SHORT STORIES. JESSIE.

Otago Witness, Issue 1851, 29 January 1902, Page 74

SHORT STORIES. JESSIE.

By leexe Ingram. I.

(For the Witness.)

, It was one of those long, narrow, drearylooking country schools that might have been easily mistaken for a barn were it not for the staring, lidless windows. At the back was a lean-to attached, which was jttsed as a "teacher's residence." Inside the school proper a young 1 girl fka,s writing at the teacher's desk. She 'glanced at the clock, laid down her pen, and rose. Not a child in the rcom but knew it was home-time before she. ■' " One ! " she said, in bell-like tones, not loud, but distinct. All work ceased instantly. "Two!" — books, slates, etc., were neatly away in the desks. "Three !" > — the children rose and stood at attention. j" Bight .turn! Forward! Girls' division first ! " and a minute later the children were jracing, romping, and hallooing outside, and the teacher was left alone. ' ' " Another day done," she said aloud. " I Render how long this suffocating heat will last. Oh, this horrid, endless study ! 'As Boon as school is over another day's ■work Ah, well! I'm going to read the paper to-night, and risk a lecture from Mr Solemnity."

She took up the " weekly " that lay un.bpened, tore the wrapper off, and turned the pages over lazily. Presently she became animated, and leaned closer over the paper. i "Tom's story! ' she s^a ; d. "He told me to look out for it, but I hardly thought it could be out so soon."

When she had read a few lines a puzzled fexpression began to creep over her face. .Was it fancy, or had she read it all before? Her eye ran hurriedly along the lines, and ere the first chapter was finished a deep flush tinged her cheeks, and then left her Jwith bloodless face and glowinc eyes.

She was " the heroine ! She, and no tother! The locality was changed, but the £ r ords of the heroine were her own ; and ow her charms were set forth ! " I never knew I was half so pleasing," she said merrily. " What it is to have an author jxn" a friend ! "

She read on more slowly now foi- half an )iour, and then laid down the paper. But the look of nieriiment had given way to another look in her dark eyes — one they ihad never known befoie.

" And he loves me ! " she whi&pered. "Of course he does. What a stupid I've been not to see it before. That's why lie told me to watch for his story, and why he Kent that note." She read again a note that had been brought her that day by one of her pupils, a younger sister of Tom's. It ran:

" Dear Jessie, — Am sending the Times. Can you spare an hour to come for a stroll this evening? I have something of importance to say to you. Will call for you at 7 o'clock. — Yours, Tom."

" Poor old Tom ! " she mused. " I never thought of that. I thought when my hero came that his blue eyes would bewitch me, | and — but Tom has blue eyes, and I'm sure 1 would not lose dear, clever, stupid old j ■Horn for the blackest moustache and the ' finest castle in. the world." The opening of the " house " door aroused her. She closed the paper hastily, and pushed it away, as a slim, lady-like, middle-aged woman came in bearing a tray with afternoon tea. The same dark eyes, waving ' brown hair, and delicate but proud features proclaimed them mother and daughter. ! "And what is my daughter doing?' asked j the elder lady, setting down the tiav. "Is it Latin?"

"No, mother! It's mathemathics night, tut I'm too tired even for that, so have bc-en reading the paper."

" You are fatigued, my dear. You look pale," replied the mother. " Take some tea, and then get your hat and come for % stroll alongv'the bush track. Your lesson ran wait till our return."

Ten minutes later the two were in the bush, with the same graceful tread and immovable faces, but with what different emotions! Mrs Brown calm'y happy to be with her idol, the child for wlv m she had worked and lived all through her long Jridowhood. Jessie had passed hei teacher's ' exani," and now had work at last. And they were together — nothing should part them now. No more sitting until midnight over needlework ; Jessie would not near of it. There was nothing left in life for her to hope for.

And Jessie?

She had forgotten her mother in the exdtement of her discovery — perhaps for the first time in her life. But as soon as the frail figure and prematurely worn face came Into the schoolroom and the work-worn hands set down the tray, she remembered bhe self-denial, the solitude, and the claims of her parent. She noticed then, for the )rrst time, how many silver streaks there jfcrere in the rich brown hair, how deep the lines were becoming on the face she loved 1o well — better even than Tom's.

And, yet, if mother came too!

For a moment the vision grew bright of A cosy cottage with the loved form in an easy chair at the window. On the sill Blood a bowl of violets — mother's favourite Bowers, — and beside it lay the worn old copy of Milton's poems and the large-type Bible. A younger form sat on a hassock %t her feetj and up the path came Tom, Whistling. "I think, daugher, we'll turn back now.

I feel tired."

The vision faded. In a moment she re- i membered her mother's proud nature. It had seemed a matter of course before ; but ' row it rose, an impassable barrier, between her and her dearest hopes. She knew that fragile, gentle creature beside Ker had a will which was only excelled by her independent pride— that she would ac- '

cept aid from no one except her daughter ; neither would she stand in her child's way of happiness if she understood.

For a few moments only nature wrestled with fate. The two ruling passions of her life stood opposed — the love she bore her mother against that new-born, mysterious passion which had come so suddenly into her life, and refused to be sent away. A scene of the past flitted before her. She had been tossing for days on the restless sea of delirium, when it seemed as though fairy winds had wafted her from that hideous land of horrors to her own home. She saw again the clock on the mantel — the hands showed the hour of midnight. She saw the white dimity hangings, the little table, with wine, and medicine, and fresh flowers, and she was once more dimly conscious of the kneeling form of her mother, and heard again that agonised appeal that had roused her to consciousness —

"My God, spare me my one ewe lamb!"'

Once more she put out her hand and stroked that bowed head, and mode answer — " Mumsy, I'm better now. I won't leave you, ever."

Did that promise bind her now?

I She remembered how her mother bad scarcely slept for three long weeks, ana how, whenever she opened her eyes, that frail form was bending over the intermin- ' able sewing, and she knew now that that wearying labour was the price of those choice jellies and wines and fruit that had brought her back to life. Was her promise binding?

Another vanishing scene rose before her. The same graceful form bent over the midnight toil, but it was thinner now, and the queenly head was crowned with silver instea'l of gold. In the room was no whit«j cot, and a single cup stood on the supper tray. She could bear this maddening thought no longer. " God of strength," she cried dumbly, " give me grace never to betray by word or sign this hour of agony !" And aloud : "You are quiet, mamma?"' "Am I, darling? I think I was too happy for speech. I was thinking of the promise —'At evening time, it shall be light.' How true God's promises are! This is the gloaming time, after my day's toil, before the eternal night falls on me, and all Nature reflects my soul's deep peace." " But, mother, that night is surely a long way off. You are not yet 50." " May be, my child ; yet a winter's day is the shortest, and my life has not been veir full of sunshine and roses."

They had reached home bj- this time, and as Jessie unlocked the door she wondered vaguely how long they had been absent. Was it hours? It seemed more like years! She looked at the school clock. Just 45 minutes ; and yet she had lived more in that short time than in all her life before.

Mrs Brown went through to their apartments at once, ond Je«sie took up her book and commenced her work. Presently she gave a harsh little laugh. "What a sentimental silly I am," site said. "Perhaps Tom doesn't care at all. What a stupid whim for me to take !'' But her heart answered her not.

Three months have passed away — three eventful months in the life of Jessie Brown. The examination had come and gone. She had passed with honours, but the fact brought her no joy. On the night that we last left her with her books Tom had come, and found her still at work. He had begged a walk, but she refused on the plea of being too busy. The paper containing his story still lay on the desk, and he asked her if she had read it. She answered in the affirmative, but in a voice so metallic and hard that he had felt it a rebuff, and he ventured no further comment.

He soon took his departure, and left hor to her work, arguing that she wa.s tired (she certainly looked ill) ; but each successive visit only served to widen the distance between them, and now he had gone away. Travelling in the interests of his work, he said, -but no one knew where except his sister, and Jessie forbore to ask any questions.

At last her sentitive nature had given way beneath the combined strain of heart and brain, and this afternoon a strange teacher heard the recitations from her numerous classes, and gave the welcome commands which released them for a time fom the uncongenial confinement.

In the adjoining apartment Mrs Brown had battled all day with brdin fever — cooling the throbbing brow with ice and soothing the delirious ravings. She gave a sigh of relief as she heard the children file out of the schoolroom, and soon after had the joy of seeing her patient fall into a calm dieamless sleep. The blessed sleep that had not vibited that room for nearly a fortnight.

About midnight Jessie opened her eyes. " Mother !" In an instant Mrs Brown wa- at hei side. "Have I been ill?'' ''Yes, daughtei ; but you aie bettei now, and aie not to talk." " I don't think I want to get better,' she said wearily.

For a moment Mis Brown's face twitched,, and then she said, in a voice that essayed to be cheerful, but whxh Jessie hardly recognised — "You mu»t live for my sake, doilmg. I cannot do without you now."

Jessie's face changed ins.taiitly. That appeal had cleared all the self-pity from her soul, and selflessness would henceforth be the rule of her life. She put out hei hand, as she had done so long befote, and stroked the bowed head reverently. The utter nobleness of her mother's life appealed to her as it had never done before, and a new ambition sprang up in her fcoul to live by that grand pattern. For a few moments both were siknt, and then Jessie sa.d gently :

"Forgive me. mother! I think I'm we-ik. It weie well worth ten live? to have «uch a mother as mine. Yes, I'll get better; but you must re«t now. How worn you look, and your kk Lg £uite wiuisl Lie

down now. I don"t require any more watching — only sleep." In a week or two the doctor ordered both mother and daughter to the seaside. Mrs Brown required complete rest and change after her long vigil, and Jessie needed the invigorating sea breezes to give her strength. As they had friends at the seaside, and the Education Board had continued to pay Jessie's salary, they were enabled to take the holiday. At first Jessie was driven in a pony car1 riage for an hcur or two each day. then she walked to the beach with tottering steps ar 'd her mother's arm for support, and after that she improved rapidly. The two were more inseparable than ever, and might be seen wandering like children any hour of the day ; but as Jessie gained her hold on life Mrs Brown lost it. When they returned home after two months' stay it was Jessie who walked with firm tread and drew the tired, transparent hand of her mother through her j arm as they went up the short village ' street together. Poor Jessie! her sun hnd set, and for a time her nature had missed its bright beam«. Then her darkening sky caught the warm rays of the past, and beautified her life with the hallowed afterglow ot | lielflejss affection, and in its tender light I her mother's devoted love shone bright and I clear as silveiy calm-eyed Hesper. Now | it, too, was stealing, slowly stealing, to- ' wards the hoiizon. Patience, my young friend ! Patience in the chill shadows of the still, approaching night. The morrow will biiug another sunrise. ] i irr i Six fleet-footed months have sped by, > and the evening star is very near the hori- , zon now. Mrs Brown is confined to her bed, fiid this afternoon Jessie is sitting bes.de | her reiding. Presently she becomes aware , I that her mother is asleep by the regular ; bieathing that leaches her ear. She closes ! the book and crosses to the window to draw the blind*. How beautiful the spring afternoon is. There is a scent of violets i in the air from the strip oi garden below the window. What do they remind her | of? Was it last spring that she used to ! gather them for the table because mother i and Tom liked them? I Tom! Where was he, she wondered? How cruelly she had treated him. Would ' it not have been better to have explained i matters? Lately she had well nigh for- ' gotten him in the gieat impending grief | that was looming t~o dark before her ; bub I to-day he seemed strangely near. She al- : most expected him to come strolling up ! the path as of old. And what did this I other new feeling mean? The dread event i seemed no further off — no less ominous, — J yet she had a sense of calm and strength j she had never known before. ! The meaning cf a verse she had read to I her mother in the happy past came to her : " Iron entered into his soul." It had been meaningless to her then — now it came like | a revelation. The striking of the school clock roused her. Five clear strokes ; and immediately her mother's voice caHed fiom the bed. She crossed the room quickly. " Call the nurse, darling, and go for a walk. It is a fortnight since you were out." Jessie demurred ; but, used to obedience, gavft way, resolved, however, to stay no longer than the half-hour she had promised. As she went down the village street she heard the 5.10 train whistle as it steamed toward the station. As Jessie stopped in the tiny passage half an hour later to remove her hat she heard voices in her mother's room. '" The minister," she thought, and was about to turn into the kitchen when Tom stepped into the passage. She was scarcely surprised —^uch was the tension of her nerves and the strange calm that possessed her. "So you have come!" &he said quietly. " Yes," he replied. " Your mother has told me all." Jessie started. " But she did not know !" she said. " I never told her." " Not intentionally, but you were delirious when you were ill. She saw how it was, for she had read my story, and wrote me at once. I was tiavelling, and her letter followed me from place to place. As Poon as I got it I wired my sister to teH her I was returning at once. You won't '•end me away again ? " " No. Tom ; I need you now." Both were silent for a minute, then Jessie «aid : "My mother! Did you leave her alone? We mu^t go to her." They fi/uiul her propped vi) with pillows as Turn bad left her. watching the sunset thiough the open window. Her face looked gi ey and strange, but over it was cast a softened light that might have been a reflection of the now glowing western cky. The eternal night was casting its long, long shadow over her, but there was light at eventide. She smiled radiantly as Jessie and Tom approached her, and gave a hand to each. Iv a few minutes she fell into one of those strange, sudden doze& that had overtaken her the last few days. Suddenly her clasp tightened, and her breath came in shoit gasps. Then the gasping ceased, and her hold relaxed on her child's hand for the last time. Jessie knelt beside the bed, motionles 5 , and Tom stole out of the room. The nurse came in some 20 minutes later, and found her still kneeling. The kindly soul persuaded her to take some refreshment and rest. Jessie rose and walked mechanically to the window. The evening star was just setting. Tom is now a famous author, and Jessie is the happy mother of a bi own-eyed lassie and a blue-eyed boy, hke his father ; but beneath the happy treble of her life there luns a minor chord of gentleness, tenderness, and calm strength. All who aie in tumble flock instinctively to her side, and never does her own pleasure interfere with her duty to those who have no claim on her but the common one of humanity, called forth bj- weakness, sorrgyy-j or need, <