrs Stephens was taken ill ; and as the tiny, blue-eyed mite was laid in her motherly arms her whole heart had gone out to her, and ever after nothing was too good for the little lady up at "the bouse." Her love was so great for her, indeed, that poor little brown-eyed Charlie was quite pushed into the background, *nd was allowed but a secondary place in her heart, But little did he grudge

had better put those sheep in the tussock paddock, Charlie." "Yes, sir." " Let me ace, we might put them in the stony creek paddock. No, I think you had beltar not, we will want that for the ewes to-morrow."

.i, or even to his adb^ e>-ic su .jly tv ,re *,;.. no one so good and fair as Mary, and ought not all to give way before her.

In their childish days he had always been her little champion and protector as they roamed about together in quest of toi-tois or the white star-like clematis ; and his love had grown with the growth of years until now he Eometimes thought the weight of it would bear him down. His love for her was deep and strong before he ever dreamt of its ex's ence, and when one day he realised it he found with dismay that all his powers of self-will were not sufficient .to crush it down.

His first impulse when he discovered it was to throw up his place at onco, and look for work elsewhere, but It was folly to think of that. His father had been dead many years, and his mother, now old and feeble, could not do without his comfort and support. And so he stayed, and hia mother's last request before she died had made it impossible for him to leave.

" Charlie," she had said as he sat watching by her bedside on the night before she died, "promise me one thing — promise me you will not leave the station after I am gone. I would like you to stay near Miss Mary ; of course the like of you could not be of much use to her, but still, lad, I think I should rest easier if I knew that someone belonging to me was near her."

And he had answered steadily, " I promise, mother." And now, poor fellow, he was realising the bitter hardness of his promise. And Mary, all unconscious of his love for her, was happily dreaming away the hot summer days in fond thoughts of young Hngta Burton, to whom, before the shearing was well nigh over, she was betrothed.

But even she, in tho weeks that followed, could not help noticing the altered manner of Charlie Bruce. No matter where she was, he always tried to avoid her, and when she did happen to meet him face to face, and he could not escape her kindly inquiries, he answered her with an abruptness that was almost rude.

" I cannot make out what Is wrong with Charlie," she remarked one morning at breakfast to Mr Stephens. "He has been so strange these few weeks back 1 "

"What is the matter with him?" her father asked. " I have not noticed any change in him — indesd I think he has been working even better than usual lately — he is one of the best hands I have."

" Well, I may be mistaken," Mary answered with a sigh ; " but he is not at all like what he used to be."

Bat though she tried to solve the problem of his strange behaviour her thoughts never for a moment hit upon the truth.

It was a bright day towards the end of March, and Mary had gone for a long ramble across the paddocks. She was feeling very light-hearted as she tripped along, and I doubt whether her thoughts were at all connected with station affairs, when she heard a rustle in a tall clump of flax bushes in front of her, and from them emerged the roughhaired sheep dog of Charlie Bruce. It wagged its tail and came forward to meet her as an old friend. Charlie was not in sight, but Mary well knew that if his dog was there, he could not be far distant. And she was not mistaken, for at the foot of a small hill in front of her she saw him standing unfastening a gate. His back was towards her, and so he was not aware of her presence nntil she was close upon him, but when she had almost reached him ; he heard her light footfall, and with a start he turned and raised his hat.

"Good morning, Charlie," she said pleasantly, raising her soft blue eyes to his. "Good morning, Miss Mary," he answered stiffly, as he held the gate open for her to pass through. A shade passed over her bright face, and she was going to leave him without another word, but she had taken but a few steps when she turned and came baok, and laying her hand on his coat eleeve, she said :

" Charlie, what Is the matter ? What have I done to offend you ? Believe me, whatever It is, I did not do it intentionally. lam as truly your friend now as I ever was."

How little she knew of the thrill that passed through that strong frame at the mere touch of her light fingers.

" I never doubted it," he answered hoarsely — " never 1 "

He stooped and gathered a few stalks of dry tussock, and crushing them nervously in his hand, he continued :

" You haven't done nothing to offend me, Miss Mary — never think that ! It's me that's to blame— I — I think I must be going mad I "

" Charlie, I cannot understand you," Mary exclaimed, gazing searchingly into his honest, homely tace; but his brown eyes were kept steadily fixed on the ground. He would not — dared not — meet her look.

" Your behaviour makes me very unhappy," she added gently. " Won't you tell me what is the matter ? "

But Charlie murmured, almost inaudibly, that he had " nothing to tell," and after a few moments of silent waiting she was forced to leave him, her bright f aca overclouded by his strange manner and her utter inability to solve the mystery.

And the young shepherd stood and watched her until her graceful, girlish figure was lost to view, and then, with none to behold him but his faithful dog and a lonely swamp hawk hovering overhead, he bowed his face ton the gate po3t and cried as he had never cried before in allthefour-anc?-twenty years of his life— cried for the very depth and loneliness of his hopeless love. A week passed away ; Charlie had carefully avoided any encounter with Mary. He could not bear to see that look of gentle reproach that her blue eyes had so often given him lately; and he was also afraid that his own eyes might betray him. Not for all the world would he have had her know of the great love he bore her. It was but a day or two before the day on which she was to marry Hugh Burton, and Mary looked very pretty as she stood in the dining room in her dark riding habit and little sailor hat. It was a clear, bright day, but so windy that no one but a good rider would have found any pleasure in facing it.

" Won't you find it rather windy, Mary ? " her father asked as he glanced doubtfully out of the window.

" Oh, no," laughed Mary, " the black mare and I know each other too well — it Is never too windy for us." Mr Stephens looked fondly at his bonny, golden-haired daughter as be answered ;

•• Weil, go r,ben, ;n*r, and, I need not add, enjoy yourself. Which way do you mean to go?"

" I thought I would go straight across the paddocks in front here, then round by the tussock paddock, and over the long Hat at the back of the house. I don't think I'll be labe getting home, but if I am, I will take the short cut through the bush."

She linked her arm lovingly in her father's, and together they descended the verandah Btep3 and walked along to the garden gate, where her black mare wa3 already waiting. Mr Stephens helpsd her to mount, and then stood watching her as she cantered gaily away, thinking it made no difference to her what sort of weather it was.

But the wind was stronger than she thought, and steadily increased In violence as she rode along, and when she reached the long flat it had risen almost to a gale.

"We have taken longer than W8 expected," she said as she stooped forward and patted her mare's neck. " I think we shall have to take tho short cut home."

So saying she turned, and with the wind now on her side, she entered the bush just as the bright sun was fast sinking towards the horizon.

She cantered easily on over the leaf -strewn track, and when she was about half-way through, a turning in the path revealed to her the figure of Charlie Bruce. He was coming along with an easy swinging stride, his collie following closely at his heals.

He had advanced a few yarda before he noticed her ; but the moment he did, he half turned, as though to enter the thick scrub, and so avoid her; then, with a fisrea shake, he pulled himself up, wavered for a second, and then came on steadily towards her.

They were within a few yards of each other now, when a loud noise, heard even above the rushing of the wind in the treetops, caused the young shepherd to turn a swift glance upward, and then — ah ! could he be in time to sava her ? With a great shout he sprang forward, and — yes, yes — he was just in time ! With a loud snort thß black mare stood suddenly still — so suddenly that she almost came down upon her haunches, then turned sharply, and sprang back several yards along the path. And as she did so, with a rending, crashing sound a huge black pine fell across thsir very track.

Mary buried her'face in her hands for a moment, and then, sitting bolt upright, she gazed along the path beyond that dark tree. There was not a sign of human life to be seen. And Charlie — where was he ? "Charlie! Charlie I" she called, but he did not answer. "Charlie l Charlie!" This time she heard a faint groan from the other Side of the tree.

Trembling in every limb, she slipped from her saddle, and, clambering over, stood upon the other side.

And there lay poor Charlie, crushed to the ground beneath the weight of that mighty tree. She put out all her strength and tried to raise it. All in vain. Oh, it was pitiful to feel so weak. Her only hope was in getting help. She thought he was unconscious, but as she turned to speed away he opened his brown eyes, and said piteously : " Don't leave me ; don't leave me 1 " In an instant she was by his side. " I am going for help." Her voice trembled as she looked at the poor faoe at her feet. "Don't leave me," he reiterated slowly; " I can't last many minutes — I'll be gone — before they could get here." " Oh, Charlie, Charlie, my poor boy 1 " With a sob Mary fell on her kneea beside him, a wild sorrow in her heart; stooped and caressed the dark locks already clinging to the damp brow. His eyes had closed again, bnt after a moment or two he opened them and fixed them on har, saying : " I'm willin' to go." Ha spoke with difficulty, his breath coming in thick, heavy gasps. " I'm rare glad to die— for you — Miss Mary for— God help me I—lI — I love you with — my whole soul 1 " " Oh, Charlie, Charlie ! " Mary's grief was pitiful to see ; she bent over that poor, crushed form and kissed Lim again and again. What a look shone in those dark eyes for a moment I Then the eyelids drooped and quivered for an instant, while a convulsive shudder passed over his strong frame.

And then all was over.

" Charlie, dear Charlie, speak to me once again 1 " Mary sobbeel, but he heard her not. His faithful dog with a low whine crawled on to the skirt of her habit, and crouchiag there licked his master's face and neck and hair.

Again Mary called, but she got no answer, save the moaning of the wind in the trees. Charlie Bruca would never speak again. It was but lifeless clay she held so t9nderly to her breast.

More than a year has passed away. Two riders have stopped their horses at the little white gate of the quiet cemetery, far away on the very outskirts of the small township.

Hugh Barton springs to the ground, and then, holding out his arms, help? his youtjg wife to dismount. He drew Mary's hand through his arm, and together they Eilently enf er.

On the far side, beneath a single waving cabbage tree, is a modest grave, the soft, warm sunshine falling gently on the emerald grass and lowly flowers th<it cover it. They stay their steps by it, and Mary, with moist eye?, stoopa and gathers a fewsweet-scented purple violets that have opened their tiny buds as a fair promise of the coming spring.

"Poor Charlie I" she whispers — "poor, poor Charlie 1 " " Why poor ? " says her husband gently. " Surely he is far happier now than he could be here, Mary, dear ? It is better thus — for his own sake."

And I think he is right. Sorely that great, loving heart is now at rest, and I do not think Charlie Bruce will be forgotten for his faithful endeavour to do his duty in his humble life— and noble death.

— Eddie : " And did Santa Claus really bring that big rocking-horse down the chimney 1 " Mamma : " I suppose so, Eddie. That's what they say." Eddie (eyeing the chimney) : " Good gracious I mamma. How \t must have grown since it came down I