CHAPTER I.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 8672, 12 July 1906, Page 4

CHAPTER I.

For the first time in his life John Massicks, of Wathby-ghyll, felt something of the pride of possession. Hitherto, he had regarded hie days and his acres in a spirit of prosaic calm, but to-day, poised on the overhanging •carp to which a passing whim had •ampelled his steps, a pedestal whence he might look down into the very heart of his little kingdom, his old stolidity, born of the soil itself, fell from him like a garment — a new flush deepened the weather-tan upon his cheeks, exultant thoughts chased each other riotously through .his brain — life itself became charged with a new, an intoxicating vitality. From point to point of the mountaingirdled valley, shimmering in the palpitating haze -of the midsummer morn, his glance approvingly roved. Every cot cried to rum ac a friend; the babbling, • rollicking burn, threading the dale like a 1 riband of glinting steel, *h<rated up the hillside a reminder of their yesterdays; every lowland path «ad moorside, sheep-walk, every copse and scarp became vocal ; that srtone of 'all' --the stones posed in solemn state around the tiny church, epoke to him of the father who stood for power and the mother for all that was 6weet ; and away yonder irom its nest, 6cooped out of the mountain-base itself, the sables of Wathby-ghyll stirred again his' new-found sense of satisfaction, for "Wathby-ghyll was the home of a sturdy ' race of statesmen, the home of a statesman still. Like his father, John Mascicke was a farmer, but he held nothing on 6uffrance; his Tambling house with its efcabks and its byres was his own, for his acres no man could demand account. While he was as much lord of the manor as Baron Devbke, whdjse shoot-ing-box he could just see rising redly from among the gorse and heather on distant Mooretang. John Massicks laughed softly to himself! Strange that the fact had never thrust itself j upon him before. Strange and yet 1 Massicks turned to the right, and now hie vision embraced the wbite- . washed walls of tiny Langside oh the fewer slopes of black-visa ged Bruff; a new tremor of joy shot through his frame, his wonder vanished — he understood. Yonder whitened farmstead was the home of bonny Barbara Braithwaite, and to-day Barbara had come back to . ier own. What a grey-toned age since '■'"-■he went away; how. drearily those three years had dragged themselves out. But now 6he was back. No wonder that life had quickened its pace, that hie etatemanship, his place in the ranks of a fast-dying race, had become a thing of pride to him; no wonder that the sun ehone so gloriously, that the scent of briar and bloom rose with such new-discovered fragrance, that the scream of that jay in the, larches there had lost its raucous note, and— why. listen to that thrush,- it was actually singing his own song] BaT-bar-a, Bar-Uar-ar Bar-bar-a! ■ Home a-gain, home a-gaih, home a-gain. Massicks breathed a benediction on j^-the speckle-breasted songster, and turn- ' *1$ down the mountain-side to greet his : foy. As he passed along, he found the dale beating out the glad news. From the upper Croft, the cheery voice of Adam Forbes passed it on : " Guid day till ye, Massicks ; Barbara Braithet's Kitten heame agen!" At Stanton Lon- • nin, Jack Skelton, the Rothmire shepherd, who was changing pastures, tumid aside to intercept him : "It's a bonny mornin', Massicks; Barbara's back; quid day till ye!" Down at the crossroads Tom Mattinson repeated the tidings from the box-seat of the Wastdale coach, and old Maggie Cottier was waiting with it at the door of her rose-bow-ered cottage. "Thool be gangin' ower to Langside, m«t>be," she added, as he Was leaving her. .." Weel, Fse hoping thoo'se find Barbara as canny as when she went away, bit'l'se a bit flaytl Theer's nut seah nienny folk can stan' them ter'ble toons Jfidopt »ttin' spoiled, an 3 ah doot BarIfcra '11 ne* 6om&fal-4e%l notions, an'll wfc'jit to luik doon on ns dale folk!" ■ jThe old woman 6tooped to pick a blighted leaf from one of her trees ; the man floundered along the road, his flesh,, his heart, his nerves quivering 'neath the lash of her garrulity. In a trice it seemed to him that Nature had donned a harsher mood, that the sun had swept away behind a deep-lined *loud-pack, that a 'stinging blast was hurtling up the dale -straight from the region of ice, that the birds had droppod their song to a minor key, their chorus now a dirge for shattered hopes. •'Spoiled by the 'town life! Look. iown on the people of the dales!" What p., f00l he had been to have overlooked this contingency. Why, a hundred evils slight havetefajlen out yonder over the mountain barriers; Barbara might even have found a lover there; in fact, now that he came to think of it, she must have done so ; a girl endowed as 6he was '. with all the sweet country bloom, could not have escaped capture. His dream , was ended : hope dead ! Wait-a-bit ; wait-a-bit ; wait-a-bit ; Bar-bar-a; Bar-bar-a; Bar-bar-a! Whatever had come over the birds today? The feathered rascals seemed to know all about it. The hopeless man actually smiled. Then from the other •ide of the copse : — Bar-bar-a; Bar-bar-a; Bar-bar-a; ! Go-io-her; go-to-her; go-to-her! Massicks threw back his head and ' with resolute strides mounted the feHside to Wathby-ghyll, and somehow the sun was once more showering gold. Barbara watched him from the garden, as he breasted the brow in the , evening, and a happy little smile flitted , from somewhere, and settled upon her face. Then memory whiepered, and fhe dropped her head co that only the r^ee saw the blush. There was still a little bit of it left — just a # reflection— when "v llassicks reached her side, and ■*«« heart beat the faster for it, and he rejoiced in the sign. But when she called him "Mr Massicks," instead of " John,' ? us , in the old dayc, life seemed to tun ieVkily; the "Barbara!" fell from his lips, and he welcomed " Miss Braithwaite" back to the dale. All the way .he had been dreaming of

how they would slip at once into their ! old, easy, familiar friendship, and how he would make it plain to her that none of the men in the towns were so glad because of her as he was; and now, all lie could do was to stammer out a string of uncouth incoherences. All the exultation that had flowed so strongly on. the mountainside in the morning had vanished; he was John Massicks, the statesman, it was true, but al&> he was John Massicks, the farmer, and this girl was clearly never intended for a farmer's wife. What a change the towns had wrought in her ! By contact with their life all the country corners had been rubbed off. the easy-going, happy-go-lucky lass of the dales had grown into the lady, graceful in carriage, restrained and dignified, in speech. And still she was the same ■'Barbara, the same glorified; she had retained all that- was good of her- rustic training, and aesirair lated the best that the towns had had to offer ; and a« John Massicks sat with Richard and. Margaret under the trees on the orchard fringe, and watched her trip from flower to flower, tenderly finding a prop for one that had drooped, burying her face in the scent-laden blooms, now running back to them with another message of home thanksgiving, another word of glory in the sun-tip-ped mountains and the fire-flushed valley, the love of the years waxed wondrous great, and cried to him that he. must not let her go. Alone on the road again, with the mystic music of the night blending in a chorus of praise for a rich dowered day, and the stars smiling down upon it all from their setting of exquisite blue, something of the all-pervading peace entered into his soul, and stilled his new-born pain. He would wait, he declared over and over again; oh, he would wait, and in time Barbara might forget the glamour of the greater world outsido their own, and be content to •link her life with' his. Yes, he would wait— and ho would win.