LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5171, 28 November 1884, Page 3

LITERATURE.

i c j BETWEEN TWO STOOLS. ! (Concluded.) Twilight was fading, and timid little stars were trembling into theu sky beyord the imcurtained windows, when there came a soft tap to the door, and Mousie Graham's rosy, roguish face peeped in. " Oh, you are not busy — thank goodness for that ! I was half afraid I might find you deep in the Differential Calculus, and I did so want a good long chat." " Come in, dear, I am so glad to see yo*i ; it is an age since you were here before." • Mary taok the soft little face between her hands and kissed the delicious pink cheeks. " Grannie has been worse lately, weaker and more fretful, and so I felt I could net leave her without a special errand." ; " But she is better to-day ?" "Oh yes, ever so much better, and then Aunt Lizzie came to pay her a little visit, so I left Grannie with h_r, and ran over to see y >v." " That was very good of y-iu, dear." " Oh no, it was not: I came on business." Mousie laughed and flushed a little, then she drew a letter from her pocket. ** This came addressed -to me yesterday, but it is evidently meant for you. It is from that booby, John Hayward ; he is always in the clouds, or among the cog-wheels of his looms, and so the result is a blunder." She unfolded the sheet as she spoke, and handed it to Mary, and this is what stood before the latter's astonished eyes : Dear Miss Ranley, — In the pleasant excursion we had together last summer I remember your mentioning a book on ferns that you desired to have, but could not get, as you had forgotten the author's name. I have just come across a volume by Teakerstone, the opening chapter of which is en the Osmunda regalis. If you think this is the work in question I shall be happy to forward it to you. Sincerely yours, John Hatwaed. Mary Ranley was sin*-}? some complex machinery in her head had trone out of order, so loud and persistent was the whirring in her ears. When she spoke at last her vok-" • >:-r.<'- -d faint and far away. " Is your name Mary .-" '* Of courso it is, or r.tllier Mary Ann. but everyone calls me .Mousie •.\i-ept John Hay wi* rd. H>> thought Mousie nojiamefor n tfirl, and so -n- always willed :no Mary — Mi-*.-- Mary ; it did so'iml so funny." " Then, Miss Mary. I have an offer of iii;i.rria_*e for yon ; it ea_.ie to me, and, n.'turally enough, 1 took it to niyi-olf." Mon.ue was so ilm-ri.-'l that ehe did rot notice her frit-nd'e perturbation. " 1 fancied," she - ;id, holding the letter in her hand, '>ut not looking at it, * that he must haw been writ iug to me, and bad mixed the covors. That is so like your very clover peoi>le ! But how lucky the letter came to an engaged girl !"' " Well, I don't soe the luck of it, for I wrote yesterday and accepted I*.i"__." "Oh, Mary And Tom !"" ". Tom and I hud -jimi rolled, .md J..h.*\ ).-**** er came at my worst m .■>•■: ■vil. " 1 accepted him." Poor Mousl '-* f'"""* «■* • *■.*.' <li»*. "In that™ •■-, l-1.v.-'- . ! -iippe.: .* y«.n hr«d bettor ke'-}> tl:t* VrMi-, =he s,;v.l. f alt-r-----ing a little. "It >*..'■* real;y sent te

you, and, after all, I don't mind it very much." " You are a generous little darling, but there is no necessity for your sacrifice, even if Mr Hayward would permit it. I wrote lum my recantation this afternoon. There is the letter ; you can send it to him with your own. He will be sure of its genuine- 1 ness that way/ Then the two girls kissed and cried over each other, and after the exchange of divers confidences, Mousie went away, carrying John's letter, still unread, in her hand. After she had gone, Mary took out her needlework, with an undefined feeling that chaos had come again, and that in the midat of it it was well to hold on to some eommon-pLi,ce, every-day employment. By and by Bessie came in with the teatray, and. as she flitted about the table Mary spoke with the feelinp* >i' desperation which makes us always wan': to lay a finger on our wound. "You posted my letter last night, Bessie?" Bessie paused, the picture of conster- ] nation. "Oh, Miss, I'm afraid I forgot all about it." •'•' You forgot to take it out, I suppose ? ' speaking in a voice so high and eager that it scarcely sounded like her own. •• Oh, no Miss ; I took it and put it in my water-proof pocket, but Peter met me before I reached the office, and then I forgot, but I'll run out with it now in a minute." " Bring it to me instead, please ; I don't •want it posted, now." Bessie never knew till this hour why Misa Eanley gave her 53 instead of the scolding she expected, neither does John Hayward understand why letter number •one never reached him. ! Tom Danvers went to Rangoon, aa he | had. said, in much disgust and despair, j Mary's unfaithfulness had turned the sun light into darkness for him, but through his pain a certain resolution to be and do something grew daily. He would forget her, he would never speak of her, and if | men uttered her name he would turn aside, I but he would do so well with his own life I that one day she would know him the I superior of tiie man she had married. So, ! in much wrath and scorn, he sailed away to succeed or fail as might be. I Aa for Mary, her life was all at the dead | level of monotony now. There was always j the morning's work, always the evening's enforced idleness, and periodically the long empty holidays in which her loneliness grew only more assertive. Like many another she was learning that — . It is not in the shipwreck and the strife We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more, But in the af ter'silence on the shore, *tV_ien all is lost except a little life. She was growing old ; she would soon be 30, and already there were white threads in the glossy smoothness of her hair, and she knew she was growing odder and more unsocial than Miss Griffiths or Miss Henderson had ever been. But she was a good teacher, she was a sue.ess. in the high school, aud she clung to that poor triumph as hor last source of happiness. It was she, the strong one, who would do a small ■work in 'a small groove all her life, and Tom who would grow to success and power. But she deserved that for her •wrong estimate of both of them. And everyone knew he was doing well, and that he had forgotten her. Why, it was only the other day that Mr Wheelhouse had stopped her to tell her that he had just been asking Tom by letter why he was neglecting Mary Eanley. "It wa3 very good of you," she had said, going home with another shaft rankling in her sore heart. It was dusk as she went wearily down the street. The early October night was closing in, and broad bands of light from open doors fell across her path. The street was very still and empty, and she felt •thankful for that and for the coming peace of her solitary parlour. But she stood for an instant on the doorstep to watoh the trembling stars, before she ran the bell. Bessie answered it with a beaming face. She was very fond of Miss Eanley, who had alwaya been kind to her. " There is a visitor for you in the parlour, Miss." " Oh, very well." Mary expected one of the pupil teachers who wanted a certificate ; so she went upstairs and put her outdoor things away, and brushed her hair, and then came down to be the schoolmistress at home. But it was not Jane Blakeney who rose at her entrance, but a tall, brownbearded man, who looked into her face, and theu. held out his hands to her without a word. " Tom!" she said with a little fluttering sigh; "Tom!" " Yes, it is I. I came back as soon as ever I knew you were free." " I have not deserved it." " Perhaps not ; but then, you tee, I could not do without you. I need some one to scold and keep me right." . "Oh no, Tom, never again ; old things and old habits a<fe all ended." " And you threw the other fellow over ?" " No, not that exactly ; it v.*a3 all a m*.stake — all my pride and his stupidity ; but I have been well punished for everything I never thought you would coaie back." "I did not mean to come back, till I found there was no getting on without you." And then Mary burst into tears, and stood sobbing against his shoulder : " Oh, Tom, I have* missed you so ! " she said. • " Well, I am here now to take care of you ; won't that be reversing the old oider of things ? " smiling at her fondly. And so it came about that Mary Eanley, despite her dangerous hesitation between two stools, found a comfortable seat on or«e of them, after all.