A MASTERFUL MAN.

Otago Witness, Issue 3773, 6 July 1926, Page 82

A MASTERFUL MAN.

By

GEORGER MANNING-SANDERS.

Reuben, a discontented-looking man, lived alone in a detached cottage at the end of a village. He owned the cottage, and he managed to provide for himself by keeping cocks and hens. One evening, Reuben was sitting in his untidy little garden, when a ragged, limping girl came offering bootlaces for sale. Said Reuben, pointing at the laces mockingly: “Why, I could make better things than that for The stupid-looking eirl gaped. “You a shoe-maker, most like:” she said. “No fear, I am no such thing,” cried Reuben, “but I can most do anything I’ve a mind to do. See that patch cm my boot? Well, I put him there.” The girl looked at the badly-mended boot respectfully. “My!” she said. “And I’ll tell you another thing—there’s not a man in the parish can best me at most jobs. I’ve made chairs, and I’ve made pictures to hang on the walls out of stitches of bright-coloured wools.” “Why, then, you’re a painter, too,” said the ragged girl. “I am by rights,” said Reuben, ' and that’s what makes all of them folk in the village hate me so; a cleverish chap is always set upon by the fools in every parish. There’s hardly any will give me fair speech, and there’s none I’d willingly bid enter my door, because of their jealousy and that.” “I've just come out of the workhouse infirmary, I have,” said the girl; “and

I've oiilv sold three pairs of laces this day—suppose you couldn’t give me a job of Arork in return for a bite of food?” “It’s a idea—because you do 6cem to have some brains,” said Reuben to the stupid-looking girl. ‘ The garden, now,” said she, “is in a awful Him. I could begin to do that.” Hooben looked at the weeds gloomily. It’s funny, but I work and work at this old garden, and yet nothing comes of it. I reckon that them who do hate me come at night times to spoil my labour. Still, if you have a mind to put in a bit of work —why, I’ll not grudge you your food; and shelter you can find on a bundle of hay across yonder in that barn.” “And perhaps you could put a few clever patches on my boots, while I’m straightening the garden,' said the girl, throwing aside the laces. Before the tired girl went across to her shelter of hay in the l»arn, Reuben supplied her with a great basin of bread and milk, and while she spooned it, he talked confidentially. “It’s queer,” said he, “but I’ve never got anyone to see the true value of me yet. I’m nice to folk, and I never begrudge anyone, and yet they turn from me and leave me alone in this cottage—just as if I was a dog, and it a kennel. Your’s is the first voice I’ve heard indoors here for many a month.” “You’re too clever for ’em,” said the girl sleepily. “Yes, and they don’t like a straight forward man either. Now, I’m one that will speak my mind with no shilly-shally and that’s ” The discontented man talked on and on, telling the sleepy girl Low splendid and how little appreciated he was, till at last he pushed her outside and bolted the cottage door. For many weeks the s^ipid-faced girl worked hard for Reuben, gaining only shelter °nd meagre food. She mended her clothes and his clothes, and whitewashed the rooms; she made tne garden fragrant, and villagers gossiped with her when she went to the pump for water. And Reuten had never been so happy, for the girl was always willing to hear how clever and important he was. One day she said to him: “I’ll tell you how it is, master—you’re wasted up here. If you opened a shop J: the town now, you’d do a roaring trade, because folk would find out how straight and kind you were, and you’d soon be able to have a horse and carriage, and maid-servants and men-servants, handling vessels of gold.” The idea pleased Reuben. He thought that in the town people would be more aware of his ability and good nature. He sold his cocks and nens, shut up the cottage, and opened an all-sort shop in a poor part of the town. He did not pay the faithful girl any wages; she was to become a sharer in the profits, when Reuben thought the profits were sufficient. The girl attended to the shop diligently, but Reuben, when it was his turn to le on duty, sat idly in the little room at the back of the shop, chuckling maliciously and rubbing his hands, while he listened to people in the shop rattling on the counter with their knuckles, clamouring to be served. When the shop was without customers, Reuben said dolefully to “the girl: “It’s a funny thing—other folk seem to get on ; I’ll buy a pony and cart and take milk round from door to door; I hear that’s profitable.” So accordingly every morning he drove through the streets sitting beside a great canister of milk. At first all went merrily. Reuben began to think of the time when he would own a fine shop in the very middle of the town, and then he would buy the girl a silk dress, or perhaps a striped cotton dTess, as a reward for her services. But' soon he noticed that some old ladies did not pay him for milk except once a fortnight, and it fretted him. He could not Lear to think of these old women drinking his milk for all those days, without having first paid him for it. One day he did not go to their doors; he waited in his cart till they came out, expectantly holding jugs, followed by several cats and then, gloating, he shook his head in refusal, and demanded what wa; due to him. After that the milk round dwindled and the .winter came. Great winds brought rain driving in from the sea. The pony was not willing to stand while Reuben scurried into houses with his milk. “If that dratted pony of mine isn’t careful I’ll learn him a lesson,” said Reuben one evening to the industrious girl. “You are a uncommonly masterful man and no mistake,” said the girl, looking with awe into the squinting eyes of Reuben. When next the wind blew cold, and pattering rain stung the ears of the pony, the little animal began to fidget, and Reuben, who was waiting for this, drew out a cudgel-like stick from the cart, and dealt the little beast a tremendous whack, so that it bolted, wrenched off a wheel against a lamp-post, and fell cut amongst the foaming milk on the smoothness of the road. “It’s a odd thing,” said Reuben, limping bock to the girl, “but whatever I do try seems to end wrong. The Lest thing now is for us to marry and you take in washing, and I can give a hand with the mangle.” But the next day the girl and her string of laces were gone, and poor Reuben went back to the solitude of his cottage, thinking that fate had conspired to bring all these misfortunes upon him.