SHADOWS ON THE SNOW.

Timaru Herald, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 13010, 25 June 1906, Page 2

SHADOWS ON THE SNOW.

Our ston commences in a quiet lane in the gaitieu of Devonshire, in a narrow, quiet Line, where, in the summer, the flowetcd hedgerows on either side shut out from view the pretty homesteads in their rear, and where, in the winter, the naked branches threaded the air with snow lines fantastically, and the sharp, thin twig?' were whltely lighted up with pearl-drooping eves ut" icicle. A quiet, narrow lane, luxuriantly tinted in the spring with vio lets and forget-me-nots, and in the drowsy summer, when the hum of bees could be faintly hcaid in the tangled bush of honeysuckles and wild roses," dreamily delicious with fragrant odours. A quiet, narrow lane, at the enti of which came suddenly ard quaintly into view a shallow reach of a noble river, with a taste of the salt sea on its lips, where the clear waters lay calmly in their rustic shelter, while on its/b3som glowed the shadows of its gardened bank.--. A quiet, narrow lane, wherein a thousand new graces perpetually unfolded themselves, and where Nature made holiday in every season of the year. It was the evening of a sharp, 'wintry day in December, so near to Christmas the sun Threw a golden mantle on its holly-crowned head, and welcomed its advent wirh a fiery splendour. "The old elm that had stood" outside Stephen Winkworth's hcwe for more Christmases than Stephen Winkworth could remember blushed crimson sympathetically, and the tips of its blanches caught the light of the glowir.g sun, and imprisoned it until the greyer shadows usurped its place. The light touched the form of Stephen Winkworth hint-elf, as he stood at his door, watching the declining day, and it lingered .lovingly at a window above his head, at which a girl sat motionless, looking out upon the scene. Stephen Winkworth was by no means a pleasant figure in the landscape, and did not show in his face any sign of gladness. The happy season which brought joy to so many hearts brought none_to his; for in ail the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year he celd not one in 'tenders remembrance. Bitter, morose, and discontented, he stood on his threshold, at war with the world and with himself. " Stephen the woman-hater," his neighbours' called him; they might have added man-hater also, for all the love he bore his sex,. His spiritual influence for unkindness was very strong. It was enough to make one bad-tempered to look at the surly wrinkles in his face", and people, not knowing why, felt an inclination to snarl at each other when he .was in their company. He was not an ungainly man, and was still in the prime of life; strong and sturdily built was he, and blessed with good health; fairly well-to-do, also, from a worldly point of view. But with all these advantages, he had never been discovered in an act of kindness, and not a human being in the world would have felt inclined to say "God bless him!" ' j

Only on one occasion " throughout the year did he of his own free will associate with his neighbours, and that was Christmas Eve. And only in one (house in all Devonshire would he have been welcomed, and that house was Warleycombe Lbdge, the residence of Reuben Harrild. Harrild and he had been friends in their youthful days, and in one of their boyish confidences had pledged themselves never, if circumstances permitted, to spend Christmas apart from each other. That Stephen Winkworth had not broken his promise came ( from no active exercise of sentiment; it was more a mechanical than an affectionate offering to a friendship which now existed but in name. The house of Reuben Harrild was within view, and Stephen could see the reflection of the dying sun in each pane of glass that shone like a fiery eye upon the landscape. No -softening influence came upon him as he gazed upon this solemn splendour. With deepset lines in his face, and with form immovable, he stood like an image carved in stone—stern, impassive( relentless, and unfeeling.

Towards him came >two persons, with that bri?k motion of the body which betokens enjoyment of surrounding and inward influences. He was not conscious of their approach, but the girl_at the window above saw them the moment they appeared round \the winding path in the distance, and 1 a look of eager hope, of leve without hope, of love in which there vas pain, flashed into her eyes. With parted Dps,- and a flush on her usually pale face which did not come from the sxuiset's glow, she watched their forms grow krger and more distinct as they emerged out of the deeper shadows. From the yovnger of the two came a cheerful greeting to Stephen Winkworth. "Good evening, neighbour. Tine weather this for Christmas !"

The speaker was a good-poking man,some five-and-tweaty years of age, V.i.liam. Fairfield by rauie. He was a fanner in the neighbourhood of Warleyconibe, and although comparatively a new uian in the locality, had been cordially welcomed upon his own merits into the society of his fellows. The farm he now owned had been bequeathed to 'him by a relative who had stood to him in the position of a parent; and William Fairfield, who, at about that time, was looking round for a pursuit, thought he might as'well try the life of a country farmer, whether it would suit him. It threatened at the outset rot to suit him at all; he was naturally daring, impulsive, and ambitious; and after a trial of a few months he ihad serious thoughts of seeking his fortune elsewhere, when he was thrown into the eociety of Reuben Harrild's daughter, Laura. .Between the two an attachment had sprung up sufficiently strong to bind William Fairfield to Warleycomhe had it been infinitely less attractive than it was, and he was now regarded as permanently settled, upon his own farm. William was accompanied by a singular-looking..individual, .scarcely five feet.in height, But--.witih-;:a: head so erormous that it might properly have belonged to one of the eons of Anafe. Attached to so short a body the effect pro T duced was nothing less than startling.; This man was an institution in the neighbourhood; had come many years ago-from, inobody knew wHeie, : and • had''gradually i worked himself into I the confidence,'" aiid I gained the love and esteem; hi every. manj[ woman and child for twenty miles with tie single exception of Stephen Winkr worth. It was suspected, from a certain guttural accentuation in his tones—especially noticeable when he was speaking rapidly—that he was of German extraction ? but nothing more was really known of him than that his name was Bax, that he waa a doctor, and that he practised his-pro-fession as much for love as for gain. He was not rich, but he always had enough, and he never accepted a fee from those he sus-tpected of not being able to afford it. He was welcomed everywhere by everybody. He took an interest in everything. ,Women spoke of him as " dear Doctor Bax," and husbands were not Jealous to hear; young men in love pressed him into their confidence; and young women whispered their little troubles into his cor. He had a kind word and honest I'd vice for aIU and never seemed tired of doing good gratuitously. Now, one would have thought that the

mere sight of rueh 'a. man would have been sufficient to huiv.ve xume sign of cheerful recognition. 2\" ( ,: S :j thought Stephen Winkworth; he evidently regarded the little doctor as an irn '-usion, and did not care to conceal his feflhigs i:i the matter. But as for Doctor Bax. bless your soul! sour looks had no m<>;e effect upon him than ■they have upon the Sphinx, and ihe returned Stephen's variy recognition with a nrtile genial enough m have melted all the ice in every walo-- iutti in Devonshire.

" Fine weather. s"u-!"' exclaimed the little doctor, rubbing his hands briskly, and ■sniffing the air with most intense enjoyment. "It's fine: than fine weather, sir; it's glorious weather, glorious! Smell it."' Here he g;;ve another vigorous sniff. "Take off your kit and bow to it"; and taking s off his hat, he bared to the fresh air a poll a.* smrooth as a billiardball, and as polished as looking-glass: you eertainiy could, have seen your face in it. "Fine weather, sir! By the Lord! if one could live in such weather for fifty years, he would not be a day older at the end, and we doctors would have to go to another planet. It is life, sir, life—the true Elixir Vitae! If Old Parr had lhad such weather as this, he would have lived to a thousand. Not a day lees, as I ain a man and u doctor!"

Stephen Winkworth gazed upon the rhapsodist with cold, contemptuous eyes. Far different from William Fairfield, who followed the doctor's words with sparkling looks and gay assenting gestures. "We live in a glorious climate," proceeded Doctor Bax, with thorough enjoyment. " Idiots abuse it, because -it is the fashion to abuse it, and idiots will do whatever's the l fashion. A glorious ; climate! Show me a finer. 'Such a day as this is perfect and appropriate. Christmas would lose half its charm if it were not for the snow, and the ice, and the life-giving cold air. We breathe in youth in isuch weather as this."

" You are a fortunate - man, doctor," said Stephen, with a little Cynical laugh. "Fortunate! Yes, I am fortunate," quickly, and somewhat gravely, responded Doctor Bax; " butv. you mean in some particular way?" " No," replied Stephen, in slow measured tones which formed a wonderful contrast to the impetuous utterances of the little doctor. " I mean in a general way. Fortunate in being able, or pretending to be able, to find so.much good in things that tire obnoxious sto others."

* Fortunate, for. instance," rejoined Doctor Bax gently, and -with reverance, in "being able to find 'tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.' " Stephen Winkworth disposed of the gentle reproach by/a scornful motion of his hands*.

"I find the evening cold, and chilly, and damp, favourable only and bronchitis. T see nothing fine in it." "Nothing?" inquired Doctor Bax, with an air of anxiety. " Nothing," was the positive asseveration of Stephen Winkfield. ."

"Well, well," said the doctor, rubbing his forehead, "that can't be your fault. It is an unfortunate inheritance not to be able <to see good in things; but you were put in possession of it without being consulted, and therefore you are not to blame. The perplexing point is," continued the •doctor musingly, "who is to blame? You can't throw it upon your father and mother, lor they could not have known anything of it. We are all born with differently shaped heads; we are not accountable for that.; There is a great deal in the shape of the head we come into the world with,. *»You see, if a .child was born, with two tongues, he could, not help speaking double, could he? < Rather a comical idea, that. Ha! (ha,! ha!"

Although the doctor laughed heartily at the notion, and was. as heartily joined by William Fairfield, Stephen Winkworth did not. appear to see the comicality of the idea.

" Yon call yourself a philosopher, I should not wonder," he said disdainfully. '"lf philosophy means contentment with things as they are," said Doctor Bax, nibbing his forehead again, "then I say Yes, I am a philosopher." "From which I gather," said Stephen, slowly dwelling on his words, "that you have never experienced a heart shock that timed your blood from its natural curTents, and diseased it. You are a happy man, contented . with yourself and. with the world." . •

"I am ihappy,| returned Doctor Bax, with humbleness, "and contented with the world; but I have seen misfortune, and I thank God for it." ".,_. "That is your cant," sneered Stephen, "and of a piece with other human hypocrisies. You thank God for misfortune, take credit to youTself for pretended humblenesw. You bless outwardly what I curse outwardly and inwardly. It ie wise in you—for the world smiles upon you, while it turss its back even upon my shadow."

"That is the view you' take of it," said Doctor Bax, flying) to his new philosophy for consolation'. ' "It is not your faultit springs from- your unfortunate inheritance, and I pity you for it." .; " Bestow your pity ,where it is more welcome. Look you, Doctor Bax—who is the braver, the more honest and genuine of us two? < You, who cringe beneath misfortune, and thank God for it; or I, who rebel against it, and curse,it?.'. As I do, as I may.go aticl hang itseif for' all the love I bear it; and I go jand, hang myself for all the / love it bears me! That's my philosoph. A tougher one than yours, you'U, "A tough-.one-.indeed,",,said the doctor, shaking. lus. sepd" cadly, " but I lay no blame to you. .for, -thinking thus, and I take no credit to, myself for being different. .That J - 'Of a piece with.the rest'." Stephen, with a contemptuous laugh. "It* wcruld be giving ther'.lie ? to your if you failed you occupy; the sunny sider,<& j "No, no!" critd the doctor, catching the subtle taunt conveyed in the reproach. "I had no such meaning in; jiny. nmd K I meant;to ishe - ; pght are imfflgv theaded .man-can ;hei, ". .fiere :}$ our. young friend "—indicating •':Wflliaai. Fairfield '-Q "engaged -to be married to the sweetesij girl in Devonshire ■ I

Stephen interrupted him again. " The sweetest, because she (has a fair face." . "The sweetest," Baid Doctor Bax,; warmly, "because ;she : is; good and 'pure. Suppose William Fairfiekr thought as you do! A pretty kettle of fish that would be! And nice ideas "yours are to cany about with one ait Christmas time! I declare,, seriously, I. am sorry for you." (To be continued.)