THE NOVELIST. [All Rights Reserved.] THE TALE OF - TIMBER TOWN.

Otago Witness, Issue 2650, 28 December 1904, Page 63

THE NOVELIST. [All Rights Reserved.] THE TALE OF - - TIMBER TOWN.

By A. A. GIi ACM, Author of " Talcs of a Dying Race " (Chatto & Windus) : " Maoriland Stories," etc.

CHAPTER III.— THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. She came oxil of a creeper-covered house into a garden of roses, and stood with 'her hand' on a green garden-seat, herself a rosebud bursting ii;to perfection. Below her were gravelled walks and terraced flower-beds, cut out of the hillside on which the quaint, gabled house stood; her fragrant small domain, carefully secreted behind a tall, clipped hedge, over the top of which she could see from where she stood the long sweep of the road which led down to the port of Timber Town. She was dressed in a plain, blue cotton skirt; her not over tall figuie swelling rlumply beneath their starched folds. Her bair was of a nondescript brown, beautified by a glint of gold, so that her uncovered head looked bright in the sunlight. Her face was such as may be seen, any day in the villages which nestle beneath the Sussex Down, under whose shadow she was born ; her forehead was broad and white, her eyes blue, her cheeks the colour of the blush loses in her garden; her mouth small, with lips coloured pink like a shell on the beacb. As she stood gazing down the road, shading her eyes with her little hand, and displaying the roundness and whiteness of her arm to the inquisitive eyes of tho flowers, a girl on horseback drew up at the gate und colled "Cooee!" Sho was tall and brown, dressed in a blue riding-habit, and in her hand slie carried a light silver-mounted whip. She jumped lightly from the saddle, opened the gate, and led her horse up the drive. The fair girl ran down the path and met her near the tethering-post, which stood under a tall bank. "Amiria. I am glad to see jou!" "But think of all I have to tell you." The brown girl's intonation was deep, and she pronoiuK-od every syllable richly. "We don't have a wreck every day to talk about." "Come inside and have some lunch. You mu&t be fami&binjg after your love ridcv '

"Oh, no, T'm n-oi lmngiy. Teiiica; by-and-bye." The horse was tied up securely., ii/ici the gills a contrast of blonde and brunette, walked up the garden path arm-in-arm. • "I have heard such things about you." said the fair girl. '.'But you should see him, my dear," said the brown. "Yon would have risked I a good deal to save such a man if you had been there — toll, strong, struggling in the s.pa, and so helpless." "You are biave, Amiria. It's nonsense to pretend you don't know it. All the town is talking about you." The white face looked at the brown mischievously. "And now that, you have got him, nty clear, keep him,"' Amiria' s laugh rang- through the garden. "There is no hope for me if you are about, Miss Rose Summerhayes," she said. "But " wasn't it perfectly awful? We heard you were drowned yourself." '•Nonsense ; I got wet, but that was all. Of course, if I were weak or a bad swimmer, then there would have been no ' hope. But I know every rock, every chani U.Bl, where the sea breaks its force., ard where it is strongest. There waf< no danger." "How many men?'' "Twenty : nine, and 4uij one drowned snakes thirty." "And which is the particular one. vow treasure trove? Of course, he will marry you as soon as the water is out of his ears, and make you h.tppy ever afterwards " . Amiria laughed again. "First, he is handsome; next, he is v. racgatira, well-born, a:: my husband ought to be. I really don'tknow his name. Can't you sruess "that is what I have come to find "out"" "You goose. You've eoine to u»burd=n yourself. You were just dying i.o tell me the story." They had paused on the verar.iUh. they sat on a wooden seat in the sha:!<?. "Anyway the wreck is bettor for th« Maori than a sitting of the Land . Court-— i here ! The shore is covered with boxes and bales and all manner of things. There are readymade clothes for everyone in the r>a, boots, tea, tobacco, sugar, everything that the people want— Kill strewn along the beach. The Customs officers get some, but j the Maori gets most. I've brought you a memento. " She put her hand into the pocket of her riding habit and drew out a little packet. "That is for you — a souvenir of the wreck." "Isn't it rather like stealing, to take what really belongs to other people?" "Rubbish ! Open it and see for yourself," said Amiria. smiling. Rose undid the packet's covering, and disclosed^ a black, leather-covered case, much the worse for wear. "It isn't injured by the water — it was in a tin-lined box," said the Maori girl. "It opens like a card-case." Rose opened the little receptacle,* which • divided in the middle, and there lay exposed a miniature portrait framed in oxidised sil- -■ ver. The portrait represented a beautiful woman, yellow -haired, with blue eyes and a bright colour on her cheeks, lips which showed indulgence in every curve, and a ■ snow-white neck, around which was clasped - a string of red coral beads. Rose fixed her eyes on the picture. "Why do you give me this?" she asked. "Who is it?" Amiria turned the miniature over. . Onits back was written, "Annabel Summerhayes." Rose turned slightly pale as she read the name, and her breath caught in her throat. "This mu-st be my mother," she said quietly. "When she died I was too young to remember her." Both "iris looked at the portrait : the brown face close to the fair, the black hair touching the brown. __ "She must have been very good," said Amiria; "look how kind she is." Rose was silent. "Isn't that a nice memento of the wreck," continued the Maori girl. "But, anyhow, yon would have received it, for the Collector of Customs has the packing-case in which n was found. However, I thought you would like to get it as soon as nossible." "How kind you are," said Rose, as she kissed Amiria. "This is the only picture of my mother I have seen. I never knew what she was like. This is a perfect revelation to me." The tears were in her voice as well as in her eyes, and her lip trembled. Softly one brown hand stole into her white one, and another lr-own hand stole round her waist, and she* felt Amiria's warm lips on her cheek. The two girTs had been playmates as children ; they had been at school together, and had always shared each other's confidences, but this matter of Annabel Summerhayes was one which her father had forbidden Rose to mention ; and around the memory of her mother there had grown a mystery which the girl of herseL was unable* to fathom. "Now that this has occurred, there is r.o harm in disobeying my father," she said. He told me never to speak of my m<A*>«v to him or anyone else, but when you pive me her picture it would be stupid to ke*\ silence. She looks good, doesn't afea Amiria? I think she was good ; but >'^ father destroyed everything belongi«g U her ; he even took tho trouble to cliMig* t,xy name frcm Annabel to Rose — thai- ww> a&ei we arrived here and I was i.hre<? y^ats old. I do net possess a single thing Uat vrss hers except this picture ; an r l evc-.\ trial '1 must hide, for fear my father &hoi<M clcstsoy it. Come, we will go in." They passed along the th^Ay ssvandah, and entered the house. Iv, joo-'ns »'«ra dark and cool, and prett !'..,-, if humbly, furnished. Rose took Amiri-i aJoi'g a winding passage, up a somewhat nsrxv/w nighf, of stairs, and into a bedroom which was in one of the many gables of the wooden liou.se. The Maori girl took oft* her hat and) gloves, and Rose, drawing a bunch of keys from hep pocket, opened a workbox which stood om the dressing table, and in it she hid the • miniature of her mother. Then sha turned and confronted Amiria. The dai'k girl's black hair, loosened by riding, had escaped from its fastenings, and now fell rippling down her back. "It's a great trouble," she said. "Nothing