SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3590, 2 January 1923, Page 66

SHORT STORIES.

(Copyright.) MEES. By Miss Betbam Euwauds, Author of ‘"From an Islington Window, ‘‘Hearts of Alsace,” etc. “Can Mees see Monsieur le Colonel for a minute, if you please V” “Show mademoiselle up by all means, Mariette,” was the reply in an unmistakable military voice—the voice of one accustomed to command. On the heels of the elderly Bretonne entered an English girl, unmistakably also parsonage-bred and governess, belonging to the class so much trusted in Continental schoolrooms. Mary Anstruther—in the officer’s household always called “Mees” (Miss), for was not her surname wholly unpronounceable—could neither be called pretty nor’plain. To-day agitation lent her face the charm of appeal. With moistening eyes, quivering lips, and trembling in every limb, 6he yet spoke firmly. - Hers was evidently a nature schooled into habits of self-control. “Monsieur le Colonel,” she said, “what will you think of me? How can I_ expect to be forgiven? I have just given Stephanie the wrong dose. So saying she held out two bottles of medicine, both small white hands shaking the while. '

The Colonel, dropping cigarette and evening paper, sprang from his armchair and scrutinised each label carefully . ‘.This is the draught she ought to have ha«,” added the young governess, and this is what I gave her by mistake.” “Is the child in bed?” “Yes, Monsieur le Colonel. I had heard her say her prayers and before tucking h®r up I poured out the medicine. I think I have made the mistake by an ' e having diverted my thoughts, •sking me suddenly to say my prayers to her. Oh! what have I done?” The Colonel understood his little girl’s malady too well to be panic-stricken. . “Humph ! A tonic instead of a sedate! Yon are quite right to come to me, mademoiselle, and I honour you for the act. But, as you know, I am a bit of & doctor, and the mischief, if mischief ensue, could not be serious. I will see her at once.” A distinguished. aristocratic-looking man was the Colonel, scion of the ancient noblesse of Brittany. Tall, of imposing presence, in his person he represented the best traditions of the French Army. That instinctive, almost automatic politeness was of a piece with his whole character. Without a word the pair passed through the spacious, electric-lit corridor, and up the broad staircase, softened by velvet pUe, Mariette awaiting outside the door ajar, with finger on lip. “The little one is asleep?” he asked in a whisper. She was see-sawing Mariettas gesture said, between sleep and wakefulness. By the half-closed door all three waited for a moment, at a sign from her master the Bretonne retiring* Mistress in the servants’ office or parlour, Madame Mariette, as she was therein called, had never tended the two children. Hence Ma*y Anstruther's quiet jurisdiction awoke no jealousy. The breathing grew steadier, and on tip-toe, motioning Mary to follow him, the _ Colonel stole in; then, noiselessly moving towards the bed, he sad down, watch in hand. At his bidding, she did the same, by dumb-show being thus -barged with semi-maternal responsibility. Now this 25-year-old eldest daughter of what Jean Paul called “a daughterfnl house” was not wholly matter of fact. Was ever any daughter of Eve that? Nor was she sentimental after the maner of "" Mid-Victorian < Lily Dales. But for the first time in her life- she was aware of a quite new experience. There dawned upon her what a close, a very close, the closest intimacy with a man might mean to a woman, how it may change her entire life. Pot half an hour they sat side by side, sharing the same intense anxiety, interchanging impressions by all but inaudible whispers, his hand more than once touching her own by way of encouragement, and wtih every moment she grey shyer and less at ease. If only Mariette had been bv! If only a sound had come from the little bed in the next room, Stephanie’s six-year-old brother wakening up and asking for Mees Mary. But all was silent. The little patient’s breathing at last became reassuring. The Colonel rose, and stealthily, as before, moved away, as he did, so heckorting his companion to follow him. At the stair-head he paused. “Mademoiselle,” he said aloud, for there was no fear of rousing the sleeper here, “if the child wakes, give her a little balm-mmt water, and if she becomes restless kindly fetch me.” Then, with the Colonel a quite unusual act, he held out his hand. “I wish to add that I shall never forget this little act of yours—so candid, so self-respecting, and, may I say, so characteristic of your conntrv people. All, I believe, is now well: hut T see how much the matter has troubled you and how sincere is your concern for mv motherless children. Accept by heart-felt gratitude.” ‘‘Oh, Monsieur le Colonel, T hut did my duty—” was all she could get out. “And, by the way, Mademoiselle, have yon had everything you want—your dinner brought up properly, and so forth?” Thh; time his voice was that of every day, quick, impersonal, command. The changed tone changed all else. Setting his mind at rest on that point, she smiled her thanks and withdrew.

11. Three years earlier Mary Anstruither had been recommended to Colonel Louis Vadier de FYesnay as governess to his two cliildren, Edme, then aged four, and Stephanie, one year younger. As often happens in similar cases, her chief credential was at the time her primary disqualification. The well —or fairly well—educated daughter of ap English minister was sure to be a lady—that is to sav. absolutely reliable as to manner. On the other hand there was the disconcerting fact of Protestantism. The young lady, probably much against the grain, if not obliged to accompany her pupils to Mass, would have to superintend their religious tasks, an onerous duty when the preparation came for the first communion. In the Colonel’s household advantages tipped the scale. Was there not Madame Lecomte, his mother-in-law, to mother the little ones in this respect, and when the time came to preside at the domestic celebration of the reception into the Church? And were there not old and trustworthy servants to conduct Edme and Stephanie on Sundays to church? And Mees, for sooth, was it at all likely that she would object to hear the children’s prayers because she herself invoked no patron saint, the worse for her! So within a year of the Colonel’s loss Mary Anstruther had been installed in the handsome mansion upn the Champs Elysees, and rich and happy had her life been. Children, like all young animals, cling to a firm hand. No amount of humouring or time-serving could have so thoroughly endeared Mary to those motherless little ones as her unfailing calm and self-command. So just as the children felt that the Virgin Mary watched over them in heaven, they relied'upon Mary’s care upon earth. They could tumble from a tree, fall into a pond, swallow a penny or poisonous berries, be buzzed about by hornets, run at by bulls, flown at by turkey cocks in their country home. Trepidation was unknown to them, since they had a Providence ever by. Nor was affection less deep-seated than trust . Next to the Colonel, she was their all in all. For himself, such a conviction could hut bring keenest satisfaction. The relation of governess and pupils seemed perfect. Devoted to his chiiuien, his military duties took him much from home, and he could only vicariously perform his paternal duties. But here even the eagle-eved mother-in-law pronounced herself at ease. “Dieu Merci!” she would say, “Miss Mary is not an intriguer and not a beauty. Then her drees! Why you might suppose from her appearance that no such thing as a man lived ! Xou could tell she was an Englishwoman by the height of her clumsy shoes! “True enough, me chere amie, rejoined her confidential friend. “It is the very first thing we think of, and the very last apparently that women do over the W “Well, Eulalie, I think I may say that my son-in-law the Colonel is safe as far as his children’s little governess is concerned, I mean.” . ~ „ “My dear Ermine,” broke in the other elderly matron—the pair had taken their first communion together fifty-five years before—“why you talk like a fifteen-year-old! As if any man were ever safe from any women !”

“Oh! little papa, why cannot we always spend the holidays at Gerardmer and ride donkeys all day long with other children instead of at FresnayeJ _ ¥ou like it better I am sure, Miss Mary—do tell papa so.” “You and your brother have your own ponies to ride at home, ' remarked the : Colonel, not without a look of vexation. With every Frenchman of means and position, he possessed a second home m the country—in this case no villa or cottage home, but an ancestral manor-house, locally styled “The Chateau, ’ near the little town of Mantaigu, in Vendes. A confessedly dull region is La Vendee, as we call it, not so melancholy as its neighbour the Loire Infeneure But the Colonel loved it, and Mary also. How much more sympathetic to her, as also to its owner, was the stately old mano - house, with its park and terraced gardens, than the big, rococo hotels the crowded and perpetual come and go of this fain bus health resort. Moreover, its painful oroximity to Germanised France, its influx of unhappy countryfolks, all these things shortened his stay. And there was another motive. Somehow or other since that night-watch by the sick child’s bed ..Mary seemed ill at eaL in his presence. Demureness personified she had ever been. At tunes now he would detect a certain suppressed agitation, even once or twice the glimmer ° f And equally inexplicable to himself was the fact that he could not blurt out the question, “You are troubled, Mademoiselle. Speak, is there anything I can do natural would have been such an act a week ago! To-day, her patron was all kindness as usual, but there may be a kindness that cuts deeper than cruelty. Having settled the trio in a family boarding-house of high repute, the Colonel packed his portmanteau and returned to Meantime the thousand and odd health and pleasure seekers “ran the giddy round of vain delights.” Never since the annexation, old folks said, had Gerardmer known such a season. Every chalet Was let. Not a bedroom was to be had anywhere. Folks who persisted in coming despite warning, were obliged to sleep in hay-lofts, wood-lodges, or —so it was rumoured —in hammocks slung on the trees One evening the high spirit of the assembled company might fairly have suggested intoxication —and. indeed, champagne glasses had circulated freely. A large and important Alsatian family were to leave for Strasburg on the morrow, and must, of course, be feted by the patronne or landladv before departure. And \vhen after country dance and the

favourite hand-in-hand round, a lady slipped to the piano and struck the first nqte of the “Marseillaise,” there burst forth a volume of sound, soon doubled, trebled, and four-folded. Nothing could stop every soul on the premises. Out of the kitchen rushed the chef in white cap and apron, at bis heels his youthful scullions, and following these a miscellaneous host, half a dozen womenfolk and as many more of the other sex, variously employed within or without- the establishment. Just as the general excitement had reached fever pitch, and a thousand and »odd voices rang out—“Le jour de vengeance est arrive!" — came a sudden stop. What had happened? Something extraordinary parted the cifowds at the doorway, all fell back, only a collective murmur indicating agitation and bewilderment. Then a tall figure in military dress, and holding high a telegram, moved towards the middle of the room. “Fellow citizens,” he said in a voice trembling with generous emotion, "I ellow citizens, read, read. That day has come.’” It was the Colonel, and his telegram bore date August 4, 1914—date of declaration of war with Germany. Verv brief had to be Colonel de Fresnay’s leave-takings. “No tears, my brave little Edme,” he said, as the boy stood between his father's knees in Mary’s room. “Unless,” he added as he wiped the child’s eyes with his own handkerchief, “because you are not big enough to go with little papa and fight the enemy. And you, my Stephanie, show yourself the eledr sister. Encourage your brother, help Mademoiselle in every way, and let papa hear a good report on his return. Now both of von run to kind Madam Brune’s room, and play with her children, who she told me are waiting for you. By-by, darlings.” All this was uttered without effusion and without a sign of giving way, but when the pattering of little feet ceased outside Mary saw that the Colonel was greatly moved. “Enclosed is a note for five hundred francs and my banker’s address. He has my orders to supply vou with money through my mother-in-law; this precaution is on your own account. You know ‘how delicate is the position of unmarried \ girls in France —but the means, no difficulty confronts me here.’ ’ He paused distractedly. “What is best to be done for the boy and the girl and for you. Oh! mv God!? He passed his hand across his forehead, breathed a deep siah, then went on speaking swiftly as before, as if seconds were numbered,' yet with perfect calmness: “Time presses, and I had not a minute in Paris to take counsel of kinsfolk and friends. Mademoiselle, dear, calm, devoted little friend. I must leave the poor children entirely and with entire trust in your own hands. Is England possible.' But we are far from a Breton port. And every line of railway is encumbered. God help those who have children in these times:” , “Monsieur le Colonel,” interposed Mary very quietly, and raising her soft eyes to his with a glance even more soothing than the speech accompanying it. ‘‘Monsieur le Colonel, do not distress yourself. I will consult our good hostess and the kind friends we have made here. Relv on me. Before nightfall' we will, be miles and miles away from the frontier and m a safe retreat.” , “Address to me, Minister© de Guerre, Paris; but one word more. Mary—henceforth Mary to me—you have relieved a leaden weight from my heart. I go forth perhaps, indeed probably, to return no more, feeling that you will never forsake my children. Heaven bless and .keep you. But,” here he paused and, leaning down, kissed each streaming cheek, “if I do indeed return you must consent to become their mother in very truth, no merely so named by will and testament. For a kiss and a faint assenting smile, he waited no more. Five minutes later his military car dashed at terrific speed out of the hotel grounds. A year almost to a day had passed, and on the sunny lawn of a South Coast hotel several tables were set for tea. Around one of these were gathered four familiar figures-—two of these, houever, greatly changed. General de Fresnav —the grade had been conferred upon him some months before—might now pass for a man of sixty. Bronzed, lined, whitening hair, and an armless sleeve testified to the severity of the twelve months’ experience. Although regarded as convalescent, he still used an invalid chair, and had an elderly man-servant or orderly in attendance. One foot, too, encased in wrappings, suggested mischief there. The young matron presiding was the Mary, and yet not quite the Mary, we knew before. . . Tranquilly, without sentimentalism or effusion, she ministered to her invalid'and the children, all three regarding her with something better than mere caressingness or idolatry. It was evident that they deemed her a protectress, a very human guardian angel, but only the angel they wanted. “Madam,” came a house-porter’s voice, very deferentially interrupting the happy partv, “the outfitter is here with the General’s vests and socks, and would like to see if they are exactly what you wanted.” “Good. I will come immediately, Mary said, rising and emptying her cup as she did so. “No one wants any more tea or cake. Then, children, get down and run about whilst I am away ” “Never a moment’s peace for yon, my poor darling,” sighed the General. But from the retreating figure followed by his eyes so grudgingly, he only got a smile and a playful shake of the head by way of reply. How co.uld hei wholly understand that the smallest service brought deepest thankfulness and joy?

Was he not for the nonce, all her own, this stoically suffering leader, cut off from activity when so sorely needed ? There had been unique romance about their marriage—unique at the time, but not so for long. Among the first to be w r edded by proxy on the battlefield had been General de Fresnaye and Mary Anstruther. Wounded, as was first feared, mortally, he lost no time in thus making her his wife and sole guardian and trustee of his children. And so close already was the tie between the three tlTat when almost the father’s first words were, “No, no, not your dear little Miss Mary any longer—call her instead,Mother!”■ —title and fact came as a matter of course. And now in that pleasant Hastings garden, te>a-drinking, drives, cheerful little French sociabilities, were the order of the day; but the pair lived for one object only—the General’s convalesence and return to France—and victory.

CHRISTMAS COMPLIMENTS.

By Mat Sctjij.y.

(Mr Capper, seated at writing-table with a written list in his hand and a harassed expression -on his face. Mrs Capper, on her knees on the hearthrug, unpacking a large brown-paper -parcel.) Mr Capper (reading from list): “Turkey from Uncle James sent on to Russell’s.’ (Hope we don’t get them all mixed!) “Uoose from Russell’s sent on to Uncle James. Box of liqueurs from Aunt Mary kept. Cheese from Brown sent to Aunt Mary. Small case of tea from old Lord sent to Brown.” Never saw Brown drink tea yet, but that’s his business. What have you got there, dear ? Can’t you undo it? Mrs Capper: Yes, I’ve just undone the last knot. Oh, what a shame ! It’s a box of preserved fruit from the Martins, and they sent us a great big turkey last year. Mr C. : Rather a falling off- Well, we don't want preserved fruits. Don t let Johnny see tnem; they’ll ruin his teeth. You’d better let the grocer have them and tell him to knock ten bob off’ this month's account. Mrs C. : I doubt if he will; and, by the way, dearest, the fruiterer says he can only allow me fourpence a pound for the bag of walnuts Uncle sent. Mr C. : The thief! Why, he's selling them at a shilling in his shop. Mrs O. : 1 know, but he says he doesn’t really want- any more, and he’s only hiking them to oblige us, an we're customers. Mr C. : It’s the last custom he shall have from me! The swindling rogue! How much is the poulterer going to allow you for the goose old adden sent?

Mrs C. : He won't take it at all now that it is so warm—whilst the wind is in this quarter. He says he is nearly buried with geese, and ours ought to have been eaten yesterday by the look of it. But don’t you think we might send it to the Martins in return for the preserved fruits? Mr C. : What! A whacking big goose for a twopenny-halfpenny box of sugar plums! However, do as you like; we’ve got to send them something, and it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. (Maid enters, carrying a barrel of oysters.) Mrs C. : Who’s that from ? Maid: “With Mr Arnold Watt's compliments,” Ma’am, it says on the label. Mrs C. : How inconsiderate! He knows we are frightened of typhoid; in fact, he was the very one tio warn us against shellfish of all descriptions. Mr C. No doubt someone has sent them to him, poor chap. Tell you what! Let’s send them to Bob Craig. His champagne is a bit late in coining. The oysters will

buck him up. Mrs 0.: That’s quite a brain wave. Splendid! I’ll re-direct them at once. Has the carman gone? Maid: No, ma’am. I think he’s waiting for a Christmas-box. Mr C (groans and feels in his pocket) : Here, give him a shilling. A case of champagne is worth that; but don't give him another when it arrives.

(Maid departs with oysters.) Mr C. : Hullo, here’s a parcel we haven’t noticed—addressed to Johnny. It feels like a book.

Mrs C. : Poor darling, he loathes books. (Opens parcel.) There! It’s a birthday book from Harry. It’s too bad; Harry knew he wanted a toy aeroplane! Mr C. : And why a birthday book? His birthday isn’t till June, anyhow! Mrs C.: Oh, biut this is a book to put his little friends’ birthdays down in. Mr C.: Great Scot! What an idea! He remembers plenty of his little friends’ birthdays already, “as I know to my cost without putting them down in a book. Don’t give it to him, for goodness sake! Mrs C-: I won’t. He shall send it to Alfy Dickens instead of the soldiers I was going to buy him, and Johnny shall have a toy aeroplane with the money instead, bless his heart! Mr C. : Very well, then; that’s settled! Lets get on with the list. I see you’ve got old Mrs Turner down. Mrs C. : Yes. I thought I’d get a hotwater bottle for the poor old soul. Mr C.: Nonsense! Send her the preserved fruits.

Mrs O. : But her teeth are so bad I don’t think she could eat them. Mr C. : My dear girl, if old Mrs Turner makes a practice of looking a gift horse in the mouth she deserves all she gets. Now, I think it’s all settled. But I‘m glad I thought of sending Bob Craig the oysters. Craig is a good chap, and his champagne is worth drinking. (Maid enters with letters: Christmas cars for her mistress and a businesslikelooking communication for the master. He opens it and utters a horrified ejaculation.) Mrs C. : What’s the matter? Not bad news?

Mr 0. (shouting): Yes. Stop the oysters! Stop the oysters!

Mrs C.: What do you mean, deareet? Mr C.: Don’t waste time talking. Stop the oysters! Mrs C.: I can’t. The carman took them with him. (Mr C. sinks back in his chair with a groan.) Mrs C.: Do tell me what’s the matter! Are they had ones? Mr C.: No, worse luck! But here’s a note from Craig. He says that, owing to the increased taxation, he's not sending any champagne! Mrs C. : Well, I never! Isn’t he going to send anything, then Mr C. (with grim irony): Oh, yes! He says: “I must therefore content myself with sending you both —” Mrs C. : What? Mr C. : “The compliments of the season” !