THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTER.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 5017, 27 May 1889, Page 4

THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTER.

LITERATURE

Here the confused buzz of a crowd close to the house attracted attention, and young Algernon Warriner went to the window to ascertain the cause. Upon showing himself, cheer upon cheer rose from the crowd which Lad assembled in vast numbers on the lawn, and the band of the Paddleton Volunteers struck up ‘ See the Conquering Hero Comes ? ’ ‘ Ah, they are welcoming you back, Algy, as one of Puddleton’s sons who has been a credit to his birth-place, said old Bolitho. ‘They haven’t forgotten you were born here.’ ‘ It is very kind of them, Mr Bolitho, and I feel deeply grateful, I am sure. 1 must try Grandfather, what are you doing 7 ’ Well might tha young man ask this question in considerable astonishment, as be suddenly caught sight of his old grandfather, with his wristbands turned up, going through a most elaborate prelude to a pugilistic performance behind Mr Bolitho. ‘ My blood’s up, Algernon,’ said the did man, to whose martial soul the band and the cheers had irresistibly appealed. ‘I burn to distinguish myself, and I thought I’d just hit old Joe Bolitho in the back when, he wasn’t looking.’ ‘ But, my dear grandfather * ‘ O yes, Algernon, I’m a devil to fight, a perfect devil to fight when my bfood’s up. You know I fought old Joe Bolitho when we were boys together. O yes ! and 1 wnopped him too.’ ‘ What a rich fellow I should be if 1 had a sovereign lor every time I’ve heard of that sanguinary encounter,’ murmured young Algernon, as be turned away with a laugh; while old Bolitho himself walked to the window with a good-natured smile on his kind face. As the crowd caught sight of it a regular roar of delight rent the air. Well might they make the old man their idol, for there were hundreds there in whose hearts the sight of bis benign old countenance stirred up recollections of kindly aid in the hour of adversity ; and they vented their feelings in loud cries of ‘ God bless you, old Joe Bolitho ! ’ ‘ Jolly old Joe for ever ! ’ etc.

Old Mr Buddlecombe now appeared at the window for his share of public approbation. ‘ Three cheers for Mr Buddlecombe and Mr Bolitho, Puddleton’s oldest and best friends! ’ shouted a leading spirit in the crowd.

Most heartily was this call responded to, and the band played a bar or two of ‘ Auld Lang Syne.’ ‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Mr Bolitho, as' the demonstration ceased. ‘ Well may you play that tune for us two old iellows. We are indeed auld acquaintance, for we were boys together.’ ‘Now I’ll make them a speech,’ said Mr Buddlecombe, with fussy emotion. ‘ Algernon, support me on the right. Joe/on the left. That’s it. Now ’

The old gentleman essayed to address the crowd, but be broke down most lamentably at bis very start, and though his lips moved, no sound escaped them. ‘ There,’ he mumbled as he walked off from the window, ■ I hope they liked that. It was short but to the point. It will all be in the papers to-morrow-, and I hope they’ll report it correctly.’ ‘Algernon, what is this/ asked Florence Warriner, entering the room with hasty step and troubled countenance — ‘ more cheering, more music ? ’ * Why, mother, they are welcoming me home. You forget I’m a Puddle, tonian by birth.’ ‘Welcoming you, darling? Then I snould like to see them. Yes, let me look on those who are welcoming you homo.’

‘ There, mother,’ said young Algernon. as he led her to the window ; ‘ they don’t forget him. Look how at the sight of you a hushed sadness falls on the crowd, and they uncover their heads in silent and respectful sympathy. And it is not merely a sudden memory awakened by the sight of you, for see, the instruments of the band are dressed with black crape.’ ‘1 have seen enough, darling.’

‘ Yes, ma’am, Mrs Warriner is at home ; but, owing to a recent bereavement, she does not receive visitors,’ said Spigot’s successor to a tall, elderly lady, who, two days after the return of the regiment to Puddleton, drove to Mr Buddlecombe’s residence and asked for Mrs Warriner. ‘But I wish most particularly to see her.’ ‘Who shall I say, ma’am ? ’ ‘ Tell her that, a fellow-sufferer wi h her by this recent Afghan campaign begs for a few words of consolation, which it is in her power to give. Tell her that, and I think she will see me.’ ‘l’m sure she will, ma’am. Step this v/ay, please, and I’ll deliver your message.’ The man’s confidence in Florence’s unbounded softness of heart was not misplaced. She at once responded to the cry of distress, though in her weak state of nerves an interview with a stranger would, she feared, be utterly beyond her strength. As she entered the room the visitor rose from her seat, and, without a word, lifted a black crap» veil, in order probably to be seen as well as to see. With a stifled cry on her lips Florence stopped short and stood rooted to the spot, while her earnest, searching gaze was returned by the visitor. ‘ Algy’s mother ! ’ gasped Florence. ‘Yes, ; Algy’s mother,’ said the visitor, in soft, pleading tones, and advancing with her bands outstretched, ‘But Algy’s mother with all her pride buried in Algy’s grave.’ ‘So is mine/ returned Florence meekly, as she took both the hands extended to her.

‘You forgive me, then ? ’ * 0 yes. A thousand times yes. He always told me to.’ ‘Thank you for those words of consolation which I have come all this way to’ ask for,’ said Lady Cecilia Warriner, as she gazed with unfeigned admiration on the sweet sad face, and thought, ‘ Would to God I had seen her before, and I think 1 should have been spared all this bitter remorse.’ ‘ And what did Algy call you ? ’ she asked, ‘ Florry.’ ‘ May I call you Florry ? ’ ‘ Yes.’ ‘ May I kiss you, Florry ? ’ There was no verbal reply, but infinitely more eloquent than words was the upheld white little face, quivering with emotion, and the two bereaved women mingled their tears together. *' “ * * * An hour passed away, and still Lady Cecilia Warriner and Florry sat hand in hand. ‘And now, Florry, that I have opened my heart to you and told you ot the long, long battle, lasting all these years, that I have fought with my stubborn pride, I have a proposal to make to you. I am possessed with a yearning which 1 cannot resist, to visit the spot where Algy lies, and there, together with you and his boy, to pray that I may be forgiven for my treatment of him all these years. Will you come with me, Florry ? ’ ‘ Yes.’

‘Thank you, my darling daughter. And now take me to Algy’s boy. Take me too to your father and mother, and to that old friend my son loved so; and if you and they will let me, Florry, “your people shall be my people.” ’

[The End.]