"Peace on Earth."

Otago Witness, Issue 3275, 20 December 1916, Page 60

"Peace on Earth."

By A. B. Cootek.

A CHRISTMAS MILL STORY

(AJI Rights Reserved ) It was only six months since Silas Bradwell's niece, Eileen Anderson, had come to live at Guiseburn Towers, and yet her influence over him was unmistakable. People had even remarked that Silas had been seen to smile, and even his " hands " —the people who worked in his huge mill at Blackham, five miles away—had been heard to observe, before the dispute of a month ago which set them all against him again, that " T' gaffer were gettin' a bit moor like other fowk." But now that they had reverted to their old opinion of him, the reaction had seemed to intensify even their former hatred of their hard, uncompromising master, and, as they sat beside their cold hearth-stones, with the thermometer standing at ten degrees below freezing-point, they cursed him not only in their hearts, but with their lips.

The dispute promised to be bitter and protracted. The spirit of oweet reasonableness was not conspicuous on either side. Silas stood upon his rights as a master to say what remuneration he should give his workpeople, and argued that if they were not satisfied they could try' to get a better job elsewhere. He would not stand in their way. He could see no injustice in that—and he told them so n plain, round, unequivocal terms. The approach of Christmas, so far from easing the situation, seemed rather to complicate; it. Probably the thought, of the contrast between what the season ought to mean to them and what it was likely to mean, added fuel to the fires of anger in the hearts of the workers. On Christmas Day the strike would have lasted exactly one month, and, so far as anyone could see, it seemed quite likely to go on for six. Little short of a miracle would soften Silas Bradwell's heart, and miracles do not happen in these days—or so the .people of Blackham believed. They overlooked the fact, in their pessimistic mood, that the greatest miracle worker is love—that it can turn darkness into light, bitter to sweet, sorrow to joy, and that it is performing these miracles every day. Eileen, being new to the neighbourhood, had not been much into Blackham. Besides, she had many services to perform at Guiseburn Towers if she were to io her duty by the man who had befriended her in her hour of need. But for him she would have been absolutely alone in the world when her mother died. It was just at that sad time that Silas Bradwell, a man whom she had not seen since she was a very little girl, and when Mrs Bradwell—her mother's sister—was aliye, offered her a home in his beautiful mansion Had she known it, Silas Bradwell had been attracted, when he attended her mother's funeral, by her own likeness to that dead wife whose early death had made a well of bitterness in his heart, and had done much to make him the man he now was. So diverse are the effects of sorrow. Some it softens, some it hardens, and some it blasts.

So when Eileen came at her uncle's call to "keep house" for him, she determined to devote herself to him, heart and soul. Thus, with the exception of her activities in church and Sunday school, she seldom went far afield. Nevertheless, she could not help hearing about the fitrike, even though she knew so little about Blackham and had never been in a cotton mill in her life, and she had done her best to talk to her uncle from the compassionate side. Her arguments were not arguments of expediency, or tactics, or retaliation; they were arguments of kindness and generosity and simple justice betwixt man and man. But she felt slje had made but little impression. These things did not appear to touch him.

One thing h«r aloofness and remoteness from the contest was responsible for —her failure to realise its grimness. What can a gently-born " slip of a girl " know of the tragedies of industrial life, even though she have a heart of gold? The pathos, the pity, the heart-break of pinched babies and toiling women and half-clad children, and an empty cupboard, had not as yet clutched at her heart-strings. But they did before Christmas : came. The fact is, Ray Marsden, the son of the vicar of Guiseburn, was determined they should. He was a young doctor in Blackham, and he saw stark tragedy every day with his sympathetic eyes, and he knew that if Eileen could see a tithe of what he had seen she could not refrain from more strenuous advocacy of " peace and goodwill." He knew that any advocacy which came from the vicarage would be tainted at its source as far as Silas Bradwell was concerned. The factory master had quarrelled with the parson years ago, and had shaken the dust of the church from his shoes, and had never entered it since. He had raised no objection to Eileen's attendance, or to her taking a class in the Sunday school. It was a matter of indifference to him. Pie wanted to he left alone these days. But he might have objected had he foreseen consequences, which were certainly not in Eileen's thoughts originally. It would be very untrue to say that they were not in her thoughts eventually, although hitherto she had kept Ray from any actual declaration of love which was as unmistakable as his honesty.

Being a natural, unaffected, unspoiled girl, Eileen just took Ray Marsden's attentions as a flower takes the sunshine. She liked him, but she never stopped to imagine whether her liking was of a special quality or strength. When he asked her to do' anything for him, she did it willingly, and in return she asked him to do things for her, arid he did them joyfully. One of the things she had asked him to do was to act the part of Father Christmas at a children's party she was giving at the Towers to all the children

of the village and : its neighbourhood, without distinction of class or creed, on December 23. He had pointed out the fact that he had never entered the doors of Guiseburn Towers for years, and that Mr Brarhvell would probably object to his presence there. Eileen's answer to that was a merry laugh. "It's all very ridiculous," she said, "and I don't suppose anyone but uncle remembers what the original quarrel was about; but, even if they do, and even if the cause was in the least adequate, I see no reason why he should include the son under the father's ban."

" But I fear he does," said Ray. " Well, in any case," laughed Eileen, " he wouldn't know you if he saw you, because you will be most effectually disguised as Father Christmas, and—l may tell you—it is very unlikely he will even see youi, because his one and only stipulation, when I mentioned this project to him and asked his permission, was that he should not be asked to join in the festivities. Of course, I acquiesced, because I looked upon it as a bit of a score for me to get my party after all—eh?" " Well, you know you are irresistible, Eileen," ho said, and then Eileen changed the subject. But she had lost all interest in her children's party as she drove home on that bitter December, afternoon, snuggled down into her rugs and furs, at Ray's side. She could see again, as in a kinematograph, the wretchedness of povertystricken homes, the pinched faces of the children, the sullen, sometimes fierce looks of the men ; the grim patience, but more often the barely concealed hatred of the women. It had made an indelible impression upon her heart. Oh, the babies! Her heart yearned over them. "Ray,"'she burst out, "it's too dreadful. I don't think it would be right to have the Christmas party to-morrow night. It seems like dancing at a funeral." Ray nodded. "It does, somewhat," he assented; " but it was arranged before the strike commenced, and the kiddies are all specially and personally invited, and they have been eagerly looking forward to it for weeks, and—well—it s got to go on, and we must give them the night of their lives, Eileen —you and I." 11. Never was heard such. a clamour as when Father Christmas, his very own self, actually walked into the great oak-panellecl room with a big bag on h,i»—back, so literally crammed with toys that a flaxenhaired doll and a gooliwog—indicative, no doubt, of the sharp contrasts one meets in daily life—were peeping out of the pack s moiith, evidently because it was a case of "House Full—Only Standing Room." At any rate, it may'be quite safely asserted that never before had such a hubbub awakened the ghostly echoes of Guiseburn Towers. Ray would have defied the Lynx-eyed Sherlock Holmes to discover his identity. The children certainly never even attempted to guess who he was. They were quite content to take him at his face value; and that proclaimed him, by every mark known to fairy-lore, to be none other than Father Christmas. His cleanshaven chin had suddenly grown a beard of portentous length and exceeding hoanness, his straight, thin nose, with its delicate nostrils, had as suddenly evolved a bloodrelationship to a strawberry, whilst his cheeks were so red with riding over the Arctic -ice and snow in his sledge, that they matched his nose and his long red cloak exactly. Only his grey-blue eyes were the real thin"- They could not be disguised, or their kindly colour altered. But they seemed to fall in with the general tone of things remarkably well. They glanced round the room, and shone in the light of many fairy lamps as their owner advanced to the centre of the room, and dumpec. down his big bag as he took bus stand beside the lovely Christmas tree. Then came the work of distributing the presents, and it took Eileen and Father Christmas and the servants all their time. Every boy and girl had a toy and a book, and a pretty or useful article of attire, and soon the room was one babel ot squeaking trumpets, talking dolls shrill whistles, rattling drirms, and children s merry voices. And where was Silas Bradwell all the time? In his room, pretending to read, but really brooding—chewing the bitter cud of his own thoughts. Suddenlv the telephone bell pealed out unexpectedly, so that its sound startled even an imperturbable man like Silas Bradwell. He clutched the receiver and thrust it to his ear. "Yes," he said "who are you?" Telephone talk seemed exactlv suited to his style of interrogation. Then there was a muffled sound of jargon unintelligible to anyone except the owner of the ear placed firmly at the orifice. Silas listened and interpolated a sentence now and again, which crackled like an electric sparl<, a look of hatred and fear grew in his eyes, and his face first flushed and then became deathly pale. "Wire instantly to Warmington for a posse of police,'and you'd better inform the Commandant at Freshton, so that he can send a squad of cavalry if he thinks fit The beasts! Well, let 'em come!— Fire the house, will they? A lot of good they'll get out of that—How many?— about five hundred?—Pah!— Starving? Of course thev are. Serve em right, too. Whose fault is it? Not mine—the mill s there when they want to start. Wire at once." , ~ . . , BratKell banged the receiver into its piace and leapt from his seat, It was his trusted manager that had just rung him up from Blackham to inform him that <a mob of men were already on the way to the Towers, vowing to burn the place over their master's head. He clenched his hands in fierce anger, and even shook his first in the direction of the distant town where his mill was situated ; yet there was a look in his face which few had ever seen there before. It was quite evident that his workpeople, like Russian wolves—that was his simile,—had been

rendered fierce by the cold weather. He had hoard rumours that some of the babies were dying for lack of nourishment, and that, in con: eqiience, the women had begun to incite their husbands and sons to strong measures. Yes, and Eileen had, only that very morning, told him the same thing. But he had not counted on this. He never thought they would dare to sally out at nine o'clock on a winter s night, tramp all along the high road, and up the long drive to the Towers, through three inches of snow, with the fierce boast on their lips that they would burn him out of house and home. No, he had not reckoned on that. He strode to the window and flung it open. To the left the broad stone steps went down from the great front door, and beyond was the glimmering snow-covered lawn, and, still beyond, the park, with its trees and groves standing out against the prevailing whiteness. Hark! What was that? There was no mistaking the distant murmur. It was the sound of many voices. A thrill of dread —or was it the freezing wind which came shrewdly through an open window';—ran through Silas's bones. He seemed to feel suddenly old and helpless, as though it would require a supreme effort not to break down and weep. For the first time in his life he wanted someone to lean on. It was a new feeling for Silas. He was generally so strong ' and self-confident. Men regarded him as adamant. They thought him incapable of weakness. He shuddered and shut the window. The horde of hungry, raging men were in the park. In ten minutes they would be on the lawn, ravening like wild beasts, and thirsting for vengeance. It was a lurid picture that presented itself to his imagination; but perhaps it was not far wrong. Then another and much more horrible thought flashed into his mind. Yes, more horrible, for Silas Bradwell, with all his keen, hard, business spirit, was by no means a monster. The house was full of children, and he had forgotten all about it. He was so little used to those Christmas functions, and the presence of these little ones had quite escaped his thoughts. They were romping in innocent glee at this moment, when five hundred fire fiends were marching upon the place. Hark! that was the faint sound of their laughter. The rioters could not be more than half a mile away now, and yet he had been so stupefied by the telephone message from his manager that he had seemed incapable of thought. Surely his head would burst! But he must act—he must do something. But what? What? A little tap came at the door—such a tiny tap that he scarcely heard it. Yet he "started as if the telephone bell had rung again. "Come in," he shouted; end Eihfen's radiant face peeped round the door. "Won't you come in and join us at supper, uncle darling?" she coaxed. "Oh, vou will. Why should you remain here all alone? What—what's the matter, uncle? Are you ill? Oh—let mo send What? Rioters? Going to fire the house? Ah, didn't I tell you the poor babies were starving? Poor, poor little mites. No wonder they're desperate. Look here, uncle. You can do nothing in thus matter. They'll not hearken to you. Leave this to me. I'll see it through. They'll not burn the Towers down to-night. Uncle, will you stay in this room, and leave it to your "little girl—Eileen ?" She stroked his pallid cheek. She saw that it was his hour of weakness—that he had been overstrained, and that he was ready to lean on the first strong hand that was outstretched to him.

" But—but —what can you do?" be gasped. "A slip of a girl like you—against five hundred savages? ' "They're not savages, uncle. Iney have "ood, honest hearts under their fustian waistcoats. I know them. Leave them to me. This does not seem to be a woman's work, but it is. They'll listen to me when thev wouldn't listen to you You must not show yourself; I couldn t hold them if vou did. Promise, uncle; the lives of fifty children may depend upon vour answer." . "I 'promise, Eileen—my good girl. But —but—if " , ~, • -., "There is no 'if' about it. Leave it to me," and Eileen disappeared. 111. "Ho my children! Listen! I have a story' to tell you, said Father Christmas, rising from the place of honour at the head° of the supper table, two minutes after Eileen had returned without her uncle. "Once upon a time I, Father Christmas, went to a large and beautiful house like this, and I gave the children all manner of lovely presents, like these, and spread before them choice cakes and fruits, like these, and they were just beginning to enjoy themselves when there came down from the dark streets of the city a troop of shivering mortals, poor and almost naked, and the children said • ' Father Christmas, we have heaps and heaps of good things all the vear round, and these have none. Besides, they have little children and tiny babies at home who would go wild with iov if they had a talking doll or a funny golliwog. ' Oil, Father Christmas, grant that we mav give all our new treasures to these pom- wayfarers. I said: ' The Babe who was cradled in a manger put this thought into your heads. Do even as you wish'' And I led the children forth, and they distributed not, only their presents, but their supper also, to the poor. hungry, and wretched ones, and they all said 0 it was the happiest time they had ever spent." And when Father Christmas sat down there was a great cry: "We would liko to do the same, dear Father Christmas." " But," said one fair-haired boy who sat next to Eileen, "there are no'shivering mortals here, and it is a'long way to the town through the snow " ; and the children's faces fell, for they knew that the fair-haired boy spoke the truth. Father Christmas's episode probably occurred in Fairyland, and not in this matter-of-fact neighbourhood.

" Put your trus 1 ; in Father Christmas, said Eileen. " Listen ! '

" Then you shall do the same," said the old sage, smiling benignantly towards the fair-haired boy, " for Father Christmas can do wonders, and there will be no need to trudge through the snow to the town. Oh, no! But I shall want you to go out with me into the night—and it is very cold. So hasten with .Miss Anderson and the servants to your cloakrooms and wrap yourselves up warm and snug, and change your shoes, and in five minutes exactly meet in the hall, bringing with you your toys and pretty presents. Let each boy and girl also bring a plate of good things from the supper table. Now, away you go!" The children crowded out of the room in high excitement and scurried upstaffs. There Eileen and the servants helped to wrap them up against the biting wind. Then they returned to the dining room and despoiled the table of all its delightful confections. In five minutes they were reassembled in the hall, where Father Christmas awaited them.

What a stir there was! Silas heard it, for it was almost immediately outside his door, and he wondered if Eileen were hurrying the children home. He never guessed the real inwardness of the situation. He knew it was too late to attempt this, because already the lighted torches of the mob illuminated the park. This was the most, by far the most, exciting episode of the evening. Then Father Christinas, in his long flowing beard, and fur cap, and long red cloak, led the children to the great front door and down the broad steps—-a wondrous procession indeed. The darkness blinded the children, and they could not see. 13ut they knew that their appearance was greeted with a great shout. Was it welcome or menace?

Eileen's heart slopped. But she trusted the men. They would not —they could not —hurt the children. As the clamour died away Eileen's voice rang across the lawn : " Dear men, the children greet you. They come laden with Christmas gifts for your little ones and your babes in arms. They want you to have a happy Christmas, and they do not want the children's stockings to be empty. There are toys and all sorts of pretty things, and cakes and fruit and sweetmeats, —all sorts of things which children love. It's a little surprise we' have prepared for you. Open your ranks and let the children in. There '.s something for each one of you to take home to wife and bairns.'''

Then arose a great, glad shout from the children. This was nothing less than a miracle on the part of Father Christmas, and they were ready to srive him every credit for it. Hardly able to believe, nevertheless, that Father Christmas had worked the wonder, yet rilled to overflowing with the spirit of Father Christmas's story, they rushed across the lawn, and found' more joy that cold night in giving than they had ever found in receiving. Who could keep anger in the heart when little innocents were flitting about in the cold moonlight with laughter and pleasant words upon their lips? Not these simple fellows, certainly. " Quench yer torches, chaps," cried a big voice—the voice of their leader—" ther's nowt dcoin' to-neet," and instantly every man obeyed. "By gum! that's a gradely nice doll!" ." Aye, aye, aar little Janey'll goo fair mad when hoo sees that." " Gi'e us a kiss, then." " Bless their little hearts !" These were the expressions, and a hundred more like them, on every side, and they were crowned by "Three cheers for 'young missie,' " three more for " Father Christmas," and three times three for "T' childer."

But Silas, seeing all this unseen himself, was struck with amazement. It was a revelation to him of the power of love and kindliness and sympathy. His hour of weakness became his hour of strength. Unaccustomed tears fell unchecked down his cheeks. Then came the inevitable question : What was he doing there, skulking in his room, when a mere slip of a girl was standing in the breach? But he had promised that he would not intervene. Yes; but Eileen had had a certain kind of intervention in her mind—a kind of intervention which inflames rather than allays passion. His intervention should be something different from that. It should be a foretaste and a prophecy of the new spirit which should dominate him in his relations with his Oh, yes, there had been faults on their side — faults of stubbornness which were very galling ; but he had been a hard and exacting master. " Goodness me, how they are cheering the children! I will—yes, I will. I can't keep out of this." Silas Bradwell rushed out of the room. The servants, who were congregated in the hall around the open doors, looking with unalloyed pleasure at the scene silhouetted against the landscape, and lit by the moon and the streaming lights of the house, fell back in amazement, and something akin to panic, when they saw their master. But he did not pause, even to put a cap over his iron-grey locks. He passed rapidly through their midst into the lane of light which swept down the broad steps. Then he paused. For a breathing space he was unnoticed. Then a voice shouted "T gaffer!' and instantly every face was turned to that tall figure standing on the steps, and an indescribable sound went surging through the crowd. What did it portend? Was Eileen's happy thought to end in failure and tragedy after all?"

"My men!" cried Silas Bradwell in a loud voice, which could he heard to the farthest edge of the crowd, " I'm glad to see you to-night and to wish you Christmas cheer. I am glad that my niece and the children have been able to give you something to take home to your wives and your little ones. Now it is my turn. To-morrow is Christmas Eve. From two p.m. to six p.m. I shall be in my office at the mill, and every man who applies to me there shall have a week's wages put into his hands with which to buy the Christmas dinner and something for the chil-

dren's stocking. Good-night. It's getting late, and the children must get home to bed, and your wives will expect you back."

Then pandemonium broke out—not the pandemonium of hate and revolution and malice, but of joy and thankfulness and loyalty. Even the cheers for the children were exceeded by the cheers for "T' gaffer," and as he turned and walked back into the house with bent head and hands clasped behind his back, those cheers seemed the pleasantest so\;nd he had ever listened to. But who was the wonder-worker—this Santa Claus—this Father Christmas? That question pursued Silas Bradwell, and was still unanswered. He learned that same night. The masquerader threw off his mask and revealed the features of Ray Marsden, the son of a man whom he had quarelled with long ago. It all seemed silly and petty now. Silas Bradwell held out his hand. He had been through deep waters that night, and things could never be the same with him again." Thank you," he said with a choked voice—" thank you. I shall hope to repay you some day." Perhaps it did not strike him at that time what form the repayment might take; but it may be said at once that he did not attempt to deny the debt when the bill was presented. li* found it costly parting with Eileen; but as they live close at hand, and are the Idols of Blackham, he finds himself happier to-day than ever he w-as in his life before. And the vicar and he are besom chums. Another miracle.