THE UNBIDDEN GUEST.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 8108, 19 December 1894, Page 4

THE UNBIDDEN GUEST.

LITXKATTOS;

A VICTORIAN STORY

[continued.]

‘Do you know'what I ; m going to do ?’ asked John William; • l - ; ‘ I can guess. You are going to ride into Melbourne and look > for Missy,’ answered Arabella. _ ‘ I am—and* now” at ’once. I’m going out by the.yidridow;; :ppn?t ' shut it, because I shall be back before milking, and shall come in the same way.l get out.’; . , ■ ‘ But •you’ll • never see her, John William you’ll • never see her,’ said- Arabella, in misery. ‘ It’ll be like hunting-, fpr a. in a hay: stack !’ ‘You may always find the needle —thereis always a v chance. Forme, if half of.what.ishe :told: you hUs;a word of truth in it I shall-hPve a better chance by^ight ; thaß t by duyIt can’fjjfp elevenmbw,' and I guess I 'shall do.it .to-night in half an hour.’ ’■ r -

‘ But if you don’t see her ?’ ‘ Then I shall have another try to-morrow night—rand another the next—and another the night after that. There are plenty of horses in the paddock ; there are spine that haven’t been ridden this longtime, and some that nobody can. ride but me. The mare will have to sweat for it to-night,but not after to-night. Only look here; I shall be found out sooner or later, and, then there will be a row, and you. know who’ll make it. You’ll let it be later, won’t you, Bella, as far as you’re concerned ,?’ ‘ You must know that T will!’ . ‘ Then bless ■ you-. my dear’ and. goodnight.’ :; - They had seldom kissed since they were little children. They were both of them over thirty now,; in respect of years. But with his beard tickling the woman’s cheek, the man whispered, ‘ You,said, that she had done something fPr-ybu-too,you know.’

And the woman answered, ‘Something more than I can ever tell any of you; You little knbw what I might have come to, but for Missy. Yet what are you to do with her, Jack, if you do find her ?’ ‘ And the man said', ‘ Make her good again, so help me God !’ A Sunday ' in brning early in the following February; in fact the first Sunday of the month.' It was, perhaps,- the freshest and coolest morning, of any kind that hot young year had as yet brought forth. Nevertheless, neither Mr nor Mrs TeeedalgJiad gone to chapel, as was their wont. For this Sabbath day was also one requiring a red "letter in calender, of the’ h 1 : as, it : was the solitary entire day which a greatly honoured 1 ’ visitor over the' week-end had consented, after much ill-bred importuning, to give to her father’s old friends at the • farm. The visitor had-gone to chapel with Arabella; But the farmer and his wife had stayed • at horn e, the one to shoot a hare, and the other to cook it for the very special Sunday dinner, which, the occasion demanded.,;, Naturally David’s part was soon performed, because the. old man,was so good.a shot still, and there were plenty of hares aboutthe place. It was less natural in one of his serene disposition to light a pipe afterwards and s sit, in the verandah expressly, and deliberately to think of things-whichnoulddnly trouble him. This, however was - what he proceeded to do. And the things troubled him more and more the longer-he allowed his mind to dwell upon them. ■ , - / One thing was the whole miserable episbde of ..Missy,, of 'whom the old man could not possibly help thinkings in that verandah. ? ! Another ; . was - the manner and bearing of. the proper Miriam, which was of the kind to make the simple homely folks feel small and awkward 1 ,/ • , A'third thing was the difference between, the two Miriams; ‘ Shedsnot like -her mother, and not; like her father —not, as 1 khew him,’ muttered David with' reference to the real one. ‘But she’s exactly like her in that group; Put her in the ! sim, : and . you see it in* a minute. SheTrowhs just like that still. She has much the same expression when she isn’t: speaking tp you or you aren’t speaking, to, her. It isn’t a kind expression, and : I wish I never saw it. I wish"it was more - ; :

He ceased thinking so smoothly, for as a stars- a pahe' of glass, that had shot into his mind’s eye which . made crpss roads of his thoughts? took one of the roads and .sat pulling at his pipe. Here from the verandah"there was ho view to be had of the - river ; timber and\th'e distant : ranges' so; beloved of the old man’s gaze,,. But his eyes paddock in front of the farm-house, and thence to the township roofs, shifting from one to another of such as' shone salient in the morning sun, and finally running up the parched arid yellow ..hill upon the farther side. , That Melbourne, _ nine or ten -miles’'f6~the‘ ' oil' this hill topj between withered grass" and ing with tobacco smoke, the bit of striking sky line, for the'satistaction of seeing it break through theieloud next instantwhile ,on the worn face the passing" "flicker of a smile r. ■

only-' showed-the shadow of''pain .that was, there all the.;time, until at length no more - "smoke came to soften the garish brilliance of the southern sky. Theh-'David lowered his eyes and knocked' the v ashes out of his'pipe. And presently he sighed i a few syllables aloud-: • i t Ah, Missy ! - Poor thing ! Poor |girl!’ ' ‘

3?or on that hill, between grass and sky, between puff and puff of Ills own pipe,; a mammoth Missy had .appeared in a vision to David Teesdale. Nor was ih one Missy, but a whole set of her ■ in a perfect sequence of vision. And this sort of thing was happening to the old man every day, - : )ir : i r ; There was some reason for it. With all her badness the girl had certainly shown V David: personally a number of small s attentions such as he had never experienced at any hands, but hers.' She had filled his pipe, and fetched his slippers, and taken ; his -arm * whenever.: they chanced to be side by side for half a dozen steps. IJis own daughter never dreamt of such things, unless asked.to do >them, which, was rare. But J Missy, had done •them continually and of her own accord. She had taken it into her own head to read to: the old man every day : she had listened - to' Anything and to all things he had to say to her, as Arabella'had never listened in her life; Not that the daughter was at all uncommon in :: this, respect : the wife was just 1 the same. The real Miriam, too, showed plainly enough to a sensitive eye that poor David’s conversation interested her not in the least. So it was only Missy who was uncommon—in caring for any® thing that he had to say. And this led Mr Teesdale to remember a little good in her, and doubtless to exaggerate it, without thinking of the enormous evil; even so that when he did remember everything, the old man, for one, was still unable to ■think of the impostor without a certain lingering tenderness. There kept continually recurring to him things that she had said,her way of saying them, the tones of her voice, the complete look and sound of her in sundry little scenes thaf had taken place -during, her stay at the farm. Two such had been playedfall over again between the smoke of his pipe, the rim of yellow grass, and the background of blue sky which had formed the theatre of his thoughts. One of the two was the occasion of Missy’s first blood-shedding with John William’s gun. David recalled her sudden coming round the corner of the house —this corner. A whirlwind in a white dress, the flush of haste upon her face, the light of triumph in her eyes, the trail of the wind about her disorderly red hair. So had she come to him and thrown lier victim at his feet as lie sat where he was sitting now. And in in a trice he had taken the triumph | out of her by telling her what it was that she had shot, and, why she ought not have shot it at all. He could still see the look in her face as she gazed at her dead handi-. work in the light of those candid remarks : first It was merely crestfallen, then it was ashamed, as her excitement subsided and she realised that she had done a <yuel thing at best. She was not naturally cruel—a thousand trifles had proyed her to be the very reverse. Her heart might be black by reason of her life, but by nature it was soft and kind. Kindness was something ! It made up for some things, too. ■

Thus David would console himself, fetching his consolation from as far as you please. But even-he could extract scant comfort from the] other little incident which had come into his head. This was when Missy drank off Old Willie’s whisky without the flicker of an eyelid ; there has hitherto been nq occasion to qiention the matter, which was not more startling than many others which happeded about the same time. Suffice it now to explain that Mr Teesdale was in the habit of mixing every evening, and setting in safety on the kitchen mantel-piece, a pannikin of grog for Old Willie, who. started townwards with the milk at two o’clock every mohnng. One fine evening Missy happened to see David prepare this potion, .and asked what it was, getting the answer, ‘ Old Willie’s me'dicine ’ ; whereupon ■ the girl took it up, smelt it, and drank it off before the horrified old gentlemah had time to interfere. ( It is whisky!’ he gasped. ‘ Good whisky too|, ’ replied Missy, smacking her lips. ‘ But it was, a stiff dose—l make it stiff so as to keep Old Willie from wanting any at the other end. You’d better be off to bed, Missy, before it makes you feel queer.’ ‘ Qijieer !’ cried Missy. ‘ One tot like that! Do you suppose I’ve never tasted whisky before ?’ And indeed she behaved: a little better than usiial during the remainder of the evening. \ (To he Continued)