SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 2914, 19 January 1910, Page 97

SHORT STORIES.

By Miss W. Bicuexson'. Author of “That Odious American,” “Tlie i Little Parvenu,” ‘‘Miss Brownie igh’is Love Story.”

ZI PPi E, THE FISHER MAIDEN,'

[All Rights Reserved.] I “I’ll carry the bait for you, Zippie, lass, ' if ye’ve a mind.” j “There’s no need. I can carry it myself,” replied the girl, as she tied till© gaily-hued handkerchief more firmly on her head, and picking up the bait basket poised it lightly on her hips. She gave no 'heed to her companion, but started off at a brisk pace, springing easily from one boulder to another, her shapely bare feet splashing fearlessly through shallow pools and over great mounds of dark, slippery seaweed. Geordie Howcroft followed more slowly. The girl’s sharp reply to his first pleasantry had seemed like a douche of ' cold water, and ,he was quite at a loss, and did not know how to commence what he had to say. After years of silent, shy 1 affection h© had l at last made up his j mind to ask her to be his wife, and 1 having followed her along the beach, he was determined that he would not go back to the village without accomplishing his purpose. I lie quickened his steps, and though the ] girl did not. look behind she seemed to ■ know by instinct that lie war close upon i her, and started to run. I “Zippie! stop a minute. Don’t ye hear : me? Zippie!” Rut the keen east wind ! caught the words, and she sped on un- . heeding. A resolute expression crossed the man’s j bronzed face, and with a few bounds he \ reached her side and caught her by the arm. “Zippie, lass! don’t fly off so when I want to talk to ye. Are ye scared ox me?” ; “Scared! No, I’m not. Why should I be frightened of you or anybody else?” she answered, still keeping her head ■ turned away. “Let go my arm!” i “I’ve somethin’ to say first. Don’t ye 1 know —can't ye guess what I’m wantin’ to say to ye?” “NayV how should I know?” and her laugh had a defiant ring, and she struggled to release herself from the young man’s firm clasp. “Do yon hear what I say, i Geordie Howcroft? Let me go! Grandfather’ll be wantin’ the bait.” “There’s two hours or more before the boats go out, and there’ll be plenty of time to get back when I’ve had my say ; then ve can please yourself whether ye shake''me off or not,” he said quietly. “Ye must knew I’ve cared for you ever since you were so high,” and he spread out his brawny hand a little way from the 1 ground, “and I tlholight you knew that I wanted you to —to wed me—er —some ’ time, and be my wife.” i The girl’s heart gave one great, joyous bound ; but. like the majority of her sex, she was naturally an actress of no mean order. • .', “Thought I knew, did you? Well, and .. if I did,, what of that? I’m not, bound j to say ‘ Yes ’ just because you. choose to ! put your finger up, am 1?” she answered • quickly. i She was looking out across the sea, and | did not notice the" pained expression which darkened his eyes and tightened his lips. _ I He had been a tardy lover, and Zippie ! felt it her duty to keep him at arm’s ! length for a little while in consequence. 1 How was the honest, simple-minded fellow I to know that a few persuasive words and i loving caresses would have won the prize I for which he longed so ardently ? j “I can’t stand no nonsense,” he said, ! and his voice sounded hard and strained. | “I must know whether you will have me j or not.” j “Nonsense, indeed! Who is talking nonsense, I’d like to know?” and Zippie | tossed her head disdainfully, i “Very well. I’ve made a mistake, I see. * I’ll not bother you any more, Zippie ; but I thought—ay, veil! never mind; it’s no use.” And suddenly losing hold of her arm, he bounded away and j was lost to- sight before the girl had fully | realised what had taken place. !’ Her brown eves filled with hot, smart - I in.g tears, but' she hastily dashed them aside. j “He doesn’t care much about me, or he wouldn’t have gene off like that, she told herself; “but I won’t make myself ’ cheap to any man. No; I won’t.” j As she approached the tiny, red-tiled cottage, which was the only home she had ever known, her grandmother came 1 to the door and shaded her eye? from the level ravs of the .setting sun. i “Ye-r grandfather’s been up for the bait, my bairn, but I tell’d him ye'd likely be a, ■goodish bit yet. Ye see, I just happened to catch sight of Geordie following ye on the beach.” she said, while r smile lit up her wrinkled free. “Why didn’t ve bring him back wi’ ye. lass?” “ ’Cos he didn’t say he wanted to come,” said the girl, trying to swallow the sob which would rise in her throat. “Not want to come. Oh ! that’s it, is it? Well, then, them as ha.s eyes in their head don’t see nothin’!” replied the ; old dame tartly. “Never mind, lass, he’ll tell ye all about it some day ; and meanwhile it’ll do him no harm to give him a. bit o’ cold shoulder. I always says: ‘Flee love, and love’ll follow,’ and if a man wants a woman he’ll get her through thick and thin, but if she goes and throws herself at his head he never thinks a brass farthin’ about her as long as he lives. Bless ye, child, yer grand- ; father was just like him when, lie was courtin’ me. I felt quite ’shamed at him, he was that timid an’ bashful, an’ many’s the time I made up my mind to give him his walkin’ orders; but it’ll all come ■ right in the end.’-

Zippie carried Hie nets down to the shore as usual that evening, and he? strong young arms lent assistance in launching and pushing off her grandfather’s sturdy fishing cobble. Geordie Howcroft was also going out “herringing,” and as he busied himself about the Confidence, which lay near, his blue eyes were often fixed on the girl’s face with a. hungry, beseeching gaze, but she went about her work as though she was quite unaware of his presence The little fishing fleet returned the next day with the largest catch of the season, and when the shining, slippery freight had been despatched to the inland markets the boats were hauled up high and dry just in time to escape the storm which descended with sudden ferocity, lashing the sea until it- became as white as chalk, with a confusion of grey, roaring, tumbling breakers as far as the eye could reach. During, the night the .gale increased in violence, and at dawn a disabled vessel hove in sight. Zippie stood among the little knot of women on the shore, and her heart was filled with a strange foreboding fear as she saw Geordie Howcroft’s stalwart form scrambling into the lifeboat, which was scon riding over the foaming breakers like a cork. “What’s come over me, I wonder, that I should be so chicken-hearted?” she said to herself. The Staithes lifeboat has performed many gallant deeds, and on that memorable morning another daring rescue was ■added to the already brilliant record. The shipwrecked men were brought safely to land, and all had escaped injury except the captain, who • had been swept from his _ feet by a mighty wave and dashed against the bulwarks" of his vessel. He lay unconscious in the bottom of the boat, and as :oon as she was grounded on the beach rough but kindly hands lifted him out and gently carried him up the rugged, sto-ny path to Zippie’s cottage home. The heavy burden had just been deposited on the roomy old-fashioned settle near the fire when the signal gun again boomed out its note of warning above the shrieking fury of the storm. “There's another boat in distress,” said the old fisherman, peering through the window. “It’s a dirty sea, but ye’ll have to be off again, lad,” and he turned to Geordie, who stood near in his great sea boots and bulky lifebelt. “Well, I’m ready,” he replied. Then as he turned and met the steadfast gaze of Zippie’g browr eyes he whispered softly, “Good-bye, lass.” Her cheek paled, and she followed him to the door, closing it behind her. “Don’t say that, Geordie; it isn’t lucky,” she said. “Oh ! I’ll come back again right enough; nc fear about that,” he replied, with a careless laugh. Then his tone changed. “Would it matter—l mean, would ye mind if I didn’t come back?” “Yes, I should,” she faltered. “Ah !” His blue eyes brightened under the shadow of His sou’-wester. Her hand lay clasped in his for one brief moment, then without another word he was gone. She saw him dash through the surf to his post at the oar, then a ringing cheer arose as the boat again put out to the rescue of those who were driven at the mercy of the storm so perilously near to the dangerous coast. The doctor said that Captain Weatherall might pull through with g-reat care and attention. “He seems to have a good constitution, and as for... careful nursing—why, he couldn’t be in better handle,” he said to the old grandmother. “So everything’s in ibis favour, for I always say you’ve missed your mark, Mrs Morton; .you ought to have been a hospital nurse. But Staithes would be badly off without you. I know vei’y well that half the folks in the village don’t approve of my treatment of a case unless it has received a favourable criticism from you.” The old woman took the doctor’s friendly jokes in good part, and smilingly r eplied : “He looks a likely man, sir, an’ we’ll do the best we can for him, you may depend on it.” Wearily the hours dragged on as the two women busied themselves about the injured man; the village was strangely quiet; no neighbourly hand raised the latch, and it seemed to Zippie as though a sense of coming evil brooded in tlhe air. At last the door opened, and the old man quietly entered the house. “Eh, lad ! ye've been a long while. I got quite uneasy, an’ I couldn’t think what had got ye,” said his wife; then, noticing something unusual in his maimer, she looked at him keenly. “Come, g.ran’dad, what’s up?” “The boat—she hasn’t come back,” he said, brokenly, sinking into a chair. “Not come back?” tire old woman repeated. and her thoughts flew away to the time when the simple words warned her of the blow which robbed her of her only child and left little Zippie an orphan. “The vessel drifted away past the scaur,” he went on, “an’ the boat rode out after her right enough. .We watched her as far as we could, an’ waited, an’ waited, bat Lev seen nothin’ on her since, an’ now the night’s coming on.” Yes, the night was coming on, and pale, anxious fishwives stood about m little groups straining their eager eyes far out to sea, and the children 'whimpered and clung to their mothers’ skirts, their' usually happy, healthy little faces overshadowed by the cloud of a great grief, which they could but dimly understand. It was no strange calamity—this sacrifice of human lives! The little hamlet sent out its band of breadwinners year after year. Some few of ivh-ern seemed to bear charmed lives, while others went forth never to return, and yet the white-crested waves curl over and beat upon the shore, unceasingly uttering their hoarse demand that more shall be given unto fihem. As the grey light of early dawn revealed

the scurrying clouds and the section? ocean, many tired eyes, which had known no sleep during the long dark hours oi the night, gazed away to the dim horizon, hoping against hope that the loved ones might by some means be restored. _ But the screaming gulls were the only living creatures within .sight, and the watcjners turned sorrowfully away. Ah, well, the children’s dinners had to be cooked, and the children’s clothes must be mended. Life had to bo lived, and the struggle must still go on, even though the dreadful aching never Left the heart again. "But a strange thing happened. About noon a girl of some twelve yeans* came running into the village with her face as pale as death. A little crowd soon gathered about her, and questioned ‘her anxiously. “Come, Susie, tail’s what ye seen.” “Oh. the ghosts!” she cried, shuddering. “The ghosts of the lifeboat men. Every one of ’em —coming down past the, station.’’ The people looked at eacn other with superstitious fear. “Let’s go an’ see," said one. “I’ll go if you will,” said another. “Let’s all go.” And away they started along the winding road to the station. Then suddenly a great cry arose, for there they were—those they had mourned as lost —alive and in the flesh, sound in health and limb, and almost hysterical ■with joy. Zippie Morton was among the first to hurry forward to greet them. Her eyes were strangely bright, and a happy flush spread over her face as she strained eagerly along the uphill road; but soon the 'gladness died out of her eyes, and a terrible sickening fear gnawed at her heart. Where was Geordie —the biggest, the strongest, the handsomest of" that noble little band? ■She hung back and let the half-laugh-' ing, half-crying women rush past her to the outstretched arms of the loved ones who bad been restored to them from the very jaws of death. Even in the hour of her sorest need she was too proud to wear her on her sleovs, and mingled with the throng, hoping to eaten some news of him. “It’s a miracle we’re here at all, an’ it’is good to see home again, - ’ said one burly fellow as he took the year-old baby from his wife’s arm, and smoothed its soft round cheek tenderly with one big, brown finger. “We’re all here safe an’ sound but one. an’ that’s Geordie Howcroft. He’s gone, poor lad, but he’d neither wife nor chick, nor a lass either, as I’ve heard tell, so it’s p’raps as well he was took i’stead o’ one o’ us.” Zippie did not stay to hear how the perishing crew had been rescued from the sinking vessel, how the boat had been capsized by a mountainous wave, and had, fortunately, righted herself again; how they had finally been picked up by a passing steamer, and bad been conveyed to Hartlepool, whence they had journeyed home by train. Geordie was drowned, and these details had no interest to her. She went home slowly and sadly, hiding her great grief so deep!} in her stricken heart that none but those who knew her best could guess at its existence. A month passed away, and though Captain Weather a 11 was restored to health by Mrs Morton’s motherly care, he still lingered at the little cottage. The honest fisher folk were not slow in putting two and two together. They nodded their heads wisely, and said it was as, pi a bias the nose on your face that the deepvoiced captain was over head and ears in love with Zippie Morton. One afternoon lato in October the girl wended her way to the place where Geordie bad overtaken her a few short weeks before. She sat down on a smooth, round boulder, and looked out over the ■sullen, lead-coloured sea to the distance where the grey sky curved to meet it. How cold and cruel it looked, she

thought, with a shuddering sigh. Once she had loved its blue dimpling expanse and white-crested breakers, but now the very sight of it was maddening. And hark! Surely there was a new tone in its ceaseless roar? It was like the voice of the dead continually calling. Oh! if she could only reach some place where she would never . hear it—never see it! But was there such .a place in the world, and even there, could she ever forget? “Zippie!” The voice was quite near, and as she turned quickly a terrible superstitious fear haunted her dark eyes. It was only the captain. He seated himself beside her and took one of her small, sunburnt hands in his. “Will you lisen, while I tell you something, my girl?” She nodded, but remained silent. “I know what’s troubling you, my dear,” he said tenderly. “Nobody needs lo tell roe anything about it ; I quite understand. But. now, I want you to let me bear a bit of ■it for you. Will you come with me, Zippie—come right away from the eea and all its memories? I’ve loved you ever since the day when I opened my eyes and saw you standing by while the doctor bound up my arm. I never cared for a- woman before, but I’ve come into port at last, sure enough. And, Zippie, listen! I’m a rich man, Zippie, and I’ll make a lady of you, my dear. You shall have everything that money can buy. It’s come to n;a all unexpected—the money, I mean —through an old uncle of mine away out in Australia, but I don’t care two straws about it except for what it will buy for you. But, Zippie, you don’t say anything, my dear?” “I—oh! I can’t.” “Hush, now! Don’t say that,” cried the captain, quickly. “If you can only trust me I’ll try to make you happy, though I’m not much to look at, and if I am older than you, what of that? I should be all the better able to take care of you. We’ll be as taut and comfortable as anybody this side of the Tees, I’ll guarantee. We’ll take the old folk alongside,as well, shall we? Come, Zippie, won’t you turn round to look at me and Jet me ■ hear you say that you will come with me and be my wife?” * He put his arm about her and drew her nearer until her head rested against the rough surface of his pilot cloth coat, and her eyes, were wet with the first tears she bad shed since the night of the storm. The pretty yellow drawing room, at Linthorpe was flooded with sunshine, as Mrs Weather all stood with clasped hands before a fine water-colour, which the artist termed “A Bit of Staithes.” “Ah ! the dear old place. It is just as I remember it—the quaint little red houses, and the glimpses of the sea in all sorts of unexpected corners,” she mused. “It ,seems as though 20 years must have passed since last I saw it, and yet it is only five years. Yes! five years this very month.” Few would have, recognised in this graceful, stylishly-clad woman the humble, barefooted fisher maiden who had wandered along the rocky coast in search of bait some few years before. A tap at the door aroused her from her reverie, and a smart-locking maid entered the room. “If you please, ma’am, there’s a person come. She says she wants to see you.” to see me? Didn’t she give you her name, Anna?” “Yes’m,” the girl replied. “She said I was to say ‘Mattie from Stays,’ and you’d know' who it was.” Mattie! Can it be possible?” cried her mistress excitedly. “Yes, bring her in 4t once, Anna.” When the drawing room door had closed on the awkward, shabbily-dressed visitor the shrewd Anna applied her eye to the keyhole, and had the satisfaction of seeing her mistress hasten, forward and throw her arms round the “person’s” neck. Oh, Mattie! how sweet of you to come in unexpectedly like this, just when I was thinking of dear old Staithes, and wondering what had happened there since I left! It seem® a.ges since I left; it seems ages since I had any news of you all,” she gaily chatted on, trying tactfuly to put her old friend at her ease. “Come, sit here in this comfortable chair, where I can have a good look at you. You don’t know bow glad I am to see you.” It s very kind of ye, I’m sure,” stammered the woman. “Eh! but ye are altered. I shouldn’t have owned ye if I’d met ye anywhere. Ye’re quite a grand lady now, Zippie.” ‘Am I changed? Well, I suppose I must he: but you are just the same old Mattie whom I used to know, but —why, Mattie, you’re married !” she cried, catching sight of the plain band of gold on her friend’s coarse, ungloved hand. “Yis. It’s Steve Pierson,” she replied with a blush. “An’ it’s him who got me off to come to see you. I never should ha’ oome but for him, though I’ve talked about it often enough.” “So I must thank Steve for this unexpected visit?” said Zippie, smiling. “Yis! He’s that masterful, is Steve. When he makes his mind up to a thing it has to be done,” and Mattie raised her head with conscious pride. “Well, now you are here you must stay with me for a few days, and I trill shotv you the sights of Middlesbrough,” .said Zippie, kindly. , “Oh, no! I couldn’t. Never in all my bom days have I slept out of my own home. Thanking ye all the same, hut I must get back to-night. Why, I’m longing for a breath of sea air already! X should be smothered’ in a big town, with so many houses an ’such a number o’ .folk rushing about. It’s quite maddening.” Zippie laughed.

T “Then I must make the most of you ! when you are here. Come, tell me all ; the news. I want to know everything ! about everybody.” , I The time flew quickly as the two friends I sat and talked of old times and bygone I occurrences. j When Anna brought in the daintilyappointed tea-tray she oast a curious sidelong glance at the strange visitor, and noted with inward amusement Mattie’s stare of speechless amazement when the cake stand was placed before her, with its snowy doyleys and its freight of toothsome morsels. I “I’m sorry the captain is away; but I shall teL h?ra ail about you. I (have to meet him at the Town Hall to-night at half-past 7, so I shall have nice time to see you oft' first at the station,” said Zippie, when they were alone again. | The sun sihone on .her dark hair, lighting up the rich mahogany tints in its thick coils, and the costly rings on her soft hands flashed and sparkled as she deftly busied henself among the teacups, i It all seemed like a fairy dream to Mattie, and' her thought flew swiftly back to the time when they had sat together mending i the fishing nets in the quaint old village on the coast. ’ i ■ ‘ Oh! but the storm brought ye luck an’ ye’ve done well for yerself, Zippie,” she said. Tliien, lowering her voice almost to ii whisper, sne continued: “I mind seeing a great black crow fly three times : round the house where yer grandfather used to live on the morning of the storm, | an’ I said, ‘ That’s a sign that some- j tjhing’s going to happen, sure enough ’ ; an’ if it hadn’t been for the storm ye ! might never have seen the captain. Eh! an’ that reminds me, I haven’t told yon ! about Geordie Howcrod. Ye’ll remember Geordie, don’t ye ?” | ‘‘Ye-ss. Oh ! yes, certainly.” “Well, it was the queerest thing. About three weeks after you went away he came back again.” There was a crash, and' Mattie sprang to her feet in alarm. | “Oh, never mind. It’s my cup and saucer—it doesn’t matter,” stammered . ! Zippie. “Anna shall come in and sweep them up presently,” she said, glancing | down at the fragments of Crown Derby I ware which lay at her feet. “Come back! ‘ | Did you say Geordie came back?” ! i “Yes, he came back safe and sound, an’ wasn’t drowned after all. It a.ll came out ! afterwards that he was knocked on the ' | head with a piece of wood, an’ when he | j was picked up by another boat he was | quite out of his senses, an’ for the life j of him he couldn’t remember his name ' i an’ where hie lived for weeks an’ weeks, j Wasn’t it a queer thing?” i “Yes, a very queer thing,” replied Zippie in an odd, quiet voice. | “He always was a bit shy, but since he came back he’s been quieter than ever, j He gets worse wi’ keepjV, I say, an’ he’d . rather walk a couple o’ miles out of his j way than meet a woman any day. An’ j him such a fine-lookin', well-set-up chap, i half the girls in the place would give their eyes for him; but Steve says when they 1 get out to sea he’s a different chap alto- j gether, an’ sometimes it’s quite fearsome ! to be near him he’s that wild an’ daring.” j “I’m glad you’ve bad company while I’ve been away, dear. It will have been a ( nice change for you to talk things over ; with your old friend,” said the captain when the Felix Corbett concert was over, and they were driving swiftly througjli the busy streets towards home. Just then an electric car rushed swiftly past them, and as its glaring light fell . full upon his wife’s face tine captain, was j startled by its deatnly pallor. _ i “My dear, you are not well!” he said anxiously. “The hall has been very hot to-night ; it .must have upset you. Hew j would yon like to go down to the old i ! place—to Staithes, I mean —for a few days ; before the winter comes on? The smell j of the briny might set you up a bit. : Come, what do you say, Zippie?” i “0 ! h ! I shall soon get over the heat of the room,” she answered brightly, “and , I am far too happy to wish to awaken ; old memories by visiting the familiar ■ scenes yet awhile.” ] “Then let ns go somewhere eke—to | Harrogate, or down South, if yon like. , “No, Jack, dear; all I want is to stay , auietly at home with you,” and as her little gloved hand stole under his arm the captain smiled and was satisfied l . (The End.)