Chapter II.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5760, 2 January 1897, Page 1

Chapter 11.

The wall-flowers had long since died, and there was merely a straggling rose or two, and a few withered geraniums left ,in the little plot in front of M- Tempany'a house. The cold autumnal rain, which had of late-fallen heavily, had given a forlorn appearance to the once neatly-kept beds. Every plant looked either straggling, ragged, or beaten down. Rank high weeds were growing in the path and under the porch. Water lay in little stagnant puddles where formerly a firm foothold of neatly-raked ground had led up to the door.

" The old gentleman he ain't up to doinno more work," said one labourer to another, as they trudged heavily past his house, with heads bent down and the rain beating hard against their faces.

" He've took it very hard about hia eyes," remarked the second man. "They can't give him nothing at the dispensary to do 'em no good. I seed him, poor old chap, catch his foot las' Sunday in the scraper at Turnbull's and come down a terrible cropper on the doorstep. The old lady, too, she'D. never pull through the winter— and if s precious cold already." Within No. 1, Paradise Villa, the ex-soldier was sitting holding his long, bony hands over a very small fire. Old Mrs Tempany lay on the horsehair sofa in the corner farthest from the draught of the door, with a ragged furlmed cloak thrown over her shrunken form. From time to time her livid face moved a little on the pillow, and she coughed a hard cough that seemed to tear her thin chest. There was a saucepan on the fire and a half -emptied cup of weak tea at the old woman's elbow. People such as Mrs Turnbull, who had known the aspect of the Tempanys' parlour last summer, would have observed several changes in it. For one thing the dust had congregated in little heaps, where it had never been seen in the old days — on the chimney-piece, on the torn patchwork fire-rug, on ihe window sills and the little flower pots, in which the plants were nearly at their last gasp. One arm-chair was missing, and also a far more imposing piece of furniture in the shape of the mahogany press.

Then the looking-glass, which had often reflected the figures of the cleanly-dressed old couple at their simple meals, was no longer to be seen. The brilliant scarlet and blue patchwork tablecloth and the bead mats were, however, in their former positions; and glancing up at the walls, a visitor woidd still have observed Sir George Catheart falling back after receiving his death-wound, and Lord Cardigan sitting erect on his proud charger. Butthe walls sadly wanted a new coat of whitewash, and, a haze of spider's web hung over the heads of more than one of the Crimean heroes. Also upon the wall, and pinned on a piece of red velveteen, were the old man's medals — those for long service and good conduct, and the Crimean one with its four clasps. Sometimes he would lift his dim eyes and look towards them. Far more -often they rested on his wife's wasted face.

There came a tap at tho door, and Mi Tempany rose slowly to open it and "bo admit a clergyman, a short man with a round, expressionless face and a stiffness of demeanour that was probably to he attributed more to shyness than to unfriendliness.

" It's a wretched evening, eh, Tempany ? " said he. " No, thanks, I wont sit down to-night. I've got to be back at six to receive some friends coming from London. Mrs Tempany no better ? Dear, dear! I really think, if you'll excuse my saying so again, Tempany, as I did the other day, that she'd be mnch more comfortable up at the infirmary. She'd be well looked after there, and you -with your eyes not what they used to be, and "

" She wouldn't ever go there and leave me," said the old man respectfully, "but trembling very much. "As long as we can keep the home together, she and I, here we'll stop. And it'll not be for long, I don't expect."

He turned his face abruptly away. Th* clergyman went on slowly rubbing the rain-drops off his hat.

" Oh well, I see your feeling, of course," he answered hurriedly. " But you know that prejudices against the workhouse are nearly exploded, or ought to be. In the infirmaries the people are most kindly treated and havo comforts that— that— • of course, I know you've your pension, Tempany, but there are little things that are expensive to get, you see, for people who are ill. That's all I meant. Goodevening—Oh, I'll tell Miss Taylor to bring you a grocery ticket. Good-night, Mrs Tempany."

When he was gone, the old soldier sat down again by the expiring fire and began to think hard. Yes, there was no doubt that the missis wanted comforts. The doctor had made the same remark. It all resolved itself into that. The grocery tickets gave a little help ; but port wine was so terribly expensive, and so was soup in tins. He looked round the room and began counting on his thin fingers. The clock — yes, they really didn't want such a big clock, and the ticking was "bothering, she used to say; and that table, too, in the window, was superfluous.

"No," he continued aloud, "not the couch — she must have that for to lie upon. And the pictures — they would't fetch much, and I couldn't ever fancy the room without 'em."

Rover crept up to his master and laid his head sympathetically on his knees. His soft, floppy ears were spread out wide, his red eyes uplifted with an inquiring expression.

" No, Rover, old man," said his master, "we'll never go up to that there wretched placo, will we ? Better to sell the pictures even, and everything else, than that." The dog dropped his ears and wagged his tail joyously. He evidently entirely agreed with Mr Tempany.