MISS JACOBSEN’S CHANGE.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 6753, 6 February 1892, Page 4

MISS JACOBSEN’S CHANGE.

LITERATURE

1 CONTINUED. Sara turned with flushed cheeks aad addressed a rapid remark to Dr. Fraill. ‘ You have only just come out from England I’ ‘ Yes/ he replied. ‘ I don’t know any one here. Who is the gentleman that is betraying the secret counsels of the Cabinet P’ Sara’s face reddened more deeply. • That’s my lather —Mr Jacobsen,’ she said. ‘He is PostmasterGeneral.’ Dr Fraill did not appear to notice her embarrassment. ‘Well, I hope they won’t make the poor Governor very ill,’ he said, ‘unless by any lucky accident my professional services should be required, and then I think I should be glad. What sort of dignity would your people confer on a doctor who pulled the representative of her Majesty through a dangerous illness ? Nothing short of a seat in tue Upper House, and the prefix of * Honourable,’ I hope.’ «There are doctors in the Legislative Council,’ said Sara absently. ‘ I don’t know much about it.’ ‘ Nor I,’ he said ‘ I know j.a-cely. anything about colonial insti utions I know more about American ones—and the most unpleasant side of those,’he added with a laugh. ‘ How P’ asked Sara. ‘ Did you live in the unsettled parts o£ America, and lead a very rough life—like the Bushmen here ?’ ‘ O', well,’ he said. ‘ I have done a good deal of ‘roughing it’ out beyond the Rooky Mountains, and in fhe north, too. I’ve been in a good many places before they were settled. I’ve shot wild deer at St Paul’s. That’s something.’ Sara did not know in the least where St Paul’s was, and she had very vague ideas as to the situation of the Rocky Moun'ains, but she said : * Isn’t it very beautiful and wild over there ?’ ‘ About the Rocky Mountains, do yon mean ? It’s wild enough—great sandy plains with a dull sage-green sort of plant growing on them, au-1 nothing else to be seen for a, hundred miles. I don’t know if you’d call that beautiful. But that wasn’t what I meant. I don’t mind hardship out in the open.’ ‘What kind of hardship did you mean T ‘ Well,’ he began with a faint hesitation, as if he were not inclined to lay any stress on bis own exploits, ‘ I was once four days and nights without food or waterj in prison, in America. Thai’s ever so long ago.’ ‘ In prison !’ repeated Sara, her eyes kindling with interest. ‘ I was one of the hos ages—iu the war, don’t you know ?—it would take a good while to explain. That oughtn't to have been a reason for treating us badly, but it appeared to be one. Afterwards I was kept in prison for a much longer time ; and then they turned me out in'o the streets of New York without a penny,’ Sara shook her head at an entree that was bended her, and learned a little towards him while he helped himself leisurely.

‘Ob, do tell me what you did then I’

1 1 did a gre*fc many things. I dare say you’d laugh ievy heartily over some of my adventures. I’ve been an actor, a policeman, a travelling conjuror, a cab-driver, a ferryman, and ever so much besides. I got sick, and had a taste of the noorhouse and the hospital, so you see I do know something of American institutions. I hope I sba’n’tget to know the Australian ones in the same way.’ ‘ Are you going *o stav here P’ asked Sara, in her direct way, which was an odd blending of childishness and dignity. ‘ No, I’m sorry. to say that I sha'n’t have a chance of testing your institutions practically.’ He gave a little laugh. * The lact is I’m a pauper, and I must go home and do some work. I've been a rover and a scapegrace,and my good but rather severe old father—who is a clergyman, Miss Jacobsen—hns every reason to be ashamed of me. Am I not frank in telling you my sins at once ? It may save me trouble later, however. Now we have agreed —my father and I—that this is to be my last trip, and when I go home he is to start me in practice in England. I’a going back in the Urania—the vessel I took charge of out here—in a month’s time.’ The man’s manner, impulsively open as it was, conveyed in a curious way the impression of a good deal of reserved power behind it. Sara decided that ho could not be so young as be looked. Sho mentally put him down at thirty five, or even more. He seemed, she thought, to have an underlying sadness. Ho twisted his long, poimed moustache every now and then in a melancholy dissatisfied fashion. His eyes’ had a strange earnest ex pressionr that discomfi ed her a little when she found that he was looking at her. She could imagine that the eyes might exercise a power of fascination which it would be difficult lo shake off. There was a little silence and Mr Dalyell seized the opportunity to ask fier i/ t-fie liked riding—if she liked dancing—if she was looking forward with pleasure to the Mayor’s ball*—if be might he allowed to hope that she would keep him a dance, and so on. , . . Then the Ac'ing Governor had something to say to Dr TVaill about the disturbance on board the Urania, in quelling which he had been mainly instrumental. Sara listened as well as she could while Mr Dalyell was talking. The doctor of an emigrant

ship, she learned, might even there find play for hrroic qualities. Dr Praill had distinguished himself by great bravery and presence of mind. The cap'ain had lost his head, and Dr Fraill bad shown himself capable of taking command, both iu a moral ard nautical sense. All this came out incidentally. If Dr Fraill had any tendency to brag bo managed it very artistically, and contrived to produce the effect of charming modesty. The' attention of every one at the table was directed towards him. It was not till dinner was nearly over that he turned once more to Sara, and said with a deprecatory sort of smile : ‘ Forgive me for talking so much about myself.’ ‘ Oh, but I should like to know !’ she exclaimed eagerly. ‘ I never of such an odd, interesting kind of life. But it puzz'es me- -’ she paused a moment, then went on frankly : ‘ I can’t imagine why, when you were wandering about the streets of New York in that dreadful way, you did not write to your people and ask them to send you money —or perhaps you did. How did you get home at last ?’ ‘ I worked my way before the mast,’ he answered. ‘ Thai’s bow I Uarned the best part of my practical seamanship. Then I found myself in London much in the same plight as in New York ; only there I had friends, and could get work. I wrote a series of er’icles on America for one of the daily papers.’ ‘ But telf me ’ began Sara, At that moment Mrs Blane made the move. Sara rose regretfully. ‘ I’ll tail you anything you care to hear,’ he said, ‘if you’ll give me the same permission you gave Mr Daly ell, and let me call upon you I’ve already left a card for Mr Jacobsen at the Post Office.’

She answered his request with a natural oe'Mira of assent which was very pretty, and had a touch of wellbred reserve, quite unconscious on her parr. Sara’s ‘manners, considering that they were the combined product of a boarding-school on the Übi Downs, ignorance which kept her on her guard, and yellow-backed novels, were highly commendable.