LITTLE CHRIS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9040, 21 September 1907, Page 2

LITTLE CHRIS.

(By KATE MAUD JOHNSON.)

[All Bights Reserved.] Per we are very lucky with a lamp before the ebsr, And Leerie stops to light it, a» he lights so many more, And O, before you hurry by with ladder and with light, 0, Leerie, see a little child, and nod to him to-night { K. L. S. Cleopatra's Needle pointed up to a clear, blue sky. The warm June 6iin was streaming radiantly dewn on it, as if it were trying to remind it of the hot suns of Egypt. The river danced and glittered in the strong afternoon light, as it flowed on through the bu6y scenes oi the great city, to the wide sea beyond. The embankment was one of Chris Pemberton's favourite spots. He was always called Chris, often " Little Chris, ' for his full name was altogether too long for euch a little boy ; true he was nearly twelve years old in age, but not more than seven or eight in size, and his back was not straight. Perhaps his father would not have named the little one Christopher had he known the wee boy would always be delicate, and ne/er crow big enough to carry sucu a weighty name. On this particular afternoon little Chris sat curled up on a seat facing the crouching lions and the moving river. In his dark velvet euit and large white collar ; with his quiet, v serious liitle face propped on his hand, and his deep, grey eyes taking in everything in a dreamy way, he looked an interesting child. Still, there was something 6ad and pathetic about the bc^, so small for his years. " Nurse," Chris said to a thoughtful, middle-aged woman, who eat by his side on the seat, " tell me all you know about Cleopatra' 6 Needle." " I don't know anything about it, Master Chris, why should I? You must ask your papa, or Master Tom, when you get home," and nurse went on thinking of more prosaic things than old obelisks. "It does not matter, thank you, I do know a lot about it, my papa has told me. I love it, that is why I want to come here sometimes, ju6t to look at it, you know. Then I can think of Egypt, where there are big, big deserts, camels, pyramids, and the Sphinx ; " The Needle spoke to little Chris of waving ;>alm trees, trackless deserts, and bright colours on sky and land. He was in another world — the children's country — where, the children are all strong ai.d glad. How anyone could love Cleopatra's Needle passed nurse' 6 power of comprehension, but she was never surprised at little Chris's ideas, he was always saying queer things. The boy went on talking in a clear, sweet v<-ice, " I love it because I can fancy all sorts of 6tories about it. It stood, on and on, for hundreds of years away in Egypt, and then men brought it away from its blue skies and wide deserts, when it was old and grey, to our London." The boy turned eagerly to the silent woman by his side, and the light of the river was shining in HTs eves as he went on; it did not trouble him that she looked stolid. I think, maybe, the river talks to it as it rolls dv when all is quiet, and it is night. What should yon think would 6ay to each other, nurse? "I don't know," nurso said truthfully, as she shook her head; imagination was not one of her strong points. The boy's eyes grew dreamy, a faraway look came into them, that nurse called uncanny. " I think the riv^r says ' 1 am going on and on to the great ocean, where the waters 6eem to touch the sky I have done my work here, and out there, there will be no banks to hold me, I shall be free and so happy.' . », „ " And my Cleopatra's Needle points to the sky, it has always pointed up, and T think it says to the river, 'Thens is another sea. a sea of glass, where the angels are, and they are always making sweet musio on their harps. ' Th* Needle has ftood so long, it must know a lot." "It is only stone." That was all nuTse could think of to say, it did rot matter, Chris spoke more to himself than to her. . . , Then there was silence m Chris s corner of the seat, until, when The boy's mood changed, he said brightly. " When T am a strong man, I am jroins to hunt lions and tigers in Africa. and follo-w the trail of the Indian over the prairies, and see the elephants in the jungles. I 5..a1l be a traveller, md see wonderful things." _ This was all very unusual, Chris was generally so quiet. Nurse looked grim, she knew little Chris would not live to grow up, and. according to her stnet ideas, he oueht to be prepared for death, instead of planning for a future that would never come. She took life seriously, fancies and drenms stood for so much wasted time. What good could they do. if they never came to anything? Finding nurse rather unsympathetic, and not at all interested in jungles and foreign travel. Chris was silent, but he was dreaming golden dreams of a wonderful future, all filled with adventure, exciting scenes and mystery, a perfect Eldorado of bright "fancy, that he would find 6ome day beyond the sea, he was lost in Vhe exciting fancies of dreamland. Again he was not the feeble, small boy, but an active, strong, tall boy, like other boys with his face tanned by Indian suns! and his hair blown about by salt sea-breezes. " Master Chris, we must go home, it is quite time." It was nurse's voice that broko the golden dream, and brought his thoughts back abruptly io things as they really were. She c>J not know it. Grown-up people never know these things, although they do '.hem every day. It was a noisy, merry gTOup of children who gathered round the nursery table that afternoon for tea, in the old-fashioned house in the square. "Jackie, why didn't you speak to Bobby and Weenie when we were at your "school sports this afternoon, we all waved till our hands ached," Peggy asked, as she cut the loaf into thick slices for nurse.. " Fellows don't speak to their sisters and to kids of brothers out of doors, specially at school sports?" Jackie said, loftily. His chivalry was still in the bud. „ . "Do you know," Tom said, jumpIng up suddenly at the close of the meal, " I'm fifteen years old to-morrow, actually fifteen at last/ The fact seemed worth emphasising, and the other children were duly impressed with the importance of it. When one's years are few, even fifteen seems a great age to reach. Tom was to be envied J .''Goodness me, I wish x was as old, Jackie said, as he hastily swallowed his last piece of bread and jam. It s horrid to be only ten, the years creep along awfully slow," and Jackie stuck two sticky hands into his pockets to feel if his marbles were safe. "You ought to be thankful to be any age." Peggy said, laughingly. '.' Well, you's not Peggy, you's only lately," Tom suggested. There was a general rush to the cupboard door, on which many notches were ruthlessly cut in the darkened wood, and the names of Tom, Peggy, Chris, Jackie, Bobby and Weenie were cut in large letters. There was plenty of fun and shouts of laughter, as one after another discovered that they had grown a bit taller. ,

Little Cbris 6at curled up on the deep window eesd, and looked on wistfully. They were all so erlad over growing taller. He was glad they did not Dan to him to stand up to the mark, where his name was cut. But when the nursery was empty, he got down j and went up to the worn cupboard door with a beating heart. All the names \ had gone up. How fast the healthy, romping boys and girls were growing I Little Chris 6tooof back to tne door, ] in the orthodox way of measuring himself, after the fashion of children, and put his thin little hand up to feel the mark, ft was the same, he had not grown an inch. The mark had been there a long, long time, and the small head covered with brown curls never reached higher than the old mark cut some time back now. A chill came into hie heart, and a lump into his throat. He eat down on a hassock, and everything in the room swam round in a mist, because his eyes were full of blinding tears. Somehow hunting wild animals in the forests of Africa, sailing on the high 6eas like the great Christopher of old, or, indeed, doing any of the wonderful things he was always dreaming of doing, seemed a long way off, and quite impossible now. It was as if he had lost earth, after having a glimpse of it through the enchanted gates that lead to it — for they surely would be closed against one so small. Little Chri6 .put up his small hands as if to push open the gates, but he could not. When the little ones came back to play, little Chris sat in the windowseat and looked on. The sun was still high and the lamp-lighter would not be round for a long time. "Chris, tell us a story, do please," Weenie said, suddenly, and the rest left their toys and gathered around the window-seat. Chris told of '* To^mai of the Elephants." Toomai who rode bravely on Kala Nag's back, and saw the wild elephants dance. in their secret dancing-place, of how he came back at daybreak, With his face grey and pinched, and his hair full of' leaves and drenched with dew. of how .he tried to salute the great Peterson Sahib, and cried faintly, "The dance^-tbe elephant dance. I have seen it, and I die. "But he did not die." Bobby sard stoutly, for he knew the story well. Chris had often told it. For he loved Kinling's p+ories. " No." Chris said, ps he. went on, "he did not die. although when K>la Naot 6at down Toomai 6l : pr>ed off his neck in a dead faint, hp did not die, he became a great hero, for he had seen what no one else had ever seen — and Machua Appa. the gr^at hnnter,' lifted him up and showed him to all the elephants, and said in a loud voice, ' Here is the little one that has 6een your dances m your hidden places. Give him honour, my lords, make your 6alute to Toomai of the elephants!' " " Chris, you do tell stories Tncst beautifully, you are ever so much too good," We«nie said, with shining eyes, as Chris finished the story of Toomai. " But you did not say what Toomai's father said, you know." Wrenie knew the 6tory too well to have one bit left out. "He said, ' The Government may pay for elephants, but they belong to ue'Mahnnts,'" little Chris added, with a bricrht smile. ''Te that the end, Chri6?" Bobby asked slowly. He thought that the proper thing to say at the end of any story. " Yes. ' Chris was happy again ;it was something to charm others with the stories he read and loved. " Miss Peggy, little Chris roads too much, that' 6my opinion : his head is stuffed full of quo~r ideas," nurse said decidedly, as she examined Jackie's stocking with a critical eye. " Poor little Chris, it makes him happy." was all Peggy paid. Peggy was curlpd up in the old arm-chair, and had been listening to the story. Pegsry was nearly fourteen, ?nd she was tall, but no one could tell 6t«rip« like little Chris, even Jackie knew that. Two children did we stray and talk Wise, idle, childish things. By-and-by the tones of the piano sounded through the long drawingroom in the old hou^e in the square ; but above the music Chris' 6 shrill voice rang out singing sweetly : — Angels sing on, your faithful watches keeping. Sing us sweet fragments of tho songs above, Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping. And life's long shadows break in cloudless love. Tom was star.ding in the hall, deciding if he would go out or not, and instantly he made up his mind that he would stay in with Chris. The little boy looked lonely in the big rcom, pinsina to himself, Tom thought, as he stood in the doorway, listening to the song; he- caught a glimnse, too, of the white face that was turned to the window. As Chris sang the last words Tom walked up to the piano and lifted the child on to his knee, as he sat down in an easy chair. " Tell me, Chris, why are you alone, and why do you ©ing about angels?" Chris put his head wearily on Tom' 6 shoulder. Tom was so strong and true, it was so easy to talk to him, he always understood, ..nd he did not laugh when Chris said queer things. Tom felt the joy of being big and 6trong, and he was very kind to little Chris, because of ' lt- " It is comforting to sing of angels sometimes. This afternoon I planned and planned about what I would do when 1 am a man. It was so sunny and bright on the Embankment I felt like other boys." "Did nurse take you?" " Yes, and the river seemed so happy as it went on and on to tne sea. And we fiat by Cleopatra's Needle Sometimes things we want 6eem &o near, don't they, Tom?" Chris said, a6 he sat up straight and looked into Tom's face eagerly. " Almost if you could touch them, then something happens, and they are so far away, and it is all dull again." Then Tom and Chris talked of other things as they sat by the window, looking; out into the old-fashioned square". Except for a policeman going hiis rounds, and a flower-girl selling wall-flowers and daffodils from a big basket, the sciuare was quiet and deserted. The late summer sun was settine; in golden glory, somewhere beyond the houses, and the tall trees had caught some of the warm light in their topmost branches. "Tom, it will all come back to you, and I am so glad that it will." • «,.„„„, " What will come back, Chris?" Tom asked in a puzzled way. " Why, your kindness to me, of course,' Chris said with a deep sigh, as he leaned back. " You take me out, and walk with me— all boys are not like you are. Dick Brown said the other day, "Well, 111 go on, I can't stop to walk with kids. Dick is not nice, he may be big, but he is not kind. And it was raining, I could not hold the umbrella up in the wind but Dick went on. If I had been strong he would have walked with me. And you, you are always kind and good, Tom." There was a quiver in the boy's voice. Tom put his arm tightly around the child— jtifit because he was a boy he did not say anything. But he made up his mind to give up more time to little , " I love to picture it all coming back to you, and it will come back in hun- j dreds of ways, I am sure it will, Tom and Chris's eyes grew brighter and larger. . j Weenie had come into the room, and , sat curled up on a chair, her chubby : face was resting on her hands as nbe i looked out of the long window at the j trees in the garden equare. Weenie cJVi j not understand the boy's talk, so 6he was quiet and thought her own thoughts. „:,. * "What are you thinking of, Weenie?" Tom asked. "I'se just thinking 'bout Heaven, that's all. See, some of tha gold has

fallen off the sun and got oaught up oa the trees. God has got a lot of goldj so he throws it down for us to ccc, Weenie said, turning her laughing 'face to the boys. Then Bobby came into the room, and stood with his hands in his pockets, thinking deeply. At eight years old, Bobby only thought about Heaven at very rare intervals; just now he was thinking of a desert island, with coral reefs and rolling surf, and tall cocoanut palms waving against blue skies. When nurse worried him he always thought of his desert island. ■ "Peggy can't come with us, 'cause she don't want to be shipwrecked. I'm surprised." Weenie observed scornfully. '"Jackie says girls are no good. when they want to get a scholarship, they ar© always reading," Bobby explained. "Bobby and me's going to Ind 'Toomai of the Elephants,' and he w.ll teach us how to catch wild elephants, Weenie said in a shrill voice. "Who tells you Kipling's tales?" Tom asked with, surprise. "Why, Chris, of course, don't yon know that?" Weenie exclaimed in mild amazement. , Weenie and Bobby sat and talked wise, idle, childish things, and Tom tiii not guess how shut out the small, white-faced boy felt to hear the strong, healthy children plan and talk. It was not so much that he wanted to be shipwrecked particularly, like little Bobby and Weenie, but be did want a share in the big, outside world. How should Tom guess? For little Chris had not \s i him that another notch was not needed to mark Hs height on the old nnrsery door, and only Chris remembered how long the old mark had been in the same placo It was the thought of that low mark that chilled his heart. AH round the Louse is the jet black night, It etares through the window pane. It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, And moves with the moving flame. R. L. S. When the lamplighter came h:s rounds to light his lamps — just before the black shadows had had time to creep round the dark shrubs and the rough trunks of the old laburnums and limes that grew in the garden of the square — Chris went to bed and the friendly light of the street lamp lighted his room when the candles were j>ut out and the shadows were everywhere. When he slept it was to the song of the trees in the old garden, singing their night-songs. And little Chris dreamed of rivers flowing on brightly to the wide seas, and of Cleopatra's Needle pointing np to the world where there are no shadows. He was a tall boy in his dreams, with no trouble in his heart. ' When Chris awoke, it was early morning, the sun was shining. He up and wondered what had made him unhappy the evening before. Then he thought, with a deep-drawn sigh, of the low notch on the nursery door. It was that. In the next room Jackie, Bobby, aiid Weenie had met to play Indian Wars in their nightdresses.. ■ "I shall take Mary Jane to our. desert island, and let her ride on the elephants in the forest," Weenie was saying, in a high-pitched voice, as she sat on a pile of pillows on the floor, nursing her favourite doll. " No, you won't, the doll is a dowdy, and will disgrace us," Jackie said^ bluntly. "Then Mary Jane and me will have an island all to ourselves." " Take the wax one in the yellow dress, and leave Mary Jane in England," Bobby suggested in a conciliating voice. "No. it would break her heart to be left behind," Weenie said, slowly, gathering up the shabby doll in her arms. " T shall go and tell Chris," and her cheeks were like poppies. And once more Chris forgot to be sad, as he sat up' in bed and told Weenie the story of " Blue Beard " to comfort her as she sat curled up nt the foot of his bed to listen. Little Chris was a hero, but he never guessed it, it seemed so unheroic to be weak, and to bear dumbly and patiently one's lot day after day. Autumn came with falling leaves, and chilly rains, and little Chris began to fail, he missed the bright, sunny days sarllv. He was so tired when be climbed upstairs to bod in the dark evenings that he could not sleep, but would lie awake and watch the weird fantastic shadows made on the walls and ceiling by the trees in the square, as they were^ blown about by the autumn winds,, in the light of the street lamps. So, as the lamp-lighter went his rounde t>ose dull autumn days, he did not know that the lamps he lighted outside one house, where he saw often the faces of little children pressed against the window-panes, cheered one sick child when he was lying awake at night, while the shadows were having it all their own way, and the nights were long, and the wind was m the trees. As little Chris looked into the darkness, his wir!e-open eyes often asked the question that Stevenson's sick child - asked : " Why is the room so gaunt and great? Why am I lying awake so late?" In the black night, the old dreams of adventure and of travel in unknown lands still came to Chris, except when he was very weary, and the pain was bad, then the dreams gave place to Noughts of angels, and the rustling of i*"c trees became the rustling of their white wings, until the morning would come again, and the light of the street lamps would grow dim ana faded in the grey light of , the new day. VThen came a time when the nights had grown very long, and the days nad shortened and grown cold, when all in the house in the old square walked about with hushed footsteps and with tears in their eyes. The big house seemed so empty and silent, the blinds were 'drawn down the children spoke in whispers, and forgot to play. " Little Chris is dead,' they said. Bobby and Weenie sat on the nursery window -seat and said to each other in low whispers: "Little Chris is dead, little Chris is dead," and for the first, time in their 6hort -memories, the bright prospect of being shipwrecked and cast up on a desert island, failed to cheer them. They could only look at his name cut on the brown door, and remember he would never measure himself again by that mark. „ "And who will tell us of 'Toomai' and of "*" Mpwgli ' now Chris has gone to heaven?" Bobby asked slowly, as he began to realise their loss bit by bit. " No one." Weenie said, shaking her head gravely. "Little Chris is dead,' Tom said with a lump in his throat, and an empty place in his heart, as he sat alone lin the chilly garden. And Jackie buried his tear-stained face in his pillow when he went to bed at night, and 6aid to himself: " Little Chris is dead, little Chris is dead." The next day, when Peggy took the children for a walk aroundthe square, ' Jackie walked between Bobby and ' Weenie, although Weenie was hugging Mary Jane under her arm. Jackie wanted to do something hard and good because he was miserable. He also put that week's pocket money into Dr Bar- . ' nardo's box, because he felt he would never want to buy or eat toffy again. ' Jacky remembered with remorse he had i not put any in for a long time, and ' made good resolutions for the future. < He also made Bobby^ and Weenie put. ' theirs in too, and Weenie promised ' faithfully to put hers in every week, j as long as she lived. Moreover, Bobby opened his money-box, and put in all 1 his savings, which amounted to two- J pence halfpenny. After that bit of Belf-eacrifice, the three: children felt a Uttlel^^ifierabla^^^^g^erfußjs^

comforting to do hard, good things sometimes. But little Chris was not dead. H* had only gone to a fairer world. To tha country the river had sung of, and Cleopatra's Needle had pointed np to in the sunny days of summer. To tnft country where there are no sick chil* dren.. There he could grow strong and tall* The mark on the cupboard door in th< nursery tells what his 'height was here* In the City Beautiful he would gfoij beyond the low mark. The Eldorado he thought of seeking in his dream* was never so fair as that City. In a few days Bobby and Weenie got deeply interested in their desert island again. The interest came back whei* Bobby said suddenly one morning, aa he rushed up to Weenie 1 , who was stand* ing looking disconsolately pot of tbav window : "Let's go in the garden, and ~fijaf\ we are travellers, Weenie." •-. "0, yes, Bobby, I'se longing to b* lost in our forest again." "I did not think we should v ever b» happy again; Jackie .said we never should." Bobby exclaimed breathlessly. as they scampered up on a mound of sand behind the trees, to rest after ait exerting chase in the forest. ."'ft' waft their desert island, until they could find a re*l one. "We've been awfully good and played at nothing; for a whole week, and been qmte miserable," Weenie said, apologetically, as she seated herself and Mary Jane safely in the middle of th« island. It was a sunny day, a BunnT day after days of gloom and rain, ana one can't be very miserable when thfl sun shines in winter. - ' Tn time Pesrsrv won her scholarship, and Tom worked hard at* college, for he wanted to do great things in the world. But there was always a sweet memoiv locked up in each heart in the old home in the square. It was the memory of little Chris.