NAUGHTY EDIE.

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10638, 14 April 1906, Page 1 (Supplement)

NAUGHTY EDIE.

If ever there waß a naughty girl i£ was Edie. She was tall and slim and twenty-three — old enough to know so much better. The fairies had given her a fine pair of eyes which she too often used very improperly. Her gran'ina— with whom she lived at the seaside — was always chiding her. One morning, when the sun shone and the band played, Edie put on a tam-o'-shanter hat, and a mauve tie, and a grey frieze skirt— so short that it showed her ankle-spats— and went drifting down the sandy hill like a thistle blown away, lhe wind whistled and she whistled.and she hit the wooden seats with her walk-ing-stick, and laughed wickedly, and looked at her bangles--given her by men. Now, in a sense, Edie Was like the lighthouse on the point; she did make herself so conspicuous j and all her menfriettds were like the big and little ships that went sailing by. They were reported as "Passing," "Sighted," now and then as "Touched -at" ; but not one ever seemed to ,want to come into harbor and stay, there. That is to say, there was just one— not long ago. Unexpectedly he dropped his anchor. (We have done with the si-mi-le of the ships and are speaking only of the men.) Well, then, you are to understand that Edie was engaged to marry a Boldier who was serving his King in a distant land. That is why it is right to say Edie was naughty, and not merely heedless. * Very soon she met her good, steady friend, Jane, and together they walked up ahd down the pier a number of times. Jane turned at each end most sedately, but Edie simply flounced round as though she had been sent there by some advertising hosier whd wished to push his* specialite" of spats and Btockings. IheW they both sat down close to the band. *»

„,, There, said Edie, in a whisper, that s the best man on the pier. Shall we make him talk?"

."Oh, Edie," said Jane, very much shocked, "how can you?" ", I L , *",1 11 80on sh °w you how I can," said Edie. '" \

The stranger was nicely dressed in a neat blue suit, '.his face was very nicely browhed by the sun; and he walked round the band with a pre-occupied manner. ; Just as he came round again, Edie tound a joke in her paper which made her laugh, and, in drawing the attention of het friend to this funny-bit, the paper slipped out of her hands. "Oh, boo," cried Edie, as she clutched alter the tumbling paper. The young man picked up the newspaper.

"Thanks, awfully," B aid Edje. She seemed completely confused by her own clumsiness.

There is an astonishing quantity of wind, about,", said tho young man politely. "It must be blowing up for rain." "I -am afraid lam not weatherwise," said Edie, and she raised her eyes and dropped them again. "ISh't there a forecast in your paper?" asked the stranger. "Might I— er— peep at it? • v

Edie glanced at the empty place on the bench by her side, and glariced away again, She was looking out to sea and talking to Jane while the *young man sat down in the empty place. "Are you going, dear?" "Yes," said Jane, very coldly; VI must go home at once." Now, wheri Jane had gone, Edie and the visitor talked and laughed, and even chaffed, as though they had been properly introduced to each other many years ago. "I have come down here on business," he said. "I am an ambafisador--rliap on a special mission — a stranger in the land.".

But you seem to know your way abouty" said Edie archly. "I asked at the station."

"But this is not the first time you have ever talked on a pier. You know all about piers," and she used her eyes— improperly. "Oh, boo," said Edie; for he looked quite shocked. "Don't you like it?" And she laughed in mischievous glee. ."There's no harm in it, really. It's what people call my es-pi-e-glfcr-io." At the -turnstiles he made her a present of a box of chocolates, and at the corner shop he bought her a bunch of violets; ihey were the best of friends aB they \Vent up the hill. "Look here. My business can't take long, I'll, polish it off, and then do let you arid. l go out— for a, lark— on a char-a-banc*-—or something. Isn't there any where we could go to— just for 'fun?" " There's Windy-Wide Bay," said Edie/f'and the light railway. But what is your silly old* business, really?" "Well, I am not an ambassador. I'm a soldier man, if you must know, sent here by my superior officer— to make a confidential report on his young lady, Poor old chap I Detractors have written to him — and ho wantß to know. I wonder if you could help me. It's a certain Miss' Edie- "

Edie stopped as though out of breath, and began to stammer. "I saw through you— of course, I— l wanted to pu— pu— pull your leg. That's why I've been going on like this.-!' "Ohj" said the young Uian very gravely; "then you are Miss Edie herself. Well," and he shrugged his fehoulders, "I'm afraid my report won't be pleasant reading. Poor old chap." "BoO," said Edie; "don't take it so seriously,',' and she tried to laugh it off. But when she saw tho young. man would not even smile, she pleaded most earnestly.

"Oh,* don't be a. tell-tale-tit. Don't be mean and unkind. Haven't I told you there is no harm in it— really ahd truly? It is so dull here. But for my es-pi-e---gler-ie, I should commit suicide. Do| do, do make a nice report." "My dear girl," he said, "discipline is discipline. He is my superior officer. There is only one thing I call put in the report, and that is— the truth, though it break his heart. Poor dear old fchap!" Then the young man blamed her Borely

'I could easier cry than laugh," he said, "when I think of At. All the time he had the fever,,and we thought hewaß going to die—even the pet of the regiment was sorry. It is a porcupine— all that sad time he talked about you. He made nib read him your lettei-B again and again. Oh, Edie, you told him one hemisphere was empty because he was in the other !"

"Oh, boo-op-oo," said Edie, beginning to cry. Now in the end Edie* prevailed. The young man felt himself torn in all directions at once, but in the end he promised to make a good report. "I think," he said solemnly, "I deserve to be drummed out of the regiment for what I am going to do; Nevertheless, I will give you this chance. Please dry your ey6B. But let this be a lessoni 1 Promise me that for the future you will be more cir-cum-spect." "I promise," said Edie. "That' is what I fvill be--for the rest of my life— cir-cum-spect." In iW cold winter weather, one dark January evening, a strange visitor came into Snapper's— the hairdresser's saloon near the dismal arcade. He was tall and thifa, and he wore a big coat and a monstrous big cap. "¥bu:are in a big way of business," he said kindly, to Snapper. "Customier and perhiquier?" and he pointed to the glass^ca&e ahd the wigs and moustaches and/bea,rds. "I Would like a beard," and he laughed softly} "just to frighten the naughty children with." It chanced this evening that Edie was out late. As she came home Blowly through the arcade, past the window of the ciretilating library, she saw, a tall, distinguished bearded man looking at the books.- Beneath his great cap she saw 'more beard than face, but his big coat she knew at once was. in the latest fashion. ;! He Was all to nothing the .best man in lhe arcade.

"Oh, boo," said Edie, as her umbrella slipped but of hands J,. '. . .' "Oh thanks, aiwfully." jf In a \\Wd : he picked! up the umbrella, and she I picked him up. "L would >like to escort you," he said, rather Huskily, " It's a public thoroughfare," said Edie, archly. "I don't thing you ought, but I don't quite see how I am to prevent you." Then he escorted her down the Highstreet arid half-way up the hill. When they reached the round seat and the flaring gas-lamps, he suddenly snatched off his beard and raised his cap. "Edie " he said; "you have almost broken niy heart." "I— l l knew you," stammered Edie. "You silly— old-— goose. I wanted to pu— pu--7pull your- — " "Oh, Jfio, you did not," he replied, sternly.^ "That honest youth— my inferior officer—tried to allay my doubtß, and told me not to listen to your detractors. But the truth lurked in each line of his report. So I came across half the world to see for myself, and how I. shall go back again, never to return." "800-jtoo— oo— oo." Edie waß sobbing ing, noisily, as she watched him go down the hill never to return. Now, the moral of this tale is— bht of course yd^u see it. It is plain and good —like Jane*; not flashy and tricky and subtle and insincere-^like Edie. * — W. B. Maxwell.