"MOLLY."

Otago Witness, Issue 2672, 31 May 1905, Page 82

"MOLLY."

By Rosemary Rees, in M.A.P.

The New Zealand summer sun blazed flown on the dusty road, along which the lumbering wool-drays made their way from the hills across the fifteen miles of plain, to the little town sleeping in the sunshine on the sweep of the blue Pacific. It "was very hot on the hillside, and Jack iCreed rode slowlyj his hat drawn down over his sunburnt face, and his back turned )to the plain below. At the top of the hill ithe road ran level for about a mile, and •Creed spurred his lathered horse to an easy canter. In front of him a small dark Jblur showed on the white road, and as he topproacbed the blur took form and shape. Creed regarded the figure curiously — it was that of a little girl in a short cotton frock trudging on before him. He drew level 'tritb. her, and then pulled up sharply. '/''Molly!" lie exclaimed. "Why, what on earth are you doing here?" . The, little girl looked up. Her face was ■very red; and her wide-brimmed hat hung .-*alashly' on .one side of her head. Her eyes' dropped before his questioning glance, »E.d her face, if, possible, grew redder. "I'm just — just walking," she replied. "Yes, but walking where?" Molly plodded on in silence. Under one fcrm she held firmly a small parcel rolled up in a newspaper, and from the pocket of her cotten frock the black, battered legs of an old doll waved aloft. There was something ludicrous in the child's appearance, Bud yet as Creed rode beside her, and noticed the torn frock, the scratched and Weeding hands, the tired drag of the small €eet in the-dust, and the brave little face «et forward to the loneliness of the bushed ranges, the smile died out of his eyes. **At anyrate, you won't mind if I walk irith you part of the way?" he asked. Molly lboked up into his face and smiled. '-'Oh, no, Mr Creed; I'd like it!" The man dismounted, and for a few moments the two walked on in silence. A flowering sweet-briar bordering the road flung its fragrance on the air; high in the blue above their heads a lark sang joyously, and from far away came the sound of- the sheep, on the hills. Where a little ti-tree-covered rising cast a shadow Creed proposed a moments rest. " Now, Molly," he began, as they sat on "the grass, and faced the plain below, ''we've always been . friends, haven't we ? Good friends?" Molly nodded. "Well, doesn't it strike you as rather a mean thing not to trust a -friend? I've guessed that you're running away from home, and you won't tell me where you are -going." Molly sat bolt upright. "Somebody's told you," she said. She made a movement as though to rise from Ithe grass, but Creed laid a strong hand over the little scarred one. "Aren't you going to trust me yet, Molly? Then I don't think your friendship's worth much !" Molly pressed her lips together and

avoided his eye. "It's no good trying to make me go ~ back," she said defiantly. "No one wants me. Mother won't, miss me — she doesn't iove me any more now, sinee — since daddy "died." A picture rose up before Creed of the •widowed woman, absorbed and brooding over her own grief, and the lonely, neglected little girl. Suddenly he understood. '"And so because your mother has had to go through great trouble you want to make her suffer mow?" he asked. "I don't!" retorted Molly violently. ''She doesn't care — I'm only a bother." Bhe steadied her voice and tapped the newspaper parcel. "I've got her photojgraph and my Bible here, so I won't forget •what she's like and I won't grow up unteligious. -, Looking up, she caught Creed's eyes fixed upon her -pocket and the obtrusive -legs. '"Oh, that — that's Amanda!" she explained hurriedly. "I thought she might do for — for some little girls to play with when I'm a .. governess." She paused, and then, putting* both her hands over her face, she said slowly: "That's not true! I'm the little girl that wanted her, and I don't care 'if you do laugh." Two big tears rolled down between her lingers, and then Creed leant over, took the forlorn little figure in his arms, and held Jber close. " Hush, Molly ." he said gently, " you ■Jnust go home again." " I can't ! I can't 1" she sobbed. "Mother "doesn't love me. Mother won't care.". Creed did not attempt to explain to the child that she was walking out on a road which led only to the scattered homesteads of the sheep farmers and the occasional Maori settlements in the great bushed ranges ; that she must inevitably return home or die of exposure arid starvation in the loneliness of the hills. He knew that, even if she could realise this, it would tfiean little or nothing to her in comparison ,with the childish tragedy in her heart. He laid his tanned cheek tenderly against her tear-stained one. "Listen, little woman," be whispered. "I know you're in trouble, and I want to help you. Your mother does love you, Molly^ She loves you very dearly, but she has been through great ■trouble, and it is hard yet for her to think ©f anything but that." "I know she doesn't care — she won't be glad to see me. I can't go back — I can't

"But won't you go back and try? Do you remember when the mare fell with jfou at the fence in the lower paddock and broke your arm? You never made a Bound when the doctor set it, did you? That was pluck — real pluck ; but if you go back to your mother now, tell her everything, and ask her to let you help her in her sorrow, it will be a finer, braver thing |han you've ever done in your life, Molly.

You don't want to be the worst sort of shirker, a moral coward, do you, little woman ?"

Molly wriggled herself out of his arms and regarded him with tear-reddened eyes.

" Haven't yoxi ever been a moral coward?" she asked.

Creed looked out over the plain for a few moments in silence.

" Haven't you ?" she repeated,

" More times than I can count, Molly," he answered slowly. "And after to-night I shall be a greater one than ever."

Molly moved closer to him and looked up into his face.

"You're in trouble, too," she said sadly; " but I s'pose I can't help you. Little girls never seem any use in the world, somehow."

Creed turned and caught her up in his arms again. " Oh, little Molly !" he said with sudden passion, "I want help badly." " Won't you tell me about it, anyhow ? You said just now that we were friends, and that friends ought to trust each other."

Creed half smiled, and then his face grew dark again.

" You won't understand, dear, if I could tell you — but perhaps my trouble began like yours, because I, too, was so lonely and wanted someone to love me." "And have you got someone's love now?" "I've got something which passes for love sometimes, little girl." And is the someone who loves you nice ?" | Creed was silent for a moment. I "I don't think that you'd think her [ exactly nice, Molly." " But she loves you very dearly ?" Creed laughed unpleasantly. " 1 fancy that she has loved many others \ before as dearly and — forgotten." " Then she won't love you for always " "No, Molly, I don't believe she will." " And you're going to be a moral coward for her?" " Yes, Molly ; a greater blackguard than I've ever been before." " Then I don't, think she's worth it," said Molly frankly. Creed looked down at her again, and smiled softly. "I believe you're right, little girl," he said. " She's not worth any man's life and honour ; but if I throw mine away there's not one soul to care, so what does it matter after all?" "I care," said Molly stoutly. "And I won't forget, like she would. Are you going to see her now?" Creed nodded. " And if you never saw her again you wouldn't be such a moral blackguard?" Creed smiled. " Not quite such a rank outsider, Molly." "I don't want you to be a moral blackguard and a rank outsider," said Molly miserably. Suddenly she began to sob again. " Oh, 'no one cares for little girls! I wish I was dead, and people might say I'd been some good then." Something in the pitiful abandonment of the child's grief as the frail little body shook with sobs in his arm struck at Creed's heart with a queer, sharp pain. "Molly," he whispered, "would it help you yif we made a compact — each to try to run straight, and not to c cowards and rank outsider in the future?" Molly's sobs lessened. " Would you promise ?" she asked. "Yes," answered the man slowly. 'I mayn't succeed, but I'll try." Molly raised a face which mingled dust and tears failed to make anything but sweet, and smiled at him. " Now — please take me home," she said.

Ten years later Creed and Molly stood together leaning on the deck-rail of an out-ward-bound New Zealand liner, watching the white water passing astern in the gathering darkness as the steamer throbbed down Channel.

"Fancy your knowing me after five years !" said Molly. " Why, I wasn't even grown up when you left New Zealand ! I've been .staying with my uncle for the last eighteen months, you know, and now Fin going home again — home to the dear mother."

Something in the phrase brought back to them both that day on the hillside when Creed had held the sobbing child in his arms and pressed his cheek to hers. Molly, conscious of his thoughts, went on hurriedly. "But what's taking you out to New Zealand once more? I thought you had settled at Home."

"I think I've always wanted to go back," said Creed slowly. "And one day there was a scent in the air like the smell of bush fires when the wind's blowing down from the hills over the plains in the sunlight.- That day in London I saw — someone I had known years ago. She didn't see me, but she somehow brought me a breath of the southern summer. She made me think of the blue skies and fresh brier roses, and the cool depths of the bush. I knew then that the land under the Southern Cross, "with its memories, was pulling at my heart strings. Afterwards I found your name on the ship's list, and booked my passage." He was silent for a moment.

"Do you remember our day on the hillside ten years ago, Molly? You saved me then from making the greatest mistake of my life. I've done my best to keep that compact, dear." " Then we've helped each other," answered Molly. She tried to speak lightly, but her voice shook a little.^ "For you made me understand my mother's love. When she took me in her arms that day and just sobbed and kissed me, I " the girl's voice broke. " Oh, it's so foolish J" she said, trying to laugh.. "But— l— l always want to cry when I think of that."

Creed's hand suddenly closed over hers in the darkness and gripped it hard. " Molly," he said, "do you remember saying that you didn't want me to be a moral coward and a rank outsider? Will you come and help me to run straight for

ever? Could you try to love me just a little?"

" Not a little," she answered softly. " Oh ! have you forgotten what I told you that evening when you rode down to the plains, through the twilight, with a tired and tattered little girl in your arms? I told you then that I thought you must be the best man in all he world. You've been that to me ever since, dear. You'll always be that to me — the best man in all the world — the man I love."

The big steamer throbbed on down Channel mo the night, and once more a man and a woman passed together through the gates of happiness and came into their kingdom.