Literature.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XLVI, Issue 180, 3 August 1904, Page 4

Literature.

I "BABS.'^ i r (Continued.) F- Gerald Challoner, barrestcr, out on •, walking tour for the benefit of his $' health, slept in the lavender-scentetl-f ad sheets at the "Grim Lion" splenEdWly. But Ms first waking thought In the morning was of Babs and her mother. What did it mean? What pas it to him if Mrs—what washer r was looked upon by ■■ JVmterton village with suspicious tyvs and was not even visited by the .Ticarago people ? Personally, Gerald tjhalloner said to himself, it did not s Batter a jot. But all the same.he ' tould not help but confess that he Was Interested. Of course it was Babs, the dear sweet little mite— Who could help being interested in „►, ker' He had fully intended going on blB way to Stamvorth at nine In tea looming, but he did not. Something —he did not know what it was—e, JJeemed to persuade him to remain in' "Wmtertou—and sec Babs again. Of. course he stayed—and he saw f A'Baba". the very, next morning. She i Was ' Jn' the garden, and he spoke to the garden, and ho spoke to her,call-> pi her by her name. , came running to kiss Sim—lt was a happy and pleasant lra.it to Gerald Ohalloner's character , that all children loved him at first *Sht, : . "Mummy is not said Babs moat solemnly. ■ "I am so sorry," said Challoner. "la you?'' "Of course I am," responded;Ger« »ld, with a smile that he could not Jjuit* repress. "I don't like to think Jhat anyone is ever not well." is laughing!"- exclaimed the Wttle* maid. And forthwith she ran UP the garden path and left him. But half '*• moment later she turned •gain with a smile on her Ht/tlc face. "'Here's mummy!" she said. Hearing voices'•'Mummy'-' had come out, end was standing, a lattice-framed picture, at the threshold of the cottage, i "You!", said Ohalloiier, lifting his pat, "of all people in the world " And then he suddenly recollected , gsverol things. That he had seen a likeness in Babs' face to someone he fcad feiownjfchat he had been interested in the previous evening's talk atraut Mrs. Summers; that he had •toeen led somehow to the very garden fl»te where he was now standing. And bis old sweetheart, who had lilted him for a richer man, was facing him! He put out his hand, and Lucy Summers took it. ■? The garden gate, closed, was between them. Babs watched most in- _. fcerestedly. Again Challoner was the first to speak. "You are well and happy?" he aaid. As he looked at the rounded form and sweet face, ho felt in Ms heart that she had suffered. , "iYep,"carae the calm reply ; "and you?" "Oh I am all right now." - It seemed to him that his old Sweetheart's eyes looked at him reproachfully. "I mean," he said, "that I am better of! and not worried so by the care rt existence. "And you forgive me?" murmured Babs" mother, more softly; "you imow why I did it?" "No, I know nothing." "But surely you heard? My mother was ill, dying, and I—l—what could I do? Stop! Chance has brought this meeting about, and I will tell you, I must tell you, why I " "Threw mo over!"- interpolated Challoner. '■ Yes. You had no money, no prospects. Gordon Summers offend ; to marry me, and take the mother 1 loved away." , "Please don't be so cross wiv' him, mummy," said Babs' childish voice, but her mother patted her shoulder with tender fingers. "There was a hope," she went on. The scent of the early June rosxs came wafting to him on the summer breeze. Gerald Challoner lookod at his old sweetheart's face, and

thought—just' as one thinks at limes I in an infinitesimal part of a moment —that she looked aweeter than ever; spiritualised h* sorrow, trouble, and tbe world, and yet more lovely than of old. "There was a hope,*' she repeated, "but, alas ! a forlorn hope. She died three months! after, in Italy." "I am deeply sorry," said Gerald,i "because I loved her. I heard nothing of this. No one could tell me anything about you, Lucy." "No one knew. Gordon was very good to me, and—and you know how I loved her." "I know," said Challoner, simply. 1 At this moment Babs, who had got tired of listening to what was to' her an uninteresting conversation, came dancing up gaily with a rosebud in her tiny hand. I "Flower from garden," she said with a beaming smile. Gerald took it from the uplifted baby hand, and slipped it into the buttonhole of his coat. He turned to the mother. | "I hope you are happy," he said ; "and 1 am glad to have seen you again. Your little maid, strangely enough, brought us together. I think if 1 go with her rosebud in my coat it will be a symbol of my forgiveness of any happenings in the past." "You do forgive me, Gerald ?" "Why not? I could not until I kiew, and now that I do know the true reason, 1 give you my full and completo forgiveness. But—goodbye. "- "Yon do not blame me t" "How can I—now 1 know ?"■ Ho stooped to take Babs' hand in his. . "Is you going?" I "I must, little woman !"• "Oh, please no !" But Gerald with Hie love of seven I .wars ago surging passionately back into heart and mind and memory, I set his teeth and bado himself be j strong. "1 must," he said. "Oh !" And Babs began to wail I pitifully ; "I wanted you to come and ' play wiv' mo in the garden, and i give me swings. Mummy can't, she's | so tired, and d.ere's no one else !" "Hush, Babs ; Mr Challoner has to | go a long way—all the way to London," said the mother. "London ? " said Babs ; "is that where Daddy is ?" "Perhaps !" answered Babs' mother. Gerald caught a strange expression upon Lucy's face, and his heart seemed to stand still. What did the word mean ? Had Gordon Summers deserted her—and was that the meaning of the village Igqssip he had iheard overnight ? "Did you not know ?" she said, turning a strained face to him. The sudden meeting with her old lover had tried her. ' Know what ? I know nothing but what you have told me." "My husband died—three years ago !"- "Then you are alone in the world?" "Except for Babs." "Me ?" said that youthful person, hearing her name spoken. "When my husband died," continued her mother, ' it was found that he was not so rich after all, and er things were finally wound up, I had about a hunpred a year to live upon. So I came here, and have lioen here over a year—with Babs." Gerald picked the child up in his strong arms. "Babs," he said, "would you like to have me ever and always to play with you whenever you wanted me to?" "Yes," said Babs, "I like you so much." Gerald Challoner turned with a smile to Babs' mother. "Shall the angel in a pinafore give your answer for you," he' said.

"I love yon as much as ever, Lucy, even more. Will you marry lac ?" Lucy Summers looked up in his face lovingly. "You have forgiven me ?" she said. "I have forgotten," he replied, putting Bubs down. "And I have been so alone, so lone- ! ly, in the world !" j "Never again, Lucy," said Gerald, I taking her into his .arms, with Hnbs a highly interested spectator ; "nev- . er again. Fate, Providence, Chance —never mind which—lias brought us together again, sweetheart, and I shall never part with you now." "It'was Fate," murmured Lucy, ns her old lover kissed her upon the lips. , •'He finidod me .and brought me home," put in Babs. "I think it was Bulbs, after all," said Challoner. i I

A Wellington scribe is getting sick of conferences. Ho says :—ln the last ten days tho newspapers have been called upon to report, free gratis, and for nothing, a whole list of conferences, which he enumerates,and he adds :—The conference epidemic occurs regularly every year. Some of their people say imprinted things about our weather, abuse our city, grumble at Die lack of accommodation it is aWe to afford them at these times, and at the charges they are called upon to pay, growl at the absence of verbatim reports of their speeches in the daily papers, and go back to their homes under the impression that they will be never missed along here. We never miss that sort of person, and, speaking from the point of view of the hard-worked \ scribe, we wouldn't miss tiieir conferences—much, I Coughing—sneezing—- ! Handkerchief; Foot-bath—mustard—- ! No relief. ■ Doctors, parson—i Heaven sureHearse not wanted—i "Peppermint Cure.u* 23