THE NEW LEAF.

Timaru Herald, Volume XCIV, Issue 14360, 4 February 1911, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE NEW LEAF.

HOW A WANDKIIKK- 'ITU-NED IT IN THOUGHT AM) IN FACT. By Ida Alexander. John Henry Billiugton walked slowly along Uio dusty road, Jiis prospecting loots slung uvur h.s back, iuu not suu bam, down p.ulessiy uuU intensiiicd Uie headache winch he JUail tinny earned the night botoreb. Tho dobaueii had not beau his first, and he was too experienced a hand Co consider it Ins last. And yet iio lind abused himself roundly us he walked the unfamiliar road. Ho had. shaken the dust of Jimtown from his feet, and bidden good-by foiever to. that paradise of the iniquitous. Ho stepped to one sido of the road, at the sound of wheels, without looking up. "Wheal" sounded a cheery voice, -ib a brako grated on the wheel. "Hev a lift, stranger?" John Henry smiled up out of a pair of very honest blue eyes. "W.ti, I guess—rather," ho answered, flinging his pack into tie waggon and diluting over the wheel. "All set?" nueried the driver.

"No—hold on a minute," said John Henry, reaching hi long arm for his battered property. "Thank you," ho said cordially, as he clambered down. The man drove on, mystified, while Jolin Henry explained his reasons to himself. "It war kind of him to offer it, an you didn't like to hurt liis fcelin s by gittin' down. Oh no I— nor your own neither. That war the principal thing—your own. Now, yon lazv, drunken, worthless old reprobate, hit the trail. You lost your chance of a lift last night. Foot it " The John Henry who'ordered John Henry to "foot it" smiled whimsically at the feet of the one who obeved him The shoes, which had danced the night before in Billy McGuide's saloon as badly as they had been fitted for it were less yet fitted for travel. "Hard hnes old man," laughed .Mm Henry, liut pay up, pay up square. Will ye ho a coward as well as everything

As he;strode along, he thought it al! over, What a muddle had made of Wanes. Five years of prospecting and nothing to show for it-not even a decent pair of shoes. Well, he hsd had some fim-rathorl— even if it had left fJi *!^ e '?< h V mouth i nnd a tool of himself times without number' 1,1 Tif , started h ™ on this jaunt he hardly knew— the impression had l!T **?, Vl J e V e - A,,d hl ' s wits ]l! "l not been collected enough to know that a fi r JJ f r Pi V e y es - Poking up at him through the sm <,ke in McGuire's saloon were just the shade of another girl's e.VOS, though the girls were as different as light and darkness, thank God! He laughed a little as he recalled the events of the preceding night. A big fool he had been—as usual. Of what use it bad been, emptying out his hardearned gold-dust, into the little soiled hand that closed greedily over it? Imploring her with drunken, maudlin tears and paternal embraces to "take it and return to her father." Wei', sho would return to Billy McGuire's saloon, or some other—and so would he. At least as soon as he had seen Martha—his little Martha— Ins little brown Martha, with the clear grey eyes whoso lips knew no guile who had believed in him when, the others had cast lum off as the too plentiful crop of wild oats flourished and grew tall Yes, he understood quite well now the longing .that had been on him It was just to see Martha that he had started out—not that he had right or wish to seek her—but just to look at her once more, himself unseen, • and remember forever after that God had mode some women good. Twenty miles and forty miles, twenty again, a scant eighteen, and there you were. Not many miles to have separated two so widely.

He Btepped out briskly, and as the mght closed in saw just ahead of him the twinkling lights of a little town. Ho stood for a moment, watching, then turned aside and lay down on a little bmik, his bands clasped under his head. Failure marked every milestone he had passed, but a sense of victory possessed him, as ho knew a town— a mining town—hy just ahead of him. "You'd liko to, you skunk," he upbraided himself, "an' still I won't let ye. If yo stand at Martha's gate, it'll be as'a man 'fire days sober." On the second the old shoes refused to accompany him further, and he •traded" his prospecting tools for an Ul-ntting pair. He felt strangely better afterward. Ho had burned h-s'bridges it was tho end of the gambler's life, the gambler's unrest. He would till the soil as his father and his father's father had before him. And perhaps, in time, he could live things down—and after a while perhaps—Martha. So tho man's thoughts and feet strayed in pleasant ways. Of the chances gone, ho thought not at all—or at least with only a regretful sigh that he had so little to offer He would turn—he had turned— over a new leaf. Iho very words brought back ihe day of his leaving, five vears before He had used them in earnest to Martha s Aunt Jane—Aunt Jane who would not allow new leaves to be turned- who would not let them write to each other.

It was night as he drew near the farm house. It was earlv, though, barely s ,.x-the country supper hour. As he opened the gate there was n rush H,ri ui ojful recog„i t ; 0 „_ John Hi rip knelt down and hugged the dog. £"i* darned oW Don! " the man sobbed, ef you ain't remembered me." It was easy, with the friendlv doir to creep up to the kitchen window wirJ 6 ; aS , r6lu embered, the shades «ere never drawn From his groat height it was possible to peer in tho window. It was all as he ?elembered it, though a mist shut it for a moment from his eyes. Tho very dishes were the same, the snow-white cloth- the vase of flowers; the shining store.'How well he remembered it As he rased .fascinated, an inner door opened ami he saw Martha. His knees trembled under him, and yet he went forward and tapped with his shaking hand upon the kitchen door. A flood of light fell over him as Martha opened the door. "Why Jack! Why. dear Jack!" she said, putting out both hands; ■ 'you've come home." ' J .

door talking, lauglmig, but asking no questions-Martha knew when a man Zd "° t l>eak - r p : >or A,mt Jane >'s dead, you know, Jack," she said after a moment.

"No—no. I never heerd." 'ies. 'The winter after' vou w»n+ •J«-ay," Martha continued, ,X r tb* faintest possible hesitation. "Sim left writer 6 / 01 ' y ° U -, l oft<? » wanted t„ wnte it to yon, but I didn't know where you was. She marked it in icr Bible. I can't remember it" ;Ves you ,-an," said J„],„ Renrv «1 Martha. • "I do remember it „t least some of ,t, but it ain't polite." lell away." l '"When 'the wicked man turns'--here that's all I know, and it'« ™ful to tell you that much " „ ?• ? ', a ' nt - U Bta m ? a'* right I'm a wicked man and I've turned MartbS intended" J°V> .he "Yes—an' you " tell you I've a strawberry si.orf*ho

•■I Ucul'L I'orp.eL nothing," -aid ■'"'»' Henry. "Air,".Martha- ..it' .Martini--nlu-ii tin? wic«ed man tui-ii:—l» llu-ru -can lie—. Miii Dia:-" She understood. A flii.di .; to tin; soli l.rniMi ol Jut cluck, an'! ill'' started to answer, but ii «|«in-k step Slilllldcd outside illlll olio threw up"ll tlio door.

••Well, little minimi " Hi'' nwn begun, brightly, lint stnpp-d ir.vkw.ndl.v 111 sight n| lII.' Ktrailg-'l. "Will this is .Jack- ■■" llul ••Will" interrupted her, lulling John's iricponsivo hand in his nun "Introduce ns. 1 guess »"t. This is tlio ft-lliia- 1 told von about, tliat jc id, set in t'lo waggon and wouldn't lake a rido. Kf I'd only known who ye wnz and wlkti) yon wuz comin' yon irould not bov got away so easy. We ofli n talked about yon. The wife told nm all ahnnt yon. The hoy's mimed after yon. Lord. Marthy, go an' wake up little John Henry." His faeo was shining with good-will. John Henry's dry lips moved. "It—you're too good—both <i' ye. A welcome like tin's —a man aint no right to aeeept it—especially when Jie'.s just dropped in casual —jest casual. I Jut. ] appreciate it—don't think T don't—though I've got to get along—got to immediate. There's a little place I'm due at, so I'll have to bid ye both good-Ivy." He stood up gravely and' with no trace of awkwardness. Nature liad dealt kindly with him. The fnie she liad planned looked on them; not .the face of the man lie liad become. Ho shook hands ivilli them both. In Martha's lie left something. "For tho little fellow," lie said softlv.

After he, liad gone, Mnrthn, with' dim eyes, looked into lier own, that smiled hack from the litlo gold locket. As for John Henry, no emotion shone on his face.. Hut when he reached the gate, he knelt down and let Bon lick his hands. Then he resolutely set Ills face toward the road, which led, oventtually, to impious Jimtown.