"Reported Missing."

Otago Witness, Issue 3327, 19 December 1917, Page 66

"Reported Missing."

By Ixa Leon Cassilis

'" Alban Walter ' Guilford ... reported missing." "But, mother dear," said Maggie, her gentle hand on the widow's shoulder. "you must not give up hope." Maggie was eighteen; her mother was fifty, and had suffered much—loss of husband and children, struggles with poverty, many things; and the whisper of hope found her unresponsive. She knew too well what that "missing" generally meant —either death or captivity.

Her only son, who went away only six months ago, " looking so handsome, brave, and. grand," whore bright letters home she read and re-read, and covered with her kisses and blotted with her tears—it seemed so hard to believe that she would never see him again, never hear his loving, "Well, little mother, how's yourself?" And yet she could not hope. Four days before Christmas i and he had hoped to get Christmas leave and spend it at home, the dear old cottage near the woods, where he and Maggie and Maggie's special chum, Elsie May, used to go nutting when they were all children together, for Alban was only twenty-two now. The big collie, Rex —Alban's own doglay on the rug before the kitchen fire, with his nose between his paws and his great, pathetic brown eyes turning, with that strangely humr i look of his race, from Mrs Guilford to her daughter and back again. Rex knew something was wrong with his young master; he knew when the War Office communication came, and the widow and Maggie sobbed, and Elsie May stood beside them white and silent, .with tearless, glittering eyes staring into space—bonnie, motherless Elsie, who was living now at Hawthorn Cottage while her father was at the front. •"It might be someone with the same name," Maggie suggested tamely; but the answer was obvious. " Alban isn't a name you often see, especially among such as us." said the widow; " and all the three names together ! No, it's my boy for certain !" She looked again at the newspaper in her hand, as if she could stare that awful line out of the column. But there it was; there was no getting away from it or getting rid of it. Gunner Alban Walter Guilford was "reported missing." By and by Maggie went k> feed the fire, which had been getting low, and while doing this she asked: "What about Christmas, mother?" , Mrs Guilford, feeling rather helpless, appealed to Elsie. "What do you say, dear? It doesn't seem much use worrying—about Christmas, I mean." The pudding had yet to be made. Elsie answered: "I think I would go on with things, auntie," as she always called Mrs Guilford, though there was no kinship between them. " Suppose he were to come back?" She paused. "He won't clear; I'm sure he won't." l 'oh, don't say that!" Elsie's A-oice broke. " There is always hope ' ".•And Christmas is Christmas," interposed Maggie., "You needn't trouble, nioiher. Elsie and I will make the pudding, and we'll have everything just as it Used to be. Suppose Alban did come h"--.:o. «.iid there was no Christmas Oinner!" . The proposition was unanswerable. Christrnft*, and all its customs and traditions. WR.S as the laws of the Medes and Persians in the Guilford household. The roast beef, the pudding, the mince-pies, the stocking's luine to the bedpost, the holly find the mistletoe —nothing must be omitted. "Mrs Guilford vielded the point at one?, and declared that she herself would innke the pudding, as she had done ever s!t:co ehe was married. Maggie and Elsie could assist with the mince-pies and other ft'-ccssories, but the crowning glory of all, the pudding, must be the work of the house-mother, and no one else. " Much better she should be busv," said Elsie in an aside to Maegie. "If she's doing something active she won't grieve and brood so much." And presently Mrs Guilford roused herself • and set to work to make the allimportant pudding, while Elsie and Maggie busied themselves with mince-pies, and made valiant efforts to talk and laugh, as if both were not verv heavy at heart and keenly conrcious of nlaying only a part. But pudding and pie 3 were made and put away in the pantry ready for boilins and baking, and after tea the three sat by the fire and talked softly of the missing man. But there were loner intervals of silence, and Elsie had little to say. She sat in the shadow, so that her face could not be seen clearly. Often Mrs Guilford glanced towards her: but she was a tactful woman, and let the girl have her wav.

The snow fell heavily that night and all the following day. The postman struggled past, but he brought no letter to Hawthorn Cottage. A Job s comforter came, however, bringing a newspaper. "I thought as you'd like to see it,'' said she; " but there ain't no news o' your boy. Lor', but I am sorry. To think of him — as handsome a young feller as ever stepped; and maybe as he'll never come back! And Christmas-time, too! Yon might ha' knocked me down with a feather when I see 'is name in the paper." But at this point Maggie interposed, for her mother was weeping. Elsie, white and tearless, turned a?ide. "Don't talk that way, Mrs Fenner," cried the girl. "What's the good ? Alban may come back! Yes, he may; I believe he will," sh' added, fiercely, as the neighbour shook her head dolefully. " I am sure he will "

"Well, my dear," said Mrs Fenner, in lugubrious sympathy, "we must hope for the best - ; but I know the 'missings' don't often come 'ome! Dear, dear 1 It's very sad! What may vou be doing about Christmas, Mrs Guilford?"

"We're doing just as usual," again interposed Maggie defiantly. "The pudding is boiling now and the mince-pies are all made; and mother's going to make an apple-pie. And to-morrow we'll put up the holly, same as we always have done." "It is best, don't you think so?" said Mrs Guilford meekly. "Suppose he was to come home, and no Christmas dinner!" 'Yes, if he was to come," assented the neighbour dubiously. "Well, I'm glad to find you so cheerful, Mrs Guilford. I know when poor Mrs Brown lost her 'usband—you remember he was killed at Mongs (Mons), and the first she knew

"Come, auntie," said Elsie, suddenly advancing into the foreground, and catching the widow by the sleeve, "i want you to see if the pies are.doing right. There's no need to listen to all this dismal talk!" "Well, I'm sure!" exclaimed Mrs Fenner, bridling; but she Avas left to soliloquise in solitude, for Maggie had run away to hide her laughter, and. Elsie dTew the widow into the kitchen.

"Of all the impudent hussies!" said Mrs Fenner,' stalking down the garden path between two little banks of snow. "Detestable woman!" said Maggie, peeping out of the scullery window at the retreating foe. "She positively delights in making people unhappy!" "But she meant to.be kind," said the gentle widow. "People who mean well generally do ill," was the prompt and enigmatic reply of Miss Maggie. Christmas Eve came; the snow had ceased to fall, but fields and woods were clothed in a white pall. The morning post, so anxiously watched for, again brought no hope. Even Maggie's buoyant heart began to sink, and Elsie, alone in her little room, prayed passionately, with burning tears, for, the missing soldier. With "auntie" and Maggie, however, she bore herself bravely. She helped Maggie to gather and bring in the holly and decorate the kitchen and the other rooms, not forgetting Alban's room. This, with the tact of a fine instinct, mother and daughter left to Elsie; and with tender, trembling -hands the girl placed here and there the sprigs of red berries and shining leaves that Alban might never see. The dew of tears fell on those leaves, and the prayers of a loving heart consecrated them.

The Christmas chimes pealed out over the snow that night from the tower of the old church, as they had every Christmas for four hundred years. To-morrow— Christmas Day—and Alban still "missing." "They'd, let us know, wouldn't they?" the widow said appealingly to Elsie, as they were bidding each other gocd-night. "They'd let us know —if—if " She stopped. "Yes, auntie dear," the girl answered, "they'd let you know; but there's no post here to-morrow, remember." Elsie, alone for a while by the dying fire, sat staring blankly into ihe dull red glow. The sound of the bells came to her from over the fields, now clear, now faint, as the wind willed. Rex, lying on the rug, rose and went and laid his nose on the girl's knee, looking up to her with eves that questioned, "Where is master? He was always here at Christmas. Why doesn't he come?" She put her arms about the dumb friend who yet spoke so eloquently., and laid her soft cheek against him, and answered him : "ITe may never come again, Rex: but if Heaven wills he will come. Oh, Rex, Rex, my heart is breaking!" The collie whined a 6oft little sobbing whine. He quite understood, and gave his sympathy in a dog's pathetic way.

Christmas Day! Bright, clear, frosty, the snow as hard as a pavement in this northern district, where snowy winters are more common than in the south. The girls went to the early service at the church, but came out before the rest of the congregation and hurried away. They felt they could not bear to hear and answer inquiries, kindly meant, but infinitely painful, about the missing soldier for whom now they hardly dared to hope. The fire burnt up merrily in the kitchen at home; the breakfast was ample and tempting, but no one ate much. The contrast between the dav and its joyous associations and memories, and the grief and dread that lay on the hearts of all three, was too great, too bitter, for any effort to counteract. Rex, too, was plainly unhappy, and whined softly to himself now and then as he lay before the fire. There had never been such a breakfast on Christmas morning at Hawthorn Cottage. Tlie meal concruded and cleared away, Mrs Guilford put on her big apron to prepare the dinner. "We shan't do any good by not eatirrs our Christmas dinner." said she; and while she busies herself in the scullery or outer kitchen, Maggie peeled apples in the kitchen, and Elsie took up somo knitting. Presently Rex, lyinrr at her feet, lifted his head and pricked up his ears. Then he rose and

walked to the outer door, sniffed under it, paused, and looked round. "1 hope it isn't Mrs Fenner," said Maggie. Elsie laid down her knitting and looked at Rex. "Ho never notices her," she said.

Rex put his nose to the crack of the door again, and whined. He seemed restless and' disturbed. "What on earth's the matter with him?" exclaimed Maggie, pausing in her work.

Elsie, with an odd, tremulous feeling at her heart, put down her knitting and rose. Rex uttered a sound, half-bark, half-im-patient whine, and lifted himsel* to the latch of the door, as his habft was when he wanted to get out, and Eisi , without a word—she could not have spoken just then—opened the door; the collie sprang out with a bound, cleared the garden fence, and disappeared. Bv a simultaneous .instinct both girls followed; but on the garden path Elsie stopped short, clutching at her heart; and a 3 Maggie, rushing on, vanished behind the hedge, the wild, joyous barking of Rex" rang through the frosty air. A minute, and Maggie came tearing back, her hair flying, her face all alight. "Mother!" she screamed —" mother I Elsie! It's Alban! He's come back! Oh, mother, mother !"

Out from the kitchen the mothe? ran as through the gate came the tall bronzed soldier, his handsome features quivering with emotion, Rex dancing frantically round him. Down went the soldier's heavy kit on the frozen snow, and mother and son were locked in each other's arms.

And then it was Maggie's turn; and then—well, Alban should have just taken Elsie's hands in his. as a friend would have done, but he did not; he just caught her right into his arms, and Elsie, with a deep, tremulous sob, hid her face against him.

What a happy group gathered round the fire! What questions and explanations ! How Alban had, after all, got back to his unit; how he had got his leave, and wired home (the wire had never arrived!), and how it was the correction was never made. Perhaps some notification had gone astray —like the telegram. And what a Christmas dinner that was! And when they told him how they would not give up hope, but resolved to do everything just as usual, Alban said, laughingly . " Wiry, little mother, rancy if I had come home and there was no Christmas pudding I'd have walked out again!" He did full justice to the pudding, too. " No puddings like mother's !" And after dinner they gathered round the fire again, and Alban made Elsie sit beside him, and kept a hand in one of his; his other hand clasped his mother's, and Maggie sat at his feet with Rex, and they all worshipped and made much of the brave lad back from the fronl, as well they might.

"Well," he said at last, "I reckon I'm having more happiness than my cup can hold ! All the dear ones"—and his glance went from one to the other and lingered on Elsie, —"and Christmas just as it used to be ! Yet not quite, for I've never had such a happy Christmas as this. Why, little mother, it was worth while to be ' reported missing '!" [The End.]