LADIES' COLUMN.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 3147, 30 December 1899, Page 2 (Supplement)

LADIES' COLUMN.

A MAN^ HAND. (By ADELINE SERGEANT.) » (Woman at Home.) CHAPTER I. " My dear lady," said the vicar of St Mildred's,' "boys will be boy-." Mrs Kelland sighed and looked out of the window. She did not seem to derive much comfort from tte assertion. The vicar was a comparative stranger ; she had known him only a month or two. He could not possibly understand her boy, who was so different from other boys. "Heis a charming little fellow, ' Mr Lestrange went on pleasantly. "I have no fault to find with him " (the vicar took private pupils), "save that of idleness and a touch of—well, insubordination now and then. He wiU soon get over that, my dear Mi» Kelland ; wily ha wants a hand over him—* hand of authority— a man's hand, in 8 Nora Kelland turned round sharply. "If Terry will not do right for lore, h« will not do it for fear," she said. "A man's hand! You assured me, Mr Lertrange, that your boys were moat gently treated, and now you talk of— a man's hand !" , She choked a little oyer the words, and put her handkerchief to her eyes The vicar of St Mildred's was startled and rather distressed. , , . Mr Lestrange probably guessed what E&e abstained from saying, for his grey-whiskereu face assumed an appearance of disapproving g ™Thope, indeed, that Terence will not play truaut again, he*aid; but, after ■aJ, iu offence is not so heinous that it cannot be forgiven." And he took his leave with a smile, for he was an easy-tempered man. Mrs Kelland said good-bye to him very coldly. There was a flush on her cheeK, a light in her dark eyes, which gave almost a dfngerous air to her beauty. She > cou d not be much more than thirty, and did not look her age ; yet n o keen observer glanced at her without knowing that she had weathered some heavy storm, in the wune of * not very long career. She wu very well dressed Loften in white of pink, with plenty of kce and chiffon-so that people who knew her out slightly would regaru her sometimes with a disapproving countenance, and say that, • for a widow, she was very fond of bright colours " But then, Nora Kelland was not a widow, and that made all the difference. She wag walking about the room in a perturbed, excited way, when fresh visitors were announced. Sbe turned round to greet .her sister-in-law, Mrs Elliston, and Mrs Wilton's husband. Lucy Elliston, small, round, fair-haired and plump, formed a complete contrast to Nora's dark and slender type of beauty ; while Major Elliston was a redh A upright, broad-shouldered individual with the air of a martinet and the heart of a child Nora was fond of them both, and made" no attempt to hide her agitation as she met them. , ,„ ' " Why, Nora, what is the matter: „ •• Wbat'a op, Nora?" i The questions came in a breath, and Nora answered proudly, though with a quivering l ' P "'l7s only Mr Lestrange, where Terry goes lor his Latin every day you *"*•& L he tells me Terry has been away three mornings, and I sent him eacfc day, and he must have gone down to the beach to play. Oh, Lucy, it is hard, when one has done all one' can for one's boy, to find-— ••Come, come, Nora," said the major. •• Don't take a little freak of this kind so much to heart. I know I played truant in my day sometimes, and so, I expect, did Lestrange, if the truth were told. "I thought," said Nbra, who was now crying unreservedly, "that Terry would have told me everything!" She broke down here completely, and the major looked mystified. But Lucy, quick-witted and sympathetic, came to the rescue. . , , I "Of course, dear, we quite understand. Jack understands perfectly, only be is so silly. Yes, you are, Jack, and you do understand." , . , "Bless me if I dol" said the major beneath his breath. " Don't you see," said his wife, in a lower tone, while Nora was still sobbing rather angrily, "that as Philip and. Nora live apart, at Nora's own wish, it is unkind to remind her that poor little Terence has no father to look after him. In fact, it is a reproach to poor Nora, and, of course, she feels it." Nora looked up, her cheek still wet, her bosom heaving a» she spoke. " You forget one thing, Lucy : the separatior/ was by mutual consent. Philip wished to leave me — -" "Oh, yes," said Lucy, with great simplicity of manner. " But sometimes people change their minds." "What do you mean?" " I mean that poor Philip is very tired of bis loneliness, dear. He would give anything to see you again." "He would hare to be very much changed, Lucy, before I could feel any' respect or- affection for him," said Nora, beginning to tremble a little, in spite of a great struggle for composure. "He is changed," said Mrs Biliston, stolidly. Then she kept silence, leaving her words to produce their own effect. Nora half rose, but what she meant to say wm never known by anybody, for at that moment the door was burst open by an exceedingly handsome and engaging boy of ten or twelve years of age, who showed no signs of repentance in his shining eyes and beaming smiles for the misdemeanours with which he was credited. Nora turned, opened her arms, then let them sink by her side, while she carefully made her face assume the severest expression in her power. It made no difference to Terry. He ran straight into her arms, kissing i the severity out of her face, and mumbling sweet words in her ear — " Darling mummy ! don't be cross with me ! Mummy, dear, I won't do it again." And Nora's arm went round his neck in just its accustomed way, while Major Elliston solemnly shook his head. " You've been playing truant from your lessons, I hear, Terence," he said at last, standing with his srtiffest and most military air upon the hearthrug. Terry raised his head from his mother's shoulder with a droll look of contrition. " I know I have, uncle. It was bo jolly out of doors, and so stuffy in the schoolroom. And I met a man — a gentleman, you know —who was awfully kind to me." "A gentleman?" said Nora. There wag a curious little catch in her voice. " Yes ; and I asked him to call,"' remarked Terence triumphantly. " I said I was sure you would like to see him. He sent me back this afternoon, and told me to say I was sorry." For a moment the bright head drooped. "He did not know before that I had been out without leave." j There was a moment's silence. Lucy and ' her husband exchanged glances ; Nora's foce j turned white. j "Did he tell you his name?" she asked in a low voice. j " No, but he sent you gomething— perhaps his name's inside," said Terry, tugging at his pocket. I'd forgotten it. He said you would know who he was when you saw that," He brought out a packet, roughly tied up in brown paper, and placed it in her hip. Nora sat looking at it, as if she were afraid to touch the thing. The boy rattled on, with his arm round her neck. : "Do open it, mummy. I want to know his name. His initials are P.K. ; I ceuld not help seeing them on his liandkerchief. He's awfully nice, mother. You should have heard him talking to me about school, and —and not going back on Mr l^strange, ;«nd always doing what you wanted, mummy dear. Aren't yon going to open his parcel?" With trembling fingers Nora untied the string and folded back the brown paper, with its lining of tissue paper and little bed of cotton woo], Terry, peering over her arm. uttered a cry of astonishment. It was merely a flat stone, heart-shaped, polisher! on imV side and showing unsuspected vein-

ings of red and brown ; rough on the other. But upon the rough side some one hud cut the inithils " I*'" and " N." Nora bowed her face upon her hands and burst into tears. Major hlliston hustled the boy out of the room, tolling him that his mother and aunt were best left alone ; and he did not see his wife until dinner-time, when she came to him with rather a rueful face. ■ "Oh, Jack," she said, " ."he is eo up., t ! It was Philip all the time! And the stone was one which -foey picked up when they were on tilieir 'Loui'ynioijn. Po< r l'hil had their initials engraved on the Inck, and no doubt sends it to i;«r ti> remini.l 'her at the old days. What a pity that they can't be happy "together ! For "Phil is evidently as much in love with her as ever, and Terence will be ruined wkhout a fauher"> tbiuid upon the reins !" " Isn't Xora fond of him after all ?"' asked the major, pulling hie red me ustache. "Xora, a. little fool!" said Lucy, with great scorn. ' I don't know what she wants or what she dcesn't want. But I think Phil means to find out." CHAPTER 11. I Nothing was wrong but what is usually known as "temper." Xora was a spirited, 1 impet-ucu'.', inexperienced girl of seventeen when she married Philip Kelland, five years older than herself, and of a somewhat dour and masterful na-ture. At first they were happy em ugh; but soon after the birth of Terence clouds rose on the domestic horizon and darkened all the sky. She developed fads of every conceivable kind, from vegetarianism to rational dress and a distaste for public worship. Philip hated the.e developments, and told her so. She in return reproached him for hie extravagance, for his It ve of the turf, for the " little gamble" on the Exchange by which he sometimes lost and sometimes gained. He put the crowning touch to these offences by coming home one evening slightly exhilarated — one could not call it more — by wine. Nora declared that she could nut live with a drunkard ! Philip had been bitterly hurt by the epkiet ; and the consequence was that, when Terence was barely five years M, the hu-band and wife had separated, saying that they would never willingly look upon each other's face again. Philip had been generous in money matters, and never eLaimed the boy, as he might legally have done when Terence was six years old. His sister Lucy had pleaded in vain with Nora on his behalf. Nora was inexorable. She could not bear the idea that Terence should be brought up in the companionship of a man who smoked, drank, betted, raced, speculated in stocks and shares, and read tie "Sporting Tim*:."' She could bring up the boy in her own way if she were. free. Hitherto the plan had worked well; but lately Terry had given her trouble, in spite of his winning ways, and the oft-repeated expression that he wanted " a man's hand," '' a man's autihorlty," over him, was beginning to tell upon her nerves. It was partly in order to get rid of the unwelcome memories that were crowding upon her thick and fast that she agreed with Terry to take " a whole holiday " next dav, an-d spent it on Beachy Head. She loved the wide expanse of grassy down, overlooking the sparkling waves ; she liked to walk the entire length of the headland, and to talk with the coa«tguardsmen upon the furthest height. In the aftemom she sat on a natural seat formed by ridges of earth, close to a gap which dipped down to the narrow beach below, wnile Terndarted about seeking for butterflies and blackberries after the manner of small boys, and sitting beside her only for an occasional five minutes at a timt. The sea and sky were blue and calm ; a little wind rustled among the dry grasses at her back ; a whit* sea bird swept across .the surface of the bay. So calm, so tranquil— ah, what a pity that life could not go on like this ! There was a shout, a stound of running footsteps,' a whirlwind of a boy beside her, and — a man ! "I've found him, mummy," cried Terry breathlessly, "and I've brought him to see you. (It is the gentleman I told you about, you know. Why den't you shake hands?") Nora lifted her eyes silently to her husband's face, and Philip Kelland quietly lifted his hat. Each had changed very greatly, and each was a little puzzled by the change. " May I stay for a few minutes?" said the man. " Certainly. Terry, dear, get us some blackberries. I want to — thank this gentleman" — it was very hard to speak — "for his kindness to you." " All right, mummy." And the boy was off to the Uackbetry bushes at the top oi bis speed. " Won't you sit down?" said Nora. Philip took a seat beside her. He was thinner than he used to be — brown, too, with the look of a man who lived much in the open air. She was handsomer than in her first girlhood ; but there was a wistful, unsatisfied look in her large dark eyes, which no man who loved her could have liked to see. "He is a fine fellow," the husband said at length. "Yes." " I have not encroached, Nora " " You don't mean that you -want now to take him away from me?" Bhe asked sharply. " Not for my own pleasure- I should like to see more of him than I have done, certainly ; but I only meant to speak to you about a school. It surely will soon be time to send him to Rugby." '' I suppose so," she replied with a sigh. " You used to plead for home education, but-; " " Oh, no, I think a school is best ; I have chanqed my views." " Your friend, Mrs Brett was strong against public schools, I remember." " Yes, I don't know Mrs Brett any more, nor Miss Clennand. I have dropped out of i the set." « Philip's eyes brightened. It was the set to which he had objected in former days. j '" You would have some difficulty in escaping from Mrs Brett, I should think." ""I have been living chiefly in the country — near Tunbridge — it was so good for the boy." ■" Yes, a country life is best after all." " Do you say so?" " I live in the c< untry myself. I have taken a farm, and am trying agricultural experiments in Warwickshire." "Horses?"' she said, half suspiciously. He laughed a little. " Cart horses. Nothing to do with racing." She reflected, aind sighed. " I suppose you have a great many men to stay with you, and you have card parties — and " " Nn, said the man. " I live alone, and ,-eldom have visitors. Burchell takes pity on me now and then. My old set has dropped me too. You see "—with some hesitation— " I don't play cards now ; and-— you may laugh if you like— l've tunned teetotaller, and am a J.P. and a churchwarden. Quite a j reformation in my old age, isn't it?" "Philip, are you serious?" < Perfectly serious, Nora. The old carei less life lies far behind me—thank God!" j A mist came over Nora's eyes, a lump to her throat. She had been part of his oh! I i.ic, and she, too, lay behind! He thanked < iod for it ! And they had loved each other not so many years ago! "There is one thing wanting, certainly, wid Philip, in a quiet tone. " I feel that I have a duty to my boy. I want to be at his «ide now and then as ho grows up ; I want, if I can, to save him from the follies of which I was so often guilty ; I want to give him, if necessary, a helping hand. Will you let me do that," Nora?" Her heart hardened. Si* looked stolidly away. " The man's kind "— hnw the phrase rang in her ears! As if a woman could not bring up her son without a man's help! It was too absurd! He waited; but still she did not speak. On the blue stillness antl .silence of sea ant. sky there broke a cry, an agonised cry for hfcip. -i cry— in Terry's voioe. "Mother! Help! I'm falling ! leant h<>ld on!" Tiny started to their feet. Terry had (KTatnf.W a little way d>wn the cliff, and the earth had given way beneath his feet. Now lie was chitcbinir tile .-outs of a bush, which seemed to Be slowly Jiilodging itself,

ir. his hands, and beneath Lim lay the distance, and the 1-i.uirhlwulden, and ite sea. | Philip uieaMiivd the disianut with his eye. j His face whitened in tiie sun. A moment . and hflp mi-I.t- be too late, ljtf he was not j Jar awav-not alto-ether ou>< o; reach ; a ( strong band might sti'l avail tojetraw him up. "Stand back," he said almost to his wife. - Call a!«ud, if vou like to t.e courfguardsmen. X..-.V "-he flung l«»n* If flat on the earth--" hold " n me-hoki my ftet like grim death if you can. 1 think I cm reach him if 1 try. • The men irom the coastguard station came running, but Philip had already begun '•'Te'rrv, look up," "e said. "My hand waild meet yours if yu lined it ; you must let »o of the' bush with one hand, and raise it as high as you can. Then I will pull you It was ;>n enormous strain. If the coastguardsnien had not arrived in timr to give help, the strain miglit huve been too much, and Philip would perhaps have gone down with his boy, before his wife's eyes, into the abyss. But he was strong, and the boy was light; and, with one prodigious effort, the father pulled the boy back into safety. . , ... "Oh, Phil, Phil!" Nora cried,,, half laughing, half weeping, , a "few moments later. "Tley nave talked to me about a man's hand until I'm sick of the word; b-t what should we have done without it now? And I shall never, never be able to do without it again." "Do you mean that you will forgive me everything, and come " back to me, my " Dear Philip, it is you that have so much to forgive!" " Are you my father?" said Master Terry, beaming at the pair. " Well, that was why I liked you so much, you know. And I've got a father now, like other people. Hooroo!" "A father's authority— a father's hand, murmured the major, who had unexpectedly appeared urJon the scene. "A guiding hand— a loving, protecting, saving hand," said Nora. And then and there she raised it to her lips. Life is a parable sometimes.