A MESSAGE FROM HEAVEN.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 7404, 7 March 1903, Page 6 (Supplement)

A MESSAGE FROM HEAVEN.

By J. D. Brayshaw, in the "Glasgow Weekly Herald."

Aaron Beech's shop was elo-rd—that is to say, the three little shutters with diamond shaped perforations at the top bad been put up, and hid from view the miscellaneous collection of unwholesome edibles that formed the chand .r's stock. The broad door shutter, how-over, was not yet placed—one tiny jet of gas was still burning, and the door, under the guardianship of a tiny.tinkling bell, remained ou the latch. Not for the. convenience of belated customers, however, for it was Hearing midnight, but rather that Aaron had a visitor, and for reasons of his own lie deemed it- wise to keep up some show of communication with the outside world. In the dingy parlour, redolent of pickles and stale cheese, and filled with tho funics of bad tobacco, sat Bill Cratch, Aaron's visitor. His elbow was on the table, bis chin resting ou his hand, lie puffed vigorously at the black and broken clay pipe from which the foul reek arose. On the other side of the table, near the door of communication, sat the chandler himself, peering with his harp, beady black eyes into the other's sullen face. Strange was the contrast between the two men, the one broad shouldered and burly, with a bullet' head and square, heavy jaw, and a settled look of sullen brutality that never left his face save to give place to an ugly grin—a grin that parted his lips just sufficiently to lay bare his yellow teeth, as though even his good humour was expressed in a snarl.

Aaron, on the other hand, was barely above the middle height. Upon his smooth and rosy face there rested a perpetual smile of childlike innocence utterly at variance with tho ever-shifting, beady eyes that glittered from beneath his heavy black brows.

"It's a sin, Bill," said he, at length, rubbing his hands softly together. ''It's a sin to let such a job go. It's good, Bill. And when I say it's good, you '.now what I moan. It's a pudding full of plums that only want picking out."

"Ah!" said Bill, showing his teeth. "An' your mouth's watcrin' for 'em, ain't it? I tell yer Scuf Brown is lap-red. He's my pal, an' I won't so much as look at the crib till he comes out."

"Nonsense, Bill. Honour among—gentlemen's all very well when there's nothing to lose—but this is a beautiful job. As ripe as a medlar.' The stuff's there, we've got the plan, there's never a man on the place, a_a no moon. Say Thursday night, Bill." "Shan't," said B__!, "If yer are in such a hurry for yer plums, go an' pick 'em out yerself." "Come, come, Bill," said Aaron cleprecatingly. "Be fair, Bill, be fair. Don't I do my share? Don't I find out where the fruit is? And when I've made it all so easy for you, and you bring it home, don't I dispose of it for you?" • "Y'us, an' rob me of 'arf the price every time." "Oh, Bill." "Oh, Bill," echoed the other, mockingly, "Don't- make faces at me, you baby-faced, flint-skinning, white-livered old fence." "Hush, Bill I" said Beech, glancing uneasily round. "You're out of sorts." i'tising, he passed hastily to a little corner cupboard, and producing therefrom a bottle and a tumbler, placed them on the table. "You want a tonic, Bill." "Why didn't yer bring it out before?" growled Bill, pouring out a liberal allowance of the spirit, which he proceeded to drink neat. While thus engaged, a thin weazened, pretcrnaturally old face was pressed against the glazed portion of the shop door, a pair of swift, furtive eyes sViftiy scanning the interior. The face was withdrawn, and, after a moment's pause, the door was opened slowly and softly, until sufficient space was afforded to admit of the insertion of a piece of wire bent into the form of a hook. Gently this lvas passed over the spring of the bell and held so as to effectually prevent the slightest alarm. Bit by bit the door was then pressed inward until tho space was wide enough to adhiit first the head, and then the body, of a ragged urchin. His hungry eyes lit on a bone to which some fragments of cooked ham still clung, he snatched it up and passed it quickly outside the door. Having accomplished this to Lis satisfaction, he was about to knock upon the counter, but hearing voices ho paused to listen. "Why not get Ned Smithers to work in. and do the job at once?" Beech was saying. "Shut it," answered Bill. "Why, he's a bloomin' saint. Never did anythin' on the cross in his natural." "All tho better," replied Beech, softly rubbing his hands. "All the better." "Dyer think a cove like that'll turn crook just to please you?" "No, Bill," said the chandler smiling, and still rubbing his hands. "Not to please me, but to help himself. He must, Bill. He's come to the end of his rope. It's steal or starve. I don't believe they've 'ad a bite to-day." "Wot? An' the gal lyiu' ill?" "Just so. See how beautifully things work. His horse has been taken for debt, they've pawned everything they can pawn, and I stopped their tick to-day." And Aaron smiled benignly upon his auditor. The boy stood in the shadow, listening intently. "After all," continued Beech, "who is he to set himself up against lion—other people. Work him into it, Bill. He ought to be as easy to mould as a bit of putty." "Yer smooth-faced, ooft-spoken devil," said Bill, grinning like an amiable bull dog. "Wot hclli-sh game have ytr got up yer sleeve now?" Iv his anxiety to hear, the boy had crept nearer and nearer to the parlour door. Inadvertently placing his hand upon a stack of firewood, he clutched one of the

topmost bundles, causing it to fall with a

crash, scattering the sticks in all directions. Quick as thought, the urchin turned to run, but ere he was half way across the shop, Aaron, livid with passion, had seized him. Twisting his fingers into the boy's hair, he shook him savagely. "Oh, it's you, is it?" said he recognising the lad. "What game's this, eh? Sneaking in to see what you can steal, eh? Ain't yon been taught, your fen Commandments, eh?" he continued, emphasising each question with a vigorous shake. "Trying your 'lob crawling' I rick.. <m me, ate your" "Lemme be—iemme be," cried the boy, deiiantly. "I ain't, took nothiu' o' yours." Shifting his hold to the boy's collar, lie passed his id her baud swiftly through (he tattered gnnuetit.. Finding his search unavailing, he gave the child another savage shake as he deiraimed, "What do you want, then? What did yon come for?" "There," said the boy, sullenly, pointing to a small bundle, clumsily tied up in a piece of dirty rag, that lay upon the counter, whole lie had placed it. on entering. Releasing his hold of the lad, Aaron hastily removed the wrapper, disclosing a publicau's pewter pot. "IJmph!" said he, eyeing the boy suspiciously, "is that all you've found to-day? That's a nice tiling to bring here at this time of night, aint it? It's nothing, but —good to me. There—there's tuppence. But you'll have to do better than this or "Tuppence," said the boy indignantly. "Shan't take it." "What?" "Shan't take it. You give me a tizzy, or else lemme have the pot back." "Why, you wicked, ungrateful child, said Aaron, seizing the boy. "Do you want the tees to know who had Tod Parson's rabbits, eh? Shal I take the pewter back to the 'Cross Keys' and say you found it, eh?"

The boy looked up defiantly into his face, and struggled desperately to free himself from the man's grasp.

"You shan't have the twopence now. Go and tell the police that you brought it here, and then I'll tell my story, and we'll see who they believe—a dirty, ragged little thief like you, or a respectable, honest tradesman."

"Get out with you," he continued, cuffing the boy. "And if I catch you creeping in again without making the bell ring, I'll nail your ears to the counter, the same as those duller.-, there."

With a final push, he thrust the boy into the street, and bolted the door behind

Waiting to hear the bolt shot, the lad crept cautiously back, and groping about, picked up the ham bone he had purloined, and tucking it under his jacket ran off at full speed. 'Twas not till he had traversed several streets that he paused.

Loaning against a wall to recover his breath, he burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"Oh ! powder me blue with pink .spots," he said, when at last his mirth subsided. "'Ere's a joke—dipped the fence. Done 'im for his progue (purse) an' 'c don't say a bloomin' word. Orl right, Mr Beech yer kin save yer mouldy tuppence, an' yer kin 'aye the the pot as a kecp-syke."

Looking cautiously round, he made for the nearest lamp, and drew from some inner recess among his rags a small leather bag. Untwisting the string, lie poured the contents into his hand. "Quids ! Real yuller canaries!" he exclaimed, as the golden coins slid forth.

Replacing the spoil, he hurried on. A few yards brought him to a dark mews. Making for the extreme end he drew forth a long piece of .string. Making a running noose at one end he tied the other securely round the mouth of the stolen bag. Taking the bag between his teeth, lie felt his way along the wall until his hand closed on the .stack pipe. Swarming up this with cat-like agility, he fastened his running loop over one of the holdfasts, and, making it secure, quietly lowered his plunder into the pipe. Drawing it up once or twice to make sun 1 of its safely, he slid rapidly down, and made his way into the street, whistling to himself "The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo." Turning the corner, he: ran almost into the arms of a constable, but instantly dodging his natural enemy he dived down a narrow street that ran in behind that in which the chandler dwelt. Glancing up at one of the houses, a dimly-lighted window caught his eye. "That's Ned Smither's room," said he. "1 s'pose his old woman is bad again. 'E's a good sort, is Ned, and 'is ole woman is a ripper. Wonder wot ole Beech was sayill' abart 'im? Sorry 'c 'ad ter sell 'is 'oss. The stable was a prime kip along of ole Polly." Climbing the ricketty stair, he ensconced himself in a corner of the landing. Curling himself up on the .floor, he drew forth the ham bone, and, tearing off large pieces of meat, ate ravenously. hire he had finished his rude meal, a heavy, lumbering step was heard ascending the stairs. The urchin, ever on the "gui vive," for possible danger, peered cautiously over the bannister to reconnoitre. "Twas too dark to distinguish the man's features, but a yelp of pain and a husky "Blast the step!" gave him the clue he wanted. "Black Bill," he whispered, shrinking back into his corner. "Wonder wot 'im and Bcechy was sayin' abart Ned? Wonder if Bcechy's found aht yet? Don't care if 'c 'as. I ain't got it, an' Vll never find it. Why, 'c's agoin' inter Ned Smither's room." Ned, who had been sitting with his arms upon tho table and his head pillowed thereon looked up and gave a hasty glance toward the bed, where a frail-looking girl lay sleeping iitfully. Assuring himself that ,sbe had not been disturbed, he turned to the intruder with a weary, "Wot's up?" "All right, Ned," said Cratch, striving

to look pleasant. "I see the light under yer door as I was goin' to bed, so, thinks I, I'll just ask how the girl is." "Bad," said Ned, shaking his head. "The loss of the little one has knocked her clean over. Seems all my luck's come at once.'' "Wot's the doctor say?" asked Cratch, nodding towards the mantel, where a couple of unmistakable bottles stood. "Wot's 'c say? Says 'cr life 'angs by a thread. Perfec' rest an' plenty o' nourishment, he says. 'Let 'or .sleep as much as she can—give her port, wine,' he says. 'Try an' git her away into the country.' Good Gawd!" he cried vehemently. "IJn.v am I to git these things? We .scarcely know whore to turn for bread." "Hough, ain't it?" said Crab-li, in what he meant to be a sympathetic tone. "Ain't yer got niithiiik yer can part with?" "Ain't much here, is there?" .said Ned bitterly, as he glanced round the bare room. "Bit by bit they've all gone. All but the bed she's on, poor gal. I can't touch that." "Lumbered everything?" "Everything. Fust it was my watch, then our togs, then the little sticks that made our nest. I didn't mind, it was for her—my gal—an' 1 says to myself as I spouted 'em one by one—'Never mind, Ned,' I says, 'it's for Nell; she's a good 'un, an' if the blood out of your veins could save her it wouldn't be too much lo give.' She cries a bit over one or two of the things we'd been so proud of. But. says I—'Never mind, Nelly, my gal, let's git you on yer feet, an" we'll have a nest as cosy as the one we've lost.' "It was the loss of my mare as fust knocked me over. When they seized her because I'd been mug enough to sign my name for Ted Maulers it. queered my pitch at once. You know wot the loss of a boss means. Then came Nell's trouble, an' the death of flic little 'un. That broke her up altogether, poor wench. An' here we are, as near the 'Lump' as ever I want to git." "There's the last straw," he said, Hinging a "notice to quit." on the table. "Straight, I'm knocked out." "Ain't it a blasted shame as some folks should be wallerin' iv wealth, with turkey and champagne every day, while honest chaps like you an' me ain't got the price of a pint." "Seems wrong," assented Ned. "Tis wrong, matey, an' the chap wot helps hissolf to a bit when 'c gets the chance is only put tin' matters straight alter all. D'ye.- think I'd see my donah a-layin' there a-wantin' grub an' me stone broke while I knew where to clap my hooks on the ool'tish. Not- much." "Wot's a cove to do?" "Look here, Ned. You've proved, as Honesty ain't the best policy. Say ye're game, an' I'll take yer inter a good thing." ' "Came? Look at her an' ask if I am game to bring her back to life. Bill Cratch, if anythink goes wrong with my Nell I'm done." "Look here, I know a crib where there's a bit of the splosh to be had for the lifting." "Housebreaking?" said Ned, doubtfully. "Well, it's a perfesslimi same as any other. Aider all. the bus- ain't a bit more honest. Yer lawyers know as while is white, nobody better, but don't they talk an' argify an' bully an' bluster to prove it black? Wot for? The sake ~' truth an' justice? Not much! Like the cracksman, they're urtiT the spondulicks." "Aye, aye," said Ned, wearily. "Well, then, wot- say? Are yer game to ■ Eh?" a slight creaking caused him to glance hastily in the direction of the door. "Hang me! If I didn't shut that door I'm a Dutchman." Taking i:i) the candle, he sire-ale to the door and .brew it open. Holding the light: above his head he scrutinised the dismal stairway. Finding no sign of life he returned to the room, closing the door carefully behind him. Had lie been a second sooner, he might have discerned a boyish figure slide swiftly down :he banisters into the common passage, and dart- into the si reef. "Nearly copped that time," said (lie boy, with a chuckle, as he moved away, "So that was ole Beechy'.s game. That's wot 'iin an' liill was torkin' abart. 'E'w got a grudge agin Ned, an' wauls to git 'im lagged, that's abart the size of it. I don't care a farden abart Bill. Seven stretch won't 'urt 'im. But Ned's a proper sort, an' . If I was lor tell the cops it 'ud only be playin'Beechy's 'and— 'side, I ain't a nark. Ned won't b'lieve me, o' course Dashed if I know 'mv letput 'im up ter the lay." Once more alone, Ned sat on the corner of the low bedstead, gazing moodily info the now empty grate. Unaware was he that the sleeper had awakened, .ml was regarding him earnestly through teardin: mod eyes. "Ned," she said at length, stretching a thin white hand towards him. "Yus, lass," said lie, moving to her side. "Wot, cry in', gal; wot's wrong?" "I was thinkin', Ned, only thlnkin'." "Thinkiu' wot, dear?" said he, kneeling beside her, and laying his face close to hers. She laid /icr hand upon his head, stroking the tangled mass of curls, and said : "I was thinking what trouble I had inought on you, Ned." "Shut, it." said he, kissing her tenderly. "You know it. ain't true. Ain't you been, the one ray o' sunshine in my life? You couldn't Vlp things agoin' wrong-, an' no move could I. Though I blame myself sometimes for comin' between you an' a good match." "Old Beech, you mean?" "Yus, lass. If I'd only hedged my barrel- an' let you marry 'im when he asked you, you'd ha' been well off now., instead o' well nigh starved.' "When you took me, Ned, you said you loved me. Do you think less of mo

than of yourself? Why, if I had known at the altar all that was to conn —if the. sorrow had been ten times as bitter I'd have had you just the same, Ned, hecause I loved you dearly." "I. know it, Nell, an' it's thai that's dri vin' me half mad. I can't, bear lo see you lyin' there giftin' weaker an' weaker for the want of a little brass. But why do you look, at nic so si range?" "I want you to make me a promise, Ned, a solemn, earnest promise. You thought f was asleep just, now, when Biil Cratch was here, but I heard all he had to say, and I want you to promise, Ned, that yon won't go with him." "I must, lor your sake Nell. You can't, slurvo, my gal; an' by Gawd, you shan't while there's money to be had," said he, clenching his baud, fiercely. "If the Almighty gave us life, as the parsons say, he surely gave, us the right to live. Why should some cd' us have all while others starve?" "It don't seem right, I know, dear. Hut you can't make things right by going wrong yourself. We've always had a good name on both sides, and you won't blacken if now." "You'can't eat your good name my gal," he answered, gloomily. "Honesty ain't much class when if: won't keep a roof over your head. 'Taint as I want lo join the crooks, Gawd knows, but I must, my gal. I'm d-.ove to il." "And do you think, Ned Smithcrs," said Nell, with blazing eyes, "That, I will touch a bite of your stolen bread? I'll starve first — I'll " Exhausted by this little outburst, she lay back sobbing. After a pause, she added, "Besides, Ned, think if you were taken, what, would become of me?" Ned. not having contemplated such a possibility, did not, answer, but walked moodily to and fro. In a mood bordering on desperation, he had listened to the li-mpli-r, who seemed to point lo the open door, whereby they might escape their p.-eseiil dire distress; and he could not bear lo sec the egress closed. .Moreover, he felt, that he was sinking in his .ii'e's estimation, and that- thought, made him angry with himself and all around im. "Perhaps," he said, after a while, "you will tell me what's to be done." "[. can't think, Ned. But something will turn u\>. You know what mother always said when things were going bad. it: seems to me thai I can hear her saying now, 'The Lord will provide." "All rot, gal; tommy rot. ft sound;, ptetfy and pleased the old woman; but there's nothing in it. The whole world's dead agin us. Fust, I'm robbed of my boss an' cart, not for wot, I owed, but bceos I done a good turn to a pal. Hanged if there's been any luck since." "Tings'll mend, Ned; never fear. I'm getting better, slowly, but 1 am. Why, in a few days——" "We shall be out- in the street," he said savagely, pointing to the ejectment notice. "You know wot that paper means, I s'jMise? It's no good. I've fought as long as I. can my gal; but the world don't light fair. I'm knocked out. But, s'elp mo Gawd, I'll git- a bit of my own back, v I'll " "Oh. Ned. Ned!" she began, pleading. Clash. Something Hew through the window, shattering the glass, and struck Nell upon the arm. "Mom good luck !" said Ned, with an oath, as he v:.:i lo the window. "That'll be set down to us. Not a soul to be seen. I wonder wot they threw." "It,',, here, Ned, on the bed. All old leather bag, with a stone in it." "That's wot they call fun, I s'po.se," said he, still peering into the darkness. "I'd like to lay hands ou 'em. I'd " Startled by a shrill cry, Im turned :o find his wife pouring the contents of tne bag into her hand. "Oh, Ned, Ned," she sobbed joyfully, "it's a message from heaven." "Wot is it," gal?" "Gold, Ned, gold!" Ned staved in amazement as she poured the little heap of sovereigns into his palm. "Why, Nell," he stammered at length, "it's like a fairy tale. Who could have th rowed it?" "I don't know. There's something written on. this paper that was round the stone. I.a.'ok. Ned." Ned took it and saw scrawled in awkward characters— "'Ware Black Bill—it's a plant. The Lord have purvidc."