LISA.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XIII, Issue 2502, 6 September 1890, Page 5

LISA.

PART I. “ Lisa!” A demure’little figure ran hastily down the narrow stairs and paused just above the landing, where stood a broad-shouldered American student. “Lisa, bow many times have I told you that I will not be called ‘ Mein Herr ?’ After all my lessons in English for nearly three months, you cannot say the couraging, Lisa, it makes me feel that all my time has been thrown away. I may as well give it up.” “ Oh, Mr. Roberts, I’m sorry-aber, but what would mein voter say if he should hear me call you * Grant?’ ” “ lie hears me call you ‘ Lisa’ every day, and does not object; now if he were to hear me call you ‘Liebchen,’ then, indeed ! In fact, Lisa, I’ve been thinking it ©ver this morning, and hrreafter I shall call you ‘ Sweetheart.’ That word has never been translated into your charming German tongue, so he won't understand if he does hear me use it; butyouwill, Lisa, won’t you ? Do you know vvEat I me*m when I say ‘Sweetheart?’ ” Lisa blushed and looked down. She might have run away, but her two hands wore held fast, while Grant’s quizzical, fond eyes were studying her face. What should a simple German madchen know ®f the wriles of a gay young American ? He had boarded with them for three months, ostensibly studying chemistry at the university, but really studying with much greater assiduity the grim professor’s sweet little daughter. When he had been iu the house a week ho found himself comparing her with the girls he knew at home. They could laugh and jest with him. And how they eouhl flirt! Li3a, dear little thing, could take excellent care of her father; could read English intelligently, though she dared not try and speak it ; Knew, in fact, twi-e as much as any American girl, Grant told himself; she was the worthy daughter of her learned father iu true German idiom. But dear little Lisa could not flirt! If, i in their English conversations bethought it his duty to hold with her, he would strive to emphasise some points by a slight pressure of tho hand, she would colour to the roots of her soft yellow hair, and thougthfulfy withdraw her fingers If he would sometimes call her “ Liebchen,” as her father did, she would look reprovingly ut him, and not reply* If, in pretended indignation at such treatment, he would distantly address her as “ Fraulein,” her eyes would fill and her lips quiver, but a stately “ Herr Roberts,” was her only sign of displeasure. Dear little Lisa ■ How loud of her he was .’ How hard It would be to leave her -

All this flashed through his mind as he stood at tli© foot ©f the narrow stairs aud looked teasingly at Lisa’s blushes. Blie rallied iu a moment and looked up saucily. “ Did you call mo down to tell me this, Mr. Bnberts ?”

“ Well, not altogether,” ho replied with a laugh, “ but you drove the more important matter ©ut of iny mind. I wanted to tell you that lam going to make you a bangle. Do you remem.ber'telling me about the Eughahgiil in the park who wore so many that she tinkled all over, like tho woman at Banbury Cross? Well, see hero.” He drew from his pocket an old American three- cent piece. “ I found this in my poeket this morniug. Where it came from I have no idea, but I suppose it must, have been given me by mistake with :ny change some day. Seems odd to see it over here. Such auold one, too; one side is worn perfectly smooth. I have bored a hole in it, and I shall .scratch your initials ou one side, and you must wear it on your watch chum to remind you of aae, after I “After he was goue.”

Lisa hud been sitting onthe siai is examining the bit of silver; at those last words she unconsciously rose to her feet. Never before had he spoken of goifigaway. JI« had so fallen in with their simple life that to her he had become a part of it, and she had ceased to think of his leaving them. “After he had gone !” What would she do then ? Silence for a moment. Harl he spoken tho words to try her ? She grew pale, and the tears gathered. Lisa, sweetheart! Do not look so! lam not going—not goiug for a long time. “ Don’t let’s talk about it ; only you will be sorry, Liebchen, won’t your" She tried to laugh, and turned to run up the stairs. Roberts caught her hand. “Don’t go—don’t you want me lo finish the bangle?’’ said he guilefully. But Lisa had gone, and he did not get a word with her again that day. The next morning ho walked slowly down to the 2>ost-office, thinking still of Liza. His careless words about leaving her and her emotion had, indeed, made him think more deeply than ever before. With truly youthful procrastination he had postponed the consideration of such an event till the hour came. Tho thought should r.ot mar his happiness, aud he had been happy ! Iloiv his friends would laugh if they knew how he had spent the last three mouths. Lisa’s father was too absorbed, too simple, to suspect the young man of any interest beyond chemistry and German. Little did ho know of the series of “ accidental” meetings Robert planned every day with his demure little daughter; each meeting an opportunity by no means to be neglected for English conversation. Roberts thought of it all. What would b the end, and when?

When, indoed ; the end was nearer than lie thought. He tc©k a letter’ffrom the office aal read :

“My Dear Son,—l know it will be a disappointment to you to give up your studies uud the remainder of your trip, but I am sorry to tell you that I think you should be here. I am muoh alarmed about j'our father’s health; he needs a complete rest and change. With a great deal of difficulty I have persuaded him to believe ho can give up his business for the present, on tho condition that you will undertake it, as well as you can. under the circumstances. lam sure you will return at once. If all goes well, I promise you that vou |uay finish your trip bator® another year.”Pj

Roberts’s lace lew longer as be read. European travel and chemistry meant Lisa to him just now, and she had never seemed so dear and sweet as to-dav: and he must go. Would he, if lie could, take her with hijn ? He paused. How would she compare with his koine circle? Would he—would lie ever be ashamed of her? lie bated himself f«r the thought. No! she was lovelier, truer than any girl ho knew. He rejoiced in her unlikeness to others; and Grant Roberts straightened himself proudly as he walked on. But would she go? Would she leave her father alone to cross the wide sea. to another land ? If not, stm’ be must go. What should he do ? He stopped. Never, in all hi.s easy, happy life bad he known perplexity like this. Should he tell Lisa all and let her decide ? But, if she should choose to go, how would his stately mother receive the little German daughter? Aiul lie had nothing of his own to offer her. Could he let her stay au unwelcome guest under the family rcof ? 110 rau3t go alone ; that was plain]; but be would win bis mother’s consent, establish a place in his father’s business, aud return. Perhaps events would shape themselves in such a way that all would be plain before another year. And Lisa would be true, he was certain. Yes, he would bid her trust him and wait. And, with the burden lightened, Roberts again walked into the Professor's narrow hall and called, “ Lisa !” and the voice from the regions above answered, “ Coming, mein Ilcrr ?” She came slowly, thinking of yesterday, and paused near tho top.

“ Did you call me, Mr. Roberta?” “Come down into the parlour, Lisa. I have something to tell you.” He was grave, and Lisa felt frightened. Was he going to scold her ?

Roberts closed the door after her and paused. How could ho toll her ?

“ Lisa-, dear,” ho said soberly, “ I havo had a letter from home, and my mother wishes me to return at once.” Silence. Lisa, was white, her ej'eß a little wider ; she clasped her hands and stood waiting. “ I must go, for my father is ill ; but, dear, 1 will come back. You will trust me, sweetheart, won’t you ? Indeed I will come back. ”

The blue eyes overflowed, but tho mouth was firm, and the hands clasped together. Grant could bear it no longer. His resolutions were forgotten. He threw his arms about her, and murmured in her ears tenderer words than he had ever uttered or heard in his life.

Lisaweptquietly, and listened with out a word; but Grant was satisfied. She understood ; she would wait.

“Sweetheart,” he said presently, “kiss me, and then I must go. I shall take the noon train. The sooner I go, the sooner I shall return. You will help me Lisa raised her head and gave the kiss with all her heart in it. “ You must go,” she said, firmly, “ but I know you will come back to Tho hours flew by; bis packing done, he rushed to the university, called the professor from his lecture, and bade the bewildered man a hasty farewell, leaving him stunned by the rapid outpouring ©£ explanations. An hour labir he was gone, aud Lisa knelt at her bedside clasping the bit of silver in her hand, and

sobbing out i rayers for a iafe voyage and a speedy return. PAJiTir. A long, low stiipgof yellow land to the right; that, was Martha’s vineyard ; a tiny speck ahead, that was Nantucket. Grant Roberts stood on the deck and stared absently into the blue water. He has changed iu the three years since we saw him in Germany. He is broader and more manly in figure, but he looks weary and depressed. "Heavy cares for those young shoulders have weighed upon them. His mother’s letter recalled him just in time to receive from his father’s lips a confused statement of an involved businoss, before the .older man, crushed by impending, danger, sank into an insensibilitv Jeepene'i into death* Grant was I*3lt u .is nelrn o «?-at seemed a sinking ship, ana he, an inexperienced -boy of twenty-two, whose basiness education had been confined to the knowledge how to cash a cheque. But a clear head and an intense determination to save his father’s good name at last lAade him master of the situation ; and now, in his first vacation, he could look hack on three years whose experiences had been almost invaluable; j in a business, smaller indeed than his father’s but firmly established, and with bright prospects. Truly, he had earnod a summer’s r©3t, and as he stood looking at the dimpling water unconsciously his burdens stepped into its depths. The steamer was rounding the point at Nantucket harbour as he shook off his reverie aud looked about him.

To his right stood a tall red lighthouse ; on either hand hundreds of small sailboats; rising on a low hill, with its back to the sinking sun, lay the village. On the wharf were crowds of people, excited over the sensation of the day—the arrival of the steamer.

They touched the pier; a shout, and a reply from the captain, and away ran the town crier, relic of bygone days, his brass trumpet tucked under his arm, his wide hat flapping in the wind, ashe called in his cracked and stammering tones, “Two hundred an’ and fifty on the boat to-night! Two h—lran —dred and fifty !” Nantucket indeed ! It was all his fancy had pictured it. llow peaceful it all was ! Day followed day, and Roberts did not weary of the monotony. lie bathed on the sunny beach, and idled up to the odd little brown post office for the letters he did not care to read; and he thought. He had hardly had time to think before, in the hurry of the past, and now his thoughts went back to Germany and Lisa. Did ahe remember him ? Had she waited for him ? Did he wish that she lmd ? Ho loved her still, but—should he ever go to claim her ? Women hud had noplace in his life of late; his thoughts of the past were tender, regretful, but h« scarcely had looked forward to hope. But now it was diffe.reut, and in the quiet how the past came back ! Munich, with its wide, paved streets ; the early walks from the market, when he carried the heavy basket for Lisa, and laughed over the hard names of the cabbages and potatoes which she tried to teach him ! lie laughed again at the remembrance of his teasing stupidit3’, and at the sound a stranger looked at him with a kindly, inquiring glance. He was sitting on the beach, tossing the sand idly from one hand to the other. There seemed nothing to smile at. The elderly lady drew a little nearer ; she had watched this good-looking, silent, abstracted young man for days, and his loneliness determined her. She raised her umbrella a little higher, and turned toward him with a question about the tide.

Roberts looked up with the dazed expression ,of one whose thoughts are fur away. “ I bog your pardon?’’ he said, lifting his hat. She repeated her question, with a smile. “ The lido ? I believe it. is still corning in. It is amusing to watch the bathers. My thoughts were far away just now, but I often look at those boys diving from the pier ; there is even one young l.ul}', who ‘ takes a header’every day.” jhle spoke with a cordial smile. Mrs. Craigie was becoming interested in this odd young man, who confessed to his pleasure in watching a pretty girl dive, and sought no nearer acquaintance.

“It is amusing,” said Mrs. Crnigio. “ bat I look at the water. My husband was a sea captain in the days of the India trade, and I have sailed with him over nearly all the waters of the globe. It all comes back as I sit here. But I have scon you before,” she went on more briskly. “For the list three duys I have sat at the same table with you. Are you not tired of blueberries?” Roberts laughed. “Well, yes, but I prefer them to dried apple sauce, acd there seems no alternative! It reminds me of the days of my boyhood, when I used to visit on my grandfather’s farm. I’ve not had auy since.”

“ I never touch it,” said Mrs." Craigie, with a shudder. “ Did you ever notice that when several of us refuse it, we always havo it in pio the next day ? It’s the old story repeated ; the boy who would pot eat his crusts for supper had them put by for bis breakfast.” “I think few havo discussed the fact about the pie. Or at least they are not too dainty to decline. Nantucket air does not seem to bring dyspepsia.” “Dyspepsia!” said Mrs. Craigie. “Don’t talk of it; lam fully convinced that the seven devils cast out of Mary Magdalene were seven distinct attacks of dyspepsia !” And with tliat she rose and said she must go. “It is dinner time for us both. I wonder whether you would he bored if I asked you to change your 3eat at the table for one by me? I am selfish, for I want you to defend mo from the old maid school teacher who sits next me. She is ashamed of the profession and wants to appear girlish and inexperienced, tffie asked me one day if I should imagine that she was a teacher. I looked us surprised as possible, and said. ‘ No. I should not imagine you ever saw the inside of a schoolroom !” and since then, to my sorrow, she has been more friendly than ever.” Roberts said to himself that this old woman was delicious, aud accepted her kindly overtures with gratitude. From that day all was changed. Mrs. Craigie would not leave him to his solitude, and introduced him to all the charming girls she knew', but his indifference excited her curiosity, and she decided that this yoang man had a story. The explanations came without her asking. They sat on the beach one day when Roberts asked, “ Is that a ‘ scrip string,* as I am told young ladies call them, Mrs. Craigie?” He pointed to a bunch of seals and charms at her belt.

“ I might say of each of them, ‘Thereby hangs a tale,’ ” she replied, lifting them. *• They cume from all parts of the world, and each has a history. Not to go into details, this shell came from the ‘ India’s coral strand;’ this is a tiger’s tooth ; I saw my husband sho.-t the beast. Tliw is a precious stone of some value an Arab sheik gave my husband for a strange service. It is still uncut, you see. This is a nugget of gold ray brother dug in California, iu the mine where lie lost his life ; and this ia a bit of silver I found in the street in Munich twoyearsngo. An American three-cent piece, you see, so old it is smooth on one side. _lt must have been worn as a bangle, for here is a. hole. It was an odd place to fitid the coin, and I always had u queer feeling about it, that there was a story attached. Perhaps 1 shall know someday.” Roberts could not speak for a moment. Then lie said hoarsely. “ Mrs. Craigie, it is mine ! May I have it ?” The past rushed over him as his lingers closed on the coin ; Lisa’s s\ve°t face, wet with tears, as he last saw it, rose before him. A sudden flash of inspiration showed him the weuiy. faithful heart, waiting -—waiting—for tiie lover who was to come hack, but who never came. IJy-and-bye he told the story, briefly, with wet eyes. And then, keeping the coin, he rose with determination.

“ Mrs. Craigie, good-bye! lam going to her. I cannot thank you for all your kindness tome, and now, this ending ; it is Fate—Providence ! 1 shall take the noon boat for home, see mr mother and tell her all ; spend my vacation in atrip to Munich, and, if I can, bring back Lisa, and you shall see us both.”

The listless, weary look waa unite gone. Roberts was pale and excited. Mrs. Craigie rose without a word of expostulation at his haste. “Go, my dear Troy, and she will |eonac back | with you. ' Then brlug her to me !” Throe weeks later the door of the Professor's house in Munich opened softly, and Grant Roberts stood again at the foot of the narrow stairs. Fora moment he could not find his voice. What it she should he away—changed—dead! The fear almost made his heart stop. Gatliering together his failing courage, ho called softly A moment’s pause; no answer. Then a startled girlish face appeared at the top of tho Whose voice had she heard? There was uo “ Coming, mein Herr,” to call forth rebukes this time. One cry of surprise and joy, and L ; sa fell straight into the outstretched arms. Tho lost bit of silver, mourned so long, had been a talisman, aud brought her lover home.— i fifrtt-sr Weekly Tinws.