PIGEON'S FEATHERS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 8751, 13 October 1906, Page 2

PIGEON'S FEATHERS.

(By MADGE SMITH.)

[Aix Rights Resekted.] ' "Hi! Hi!" " Whoa there, whoa ! What's up?" The big chestnut in Giles Warrender's dog-cart drew up in a scutter, and Giles's ruddy face peered down into the fog. "Are you for Drayton, sirP I'd thank you to lift me a piece oT the way. It's a dirty night." The rug was raised hospitably, and the next second saw the unknown applicant settled in the vacant seat. " Ay, it's a dirty night," agreed the young farmer, " you'll be a stranger in these parts P It's bad weather for a tramp. The man coughed. "I'm not a tramp, my friend," he observed, stiffly. Giles hastened to explain. " I meant to s* " tramping»like, m> to speak, same as j«. might be myself. No offence meant, Inn sure." " And none tat<sn," returned the traveller. "I'm as thankful for >our company* as for your kindness."

Giles looked again at the face at his side, shaded by a half-clerical slouched hat. "One of those business fellows," he had at first set him down, by which he designated a commercial traveller. The second scrutiny suggested rather, a stump orator. He had seedy shoes and agreeable manners. "'Tisn't fit to turn a horse out," said Giles, cheerfully; "but it's this way, you see. I bought a few colts at Drayton fair yesterday, and paid a man five shillings to bring 'em over. I reckon he's stitched up somewhere this side o' Drayton, and my colts, Lord knows where."

Even the tragic nature of this situation did not disturb the serenity of Giles's countenance.

"Lonely bit o' road this," he went on. "You'd think it a bit quiet-like living at the cottage yonder," he indicated a light that glimmered from a window in the fog. " Keeper's house," he explained, " any amount of game iv these plantations, but 'tis a bit quiet for sure. Why, Sally, what's to do?"

The mare had shied violently, discerning, before her driver, a patch of fluttering white by the roadside, which, coming nearer, resolved iteelf into the apron of a woman who hurried down the flagged path from the cottage door. V Giles ! Giles Warrender ! I made sure 'twas you a-driving by when I heard, wheels passing. Here's father taken cruel bad in his back and ohest, and I've ne'er a soul I can send for the doctor. I dursn't leave him, I'd le mortal thankful if you'd see to. it, Giles." "Ay, that I will. I'm going into town now, and I'll bring him back ight along. Don't get scared, Milly ; like as not he'll be right again in a few days." He gathered up the reins and was off again, peering back at the girljs figure losing itself in the mist, while the stranger trembled to see how the horse zigzagged unheeded along the road. At length the young farmer brought his head back with a crack to it 6 normal facing. " 'Tis very lonesome for the lass, with the old man ill in bed," he observed. "I'd be a bit uneasy myself in his shoes. He's a bit of a miser, and they say he has a tidy stocking hidden away there."

"He ought to bank it," .said the stranger; "it's not safe to keep money in a lonely place like that."

' ' Bank it ? Not he I He don't hold with banking, don't Ab. Keeps it in an old teapot or something, most likely. Not that there's anybody about here would want' to rob an old man like that. They're a decent lot enough hereabouts."

He whipped up his horse to fresh efforts, chirruping gleefully in sudden exuberance of spirits.

"Dear me! How vexing."

" Lost summat?" asked Giles, observing the traveller fumbling nervously in various pockets.

" I'm afraid— l'm afraid " — the man gasped — " some papers — very important, too. I must have laid them down at the inn, where I 6pent a few hours."

" You're not thinking of turning back, are youP" asked Giles. "Why, man, it's a good two miles to the Rose and Crown. Write for your belongings to-morrow. They're good, honest folk. Nothing*!! go astray with them, I'll go bail."

But the stranger was "Reeling with an inexperienced foot for a non-existent step. He splased with an oath into the mud.: «« G'night," said Giles. " Wish you luck." He drove on with his head full of Milly, and did not look back at the man trudging through the mud in his broken shoes.

The man retraced his steps for not half a mile, at which point his course suddenly deviated from the highway which led to the Rose and Crown. The fog was becomTag denser every minute. He barely discerned the damp trunks that flanked the roadside, among which he peered for a gleam of light. It appeared duly, and, striking boldly between the trees, he made a bee-line In its direction.

A sunken fence precipitated him unexpectedly on the gravel walk, send his hat was dented on the cottaga door.

Simultaneously the light vanished from the window, and appeared at the door in the hand of a comely young woman, the same who had hailed Giles Warrendor a short time before. Clearly the recognition was not mutual. It was plain that honest Giles's face was the only attraction for Milly's bright eyes. It is doubtful if she had as much ap observed that he had a companion in the dogcart. "I understand you have somebody sick here. Am I right? If I can be of any service" — I .should say I was asked to call by a young man driving into the town. lam a medical man."

" Please come in," said the girl. She looked relieved but a little dubious. Even to her cotfntry-bred idea he looked a shabby specimen for a Drayton doctor.

"You'll like to warm yourself," she suggested, pointing to a good fire. " Feyther, here's doctor to see you."

She went over to where the spare figure of an old man was scarcely, perceptible beneath the tumbled bedclothes.

But his voice was /audible enough. "Eh? What's yon chap? Milly, where arta? What's yon chap?" "It's all right," said the young woman. tr Giles sent him, along. He'd be sure fo send one as knows his work."

Ay," said the invalid, with a long, hollow and hearty groan. "Ay, well! You're a stranger, hut yo' can' shake hands."

The stranger availed ■ himself of the privilege, and proceeded to a thorough, examination of the patient, by means of knocking vigorously on his chest and tapping tentatively at hie back. The doctor's puckered brow displayed a proper interest in the case, while his eyes extended the examination to the contents of the room and rested intently for a time on the corner cupboard. " 'M/ yes ; er, yes. Mm," he murmured appropriately-/ " Grave complication, I'm afraid. Er. yes I" ,

"What an I got?" inquired the pa tient impatiently. " Gie't a name."

"Have you known him like this before P" asked the doctor

" Well, he's been pretty well, you see," answered the daughter.

" Never a day ill i' my life," said the old man. "But, it's all over and done wF" now. It's a breaking-up. That's what. I reckon I'm past doctorin'. It's no use."

"He's been going on like that all day," said the young woman in the visitor's ear. " Aunt Eliza were just the same way with the lumbago, and she's living yet." "What's o' th' whispering about? Speak so's I can hear, wilto? I'll have no plotting and planning. If I'm beawn to dee, I'll dee. I'm none feared."

" We'll pull you through this time," said the doctor, boldly. "I'm afraid you'll have to go to the chemist's," he went on to the girl. " I must haye — cr — some camphorated oil."

"There's none nearer than Drayton," she said blankly. "I wish we'd known to tell Giles Warrender to bring it."

"Well, you must go for it at once, my good girl, if the man's life is to be 6aved."

"It's not all that bad, is it now?" eaid th© girl. "Well, now, that's lucky, anyhow. There's some in the cupboard. He uses it reg'lar for his chest." She Btood on a ohair and reached a bottle from a high shelf. The medical man's face fell perceptibly. "That's good," >he said, but ho frowned abstractedly.

" Perhaps you have some — cr — some — er — antiseptic dressings in the house."

" Aunty what? I've never heaTd # of that," said the girl. "Is it very important?" ' " Can't get on without it very well. And the sooner the better." " I don't like," Milly said. " I wish I'd someone to send." "Well, I never thowt it of you, Milly, 't you'd grudge your owd feyther that much,'\cried old Ab, weakly reproachful. "It's leaving you alone wi' this chap," Milly whispered over the pillow, but the whisper' was not lost on the stranger. "My good girl, I will do everything possible for your father. Of course, if you don't trust me — — " " Go, wilta !" said the old man. She pinned a shawl over her head, and prepared to go out, while the doctor wrote particulars on a piece of paper. She hung solicitously over the invalid before starting, and the doctor frowned at the delay.

"Wait; I'll raise you a bit. Sol that's easier. Where's another pillow?" , She fetched one from the next room, a large frilled cushion, and popped it deftly under bis 6houlder-blades. "Eh! What's you? Tak' it away. Fee noan dee on yon pillow."

"Why, what ails t' pillow?" cried the girl.

"Tak' it away! Hasta forgot, wench, after o 1 th' talk we had over stuffin' it? Put it reet back ' th' cupboard."

A look of comprehension crossed the girl's face, but she laughed. " It's not got to dying yet by a long chalk," she said, cheerfully; "but I'll put it out of eight, so's it won't vex you."

" But I don't care overmuch for that chap's looks," she pondered- as she set out, " and I don't see what he wants with aunty what's-his-name, blessed if I do. If it hadn't been as Giles sent him; but there, I know as anybody Giles sent would be all right."

She would have felt, less confident as she hurried off could 6he have seen the unknown doctor step cautiously out of the cottage door and be lost from sight in the plantation. He carried in his arms a white burden, which impeded his gait and partly shut out the dimlydiscerned path.

He felt it as he ran, curiously ; halfbelieved he detected the rustling of crisp paper within. Again, it might be only a stray quill. He pushed on among the trees. "

It was safer here than on the open road. A chance passer-by might well stare to meet a man carrying a feather pillow. Safe in the forest 1 depths he could remove the old keeper's hoard from its bulky hiding-place, and take to the road with the notes in his pockets.

He felt sure it must be notes. He might have some little difficulty over changing them, unless he effected it promptly in the next town. With a shave and a change of clothes the risk would be comparatively slight. He chuckled to think how the old fool had given away his secret. He would never have guessed in a month, with the pillow safely beneath his head. He would have been obliged to threaten violence to get it out of aim. He disliked violence. He was glad that it had been a mere matter of stratagem.

Here the light was better. He stumbled against a low fence, which seemed to skirt a clearing amid. the trees. He drew out a knife, and, slitting the pillow, thrust in a hand.

Feathers, little soft feathers, choked all his fingers. With a muttered curse he put both hands in, groping blindly in the dark. He had set his back against the wooden paling, and he threw his weight on it as he groped and swore. *

It cracked and yielded, as rotten wood will do. He attempted, to regain, his balance with a convulsive writhe, and, failing, let himself go as softly as might be on to the other side. He looked for a bump, but none oaime.

Down, down ! -He struggled helplessly, the soft feathers falling all about his head and shoulders.

It was on such a night as this, ten years ago, that a traveller strayed from the highway, had met his death over the unfenced quarry. It was then that the wooden paling was supplied. Nobody was to blame if it did not last for ever.

Good fortune met Milly in tihe shape of Giles Warrender, spanking out of town at twelve miles an hour, with a doctor at his side.

He whistled long and low when he learned her errand, and heard of the strange doctor.

" Dark sort o' chap? Slouch hat? Dirty collar?"

"Yes," said Milly, "I think so. I didn't take much heed, I was that put about."

"I don't like it," eaid Giles. "I hope there's no foul play. Get on, Sally."

Milly sobbed miserably, perched on the narrow back seat. c

"I didn't oughter have left him," she said. " Oh, Giles, if anything— — " The cottage light burst on them suddenly, and they saw with, sinking hearts that the door was flung, wide.

The fog had lifted, and the moon rising, showing old Ab, holding up his trousers with one hand, "and shaking a stout cudgel with the other.

"Yore a nice lot!" he shouted, wrathfully. "Yore a lot of beauties, trapesing all over the country an' leavih' a deem' mon to th' meroy of a mad scoff rel 'at's been an' run off wi' a pillow." ' ' Pillow ? What pillow, father P"

" "Why, yon as you fotched out 86 I'd ha' none of. Hoo browt me pigeon's feathers to dee on; Giles, them as we shot last year, lad." "I ne'er gave it a thought,", said

Milly ; "but they do say if you lie on pigeons' feathers it's hard, to draw away." „ " A senseless fool. If he'd getten th owd teaoot, now I" Ab limped back into the kitchen, tenderly holding the small of his back, where his terrible affliction made itself known. *

"You've a touch of lumbago, my friend," said Giles's doctor. Old Ab turned on him fiercely.

" I'll no more o' your doctors running off wi' a feather pillow 1 That's nice doctorin' 1 I'm feeliri' a sect better, as how 'tis an' I'll go in to th' arbalist to morn. . Fee noan dee' toneet, I tell thee. Put me to bed, Milly!" And for once Ab was a true prophet. He lived many years to gaffer round Giles and his pretty wife at the farm, since after the occurrence related Giles couldn't be persuaded that Milly was safe for ten minutes out of his sight.

It was not till two days later that the body of an unknown, man was N found at the quarry bottom. He had died hard, since at the time of discovery he was scarcely cold. A torn pillow lay beneath, his head, and the twisted body was shrouded with pigeons' feathers. Note. — There is a superstition in Lancashire and northern counties generally that to die on pillows stuffed with pigeons' feathers is to prolong the death-bed sufferings. ,