REPEATED HISTORY.

Otago Witness, Issue 3913, 12 March 1929, Page 80

REPEATED HISTORY.

By

Jane Gerrie.

(Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.) Philemon Hubert St. Leger, reputed to be a hard old seed, shut the kitchen door a little wearily. He had just come back from Harrison’s, where Boss H's. cheery little wife had given him tea. Somehow he always felt Hat after a visit to Harrisons, He enjoyed a yarn with Bi>ss, and the comfort ami cosiness of '.hen home showed his bacnelor establishment up in contrast. It was such an essentially happy circle that it brought home to him every time a realisation of what he himself had missed. He could not get out c>f the habit of picturing himself in Hariison’s shoes. He sa* sons and daughters; at all ages, he saw them, but mostly his thoughts lingered on them as young men and young women—he saw i hem at work, he

saw them at play; but always he loved most to picture Judith, tbc heart and soul of the home. He had pictured her scores of times —at the tea table, in the nurses; with her babie.; he had seen her in the kitchen, or al wo:k in the dairy; he had seen her in her garden among her roses, as be had ’ seen her man; times many years ago. in her Kent garden. The rock,’ peak at the back of the run he had. to himself, called Knollett’s Tor, thinking of the Westmoreland peak they had often climbed together in ‘hose days. And then he would see his bare home half a w<.>t Id away in space and half a lifetime in jtars from l\ riish gardens and Westmoreland peak,, and the old, old ache would return again and again. It was the ancient story of two men and a maid. Nothing sensational, either, to onlookers, but to one of the t: io fraught with heartache. They had been neighbours, the St. Legers and Crayforths and Heskells. and the boys and girls of each family had grown from childhood to blossoming manhood and womanhood together —12 of them, all told, five St. Fegers, four Crayforths, ami three Heskells; and quite unwittingly by the sweetness of her nature rather than by her beauty, Judith Heskell had captured the affections of Philemon Hubert St. Leger and of Arch. Crayforth. Ami Judith had chosen Arch., and had thrown in her lot with him for good and ill. “ Oh, Phil,” she had whispered, hurt to think of the hurt she must inflict, “ I’m sorry, terribly sorry, I didn’t think you thought of me . . . not like that.” Philemon had had his fears, but with the optimism of his youth had had his hopes as well. His thoughts turned to Arch.

‘•Judith,” he had asked, “if it’s not an unfair question”—he hesitated —“er —is it Arch.?” Judith looked at a handful of leaves she had plucked and was twisting and crushing in her lingers. Her colour rose a little. “Yes, Phil,” she said simply, “but we’re not making it public yet. We both wanted to wait a little while first. Perhaps we shouldn’t have; and if we were unfair to you in that, then I’m sincerely sorry.” He took her hands in his—the hands with the crushed leaves—those leaves like his own, hopes, she had not intentionally' bruised them. “Then, dear girl, God bless your happiness.” He kissed her hands in his. “ Good-bye,” he said, ami was gone. He had set out not long after for New Zealand. His sister Mary, who, next to Judith, had meant most to him. and who guessed his grief, had kept him by her letters in touch with things at home. It was from her that he had learned of Arch’s success in his career, of his pictures hung in the Academy, of his marriage, of their little daughter Judith* and then with Mary’s death news eeased, for Philemon was too proud and sensitive to ask for information. Mary had not needed to be asked.

And so out in New Zealand he had drawn into his shell. He had no friends apart from the Harrisons, being too shy to seek friends and, perhaps, too selfabsorbed to accept advances or to befriend those whom he easily might. He was reputed to be very wealthy; he was’ known to spend sparingly, and so he had acquired the reputation of being a hard old seed.

As we said, Philemon Hubert St. Leger shut the kitchen door a little wearily. There were no comforts in that kitchen —the table covered with dirty dishes; hard forms at the two long sides, a bunk at the far end of the room left just as the occupant had turned out in the morning; one or two hard chairspots, cooking utensils, boots, and discarded clothing dotted promiscuously about; nothing calculated to hearten a weary man. Philemon sorted out the mail, read his own, put the men’s where they could help themselves, and then opened the paper. He shoved back the litter from the corner of the table and sat on tlie edge.

He glanced through the commercial reports, and through the Parliamentary notes.

"Good Lord! ” he exclaimed, as turning a page his eye caught sight of a once familiar name. “Judith H. Crayforth ” stared at him from the page as though printed in capitals.

It was only a short paragraph. Last evening a newly arrived immigrant, Miss Judith H. Crayforth met with what might easily have been a fatal accident. While passing Berry and Company’s establishment, where repairs and alterations are being carried out, a piece of scantling fell, striking her on the shoulder, and seriously fracturing it. Miss Crayforth was removed to hospital, where she is progressing as well as can be expected. Philemon St. Leger studied the paragraph thoughtfully. He felt certain that it was Judith’s daughter, but why an inunigrant? The Crayforths were comfortably off and Arch.: on the high road to success when he last heard of them. But that had been 14 years ago, and he cursed himself for never having pursued inquiries. This girl must be 20 or so.

“ Some one rang to ask for you, Miss Crayforth,” said the nurse next day.

Judith was lying helpless, her shoulder in plaster. “ For me? ” she said incredulously. “ But I don’t know a soul in New Zealand.” She puzzled a moment. “ Oh, it must have been the Immigration Department,” she concluded. “ Perhaps,” assented the nurse. A few days later, as soon as she was allowed a visitor, Philemon called. For the moment he thought it was Judith Heskell. the Judith he had known all those years before —the auburn hair, the brown eyes, the same sweet face. His pulses quickened. “Judith.” he exclaimed. 'The girl looked puzzled. “How do you do.” she replied. He looked down at her.

x “ How like your mother you are,” lie said. “ I knew her when she was your age. I'm Philemon St. Leger. You may not even have heard of me.”

“ Oh, Uncle Phil! ” she exclaimed, and her eyes lighted up. One friend at least in exile. He smiled gently. “So vou have heard of me then .' Is that wiiat she called me? ” “Of course,” she replied. “I used to call all the St. Legers ‘Uncle’ or ‘Auntie.’ But how did you know about me ? ” _ ‘ 1 saw the report of your accident in the paper,” he replied, "but I. should like to know why you are here in NewZealand. You must remember lam quite a stranger to events at home, for since Mary died no one has kept me posted up with news as she did.” “ Poor Auntie Mary,” sighed Judith.

“ She was so good to me when I was a little girl. She was so fond of you. and used to tell me things you folk used to do in your young days.” Philemon smile a little dourly. Howfar behind him his young days were he was beginning to realise. “ You see,” she continued, “ Daddy bad

an illness when I was 1- and couldn't paint any more. Poor Daddy, it did grieve him so. He used to worry about Mummie and me and what would become of us. And then the money dwindled away. Daddy’s people helped us such a lot, but Mummie and I didn’t like taking so much help, and then they ha 1 heavy financial losses themselves. Daddy was almost paralysed, and it took all Mummie’s time to look after him. “ As soon as I could I went into a shop. Then Daddy died, and six months later Mummie took ’flu and died too. - I don’t think she had the wish to live,” concluded Judith, ‘‘ for Daddy was just all the world to her.” Philemon felt a queer pang. He was glad that the Judith lie had loved had found such perfect happiness, but he envied that paralysed form that had been Arch. Crayforth. For a while they talked of people and places Philemon had known, and then of Judith and her future. She was full of hopes and confident that she would make good in this new land. She was sincerely glad, too, of having been found by her* “ Uncle Phil.” It eased considerably her sense of loneliness. Philemon returned home with much food for thought. He sat up late smoking pipe after pipe that, night, forgetful of time and to-morrow’s duties. He thought’of the Judith he had known and loved, and while he was glad that she had found such great happiness, the thought of it increased his own loneliness. And he thought of this young girl, so like her mother in countless ways, and for the first time for years he felt a desire to hold out a helping hand. He would be to her father and mother, if she would let him. Then, too, he wished to keep her near him. It seemed as though she had come straight to him from half a world away, and lie could not let her pass on.

In the end he decided to take her home to the run. It would be lonelv for her

there, but the township and station we-e only eight miles away, and perhaps he would get a car. “It will be pretty rough,” he told her, “ and you will find it lonely, but you are free to leave at any time, just as if you were in any other position.” And then Philemon St. Leger bought a car. It caused quite a sensation among the neighbours, for he had always been considered too mean to spend the money on one.

“Damn tight!” was the way thev put it. They cracked many jokes, but as Philemon St. Leger was not the man with whom his neighbours joked familiarly, these were circulated only among themselves. Still, they watched with great interest.

Philemon taught Judith to drive, and often invented messages that would take her to the township or to Harrison's, so that life would not be too dull for her. Often of an evening they would drive over to Harrison’s together, for Judith had found good friends in Mrs Harrison and her big boys and girls. They were a jolly, fun-loving crowd, and Judith was very happy with them. Philemon was not one to do things .by Halves. Once he liad found someone to spend his money on, and had begun to part with it, he splashed out in unexpected directions.

Among other things, he bought a wireless set, and no tuppeny-ha’penny affair it was, either. Then the Harrisons began to come over to listen-in, and for as often as the young folks spent evenings at Harrison’s round the fire or round the piano, they came to St. Leger’s for wireless. Young Dick, the second boy, would spend hours taking the outfit to pieces and putting it together again, anil Philemon liked to have the young fellowpottering about in the evenings. He had always liked Dick and given him the run of the place. But fond and all as he was of Dick and Judith, it never entered his head that Dick was more thrilled with Judith's nearness to him as he showed her the hows and whys than he was with the mechanism he handled.

These were very happy days for Philemon. With youth and laughter around him his own young spirits returned, and the Harrisons, who had known him as a shy young man, were astonished at the change in him. For two years they were very happy, and then one day Judith came to him. “ Uncle Phil.” she said a little diffidently, “ would you mind very much if I went away for a little while—if I went to town for a few- months to work, I mean?” He looked concerned. “My dear,” he said, “aren't you happy here?” She sat on the arm of his chair, and, putting an arm round his neck, as she often used to do, she rested her cheek against his head, that he might not see her rising colour. “Oh no, not that!” she protested. “ You’ve been such a dear, kind uncle to me,” and she ruffled his hair affectionately, “ but I just feel I’d like to get away for a wee while. Oh, I’ll come back again—that is, if you'll have mer” His arm around her gave a reassuring squeeze.

“Have you, dear girl? Why, I’ll count the days to your return. But do you really and truly want to go for as long as that? Wouldn’t a good holiday be as good? ” But it was to get away by herself and be busy that she wanted. “ Trulv,” she said, “if vou don’t mind.”

He did mind very much indeed—but he would not let her know if he could help it. Besides, he was not the man to pry into her private reasons if she wanted to go. “Tired of the backbloeks, ch? Pining for a bit of city life, perhaps. Well, well, my dear, have your way, and remember, your old uncle will be mighty glad to see you come back,” “ You old dear,” she whispered. With a hug and a kiss she was gone.

and in her room she buried her face in her pillow and thanked heaven for an uncle who didn’t ask questions. For Judith wanted to get away alone, to be busy and to think. It was with a cheery smile that Philemon left her at the station, but it was with a heavier heartache than he had felt for many a long day that he returned home. He missed her chatter and her laughter at every turn, and he missed the sight of her about the place. As the days spread into weeks he came to feel more and more what she had meant in his life, and how. much he loved her. Was it fair of him to ask her to marry him? That was the question that dwelt in his mind. That his love for her was strong and true and lasting he had no doubt. He loved her youth and her beauty, but he knew it was not for these alone he loved her—her companionship meant still more to him. But he thought af the years that separated them, not that it made any difference to his love for her or ever would, but he thought

ahead another 20 years. He would be 70 and she 43. Was it fair to her? Besides, youth calls to youth and beauty to beauty. Ought she not to be wooed and won so?

He smiled sadly as he thought how differently he contemplated marriage now from the passion he had felt for her mother. Strange the difference the passage of time brings. And then again the loneliness would strike him and he would yearn for her. He would see her sitting on the arm of his chair, feel her arm about his neck as they used to listen to the ether-borne music.

Missing her and longing for her would he more than he could bear. Why should they not be happy? He was sure he could make her so. He would go to town and ask her.

He planned to motor in on the following Wednesday, and they could go then and there and be married.

The night before he was to go he sat by the fire, smoking pipe after pipe. On this, the night before his marriage, he kept tryst with the past and with the present. He thought of Judith the mother. Surely she would not refuse him this. He had not begrudged her her happiness. Surely she would say as he had done years before, “ God bless your happiness.” And surely she would entrust her daughter to his care. He had done his best so far. Surely he was not letting her down in this.

He thought of Judith the daughter, and wondered what she would say. . . . Just then he heard a car stop outside. Before a knock sounded, the door opened and in walked Judith herself, and behind her Dick Harrison.

Philemon sat bolt upright, startled as if a ghost had stood before him. Slipping to his chair, she put an arm round his neck and kissed him lightly. . ‘‘Hullo, Uncle Phil, you old dear!” she said. “ How lovely to be home again.”

. “ Aye, home it is, my dear, with you back again.” For a few minutes they talked and laughed and teased as they used to, and then he asked:

“ And what has brought you back like this so suddenly ? ” “ That,” sh e laughed, pointing to Dick. “Your turn —go on.” “ Well, Mr St. Leger,” blurted out that young man, looking red and embarrassed, “ you see, I asked Judith to marry me, and she said we’d better- ask you. Otherwise she’s willing, she says. It’s jolly sporting of her, and I hope you won’t mind,” he concluded a little lamely. Philemon took out his pipe when Dick began, and fumbled in his pocket for his tobacco.

“ Dash it,” he laughed a trifle uncertainly, but neither noticed that. “ Where did I put the bally thing? . . . Let me see, you want to marry Judith? Well, I can’t see that it is for me to decide.”

■ The hand that held the pipe trembled a little, and had either eyes for such things they could have noticed that the corners of his eyes looked drawn and his face grey and old. . ■ “I suppose,” said Judith reflectively, “ Dick wouldn’t mind if you did say ‘no.’ He’d have his own way, I’m afraid. He is such a bother. You see, Uncle Phil, he was becoming a nuisance, and that’s why I wanted to go to town —to get away and see if I really—well, liked him enough. You were a dear not to ask questions.” “And do you?” he rapped out. “ Yes, Uncle Phil,” she said simply. He stood up and drew them to him, a hand on the shoulder of each.

“ Then God bless you, my children,” he said, and went out into the starlight to be alone.