SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3443, 9 March 1920, Page 65

SHORT STORIES.

[All Rights Reserved.] THEfWEDDING BREAKFAST. By John Jentleshaw. "Oh, nurse, you here, sitting all alone? Where is Miss Marjorie? I want her." "You generally do want her, Mr Alfred," said the old nurse, looking with kind smiling eyes on the curly-headed youth who had just stepped in out of the sunshine 5 "I'm very much afraid you'll be wanting her altogether one of these fine days." "You know quite well I shall," replied the youngster in a tone of happy assurance, "and you are not a bit afraid of it, so don't pretend. But I really do want her very specially, I've got something I want to give her." He was keeping the "something" hidden behind his back, while he stood with his long legswell apart, looking down at the sweet, wrinkled face of the ©ighty-years'-old nurse. "If it's another present, Master Alfred, I think you had better take it back and keep it for a while; you know what Mrs Wmford said about the last —that pearl brooch. Fond as she is of you, she thinks Miss Marjorie too young as yet to receive presents from gentlemen."

"This doesn't come under the veto; it hasn't been listed as contraband yet," said the youth light-heartedly, and he exhibited a fine bunch of oak-apples set about with fresh young leaves, tenderly coloured with the lake and amber and green of early spring. "She was just longing for some last night," he explained confidentially, "so I took a look round this morning. Now, where is she, nurse? I've been through the gardens and the paddock. Be a good soul. I shall have, my nose on the grindstone again to-mor-row, so I don't want to waste time." "Her father has taken her in his car to the city to help him to buy something for her mother, so I'm afraid you must do without her this morning; but if you would like to please Mrs Winford very much, just go into the little east sitting-room, where she is, and take her that bunch of oak-apples. It's Oak-Apple Day, and you'll find she'll be delighted. There will be plenty of time for you to gather another bunch for Miss Marjorie.'' The youth looked doubtingly at the nurse. He was not" only disappointed at missing Sweet Seventeen, he feared his old friend and confidante was trying to "let him in for something." There was a-gleeful twinkle in. the" bright old eyes that filled this astute young gentleman with suspicion. -■. - . , - % -. "I believe you ; are trying, to work me one," he said with a knowing look. "Why should Mrs Winford be especially pleased with a bunch of oak apples?" "Never you mind, Master Alfred," replied the old lady, looking more amused and mysterious than ever, and pausing in her stockingdarning to add emphasis to her words; "you mark what I say; if you want to please Mrs Winford very much indeed, just take her that bunch of oak-apples." "I believe, nurse, you want to make me look foolish," said the very young man, with dignity. "Why should she be so extra much pleased with such a trifle?" "You take her the bunch, Master Alfred, and then if she won't tell you the story, I will." The old lady, still as fond as any kitten of a bit of fun, could not be induced to give any further information, so eventually, not without some secret misgivings and fears for his dignity, Alfred Bagster betook himself to Mrs Winford's favourite sitting-room—thus bearing to his lady-love's mother, a course, by the way, that may be recommended for occasional imitation. "Why, Alfred, what a dear boy you are! Whoever put such an idea into your head? Now, I do think this kind. I believe they are the finest and prettiest oak-apples I have had since I first wore a wreath of them in my hair—a long, long time ago." There could be no doubt that the lady was pleased. Her - face became quite young again, in spite* of the 55 years that by right belonged to it. A .beautiful face it was, sweet and motherly; and full of charm. ' When one looked at Mrs Winford it was not difficult to understand Master Alfred's devotion to . her youngest and only unmarried daughter. She was the wife of the great bridgebuilding engineer, head of the firm of Winford and Madeley, and for many years past young Bagster, son of a well-to-do neighbour, had been a favourite" protege. He tried to look very modest while Mrs Winford thanked and praised him, and then he asked to be told the "storv." "Don't you know it is my weddingday?" inquired the lady. "Your wedding-day ! And did you wear a wreath of oak-apples instead of orangeblossoms?" , ' " ■ - Mrs Winford laughed: "Something like that," she said, "but I'm afraid I dare not tell you the story. Ask Nurse. She has put you up to this, I'll warrant. You see I am a bit doubtful about the moral of the story myself." "Never mind the moral, dear Mrs Win-, ford. You tell me the story and I'll put the moral in myself." "I'm afraid you would put in the wrong one," replied Mrs Winford, . "but as you have been such a good boy to bring me this lovely bunch of oak-apples on my although I believe you picked them for someone else to begm with, you may go to Nurse and tell her I'm not a bit ashamed of myself, although I've had 34 years In which to think over my wickedness. Tell her that I should do just the same again if I had to make the same choice." This order, and signal of dismissal, the youth hastened to obey; and we will now

endeavour to repeat the story which the old nurse, with inimitably vivid glances and expressive gestures, told to Alfred Bagster on that beautiful May morning. "You must know, Master Alfred, that when Miss Millie Goodman, now Mrs Winford, was a girl of 18 years, she was the fairest maiden in her native town of Wroxhampton, and I don't suppose that London town itself, nor the Queen's Court even, could show any lovelier girl. If I tell you that she was more beautiful than Miss Marjorie, I know you won't me, but upon my word, I think it's true. But although was so fair to see, and had been educated at a quite a fine establishment at Malvern for the training of young ladies, and very expensive—at the time of which I am speaking her prospects of spending a happy life did not appear very bright. And now I must tell you why.

"Her father—'Tom Goodman,' as everybody in Wroxhampton called him—was the proprietor of the most noted and prosperous hotel in the town. I don't suppose there are any such hosts as he in these days. He belonged -to the old style of proprietor, and could remember the day when 20 stage-coaches a week used to stop .outside his hall door. He was a big, stout man, with a red face and a red neck, bright peering grey eyes, and a very kind heart in spite of his stubbornness and prejudices. Next to his love for Miss Millie, which was as real as real could be, I think the most outstanding thing about him was the pride he. took in his establishment. He was never happier than when arranging, a big dinner, or receiving with courteous dignity a distinguished guest. To watch him presiding at the great dinner-table, carving a huge turkey or a round of beef, was a sight to remember. He loved" good living, liked to smell and see the steam of piping hot joints, and was as proud as any nobleman of the reputation of his cellar. His wife, poor man, had been dead many years; Miss Millie, in fact, could scarcely remember her. "Now, in some way or other, I don't know how, a young' gentleman in the neighbourhood, the only son of a widowed mother, had got acquainted with our sweet Miss Millie. Perhaps it began, as the young lady herself always used to declare, through attendance at the same church. That's the best- of all places, isn't it. nursie, dear, for meeting ■ a really good young man?—so she used to answer me when I questioned her.- But, whatever the way it first came about—and I daresay, Master Alfred, you know a lot more about such things than a poor old body liEe me—before I had time to realise what was happening, the young gentleman had stolen my dearie's heart away, and the two were as much in love with one another as if they had been courting a twelvemonth. He was' 22 and she just 20 when I first found out how things stood between them. Well, of courseas, you, Master Alfrea, will well understand—the young couple wanted to se© a f;ood deal of each other, and before veiy ong Mr Tom Goodman got wind of it. I expected he would have made trouble straight away, for he was somewhat jealous of his daughter's affection ; but to my surprise he seemed after a few d&vs to settle down to the idea. 'A man can,'t live for ever,' he said to me, 'and it's only right human nature, and God's law, too,' he said, 'that a maid should give her heart to the man of her choice, and I won't say but what Millie has picked out a verp proper sort of man, a lad who'll turn out straight and square, anyway. But IJord bless us, nurse,' he said, 'the little minx is too young for any such notions at present. £he ought to oe playing, with her dolls or darning stockings, and not filling her head with love rubbish.' And that was the only hard thing he said about it at the time—for two or three months in fact. "But the course of true love never does run smooth' in this sad world, and my dearie's experience was no exception to the rule. Just when I thought it would all turn out pleasant L for everyone concerned, and when young Mr Winford had taken Miss. Millie to. see his mother, and r his mother had kissed her, and approved" of her, and sent her home with a heart as happy as a bird in June, what does her father do but suddenly begin to oppose the match! For a few weeks he only grumbled, and that more to himself and to me than to his daughter, though she knew well enough there was something wrong. "Neither she nor 1,, however, were prepared for what happened next. I remember very well how, one. Monday, he came room where we were sewing, and announced that Mr Winford must not come to the house again, and that it would be better for a good little girl like -Millie not to think any more about him. He seemed to imagine, poor man, from the way he spoke, that It would be the easiest thing in the world for the child .to pluck her sweetheart's image out of. her breast -, and live aa though she had never seen him. I heed not tell you. what*, a to-do there was: how "Miss Millije cried till she could scarcely see out of her pretty eyes, and how she persuaded me to take upon myself to find out why her father had suddenly altered his mind. "And what do you think, Master Alfred, was the cause of all this trouble? I don't suppose you'd ever guess, and upon my word it seems almost too silly to be believed. Young' Mr Winford had been trained as a civil engineer, and his mother had contrived, just about this time, to start him In business on his" own account. I daresay his prospects were not very bright, for more capital was needed, and his mother and he had been too greatly reduced In circumstances by a bank failure to warrent them making a larger venture. Now it appears that Tom Goodman had taken note of all this, and being very anxious for his daughter's had resolved on making what he considered $ most magnanimous offer. He paid a visit to Mr Wfnford, and under pledge of confidence actually offered to him into partnership at the hotel, with the promise

that if he 'tumbled to the ways of things, he himself would retire in a year or two's time, and leave the place entirely in his son-in-law's hands. I believe also he expressed a very emphatic opinio/i about the •gamble,' as he called it,, in which young Winford was then occupied. No doubt it was a gen.erous offer, and no doubt it presented something in the nature of a temptation to the young gentleman, for he was in a great hurry to marry Miss Millie. But you may be sure he ■jjras not the man to accept it. Not even for Miss Millie's sake would he consent to abandon all his noble' ambitions, make null and void his mother's sacrifices, and adopt a manner of life destructive to his usefulness in the world:

"As gently as he could he declined to avail himself of -*Mr. Goodman's kindness, thus putting that gentleman's good-will to the stretch, as vou might say, Master Alfred; but even that did not cause Tom Goodman to resort to extreme measures. This came about from his discovery, a week or two later, that Mr "Winford was 'experimenting.' : He told me about it in a tone that seemed to imply it was the last straw that any father could bear who had a care for his daughter's future. 'The young fool is experimenting,' he said, 'building a bridge in the back garden of his mother's house. I'm told the timber alone cost twenty pounds, and he's put it up and pulled it down half a dozen times already. . He'll ruin himseif, and ruin his poor old mother as well. I won't allow Millie to have anything >to do with him. Mind, Nurse, there must 'be no .correspondence whatever between them.'

"Well, Master Alfred, I'm not going to pretend to you that that harsh order was literally obeyed. Mind you, I never countenanced any disobedience myself, and I always pretended not to listen when Miss Millie dropped hints about her lover. There were times, too, when I had to pretend not to see, as once when she took a little note from her bosom and kissed it as daringly as you please before my very eyes! As for her father, as long as he saw her looking bright, and heard her singing about the house, he didn't worry any further. You see, it was all very well to forbid correspondence, but to Erevent it was another matter, when she ad only to trip down the steps into the coachyard to find half a dozen men—all faithful old servants of her father's, too—who were willing to sell their souls to do her a service.

"However, in some way or other Tom Goodman learned that matters were not yet at an end between the young people. As you may suppose, Master Alfred, ,he was very angry, and even went, so far as to interview his men, and threaten them with dismissal if any more notes were conveyed between the parties. As 1 for me, I got into disgrace altogether, and was told I was blind and deaf, and no good in the world at all. But Miss Millie would insist I shouldn't go away; and I loved her so much I think I would have suffered much worses-things said about me than that, if only I might be permitted to stay near her. "Well, time went on until there came a day when.the whole house was filled with the noise of preparation for a great club-feast that was to take place on the morrow. Tom Goodman was in his. element.. As the geese* and turkeys, the beef"and mutton, the fruits and vegetables, were brought in by the tradesmen, he examined and weighed and bustled and hustled as though a new pleasure had suddenly come into life. All that day, while the house was full of busy folk, I noticed that Miss Millie went about her own duties with a strange light of happiness in her eyes —a frightened, wild-bird happiness that made her very quiet and very retiring, and which I don't suppose anybody observed except myself. She kissed me, too, more often than usual that day, and when she went to bed she gave me a hug, and said, 'You do lovo me, nursie dear, don't you, and you always will, for ever and ever?' I told her she need have no doubts about that, for I should love her as long as there was breath in my body. "Next morning she came down to breakfast—which was unusually early—looking a little pale, and with eyes brighter than I liked to see. She kissed her father most affectionately, and when the meal was over said she would go back to her room for a while. I said, 'You ought not to have got- up, dear; sball I come and look after you a bit?' 'Oh, ho, nurse,' she cried hurriedly, 'you have heaps'" of things to do to-day, and I would much sooner be by myself.' "I was verv busy, like everyone else in the house, so I. left her alone as she requested. No one had any suspicion there was anything. wrong until 11 o'clock, when a belated, butcher-boy came round to the back with an extra leg of mutton which had been sent for. He came np the yard,\and right into- the outer* kitchen with his joint. 'Here, cook,' he cried to the first cirl he caught sight of, 'here's the leg of mutton, and the missis says it's too bad of Mr Goodman not to tell her he wanted all these things for Miss Millie's wedding-feast. Oh, " lor! fancy stuffing folks up it was a club feed'!'

" 'What do you mean, you impudent urchin?' cried the girl, 'talking about Miss Millie and marriage? Such rubbish ! Miss Millie's unwell, and lying down in her bedroom. I know, because I was told not to disturb her.' ,

" 'That she ain't, then,' said the boy, 'for I seed her myself with these eyes in a kerridge, just driving . away. with her loving husband from St. John's Church at the other end of the town. Now, then] and as for being unwell, she looked as well as they make 'em.' "The girl was so angry that it is sur{>risiner she did not hit the hoy with the eg of mutton, but the proung trascal was as positive aa he web impudent, and ai last, to convince him, and to stop hfo "lying tongue-,' as she expressed" it, thd girl Volunteered to run up to Miss t Millie s room and see for herself. she went, ana jive minutes later' t%e house waa m an

uproar. Miss Millie was nowhere to be found, and it had been ascertained that one of the men had seen her leave the back door of the hotel at about a quarter to nine.

"At this Tom Goodman lost his head altogether, and behaved like a man bereft of his senses. He rushed into' the stable yard, roared to the men tb saddle every horse in the stalks, and mounted his dependents one after another, and sent them to scour the country in search of the fugitives. 'l'ive . pounds for the man who finds them and. brings them back,' he shouted; and away his emissaries went, clattering out of the yard, and thinking it, no doubt, the grandest joke they had ever enjoyed. When they had all gone the angry man found he had no horse for himself, but that did not deter him from taking part in the pursuit. Clapping an old traw hat on his head, and regardless of the fate of the club dinner, he made his way as quickly as his weight would permit him towards St. John's Church. Arrived there, inquiries elicited the direction taken by the coach containing the married couple.% There could no longer .be a doubt bub that his daughter and the young engineer had been united by special license at half-past nine that morning. Panting and perspiring, he pressed on into the country lanes, all bathed in the glory of the beautiful May sunshine. What, good he imagined could result from his frenzied search it would be hard to say. Everyone he met.he questioned eagerly, and at last learned that an empty carriage corresponding to the one he was trying to trace had returned along that road half an hour ago. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'the fugitives have taken a field path to elude pursuit.' He walked some distance further, and then climbed a gate and looked across the country. Suddenly he caught a far-off glimpse of two figures seated behind a bush on a bit of gorse-covered common. With desperate cunning the angry man crept stealthily in their direction, and soon satisfied himself he had found those whom he was looking for. But what a picture presented itself to his astonished eyes. The two happy lovers were seated in the shade of a golden-blossomed bush, eating biscuits from a paper bag, and drinking claret from a 'split-bottle.' Millie's hat lay on the ground beside her, and a wreath of oak-apples and oak leaves crowned her bonny white brow. " 'We shall manage it beautifully, Millie darling,' the young husband was saying. 'At three the carriage will be waiting for us at the end of yonder little wood; a thirty-minute ride will take us to Hetherinaton, and then a few hours in the train will land u® in Matlock.'

"Just then Tom Goodman slipped round the corner of the bush, and stood in front of them. Millie screamed, and young Mr Winford jumped up I suppose to defend her. But the sight of the biscuit-bag and diminutive bottle of claret was too much for her father. 'You pair of young fools'; he exclamed with withering scorn, 'a pretty wedding-breakfast you've got there—biscuits and third-rate claret! Great Scott! To think my daughter should ever have come to this ! There's the house, full of the finest eating and drinking in the whole country, and you two noodles sit behind a bush, like beggars, eating broken biscuits, and drinking a brand of claret I wouldn't bring to the top of my cellar steps! Gome home with you at once, at once! and have a wedding-breakfast that won't disgrace me in the eyes of the whole town.' "As he said this Mr Tom Goodman kicked the empty bottle and the bag of biscuits into the middle of the bush, took his daughter by one arm and his son-in-law by the other, and led them without protest to the nearest farm, whence they drove in a'borrowed-gig back to town. "Never was there such a wedding-feast as that, which followed. The 'club-feed' was merged into the unexpected festivity, and when the time came for the bride and bridegroom to start for the station on their honeymoon trip, 1 the whole two hundred and fifty-guests turned out to cheer them; and the bridegroom carried a substantial cheque away with him. "And, of course, Master Alfred, they all lived happy ever after."