THE OLD HOMESTEAD.

Otago Witness, Issue 2782, 10 July 1907, Page 86

THE OLD HOMESTEAD.

By Anghakad.

It was a beautiful summer day— one of those days when the whole world seems to be happy and in the full enjoyment of life. Above was the peerless blue sky, dappled with fleecy clouds; below was the matchless blue sea, crested with white foam. Each seemed to be a reflection of the other. The cliffs were occupied by thousands of noisy seagulls. A short distance back was a beautiful stretch of bush, which rang with such music that it seemed as though all Nature's sweetest singers had congregated there. In short, the scene was one of such beauty, of such serene happiness, that it seemed to be a little world apart — a world where trouble was unknown. But a traveller passing along saw none of all this. Hia -stern gaze was centred straight ahead in the direction of several farmhouses at short distances from each other. But one in particular claimed his attention: it nestled peacefully amidst a sheltering grove of trees, and looked quite in harmony with the rest of the acene. Ere this unfriendly-looking stranger approaches, let us take a nearer view of this homestead and its occupants. The latter consist of farmer John Hayward, his wife, and only child, a pretty little girl of about 12. Yet she is not their child; but we will tell her story from the beginning. One wild, stormy night over nine years ago a ship went to pieces on the rocks near by, a number of the passengers being drowned. Of the rescued ones was a little girl about three years. John Hayward saved her, and took her home He then made inquiries for her parents, only to discover that her mother, in whose care she was, hp.d been drowned. So he and his wife decided to take her for their own. On being asked her name, she simply gaid Dot, and from that time she was Dot Hayward. Now Dot, who h«d been outside, came in in great excitement, saying that a strange gentleman was coming up the garden. Next moment Jio was at the door. "Does Mr Hayward live here?" he asked. "Yes," replied John; "that is my name." "I understand that you have in your family a- child who was saved from a wreck here nine years ago?" said the stranger. "Why, yes— little Dot," said Mrs Hayward in troubled amazement. "My name," continued the man, "is Evan Holmes. I cm the child's father. I have just lately discovered her whereabouts, or I should certainly not have burdened you with her until now." "Surely, sir," cried Mrs Hayward, the woman whom Dot regarded as her mother, "you are not going to take her away?" "Yes, I'm going to take charge of her myself now; jjut," drawing out his- pocketbook, "I am willing to give you, any sum you like for your " "No, tax, not a penny!" cried John. "We did it for love, not for money. She has been our all for nine years now, and it would break both our hearts to part with her." Then ensued such p scene of sorrow and pleading on, the part ef the Haywards as would have moved the hardest heart ; but the stranger was adamant. At last, seeing resistarce was useless Mrs Hsyward exclaimed, "But you won't take her for a while yet, sir 2"

"She must come with me to-morrow morning," was the answer. "Remember, Dorothy, you are to be ready to leave here in the morning." Oh, what sorrow was in the old homestead that night! The. future seemed a dreary prospect to the Haywards after what seemed like the death of their only child; while to poor little Dot it seemed equally dreary. Morning came all too soon, and with it the arrival and departure of Mr Holmes, who,, true to his word, took TN-t with him. Her last words were, "Good-bye, dear father and mother; I'll come oack again some day." Those words rang ;n the broken-hearted couple's ears, and were their main earthly solace during all the darkest time of their bereavement. Five years passed away. They did not pass lightly over John and Mrs Hayward. John's farm was a small one — one of those on which a man can make a living, but not a fortune. But instead of making enough to live upon John had been getting into debt, until now his liabilities amounted to almost five hundred -pounds. To make matters worse, he had received intimation that he must settle his debts within a week or be turned out of his only home. He had parted with almost all of his farm stock, so there was no hope in that direction: The days of that awful" week passed slowly by. On the last evening John went out through the fields for a ramble over the home he had loved so well. It was his no longer. To-morTOw he would 'be a homeless wanderer— one of those same, wanderers whom he had alwayspitied and had often helped. Out there, frnder the silent sky. he gave way to his grief. Oh, what would he not give for one friend who could help him! His neighbours were all staunch friwte. tut they were all comparatively poor people, who could not give material aid Wandering along, scarcely knowing whither he went, he presently reached his neighbour's boundary. In the house someone was singing. The words floated out clear and -sweet on the night air: "Home, home, sweet, sweet home. There's no place like home. . . ." Pcor John could bear no more. Turning, he retraced his steps, his head bent in rad and silent thought. There was no sweet home for him now. He must just go out into the world and work for his daily bread. When he reached the house he heard voices within. "Someone has come to pay r. last visit," he murmured 'sadly. "Hs opened the door and entered, and aa he did so someone rose from beside the fire. John gazed for a few moments in stupefied amazement. "Dot— it's little Dot!" he cried. Yes. it was Dot— not "little" Dot now, but a tall girl •of seventeen. She was dressed in deep mourning. . "My father is dead, and I have come back to you," she said, "for I have no other home." .., . "You have come "at a bad time, child, lor I shall not have a home myself to-morrow night. But it makes me happy to have you here again." wp.s his answer. "Mother has just been telling me about your troubles," said Dot. "My father was a very wealthy man once, but he lost his fortune in mining speculations, and the shock killed him. The sum left for me after his affairs were settled will >st pay vous ceo-s and leave a* -small capital with which *o restock the farm." . , . „ -^n,,* This news was received m silence, wnax oould anyone say? Dot had arrived just in time to save the home ci 'hose she lovetl and in the* old homestead where an hour -go sorrow had reigned supreme all was now , peace and joy.