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Rodney and Otamatea Times, Waitemata and Kaipara Gazette, 7 August 1912, Page 6

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When he sat down to a nicely-cook-ed supper that night he smiled triumphantly and rather maliciously with the contentment of a man who has weathered the storm. The housekeeper, in a neat cap and apron, appeared all that was desirable in the way of servants, and he acceded readily to her request that she might engage a girl to help with the dirty work in the morn, ing.

For a week everything: went quite smoothly, and Hiram felt almost goodtempered at times as he thought of his daughters' disappointment and dismay when they discovered how well he could manage without them. But one evening he returned to find the house in darkness, and with many misgivings he lighted up and proceeded to the kitchen. Here also was partial darkness; but the dull glow thrown by the fire showed him a huddled form on the floor. Thinking at once that an accident had occurred, he lighted the gas with trembling fingers, and then turned to examine the prostrate woman, but something on the table attracted his attention first—an empty whisky bottle, one of his own, which he knew had been more than half-full the night before. Hiram was a temperate man where strong drink was concerned, and he turued in disgust from his paragon of housekeepers, whose red face and heavy breathing were only too sure proofs of the tale the empty bottle told.

As he stood there wondering what he should do, the woman stirred, and, opening her eyes, blinked up at him. She looked so repulsive lying there, that he made for the door, ignoring her muttered vyords of protest, and, after reaching the dining-room, sat limply down to await what would follow. Soon he heard a door open, heavy feei were dragged along the hall, and then the housekeeper entered, looking so disreputable that he could hardiy believe it was the same woman. She had, unfortunately, found another halfglassful of whisky in the bottom of the bottle, and, requiring courage to face her master, had drained it off. Her maudlin excuses and lurching efforts to lay the cloth for his supper were more than Hiram could stand, and he peremptorily ordered her back to the kitchen. After several attempts to speak coherently the woman subsided into tears, finally falling in a heap on the floor as he evaded her effort to put her arms around his neck.

Except to pass them in the street with a disdainful look Hiram had had no experience with drunken women, and he felt quite terrifiad at the position he now found himself In. The sound of a heavy tread outside in the street suggested a possible solution to him, and - with surprising agility he hurried out and called to the policeman slowly sauntering by.

"Officer, there is a woman in my dining-room —my housekeeper—but she is intoxicated, and if you will remove her quietly I will make it worth your while."

Hiram did not bear a reputation for generosity, and the policeman hestitated until a half-sovereign glittered in the light of the moon before changing hands. After that he was willing enough to help, and the distracted man soon had the satisfaction of seeing his model housekeeper assisted down the steps. The cold air revived her, and after her bonnet and cloak had been fetched she consented to go quietly home. A little sympathy from the policeman loosened Hiram's tongue, and he gave a graphic account of his troubles, ending with a request for information regarding the possible whereabouts of a good housekeeper.

"I know the very woman to suit you," said the policeman confidently, at this point "She came in and nursed my wife through a nasty illness, and is a firstclass cook. She is just the woman you want, Mr. Blount, and I will send her round first thing in the morning. I know she is looking for a job."

On the strength of this promise the policeman retired the richer by another half-sovereign, and Hiram became once more hopeful of the future.

This time it really seemed as if his troubles were over. The new housekeeper, Mrs. Druce, arrived early the next day, and proved an even greater treasure than the last. Hiram grew quite enthusiastic over her virtues, until themnlucky day that his friend tried a little damping effect on his ardour.

"A widow, h she?" he remarked suggestively. "Well,1 if she is such an ideal housekeeper some sensible

man will soon come along and marry her. Then poor Hiram Blount will be up to his neck in trouble again. The only thing you can do, old friead, is to marry her yourself 1" C-

Great was Hiram's indignation this advice, but he found it difficu* to dismiss the matter from his mind. He studied his housekeeper carefully, and discovered that she was a comely woman apparently well under forty. If he married her that would mean an end of all • his troubles, and a wife would not be much more expense to keep than a housekeeper, certainly less expensive than three daughters! Having reached that point the rest was easy, and at the end of three weeks he surprised the good woman abruptly asking her to marry him. Apparently she was quite overwhelmed by the honour; she stammered and hesitated, twisting her apron and looking at him out of the corners of her eyes in what he supposed to be a sudden access of coyness. Eventually, however, she consented, and he patted her shoulder, called her a good, sensible woman, and promised to get a special license the next day. \

When the license in his pockiet Hiram Blount felt a little less contended the next evening. Marriage, he reflected, was a serious matter, and he had rushed into it without very great consideration: He was relieved that Mrs. Druce showed no sign of sentj mental yarnings when he reached home, and gladly consented to her wish for an evening out. About an hour after she had left he was disturbed by a knock at the street door, which he slowly proceeded to answer. A man of rather big proportions stood on the step, and this persoa invited himself inside without waiting to state hisbusiness.

"Name of Blount?" he queried, when Hiram, somewhat at a loss, had led the way into the dining-room.

"My name's Druce," he continued, having received a confirmatory nod, and Hiram's face brightened at this intelligence.

"Ah I a relation of Mrs. Druce," he suggested. "Her brother, perhaps?"

"Brother be !" was the angry retort. "I'm her husband, and I would like to know what you mean by tempting an honest woman to leave her husband and commit bigamy Can't a man leave his wife for a month or two to get work without an old bounder like you trying to turn her head with his nonsense ?'r

"My good fellow," cried Hiram, angry enough in his turn; but he got no further, for a retreat round the diningroom table became necessary. His unwelcome visitor looked decidedly belligerent, and he was counting his chances of getting to the window and giving an alarm when the knocker outside once more came into play. Ii was a soft knock—decidedly a feminine one^-and Hiram, feeling certain that he recognised it, took a step towards the door. But the other man was before him.

"If that's my wife," he said, "I will' teach her to come here after what I said. Pretending to be a widow, indeed; and expecting me to sit quiet while she marries another man just because he has a bit of money !"

The street-door was flung open with a bang, and then Hiram, forgetting- his aggressive visitor, sprang forward with a cry of relief and delight, for it was Mary—his daughter Mary—who stepped into.the hall.

"I could not stay away any longer, father," she said. "I have been so unhappy thinking of you all alone here. It was horrid of me to leave you, but I will never do it again of you will only let the girls have a little amusement sometimes."

Mary's timely advent had won her the victory, for her father did a most unusual thing—he took her in his arms and kissed her; and while they were oblivious to his presence Mrs. Druce's aggrieved husband seized the opportunity to disappear, for he rightly concluded that Hiram would give him no further cause for uneasiness now his daughter had returned to look after him.

(The End.)