THE SINGER OF THE GLEN FARM.

Otago Witness, Issue 2849, 21 October 1908, Page 90

THE SINGER OF THE GLEN FARM.

By E. G. Harvey. The dusk had fallen, and the rain 6wept against the rough, elab cottage and shook the rafters overhead. Dame Ghisholm sat before the fire awaiting the return of her son. The table was already iset, the kettle boiled on the hob, and a saucepan gave forth a savoury smell. Everything was ready for a comfortable meal. Meanwhile she laid her knitting aside and dreamed of times long gone. Old memories drifted across her mind. She recalled "the days spent under the shadows of Ben Lomond. Her bridal morning came back to her ; she saw again the- little kirk ijc the Highlands where she and Tom were wed ; their journey to New , Zealand; the coming of her children, and | the long hard fight with .adversity before \ success, even in small measure, crowned their efforts. All three rose up before the lonely woman, and a- .great sob rose in her throat, and her loneliness - appalled, her. The mountain scrub -had opened out to-corn-sown glades and vine-covered terraces. ' Glen Farm had become a home, and Meg and Jim had grown sturdy and strong in the pure mountain air. Such bonnie bairns were her lad and lassie? frut, oh, co different in disposition. Her boy's nature was just as sunny as his clustering curls, but Meg was like 6onre gathering mountain storm, ever ready to flash out in defiant reodlion, always tumultocs; bat once the wilful mood was over, sweet and full of love. Tie mother's heart ached when she .thought of her— for this was the. grief of her life, harder even than the laying of her big-h>2arted Jock in the kirky&rd yonder, for Meg was out on the world, and she know not whither the had strayed. It was sad thinking for the lonely ■woman. Yeans before they had gone to school in the little schcolhouse down in the Clyde Valley, four miles away. Every morning the children saddled their ponies' and trotted off, their young voices keeping time to the flying hoof-beats. Meg was a born songstress, and one day her wild, rich notes caught the ear of a visitor to the district school. He listened while the mk'trces gave the monotonous singing lesson, and when it was over he patted Meg on the head, and told her the .world would hear of hear yet, as she had * marvellous voice. Then, having planted the oeed of ambition in the girl's mind, be went his way, and Meg Tode home with dancing heart and. lilting voice to pour forth the visitor's praise to her gravefaced mother. The practical Scotchwoman found no place in her heart for the sweetness of music. She stopped the gill's chatter and bade her .do her work, and the child crushed back the happiness in her heart. But her ambition throve, in spite of repression. A while later -and a sohool concert gave her her opportunity. She sang her simple ballad to a very motley audience. The hall was packed with country folk, but a party of Dimedin folk had accepted Lhe invitation tendered to them by the inspector. He came, accompanied oy three young fellows from one of Williamson '& companies, and one of them heard and interpreted Meg Chisholm'a singing. Her little ballad was beautifully 6img, and he. Haw promise of .1 great future ; tbe singing of the present did not concern him so much. The vociferous applause from the farmer folk that she knew so well did not stir Meg so much as the look of appreciation by the man from the city. He came forward and aeked to fca mads Jcnown to her. Be told Meg that there was a fortune in her voice ; that he would undertake to have lier trained without it costing her people anything, and she invited him to come and ccc her parents and make arrangements. Tbe child had no doubt whatever that her desire would b9 granted. . Sbe went home with her pulses thrlbbing to fevar teat. • But next day broke all her ambitious '•dreams. Her mother would not listen to Mr Gathome's proposal, and opposed all his offers for Meg's advancement. The visit ezded in the discomfiture of the actor and keen disappointment for the child. From tba day of Mr Gathorne"6 visit to Glen Farm Meg never ceased to plan and dream of a future. The mother took her from school and tried to stifle "her wild longing with what she called "good, wholesome- hard work." Meg milked the cowe with her heart in revolt, fibe weeded the vegetable garden with lierce resentment eating at her heart ; she ceased to eing about her work, but sometimes when h«T mood was meet rebellious she would climb into the branch seat of a •willow and sing her fcea.rt*s soreness to the listening birds and rustling woods. The wind tore down the streets of Silverton and blew in the face of the paseenger who had alighted from the western mail. Her eyes took a swift, keen glance at the old-fashioned street, and they grew luminous a3 well-knbwn names came in % view. All the way from Lyttelton she had been rehearing in her mind her airrival in tbe welt remembered village. She .had feared that time would have worked ■unrecognisable changes, but she 'found it otherwise. It seemed but a day tince she had last seen the long, straggling street, vehicle-c^it. and iboof -trodden. She asked r man tie best way to proceed to the Glen Farm, and he' "gave her :i few very terse and distinct instructions. ■ "See that corner 6t»re with.. George Obetsan's^iianie on_it. I «oe. JinW?iii*>hol>tt • tKere.. jtpsfci now, 6o if it's. a lift yon want I fexpect he will give" yon "one. The co<u:h don't go out till next Thursday, and tiie coach don't get , ne&rer than, three mils* to the form anyhow," '

The girl thanked him, and proceeded to the grocery shop indicated. She stood under the verandah and let some of the water drain from her umbrella and raincloak. Inside she could eec Chetson at the oount-er. and talking to him was a big, fair-haired young fellow, whom the readily recognised as her brother Jim. She went in and made a trivial purchiea that she might the bettar judge the style of the young country lad ; but he buried him-self behind a newspaper whilst the shopkeeper attended to her wants, and ehe left the shop withoflt speaking to him. She turned away and plodded on down the street, but when she turned the corner she cut across old Dutton's pnddock and waited on the brow of the hill right on the road to Glen Farm. Half an hour later Jim drove past. She accosted him, and asked for ,a lift to the Glen Farm. "Wh>> are you that speaks of the Glen Farm so glibly?" "Jim, hnve you forgotten Meg — your ■sister Meg?" "Meg !"' Jim -returned. "Why have you been silent all these years ? Why have you come now?" "Because I hungered for you all ; because I tired of my life." ''And what- "was your life? Can you look me. in the face and swear that you are worthy to enter the old home once more ? Can you swear that you return an honest woman?" -The .fierce blue eye?, flashed into the grave grey eyes, but there was no shadow of deceit in tlrem. There was no doubting the - earnest words of assurance. Jim kissed her with a light heart and placed feer in the cart. The mother heard the cart drive up to the back, and ©he looked into Jim's room to see that his dry clothes were ready. Then she smoothed her hair and put a, clean neckerchief on. When she entered the sitting room her eon was standing on the threshold with a tall, slim woman leaning on his arm. " "Mother, I have brought Meg home to you."' The mother looked at her daughter's face, saw the eyes blinded with, tears, and the sternness left her own face. It grew illuminated with, love and trust, and she folded the girl in her arms and held her 86 if she would never teo her go. Then she touched her wet clothes, and drew her into her room. "Oh, mother, it is good to be homeagain and to find that nothing has changed. There is the pin-cushion I made for your birthday ; there- is the picture father brought me from Wellington, and the fame old books are on the table. Nothing has changed at all." "Except that our gudenian has gone beyond the blue. But he is better off, bai-rnie — better off. We will nae fret for him. Now, clip this old plaid wrapper around you and come out to the fire. Jim must be longing for his 6upper." Tk© girl threw her arms around her mother. "Dear mother, now you shame me with your kindness, and, better than, that, you trust I have come back to you as I went. No stain of dishonour have I brought on my father's fair name; but, oh ! how -wicked and selfieb I have beeji with my ambitious dreams. But my good angel has followed very closely in my train ever since the night I ran away to win fame. Mr Gathorne had {riven me his address in Chxistchurch. \Vhen I went to his Tooms and asked for him a sweet-faced woman interviewed me and told me of her husband's interest in me. From then until her death, five years later, she cared for me like a mother. After her death I wanted to write to you, but I feared lest you should scorn my supplication, and co I have let the years slip along without moving in the matter. Four months ago I met a young doctor. He was a New Zealand«r, and the band of country drew us together. We learned to love each otter, but when I told him of my flight from Glen Farm Jie made me promise that I would come straight to you and ask your forgiveness. I have come from. Edinburgh to feel the clasp of your warm hands — to hear you say you forgive me." For answer the' mother parted the waves of wet, dirk hair and kie£cd her daughter very fondly. •An impatient query from Jim brought them into the humble sitting room. Ho wrs toasting bi«ad. '"Do you remember what a little beggar you used to be for this kind of food?"' and he waved the si ice of bread in, the air. Meg cpent a haprcj holiday on the old farm, revelling in the sweet mother love that w»"a showered upon her. One day she told them that f.he must leave tli^rn for a eeason, but she won a promise from them that they would follow her when 6he sfent for them. A month Liter, aud they got the expected message. They had a cheery dinner, and then she grave them tickets for the opera. She said she could not he with them, but she promised to come to them before the evening was ever. The eyes of the countrywoman were dazed with the lights of the theatre. She looked frightened and somewhat unhappy until a girl came out to sing. She leaned forward and saw the flash of her jewels, the gleam of her white gown, the stately grace of the slender figure* Then, rich and soft, the sweet wailing voice floated upward. The music thrilled her and left her wonderstruck. Meg was singing "Old Robin Gray," and 6he was singing, not to the Governor's box, not to the beautiful women who leaned forward in breathless delight, hift to a dress-circle seat where an old woman in old-fashioned garments peered down at h-er with misty eyes and a quivering little throat-catch. She recomi ifced her child, and she understood the love, the ambition, that had cent her out into th«" ■« oriel to win and claim her birthright — the heritage of 60ii£. When it was all orcr &Le descended from

her seat of state and waited for Meg in the lobby of tlie theatre. She came forward with radiant face and led her mother to a cab. "Mummy, mummy, I am too happy for words. Jim must spare you to me for a while at least. Later on my New Zealand friend from Edinburgh, is coming out to ccc you. I love him — he showed me my duty, and I thank him. But to-night the world is only for you and me — just one mother and her happy daughter inhabit it."