"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7505, 12 September 1902, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

A LIFE OF SUNSHINE, (By DOROTHY BAIRD.) [Author of " The Wooing of Lady Vi," etc. Wag there ever a boy like out sailor lad, I -.wonder? Oould- the world ever hold an«th*r such as he? Not for us, anyway— for others perhaps, but never for" us. When the letter came years ago to tell us .that our brother John and his wife had both died from cholera, and that his little eon with his ayah was coming to us as fast as time and tide and a big steamship could bring him, we were filled with dismay. A boy in our tidy little house ! a. boy routing about in our beloved garden, where not even a rose petal was allowed to Btraiy ' f torn its place! A boy shouting afid whistling at all hours of the day! it was horrible to think of. Jane wondered dismally how a couple of old maids could be expected to know how to rear w child, adding with a sigh that Indian born children are always delicate. I wondered with equal dolefulness how I could bring myself to handle an infant, for I have always been nervous of babies, since my only godchild managed to wriggle itself off my lap. and cat it« head against the fender. As for talking to' a very little thing— it was an impossibility to us. Directly we were confronted by a "tiny" all words seemed to forsake us. Of course we knew that " Tunitidy-iddity " or nonsense of that sort was the right way to begin a conversation of that description, but it seemed so ridiculous that we could, not bring ourselves to ••y it. I There wa» difficulty. What njould Sarah Ann say? SaTah Ann was tie "lady" who had condescended to live with VM in the capacity of general servant for the past, eighteen months. We felt sure that B_ne would* riever stay if a. child were intro^uced into the household. She was sot a" treasure, certainly, but she was better - than nothing— A>r nobody, perhaps I "should say—and in these latter days, when good servants' seem to be extinct, Jane and I perfectly shuddered at the thought of receiving a month's notice from Sarai Asm.. It seemed intolerable that we flijould be put about in this. way — the whole ; tenor of our quiet lives altered— all because of John's baby; We had ajever approved of his marriage, and we had considered it & tempting of Providence on his p*rt to go and live in Calcutta. Even for the sake of a good appointment we thought he had no right to live in an unhealthy : plaee. Well, he had paid the price of his foolishness, 'but we wondered wbat we had done that we should suffer foY his^sins. - It seemed a clear fulfilment of " thtr vtisftation to the third and 1 fourth generation. But such is tEe way of the H!iQrid*'< ' All too quickly the day came for Ronny to arrive. Sarah Ann, with much slamming of doors and clattering of brooms and pails, accompanied by loud snorts of disapprobation, had prepared the spare room -^lir only, one— for his use. We had dismally enjoyed what we fondly imagined to be our last day of peace wandering up and down the trimly kept' path6 in the garden, tidying up the sitting rooms with many regrets that their, austerity would soon be marred with toys, even sleeping a little in, the afternoon, because we felt sure that tie, disturbing element would be too. strong ***ilow-"0f things in the future. But ni: spite of Sighs -and- dreads t-lie clock ticked on. to the "appointed s hour, and punctually to the minute the!' ca"b?rolled to the door. Our. days of peace were gone for «ver. But it was no squealing infant- that came into, our prim little house, it was no wriggling mass of clothes that confronted us— it was a very . brave and bonny boy of two wjio walked sturdily in, entirely disdaining his Ayah's guiding hands. He did not cty on being confronted by his two sourfaced maiden aunts in their sombre cloth--14& >nly his pretty lip, quivered, and he a*/ : i. in : lisping accents for his dear &L>"n<a. Who could resist the piteous pleading in the. baby face — the longing of the bonny Wire eyes? We could not. All the latent motherliness in bur champed-up hearts- went otu '-to him. We almost quarrelled over who should nußse him; we quarrelled again as to whalb was good for him to eat" at tea, and what was not, we kissed him and petted Itinf," till it was a marvel he survived the farfencyiof our affection: Even Sarah Ann snorted no more, and condescended to call him a " blessed: hangel," and not even Jane, •Iways careful. to reprove the backsliding, could bring herself to scold her for applying a heavenly name to an earthly beiug. We had' another, dispute over who should put him to bed;' and yet another as to who •i,ould give ,up lifer bedroom for his use, f«r^^h* 's"^ar'fe roVim was a small box of a plate, •'lopk^nff towards the dreary r or-t'n, *nd We couTd noi think of Jetting our new-foutxl-darling rest there. If Jane went up a'dozen times to peep at his Tosy face and curly hai» as he lay asleep, I am afraid to •ay 'how many times I also trotted up and down the stairs for the same\ purpose, or how often we expressed a wish that it were nw>rning, so that, we could see the bonny bhie of his eyes again. From tihat time forward Ronny reigned supreme at Laburnum Cottage; and we did our best to spoil Ihim — as foolish old maids will- We allowed him to pick our beloved flowers, yre loved to see his toys here, there a$& everywhere, we enjoyed his merry «ho*tsv ; and innocent prattle. We hardly snmnmred when he broke one of the bast tea-cups in his efforts to 'help Sarah Ann. yfcp nearly died of fear and anxiety when te had measles, we never knew a ihappy moment all the time ihe had whooping cough. shall I forget the agonies of ©noosing a school for 'him, our pride when lift brouehfc bom© a prize, onr fears 'when ihe ■aid— no, I won't write it: — a word which yn never mentioned even when we came to it" in "wading aloud to one another. But he was a good boy on the whole, full of mischief, as a boy should be, never tired of playing tricks on poor, adoring Sarah Ann,

■ — — " Talways getting into scrapes at school, always bringing his, friends to help convert the place- in<o a beargarden. But 'he was an honest, manly little fellow, and I think we loved him all the better "for the spice of wickedcess about him. He never gave us any real trouble, I think, until he announced his intention of going to sea. And tha* w*s- trouble indeed to us, for we had always said that we hoped he would neyer enten the army or navy, for we could not bear to part with our Bonny or to think he was risking his life even for his country. But in spite of our entreaties 'he chose the sea, and when once we 6aw thaf his mind was made up we said no more, for a man is never happy if he is forced into a profession against his will, and we would never stand in the way of Ronny's happiness. So we put our heads together, and practised various little economies so that Rontiy should enter the navy and have the bestcoaching for the exams which money could give. Not that we feared he would not pass we knew he was clever enough for that, but. we liked to feel that he had the same chances with the highest in the land, and we talked happily to ourselves of the days when he should be an admiral. We 1 needed to talk of something cheermg, for indeed the days were long and dreary ail the time he was away, and we dreaded tne time when be would be really out on the dreadful, mysterious sea. We did not talk of it, however. Things like tha/fc* seem to grow worse with talking, but I once caught Jane pulling down the blind at the side window because from it : we could see a 'bit of the English Channel between the hills. As we expected Ronny passed all his examinations with the- greatest ease, and his name was so near the top of 'the list that we thought him , a genius. He came to'pav us a long yis>t before , l]ie joined _nis ship, "and. we tried to put the thought of his three years' exile out of our heads, anil enjoyed ourselves thoroughly for the tjme beW • He seemed to us a little graver than he had been before, and he delighted us fey saying he wished to be confirmed before ne V never think of Ronny now without thinking of that quiet confirmation Sunday. Itf was a. brilliant day, with not a cloudy to . break the gorgeous blue of the sky, not a shadow sleeping on the hills. The little church seemed! almost, dark after the glare outside, but that made it all the more solemn. To us the whole scene became a blurr. We hardly saw the bishop , in spite of his crimson robes, we did not notice the girls, or remark upon the weirdness of their caps and veils, as had been our godless wont in former days, we did not even look for Elsie Magra, the rector's beautiful daughter, with her pretty, face composed into solemnity for once, and her laughing eyes demurely cast down ; we hardly saw her, even though she almost brushed against Ronny, as he came down and she went up to the bishop. No, we had no eyes for anyone save Ronny, with his pale, steadfast face, and the brave look in his eyes as he took his vows which was so good to see. I know I shed many a tear of thankfulness in my corner of our dimly-lighted pew, and I believe Jane did the same, but she will J not own to it. ( How the next three years passed. l hardly , know. I only remember that they were' the dreariest and loneliest of all our lives. We only seemed to live for Ronny's let- ■ , ters-^-merry epistles, full of boyish nonsense, with the new words in his extensive vocabulary of slang carefully translated co that we should not lose the point. Every day we would watch the bit of sea that was* visible from the sidie window, and if the sun. shone and the water sparkled we vrere^ery glad, but if the wind howled and the storm clouds hung over the horizon we would both grow strangely silent and miserable. Jane said it was wicked of us, for Ronny was in God's keeping on the sea just as much as on land. It was quite true, of course, but it didn't seem to me to lessen the danger of | our losing 'him. Oh, the joy of Ronny's home-coming ! How we laughed and eried 1 by turns over j the bronzed and stalwart young man who was so unlike our Ronny, and yet so anar- j vellously like! How we iraved over the i gorgeous and utterly useless presents he brought us from the East! Ronny had grown handsomer, than ever in our eyes, and we spoiled him hopelessly. We even i allowed him to turn our drawing-room, sacred hitherto to our spinster friends and tabby tea-parties, into a smoking-room.

But it was Ronny, and all he did was right in our eyes. We did not see so very much of him, after all. He spent a lot of his time at the Magras. Wo were sorry, of course, but it was only natural. Young men will always go where there are pretty faces and bright eyes to attract them, however fond they may be of the prim, old women who have brought them up, and Ronny was no exception to the rule. Jane was quick to see the way things were drifting. "It is Elsie, of course, sister," sue said. "I expect that it was for her he brought that ring he showed us the other day." I knew it was Elsie, and I was sorry, but I would not say so to Ronny, because that would only make him all the worse — that is the ''way with men. Elsie was very pretty, very bright and charming, but she was not the girl I would have chosen for 'him. It came about just as we expected. Ronny came to us one night to tell us the news. . El-sie had promised to be his wife, and he was the happiest of men; " Just think of it, Aunt Jane," he said. "That she should love me— it is just too good to believe:" For ourselves we thought that Elsie had done about the most sensible thing she had ever done in her butterfly life when she fell in love with Ronny. We sympathised with him as well as spinsters could do, and we asked him t5 bring Elsie up to tea . with j. us the next day. We should have liked to keep' him to ourselves just .a wee bit j longer, but when (he was so happy, who could murmur? , Elsie came up. all smiles and blushes, and j Ronny was as happy as a king just watch.- j | ing her. We all made a fine fuss over her, I with which she seemed very well pleased, j We did not follow them out in the garden I after tea, and we coughed prodigiously, and rattled the door handle a great .deal, when we had to- call them for supper. Jane and I /consider ourselves admirable gooseberries, j It seemed no time before the day came ' round for our laddie to be off again. We were heartbroken as usual. Jane always I had ted eyes .for a week before and a week after his . departure, but I flatter myself I managed better. . Bathing the eyes well in strong Eau-de-Cologne and water may be extravagant, but it is extremely effectual. This time Ronaiy was very loth to go. " I can't bear leaving her, Aunt, I really can*t," he said, on the day preceding his departure. "I have a feeling somehow as if something bad will happen, while I am away. It is very foolish, of course, but I cannot help it." Jane.and I sympathised with him. We loved him so much j that we thought we could guess what he felt at parting from her. " She will feel it more parting from you," we said sagely. " You will know that she is here, safe at home, and we will look after her for you. But she will have to think of you far away at sea, or in a foreign country, and she will never know, what may happen to yon." ■'■'•■ He laughed heartily. "You dear old Aunts," he said affection-

ately. " When shall I teach you that th« sea is as safe as the land? Besides, Elsie is not the one to worry over anything, dear little soul," .he added under his breath, and we thought how wonderful a thing was love that could bring such ai glad light to his eyes. But, apparently, he "was right. Elsie never even cried when he left — not openly, certainly, for we took her to Brighton to see him off. He looked ten thousand times more miserable than she, and his last words as he kissed us good-bye were : — " Take care of her, take care of my darling." We promised through our tears ; who could help promising anything • when he looked so pale and worn? Then we turned away while they said their good-byes, and only looked again as the train steamed out of the station, and w© could see his bonnyface so sternly set to hide bis grief, while he tried to smile for her sake. Ronny was away more than three years this time, for there was fighting in China, and his ship was in the thick of it, and so was deloyed. Nobody can tell what agonies of suspense we went through, or how we sympathised with poor little Elsie. She, poor child, had grown a little pale of late, and had left off many of her laughing, coquettish ways. We used to think her & bit ! of a flirt, and resent the ways in which she I went out driving with one man. and another in the neighbourhood, and entertained Whole batches of them to tennis in the Rectory garden. Of course the girl may have meant nothing by ifcj but w« were old maids, and inclined to be faddy over anything connected with our sailor lad, and we did not like it. But, as I said before, she gave up .all these gaieties. as. the time drew near for Ronny to return, and she became i quite grave and sedate for her. We thought she, too, was feeling the suspense, and we pitied her. , - . ! Then came Ronny's letter, asking her to marry him as soon as he landed. He would not have long on shore, he said, and if they were married immediately, they would be able to spend the whole of it together, and he would be able to see her comfortably settied in her home before he had to leave again. He wrote to us at the same time, asking us to use our influence and persuade her to say "yes." It was not a very difficult task. She was quite willing, and it she grew whiter and thinner as her wedding j day drew nigh, well, perhaps it was. hardly to be wondered at. There was little enough time to see about her clothes, and Jane and I sat up many a night finishing the house linen. We botfli hemstitch and do drawn thread work fairly well, and we had started on an elaborate! outfit as soon as Ronny left, and the works had helped to pass away many a weary day When the sky hung low on the horizon, andi our hearts were sad in spite of our gay talk of Ronny as an admiral. We were finishing the monograms on the. very last couple of serviettes When we heard the news. I remember we^had' got up early in the morning, for we had a lot\to do ml preparation for the morrow, the glad morrow, the day of Ronny's home-coming and his marriage. We - were bofrh very blithe and merry that sunshiny morning. . Jane tried to sing as she sewed, a performance that nearly always provoked my laiugtbter, but that day my heart was too full of prayers for my boy — that God 1 would shield 'him from pain and unhappiness all his life through. We had done our best in the ' past, we had) tried to keep even the. proverbial crumpled rose leaf from his patih. It was bad for him, perhaps, yet we loveds to do it. But now he had gone beyond us, he was in God's hands. I had put the last stitch into, my serviette, and was laying it joyfully aside, when Sarah, Ann burst in upon us. " Oh, miss — oh, miss," she cried, her eyes ablaze, her cap strings flying wild with horror. " Oh, miss, have you heard the news?" "News, what newß?" cried Jane sharply. ! ■ "I don't know how to say it," sobbedi poor Sarah Ann, breaking down, completely. "'But 'Miss— Miss Elsie— " Jane stood over h&t and almost shook her. " What about Miss Elsie? Speak, woman !" she said quite fiercely-j and I was hardly surprised, though Jane is usually so gentle. " Miss Elsie has run away with Mr Jones, of the 'All. They was married in Brigh- , ton this morning," cried Sarah Ann, bringing out her news with a burst, and relapsing into dismal sobbings and 1 waitings. Jane and I stared before us aghast, too much stunned to speak or move. Elsie, our boy's Elsie, married to someone else! It was too horrible 1 It could not be true ! But it was true, utterly, entirely true. —————— — - — ■ i

And on the morrow she was to- have wedded our Bonny! We moved about as in a. dream. Slowly and sadly we laid aside the dainty sheets and pillow-cases, the handsome table cloths and serviettes ; they would not be waited now. We locked up the gay things we had bought to wear at the wedding. They, too, alas! would not be wanted now. Then we 'tried to set to our accustomed tasks, dusting the rooms, reading our books, writ-' ing our letters, all to no avail. Always the hideou9 question rose before us— how could we tell Ronny? How could we bear to see the happiness die out of this handsome face, and' cold sorrow take its place? ; If only it had been something else — if only God had taken one of us— he would not have grieved so much. But Elsie, the one he loved better than all the world 1 , the one for whom he had waited so patiently. It was too bard ! We could not trust ourselves to speak of her. A girl who could wait till the eve of her marriage day, and then run away with another man was 'beyond our simple comprehension. The absolute barbarity of the act filled us with horror. So beautiful and yet so heartless. How could God let such things be? And I had only prayed that morning, oh how fervently! that our laddie might be spared all trouble and pain, that he might be happy for evermore. All night long we lay and tossed, counting the weary hours, reckoning up the moments before the awful time when we must stand before Ronny, and tell him that his darling was false, that she had broken her faith, had jilted him on his wedding day. Unrefreshed and heavy-eyed we arose in the morning. If I could have cried I think I should have felt better, but I couldn't, and leaden grief sat all the heavier. We tried to eait onr breakfast, but the sobbing Sarah Ann removed the things almost untasted, and then we got ready for our sorrowful journey, for\ we had decided to meet 'him at Portsmouth, and had telegraphed to him to come to us at one of the hotel*. We thought it might prepare him for bad news, and it would save him from coming here, where every turn would remind him of Elsie, if he would rather go elsewhere. Never shall I forget that weairy journey. We noted each station with regret as we passed it, and lamented each turn of the wheel because it brought us nearer Ronny,

and we had so longed for, so looked forward to his coming! Ronny was not at the hotel when we arrived, so wo took off our bonnets and waited, while each of us was planning in her mind how she could put the sad tidings, how she should break the shock. At last came the sound: of footsteps in the passage, and my 'heart leapt to my mouth. The handle turned in the door, but it was only the waiter who announced, " Captain Athol." We looked at each other with new dread in our eyes. Whait could have happened to Ronny? Captain Athol was a tall and handsome man, he greeted us courteously and gravely, but there was something in his face which made me clasp my hands in fear. "You have bad news, Captain Afrhol," said Jane, and in spite of her calm voice, I could see that her lip trembled. He bowed. "I hardly know how to tell you," -he said lamely. . " I think I know," said Jane brokenly. "He is dead. You have come to tell us our boy is dead." - And Captain Athol bowed his head in silfine*. ■■•*■' They took us to see him as he lay in his cabin, for he had died in very sight of home, and we held our breath as they drew aside the sheet, and let the morning sun- ; light shine on his bonny face. It was very ! calm, very placid, with the bluefyes closed far ever, but there was a happy expression on it, and the lips were set in a smile of infinite peace. He was like the Ronny who had taken his confirmation vowa in the little old church at home. . | So, as we looked, the bitterness of our sorrow passed from us, antl the ready tears came to our eyes. : Yet they were not i wholly tears of grief. God had answered | our prayer. Our darling would never 'know the truth, and I . he had passed-un--1 troubled into the everlasting joy of heaven.