HOW THE WHEEL WAS TURNED.

Otago Witness, Issue 3006, 25 October 1911, Page 90

HOW THE WHEEL WAS TURNED.

By Alec Alan.

No . lI.—THE KEMPS

My old friend had other Home stories, as the reader may have surmised, than the metamorphosis of a herd-laddie into a chief postmaster. When I asked him if he had been in Edinburgh during his trip, and how the rebuilding of the old town,, which I had seen begun 50 years ago, had progressed, it opened cut a perfect budget of news and descriptions. I will not dwell on all the changes and improvements that he recounted to me about Auld Reekie, but will try to give you some history of a family, "The Kempj," that we were interested in, both because they were neighbours and the younger of them schoolmates, and because the story of the one most interesting to us is to some extent involved in the rebuilding of the ancient city. Besides, her story illustrates vividly "how the wheel was turned." The Kemps were well known to all classes of the townspeople. The major, as a half-pay officer and understood to be of rich and aristocratic connections, was highly respected. He had been twice married, and in each case had got money with his wife. The first wife left one son and one daughter. The second was a widow with one son. His history does not enter into this story. But I may state that, like the major's sons, he was placed in a bank; but, on the death of his mother, he gravitated to his father's folk, who were people of means, and he was well provided for, irrespective of his mother's portion, which remained in Major Kemp's hands. The second wife, a year after marriage, gave birth to a daughter, whom I may call the heroine of this story. She was named Mary Ann, after her mother. Three or four years later Mrs Kemp bore a son. She never rightly got over the boy's birth, but lingered long enough to train him to be what the old nurse called "a spoilt brat o' a bairn." She did not say this in the hearing of any of the family, who continued the line of education begun by his invalid mother by letting him have all his own way. I had of it; and afterwards got it confirmed by bis conduct both in school and out of it. As much as he could, he was a law unto himself. Even after he left it and, like his brothel's, had been placed in a bank, he could not stick to welldoing. Before his moustache had sprouted, he had to take a hurried and unfarewelled departure to "The West-, the West, the Land of the Free"—the country of broken characters and fickle fortunes. There he was absorbed, and lost to his friends, and I have nothing more to tell of Master Charlie Kemp.

J The major's eldest son, when last I I saw him, c>o years ago, was a bank agent, t and a married mail with, a son 01 hi 3 ! own, aged live or six. I well remem- | ber seeing the major, his eon, and his | grandson, coming into church, with- his j daughters Helen and Mary Ann preceding them into the pew in front oi where I sat.

Miss Helen was full sister to the bank agent, and acting head of the major's selfcontained two-Uorey house, with its attics, cellars, outhouses, and garden of half an acre Scotch. It was one of several such houses, with sections stretching from the main street down to the bank of the burn or creek that drained that side of the town. The whole row was occupied by people who were considered gentry. Banking and the practice of medicine were tolerated there, as being somewhat apart from or above vulgar business. People with incomes from funds, from rents of estates, and from other genteel ways oi employing money, occupied these mansions, and spoke to one another over the dividing walls.

In those days I used to admire the major and the doctor, who was an old army surgeon, on account,, of their upright carriage and the lofty way in which they—the major in particular —carried their noses. I did not till afterwards attribute their attitudes to the broad, stiff "stocks" that the military deportment of the time demanded that they should wear, or that the habit of the army had accompanied them into private life. Miss Kemp, in age and habitude, was bordering en old-,maidiem before I left for New Zealand. Her manners, speech, and dress were always strictly correct, especially when compared with Mary. Ann's._ I possess photographs of both, and I think of them still alive before me, as they were 48 years ago: Helen quiet, reserved, and sedate; Mary Ann outspoken, loving, and vivacious, kept in check by her elder sister, who had ever been as a mother to her.

Curiously- enough, it was when reverting to the "flitting" of Davie Sanderson, from the town end to the country village where Archie was so severely burned that my old friend remarked, "Guess who moved into Davie's house when he left it." "I have njo idea," quoth I. "None other than Major Kemp and his j djaughters!" said my friend, pleased to ' surprise me. J 'What on earth brought about that down-come?" asked I. | "The bursting of some concern in which i be had been induced to take shares. j That was before the days of 'limited liai bility,' and the major had to sell his fine ! house and section before he could satisfy | the calls. Davie, you will remember, occupied half of a four-roomed cottage with a common passage between. It stood about a chain back frotm the front fence, and was of the common style of weavers' houses, with outhouses and loomshops at the back, and the usual garden. It eio happened that, on account of hand-locan weaving getting its death blow about that time, property of that stamp was selling cheap. The major bought the double cottage and section for a comparatively small s>um, clapped a stylish porch and a bow window on the front, re-arranged tho rooms, converted a large lean-to loomshop into a kitchen, scullery, storeroom, washhouse, and bathroom, and settled to live there very snugly. He and his daughters might have vegetated so for a score of years—only something happened. The wheel got a turn from a seemingly unlikely hand! Something happened to . lively, reckless Mary Ann. ! "Mary Ann fell in love! —fell in love j without meaning it! It happened that j when the contract for the alterations was ' finished and they had moved in, various ; unforeseen re-fitments, shelvings. etc., were ! found to be necessary, and a carpenter I was sent to do the work. He was a smart ■ ytoung man in the last year of his apprentioeship. Besides, he was a goodI 'looking, cleanly youth., a ' few years • younger than Mary Ann. But that did j not matter; she always looked and felt i much younger than she was. He was also I an utter. stranger to her, and she was j totally inexperienced in love-making. Early in the mornings, while she was j about her housework duties —they had no ■ servant then—she had to point out the ! work that he had to do. He never asked j who she was. He took her to be the ! major's 'general,' and when he saw Miss I Helen later in the day, so ladylike, ! haughty, and reserved, he took her to be i the major's wife. Before he left in the | afternoon he saw the 'general' tidied, and j talking in. a very friendly way with the j 'missus' ; but that was all he thought j of it, except that .she must be a good I sort, and was appreciated as such. On the following days he made opporI tunities to see and to consult Mary Ann. i She saw that he was struck with her, and understood the mistake he had made ; but ! she lather liked being made love to. Be- ! sides, it was great fun personating the j servant and tryin to rebut Jack's amorous i advances." It was playing with fire. Before the ' week was over her heart had caught a | spark that kept her awake o' nights. She ! soon was in earnest, and stealing out to ! meet him in the evenings. Having given i her sister information a.s to her wherej abouts when out, which Helen, by chance : found to be false, that guardian angel kept ! watch over her, and next time Mary Ann I told heir that she was going to the same j place as before she followed, and saw ; her and Jack meet as lovers meet. Before | Helen could get near enough to make sure of the gentleman, they had parted, ' and Mary "Aim went to visit the friend she had named. At that visit the friend agreed to receive any letters that Jack might send under cover for her. Before Mary Ann returned from her call on her friend Helen had told their father i what she had seen, and the old warhorse • arose in his might, ready to administer discipline with high talk of pains and

penalties to be endured, since no durance vile was possible.

"Mary Ann," inquired he sternly, "who and what is this young man whom you steal forth at night to meet like a common housemaid?" "His name is John Burnett," answered Mary Ann bravely and truthfully. 'He is the young carpenter who was working hero lately. He is very respectably connected, and has a very (rood education, which he is always improving. He was the be«t workman Mr [the ontractor] had, although he has only finished his apprenticeship to-day He is going with the morning train to Edinburgh. He has got a position in a good workshop, where he will gather better experience of his trade He is going to study architecture m his spare hours. As soon as he can earn as much as will enable him to set up house and to keep a wife he is coming to get me. And when lin3 does," she added demurely but firmly, "I mean to marry him. I shall marry him. and nobody else."

"Mary Ann!" thundered the major, as if issuing a command to a battalion, "You shall have nothing more to do with him! An artisan ! A mere workman ! Where is your pride, girl—where is your pride?" " I never had much, daddy, and the little 1 had has been starved to death since we oaime liere, and I had to work just as Jack does. Forgive me, dad, for mentioning our misfortune, but the old pride is out of place in this wee place with reduced income. It is a continual reminder every time it crops up of our changed circumstances.'' " You have hurt me, Mary Ann. You must have nothing more to do with this workman. I blame myself for allowing you to have any talk with him. Forget him, my dear, if you really love me. Some more fitting mate will turn up for you." Mary Ann said no more. For three years the major and his #irls went on the even tenor of their way, without any other mate either better or worse, " looking the airt they were in," as the washerwoman put it. Only Mary Ann paid regular visits to her friend, and there managed her "clandestine correspondence" with Jack.

At the end of the three years Mr John Burnett called to see her, and to ask her from the major. Mary Ann went to the parlour to tell her father who it was calling, and what he wanted. The major was enraged, and mounted his high horse instanter. " I have no desire to see him," he said stiffly. " Very well, father," said Mary Ann, " I am going with Jack. Three years ago I told you I would." "If you leave this house without my consent I shall have nothing more to do with you. Your sister and I shall forget you!" , Helen stood and spoke not a word, and Mary Ann said, *' Very well. You may forget me, but I shall not forget you. After Jack and I are comfortably settled I shall send you our address, and if you are in Edinburgh at any time and care to call, we shall be glad to see you. I'll just pack my bag and travelling basket, and leave the house with Jack, who has a cab waiting. Will you kiss me before I go? No' Good-bye, then!" They were driven to a station three raises away, caught a train, and were in the capital in time to get a special license. That very night the bride and bridegroom entered their own house, a well-furnished four-roonied half-flat in a new residential street. It was quite as comfortable a dwelling as the home she had left, with this essential difference: here she had love and plenty;. there were pride and poverty. It was certainly not of the dirty, ragged, half-starved variety, but of "the sadder, more pretentious kind known as " genteel poverty." For five years the major and his daughter, though living soanewhat better because Mary Ann had not to be provided for from their limited means, yet felt the want of her cheery companionship, and certainly suffered from, the ravages of time, if not remorse. Still, latterly, Helen seemed to make an effort to renew her youth. There was a cause. A gentleman of their acquaintance, a banker friend of her elder brother, who used to come about the old house a dozen years before, had renewed his intimacy. It had been broken off by his marriage; but he was now a widower with three children. He did not care to run the gauntlet between housekeeper and governess in his home on the one side, and various persistent local aspirants on the other. He bethought him of Helen Kemp —tlie reserved and ladylike Helen, —the sister of his friend. So he spent one or two week-ends within visiting distance of the major's cottage. He did not give the " local aspirants " or any of Helen's old neighbours much time to gossip oyer his intentions. The result was a quiet marriage, and Helen went off with the rich banker to preside over his tiome, and be second mother to a second motherless flock.

The major, with his pride, was left to the sweet and tender mercies of a rather mean old washerwoman, who " did for him" in more ways than one. Neglected, forsaken, lonely, old, and ailing, he was an object of pity, but got little of it. He had always been too stand-offish to earn his neighbour's sympathy. Mrs Burnett's old friend, who had helped in the clandestine correspondence, had general orders to do the best she could for the old soldier, and when she heard that he was confined to bed, she said, " Now's the chance for warm-hearted Mary Ann!" To her, therefore, she sent a wire: "Father ill in bed," and the very next morning, with the first train, appeared our Mary Ann, a generous, motherly woman, 'clad in ladylike raiment. She found her father feverish and mentally depressed. His wits were even somewhat .astray, for when Mary Ann, having put off her travelling costume appeared at his beside, as if quite at home, he took her for her mother, another Mary

Ann, dead and gone quarter of a century before.

Galling in the old family physician, sh? asked his opinion about removing the patient to her borne in the suburbs of Edinburgh. The honest old doctor said that it would be a lengthening of his life to get a change. Next day, therefore, much revived with tJie idea of a jaunt to Edinburgh, the major was removed from the cottage, never to return to it. In a reserved first class compartment, in which special arrangements had been made for the ease and comfort of the invalid, he was carried to the capital. During the .journey he was happy, and appeared to improve with every turn of the wheels. Towards the end he slept and dreamed. Awaking, the past five years of bitter memory had gone, and all his love for Mary Ann had returned. I must now tell you how it had fared with Jack Burnett in Edinburgh. That he was able, in three years, to fully furnish the four-roomed half-fiat, in which he had. installed his young wife, was proof positive that he had been flourishing as an artisan, and economical as a man. He had also kept his parting promise and resolution, and had studied architecture. He had not only passed high examinations to entitle him to write "Architect" after his name, but had entered into business as such. One of his first surprises for Mary Ann was to bring home a brass plate with "John Burnett, Architect," engraved on it; and she was happy and glad, watching him whire he fixed it on the outer door.

j A few days after this he got word that ;he 'had won first place in some of the minor designs for the renovation of the old town. As the competition was intended to bring out latent talent, and to ■. show the city fathers where to look for help in their great sanitary schemes, Mr Burnett, from that day on, was never without well-paid, notable work. Before a year was over he found it necessary to remove >to a self-contained house in Rutland street, where Mary Ann had two or three servants to help her. Mr Burnett was now employed in designing and seeing completed many of the fine suburban mansions that were being then erected on all sides of the city. There ' was a "boom" in villas, and all who could. afford it had to get a house or home outside of the bustle and "reek" oJt the mietiropolis; and, as an architect, John Burnett, of Rockland street, was the fashion.

At the end of two years he acquired a property out from the fashionable west end, beyond Rutland street. This property had up to that time been tied up by a life-rent. He at once began to subdivide it into large building allotments, for mansions such as only much-moneyed men could purchase and occupy. It was a scheme to make money. He was not only the designer, but the contractor also, of the houses; and as soon as a house was completed, and its grounds laid out and planted in a becoming manner—that is, as soon as it was ready to be occupied, he had many bidders for it. Those who did not get it said, "Build some more like it and give us a show." His workmen were no sooner finished building one than they began another, and each as completed had a ready purchaser. All the materials used were of the best procurable. Burnett was no jerrybuilder. But he had larger discounts, and produced work that always met approval. His sales ol ready-made mansions always included his own (fees as architect, and one plan was used over and over again. But his work was not confined to the houses that he was building for sale. He was the busiest architect in the city. As I said, he was the fashion, because be had excellent taste. He had not to seek for employment; it was brought to him. He simply coined money. He built the last of the westend mansions on that property specially for himself.

Great was Mary Ann's joy when, with her two bonnie bairns, she was driven out from Rutland street to her new mansion, in their own "carriage and pair," and attended by a footman in a genteel, quiet livery-—same as the coachman's. You need not wonder that her happy, joyous heart turned back to her father with a little .pride, as she said to herself, "I wish dad could see me now!" Well, it was that very same turn-out that was waiting at the entrance of the station for him, and to which the footman carried the modest portmanteau, into which Mrs Burnett had packed his most necessary belongings. When the surprised major was gently seated in the carriage, he was still more surprised when he heard Mary Ann say to the footman, as he closed the door, "Straight home!" In the seclusion of the carriage, as it passed along Princes street, the major seemed to come more thoroughly to himself, when he asked, "How has fortune's wheel been turned for yon, Mary Ann? I thought you married a mere casrpenter?"

"So I did, dad; but you know ,1 believed in Jack's ability to get on, and he has got on. He is not a mere carpenter now, as you will see." Aiid he did see, and he did admire both the man and his mansion, in which he lived as an honoured guest until he was stricken in years. Mary Ann's husband took the old soldier's remains back to the cemetery where his own Mary Ann was lying.