LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5192, 24 December 1884, Page 3

LITERATURE.

» OLD MAN BUZBY'S LAST CHRISTMAS CAEVING. (Continued.) The back parlour I had reserved for myself and Percy, and the glass extension I had used for odd articles of furniture that I wanted to put by. There -was a solid mahogany table there that could be used for almost any purpose, and it was well hidden by the tall top of a bedstead close by. The heat from a register to the kitchen made it quite comfortable, and the whole width of the house in glass ought to make any place light enough for the carving of Mrs Buzby herself let alone a comb for her carroty locks. I didn't see why the poor man shouldn't have his way, and consented to keep his plan a secret from everybody. I don't know that Sir Buzby excluded my husband from participation in his confidence, but I know that to tell Percy would be to publish, it all over the house, and it was for his sake as well as mine, that I resolved the old gentleman's project should not be interfered with. Percy's manner, when ho waylaid me at the door after Mr Buzby had gone, was not calculated to inspire confidence. He had missed his regular hour at the office (and he knew hownecessary it was to keep his situation) to bullyrag me about my innocent conference with that good old man. "It seems to me you were a confoundedly long while hobnobbing with Buzby at the head of the stairs. What did the old imbecile want ? " "He wanted a little extra room." " What room ? He must have wanted one made to order to take all that time in. describing it." " His time is his own, and fortunately he is not called upon to account for it to anybody." "That's a fling at me, I suppose. You'd be very glad to have married aman whose time was his own, wouldn't you?" "I don't think I should, if when he arrived at that felicity he abused it in the way that you are doing now." " Hum. Well, I'll tell you one thing, Kate: that old octogenarian had better look out, or he'll be called upon to account for his time in a way that he won't like." I turned sadly away. It was really not worth while to notice Percy when he was in a mood of that kind. And it was better to avoid any further explanation of Mr Buzby's conversation. Was I to risk offending my best boarder to humour a silly freak of Percy's ? It was to Percy's advantage as well as mine to keep him. from going to live with his wife's people, and he would of course blame me if through any indiscretion of mine he discovered that I had betrayed his secret. Sometimes Percy almost wormed the secret out of me. I was foolishly fond of my husband, as women aro that really marry for love alone, and couldn't bear to see him tormenting himself uselessly. Ho had enough to contend with at the office without being worried about home matters, and the old man Buzby was so delighted as time went on with the progress he had made in his ivory - carving that it overflowed in a sort of genial beam when* ever he looked at me. "it seems to me," said I J orcy, "that the old man Puzby and you hare eoroo sorb of secret under*

.-standing that affords him, at least, a great deal of pleasure." '^VTiat nonsense you talk, Percy ! You •- know very well that around Christmas-time he's always taken up with his Christmas presents. He has plenty of money, and is ■willing to use it to make people happy." I said this a3 a sort of opening for Percy to £uess at the truth, but when a man is absurdly jealous, everything a woman says is like flinging a red rag in the face of a -wild bull. "He is, eh ? You have a great respect for old idiots that have plenty of money and are willing to spend it around Christ-mas-time, haven't you ?*' " Well, I must say, Percy, I prefer them to old idiots that haven't." "And to young idiots, too, don't you? Although .God knows I feel old enough some time 3. . See here, Kate, if that miserable fossil dares to give you a Christmas present I'll throw it out of the window and him, after it — do you hear ? It isn't worth your while to go smiling and pan- . dering about that relit of archaeology for the sake of a pretty piece of finery for the holidays. I'll help his other foot into the graye.if.he ever attempts to console you for marrying a pauper, you can depend upon that." It was useless to reply. But one thing I made up my mind to. I had felt perfectly justified, in giving Mr Bnzby to understand that my preference in the way of a Christmas gift lay in a good round cheque, and I felt certain that he -intended some such generosity in my behalf. It would only be a proper indemnity for all my trouble. And one excellent point in Mr Buzby's liberality was that with the exception of his unique^md. exceptional gifts to his wife, he never let his right hand know the transactions of bds left, and I resolved that the knowledge of whatever he might give me would^lie'befcween me and that liberal left hand of "-the old man Buzby's. Percy should never have-any .special suffering to contend -with bo far as that was concerned. I had well earned something considerable in the way of a Christmas consolation, for by the time -that day approached it seemed as though everybody in the house had an absurd idea of the confidential relations between me and Mr Buzby. They would all feel cheap enough when the secret was revealed, but in the meanwhile the looks askance and innuendoes and sneers and smirks were almost unendurable. I had a strong suspicion that Mra Buzby knew all about it, for Bhe wore a look of sanctified resignation and innocent martyrdom that never would have graced her features if she had entertained any foul suspicions of my tampering with the affections of her ■ ancient spouse. She must have known pretty well, even if he had been seen going in and out of the glass extension, that I had not shared his seclusion, for I was continually'busy from morning till night preparing for the holidays. At last came the 24th nay gf December. It is melancholy to think how people toil and toil in this world, how they dig and delve and strain every effort to reach a certain goal, only to find at the last moment that their labour is- in vain, that the fruit of all their endeavours turns to ashes upon their lip 3, that even their motives are misconstrued, and their best intentions converted into evidences of eviL For three long weeks I had worked early and late. I had stoned pounds and pounds of raisins, beaten dozens and dozens of egga, chopped untold quantities of mincemeat, pickled hundreds and hundreds of oysters ; made batches of cookies and doughnuts and crullers, of pies and tarts, of syllabubs and creams ; invented numerous side dishes and entrees and soups and salads; I had swept and rubbed and scoured, garnished the house with yards and yards of Christmas greens, put up the grate 3 for open fires, and worn myself completely out, to have everything pleasant around the holidays. And Mr Bozby, during the same period of time, had slipped into the glass extension and •worked'for at least four hours a day on that Christmas offering to his wife. Ido not pretend ta say that my efforts were crowned with perfect success. Other people might stone raisica, beat eggs, chop mince-meat, and do the rest of the catering to the insatiable maw of the human race a great deal better than I did. And Mr Buzby^s work was not like that of an accomplished artist. It took him almost as long to get that chunk of ivory into any intelligible shape a3 it did the Creator to make the world ; and the worst of it was that the poor old man's imagination ran far ahead of his creative powers. At the end of seven days it began, as he said, to take the shape of a comb. At that stage of its existence ,the matter was of course open to a doubt, and my firat impression was that it looked more like the beginning of a miniature model of , a mowing-machine, with the rake attachment decidedly . out of repair. No one tooth was like another in height or depth, or breadth/ or thickness, and the bulk of the material lay as yet in chao3. But Mr Bnzby soon persuaded me that it resembled a comb, and, as I said to him, it 3 very charm lay in its freedom from conventional lines, so that his dear Maria would prize it all the more that it would probably be like no other comb that the warld ever saw. As time went on his masterpiece became more and more interesting, and some startling developments took place. He had suffered somewhat from rheumatism in the fingers, and doubtless the air in the glass extension was not always at summer heat. It was natural that his tools should slip once in a "while, and make altogether different lines from those he intended. The original design for the top of the comb, along with other embellishments, embraced a dove with an olive branch in its beak. Why this emblem of peace was chosen was best known to Mr Buzby, but a slip of his chisel made the head of the bird into a tolerable likeness of Mrs Buzby. Anyway, it looked more like Mrs Buzby than it did like a dove, and I pointed out to Mm the advantage he had ■unwittingly gained. It wa3 some little time before he could see it, but when he did his delight was unbounded. There was a big closet in the back parlour that I •used for the storing away of Christmas dainties, and every time I'd bring up a batch of these, I'd go in and have a look at XT V