Chapter 111.

Otago Witness, Issue 2181, 19 December 1895, Page 22

Chapter 111.

" Oi.ly a week till Christmas," thought Vera, as she wandered back to the farmhouse one night^after her usnal visit to her favourite spot. This time ebe chose the open field leading up to the back of the house, for to-night the* forest eeeined dark and gloomy, while the field was so bright and warm. " When I came here two months ago I thought that the time would never paes, and now to think that this day week will be Christmas. Sometimes I fancy that Andrew's father and mother begin to feel more kindly towards me. I almost thought I saw a shade of pity on his father's face when I got no letter from Ac drew. Bat they are not people of many words, and I must not expect too much. Ob, if Andrew's letters, loving and tender as they are, would only bring some news of success, how it would help me throogh. I believe it won't be long now. I wish I were home. I did not think that this paddock was so rough, and that it was such a r,oundfcbout way. I wish I had gone through the orchard." Jußt as she reached the little wicket gate she unexpectedly met Mrs Hawortb, who had been, said she, "Just feedin' the hens," but who, in reality, had been waiting with some anxiety for Vera's return. There was no time to brush aside tbe tell-tale tears, and the weary smile could not hide the look of despondency on her young face. It touched the mother's heart, and she said with some kindness : "Hoo iired you look, my eirl. You mauna gang sac far, I'm tbinkin'. You should gang awa T till your bed after tea. Would ye tak' a nice fresh egg or a wee bit o' toast or anything ? " Her kindneeß fairiy burst the floodgates of Vera's pent-up heart; she threw her arms around her neck and sobbed. " Hcote 1 lassie, ye mauna tak 1 on like this. Ye're no very weel, but a. sleep will pit ye *' richt. Dinna be greetin' here. Look, yonner'o the men comin' name." Vera could find no rep'y, but checked herself and followed Mra Haworth into the home. She did not wait for tea, but went immediately to bed. Next mornirg a telegram was s<mb to Mrs Aunan, an experienced nurse of culture and r< fioecnent. Sue was a widow with one grown-up »on. It was her very kind-hearted philanihropy that had prompted her to go through a regular course of »tudy at Edinburgh. She withed not only to be independent of other aid, but also to be able to relieve many a Bnfferer and brighten many a sick-room. The Haworthß knew her well by reputation, and had decided to Bend all the way to Dunedin for her, for, truth to tell, they were beginning to' soften to the girl, who at anyrate was "aye sensible and quiet like. That night when Mrs Haworth and her daughter had finished arranging the last sow of glittering dishes, had lit the lamp and drawn the blind*, the farnwr looked up from the Witnesp, which he had been eny-yicg for the last hour, and said as be laid down his pipe : "If yell wt dowp, wife, I'll read you something that will dae your heart gude," Upsing into his native dialect. "Just run upstair*, Betny, and see bow she is noo, and then I'll feel settled like, John." Betsy returned to say that Vera was asleep and seemed all right. " That's gude," said Haworth kindly. " Weel now, sit doon and I'll begin. MaD, I wadna miss the Ofcigo Witness for twice the money. Why, bless me, vfomaß, you can get anything out of it — a 1 aboot your bens and pJgs and coos aud oorps and garder. sermons for Sunday, and a perfect leebrary of rending forbye." '• Ay, it's a gude paper," chimed in Mrs Haworth ; " one needna' want for a dictionary when it's aboot. It's aye the Witness I gaDg till when I want to Bee beo to spel)." " Weel I'll begin. It's a story o' a laddie -who was brocht up where I came fiar, aear Kilmarnock. I warrant y8 it's a scholar from they parts that's written it. Man, it's as gude as a rin back to the auld place to read a' aboot the lasse wi' their heuk°, and the flails, and the brose, and the thatohtd hoose itsel' wi' its wee bit burcie limpin' by. But I maun read it tae yoa." " I wi6h you would then," srM his wife impatiently. " Weel, it's tbe first priz j s'oiy, and richtly tae, for I am sure that none o1o 1 the others wad be anything like it. Bub noo for the story," he aaid, readjusting his glasse^and mqging the lamp. When he had finished he said with some emphasis, "Man, I wad give a £5 note to shake hands wi' the man that wrote that story and kenß sac much about my very birthplace that \ bavena' seen these 30 years." Mrs Haworth wiped her eyes, and Betsy wondered why they had ever left the laßd they tvidently loved so much, if their home had been half so romantic as that. Kilmarnock laddie's. In one of Vera'B fiiful sleeps she dreamed that her own mother was bendIng over her, and soothing her to rest with her gentle hand. She opened her eyes — some one was there, holding her hand and smiling, ob, so tenderly I It was the nurse. Seeing her sitting there so composedly with her soft drees and warm slippers, one would hardly have believed that she had travelled that day from Dunedin. Vera raised her head and looked about her. Already the room had a homelier look, a fire burned in the grate, a BOf tly-shaded lamp stood on a little table, and several other touches had been made to give the room an air of comfort. Vera did not know by whom, but guested that the calm, sweet-faced lady had something to do with it. Vera had heard of Mrs Aunan, and as she watched her moving about the room bo familiarly, and as she felt the soothing influence of her little attentions, she felt as safe and happy as a child in her mother's arms. Mrs Aunan was not long in the house before she heard all Vera's history, and her heart went out to the lonely girl. " Keep a good beatt, child," she said next day when she noticed a look or despondency on Vera's face. " Look, I've brought you some roEes and lilies, and here is a blackbird at your window offering to sing you bis sweetest song. Why, Andrew would break his heart to see your lovely blue . eyes dimmed with tears," she said, as confidingly as if she had known tbe two all her days. "Lie still and think about all you'll have to tell him when he comes, while I go and get you some breakfast." All this time she was spreading out before the fire with wondrous care the Choicest robes and garments she had been able to find in all Vera's beautiful Collection. A thrill of hope, and joy passed over Vera's face. Mrs Aunan noticed the effect and was satisfied. When Vera was again quietly settled for the night, Mrs Aunan went Sown to the kitchen to have a talk with the farmer and his wife. A chat with a frank, intelligent woman like Mrs Aunan was indeed a pleasant change to Mr and Mrs Haworth, who had spent so many years more than 30 miles distant from even so small a town as Aehburton. She seemed to bring Into their quiet home the very life and bustle of the Dunedin atmosphere. On the other band, Mrs Aunan enjoyed the change quite as much. Haworth was an intelligent man with decided opinions of his own, which he was not slow to express with some vigour as well as originality. One subject after another was discussed, politics among the rest— and even pro*

hibition came in for its share. At last a remark made by Mrs Haworth turned the subject to Ve;a, and through her to women in general. " She's a delicate flower yon, I'm afiaid," said Mrs Aunan in answer to Mrs Haworth's remark. "I'll be thankful to see her well again." " Now, Mrs Aunan, I would just like to a^k you a straight question," said Mr Haworth. •' Do you think it conscientious for girls like Vera to marry at all 1 " " I hardly understand your question." " Is it right for such women to marry — women who know absolutely nothing of the workaday world — who have learned nothing all their lives but 'ologies and science — who play, and Birjg, and paint, and write poetry, and live half their time in tbe ekiop, and when Nature's trying time comes they are no more fit to stand it than a out glass tumbler can stand boiling water ? " "I see what you mean," said Mra Annan. " Now, if Vera had been a fine sonsie lassie that could take her turn at the chaffcutter she wouldn't have given you a thought now, forbye being a help to a poor man." Haworth was like a good many farmers — well-to-do — and consequently could afford to talk a lot about his poverty. " You know, Mrs Aunan," he continued, not waiting for an answer to his question, "we were not at all well pleased at the choice Andrew made ; we thought a good country lassie would have suited him a deal better." " But you'll agree with me, Mr Haworth, that there are other and greater matters to be considered in selecting those who have to fulfil the high office of motherhood. While I would be the very last to undervalue physical training, I also set a very high value on mental and spiritual training. You know," she went on waTmly, "man,- who waß created for all ages, who was stamped in the image of God himself — for whom the very powers of the universe were created — must not be content wilh the supply of mere physical needs 1 " " Ay, ay," said Haworth restlessly. " I suppose yon are like all the rest of the f whionabje women nowadays, you set a high price on book-learnin' ; but I'll just tell you in plain words that I have no patience with all this hnmbug about 'advanced women.' Give me a decent, quiet, sensible lass that can cook a potato and mend a coat and I wouldn't exchange her for all the 'new women f m Duuedin or anywhere else." | " I'm sorry to bear, Mr Haworth, that Vera is not the girl you would have chosen for your son ; I thought you would have been real proud of her. I must say that lam quite attached to her already ; she seems a most superior girl— l only wish that iay"boy could fall in with just such another. Bat they are few and far between, I assure you, and although she certainly possesses a very highly-strung nervous temperament, I do not think that she is physically weak or in bad health. The poor child seema to be suffering from some suppressed Borrow which is too much for her. I hope you did not let her feel in any way that she was not the girl accordirg to your own heait, for evidently she is the girl according to your son's heart, and that is ihe thing. He must be a sensible lad, that son of yours, Mrs Haworth, judging from his choice of a wife." (Samehow the compliment was not appreciated.) " But oave you, Mr Hawortb, evtr really looked into this woman quotation 1 " she said, trying to draw the farmer out. " Has it ever occurred to you why we women have grown dissatisfied with our workaday lot, a»you put it?" " Well," said Haworth, " I can't say that I have thought much abouh it, bnt I have jast always put it down to the superfluous nonsense and book leamln' that's crammed into girls' heads at school, and sometimes to the big notions their mothers have for them." " 'Dded, if I hadn't put my foot down even my wife there, sensible body as she if, would have had our Batsy at school yet, instead of doing useful work at home. But all the same, I'm real sorry to see so many girls grow up to be such useless creatures. The women of the day seem to have gone mad altogether." " But, Mr Haworth," interrupted Mrs Aunan, *" you must look at the matter from a woman's standpoint as well as frem your own before you can pass unbiassed judgment." •' Well," he said good-humouredly, " leb us hear your opinion on the matter, Mrs Aunan." " Oh, ifc is a big question, and I don't pretend to solve it ; but if you'll just wait a minute I'll run upstairs and have a look at Vara, and then I'll give you an idea of how some Dunodin women look at the matter." ",Put on a log or two more, Betey," said Hawortb, when she was gone. "Ye're no going to stay up past 9, are ye?" objected Mra Hawortb. ' " Ob, it's a kind of special night this ; put on a wee bit more, Batsy, anyway." In a minute Mrs Aunan returned with a paper in her band. "There was a social lately in Dunodin," she explained, "and it was arranged that the ladies should take complete charge of the intellectual part of the programme, carrying it out entirely among themselves, while the gentleman on the other hand took full charge of the tables, providing everything, making tea and serving it out. I have a copy here of a paper that was read there. It's not very lonjs, and if you feel interested I'll read it to you, as it bears on what we were just discussiDg." " Yes, do. I would like to hear what they have got to say for themselves." "Very good," said Mrs Aunan, and read as follows :—: — "Gentlemen, — I cannot but wonder what our grandmothers would have thought could they have witnessed our arrangements for to-night. I'm afraid they wonld have felt something like the reputed clergyman -who, observing with diamay the bride's masculine attire, thus addressed the bridegroom :— • Will you take this — cr — man or woman, as the case may be, for your lawful wedded wife? — and may the Lord have mercy on your soul!' Nevertheless, regardless of what their opinions might be, here we are on the platform, and monarch of all we survey. S?, ladie?, let us make hay while the sun shines ; this is too good an opportunity to be lost. Aud now, oh ye lords of creation 1 hovr^Toed it all come about that wo are here on the platform, and you are there muddling away with the tea caps 7 And, mark you, this change is not merely an airy fancy to diversify to-night's programme. No ; it extends further — it is a great, real, living, active change, that is shaking tho very foundations of our social system. What, then, I ask, is the moving force of this great change? How is it that we are straining every nerve — snatching every moment: — devouring every book and prosecuting every study that will fit us to fill positions in which man has hitherto ruled supreme ? How is it that we have grown tired of tbe four square walls hitherto called home?— grown tivdd of our darning, mending, patching, cookiug, sweeping, dusting, washing, rockisg, hushing, soothing, nursing? — grown tired of the thousand things that filled our mothers' lives? Why have we burst our prison birs and, setting tbe laws of God and man at defiance, are rusbirg pellmell into the public arena of human competition 1 Friends 1 evbrr rising has its cause; what, then, is the cause of this great revolution ? Labourers and unionists will understand us whea we tell them that is is a strike. Yes, a world-wide strike. ' Shorter hoars and fairer wages,' we cry. Look at us ; we work from morning till night — ay, and from night till morning, and what do we get? After the humiliation of begging, after the most unjust criticism of all our household manpgiment, we barely succeed in drawing from sour reluctant pockets enough money to feed and clothe your children. And what children 1 God pity them 1 Too often the victims oE dissipation and undisciplined passion — too often poor, unwelcome littla stranger?, dragged up in sin and misery, physically and mentally crippled, until God himself can hardly read on them bis own inscription. Ah 1 men and brothers, if our homes were homes indeed ; if our children were the healthy, happy, holy ones that God would eeo ; if our labours were labours of love and reverence, who amoDg us would resign our queenship for the heaving turmoil of public life ? Would you again, my brothers, restore woman to her natural sphere 7 Then do your part. Would you have her love htr home ? Bdghten and beautify that home to the best of your ability. Would you have her cherish her children ? In God's name obey His pure and holy laws, that you abase not your mighty power. Would you have your children obey their parents, and so obey thje laws of man ? Teach them to reverence and obey the God who made you. Would you have them obey His holy laws 1 Tnen practise them in your daily lives. Ah 1 Could we once again have such homes — such Bethanys, where the beauty of holiness i« a continual guest ; could we have such God-fearing husbands, such beautiful and healthy children, then the ambition of the 'advanced woman ' would ba to have it truth fully said of her that ' the heart of her husbaud doth safely trust in her. She doelb. him good and not evil all the days of her life. She stretcheth out her hand to the poor and needy. She is not afraid of tbe snow, for her household are clothed with scarlet. Strength and honour are her clothing. She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of. idleness. He children rise up and call her blessed — her husband also, and he praiseth her.' " There was a dead silence. The fire alone sparkled and crackled applause. Ha worth's pipe had gone out. After a rniuute's pause Mrs Aunan jumped up and said : "I am forgetting my patient. I'll say ' Gjod-nJght.' It's too bad keeping you good people Tip so long," and retired. The farmer and his wife sat still lookirjg into the fire. At last Haworth said, rising : " She's a Tartar ; I'll wag6r you it's her own paper 1 "