A Telling Incident in the Life of John Maclefresh.

Waikato Times, Volume XXII, Issue 1842, 26 April 1884, Page 6 (Supplement)

A Telling Incident in the Life of John Maclefresh.

BY ANNA 1\ BURNKAM.

"I — didn't — say — a great many words," said John Macklefresh, in a slow grinding soit of way, " but I guess it'll — cut." "I wish ye hadn't writ so hard, John," said his wife piteously. " 'Twas all the worse for beiu' so short. Your brothers and I don't never mean to believe that Samuel meant to cheat ye out o' that 200 dollars." " What did he mean, then?" snapped her hnsbrind fiercely, his square, dogged chin in the air, as ho combed his whiskers upward, a favourite action of his when he felt particularly pugnacious. Mrs. Macklefresh turned one of the long stockings she was darning from heel to too and back again before she answered : "Didn't mean nothin 1 , husband," she answeied softly. " We're all feller-mottles. Some of us is human sometimes. Thought he'd pay ye, I expect, when he borryed it. Then he couldn't, that's all." " I dunno' anything about « couldn'ts ;' I know about ' didn't,' " said John Macklefresh, doggedly, still combing that perverso chin into the air. This I know, he's got the two hundred, and I hain't, and I'll never — " " Don't, John, dear?" interposed his meek little wife. " Well, bein' a deacon and a—" " Christian," suggested his wife, seeing he skipped that hard word. " 1 s'pose I can't say I won't forgive him. But they ain't no commands between the lcds of that air Book about "—" — " Twenty-five cents to pay," said a small, business-like voice at the door. Mrs. Macklefresh turned the rough, brown envelope over fearfully in her hands, trembling as people do, at telegrams. I wonder if the telegraph boys ever get used to it. " Don't be bothering Alice," said her husband, pushing her aside, not unejently, though his words were rough as usual. This is what he read when he had torn a thin outlet at the end ot the envelope. : " Your brother Samuel died this morning. Come at once." The Western Union Telegraph Company has a good deal to answer for — but then so have a great many other people. John Macklefresh did not swoon away on the doorstep, or throw up his hands with a piercing cry, or any of those things. He mechanically took out a quarter from his loose change pocket, careful even in this moment to count the pennies given in change, shut the door, handed the dispatch to his wife, and walked away to the window. It was only his heart fainted. This, then, had come to the man he had said, but a moment ago, he would never — no, no, not that ; he didn't say that — Alice stopped him, you know. Besides, he was a deacon and a— Christian? Alice had said so. But then he couldn't forget. That was what he had been going to say when the door opened. The Bible don't ask that. Or, does it, when it speaks about God casting our sins into the depths of the sea — behind his back — remembering them no more against us. Forget ? What was there to forget ? He had lent his own brother 200 dollars. Might have given it to him and never missed it. Under his remorseful eye his great fields stretched away, white now, with snow, — white as the soul of G-od had forgiven, but yellow enough he knew as summer came on, yellow as the gold they would bring to his pocket. Those few poor, pitiful hill-sides of Samuel's I Why hadn't he given it to him right out and saved hard feelings? There was Johnny (named for him) wanting to go to college ever since he was out of petticoats. Suppose he had given it to him. Misery — misery of remembering unkindness when it is too late 1 And then that cutting letter 1 Had it reached him before he died, or was it only his poor stricken brother's family that would read the brief harsh words ? He turned to his wife who sat holding the dreadful envelope, sad, but doubting if she would be wise to speak yet to him. " Get your things on, will ye," he said in a voice that sounded dry and harsh even to himself. " I'll be round with old Billy to the front door. Wrap up warm and take a soapstone. I'll have the buffaloes. It's mortal cold."

She was ready and waiting when ho brought Billy around. The house could take care of itself. She locked it. r ' They had some sixty miles to ride. In the course of it his tongue became somewhat loosed, and he told in broken'and jerky sentences into her sympathetic ear what little of the chaotic grief and remorse he was able to . put into words. ,- '

"My brother, after all. Used to play to-j gether when we was little. Hum, hum." < A man grows very tender when he goes back to the days when he was " little." " Bought me a pair o' skates once, when I wanted some. Older than me — Samuel was always a making me kite? and whistles, and all sech rattle-trap 3. Never could seem to get along. Big family ? Tea. I ought to ha' helped him. Ain't a man livin' could scratch anything but moss off them rocks he calls a farm. I'll help the boys— eee'f I don't." It was a long, cold ride. Mrs. Maeklefresh wrapped the buffales higher and higher, till at last she was quite extinguished in their folds, and her husband thought on drearily alone. Almost there. The house is in sight. A long, low, unpainted affair, The oldest inhabitant could not remember when its owner had had money enough to paint it. Here at last. " Who-o-a, Billy 1 You remember the old hitching-post, though it is so long Bince you've stopped at it. There hasn't been much visiting lately. Eemember how brother nsed to lush out in his old blue coat, Alice, and — " "Why, John! Why, John I" Mrs. Macklefresh rose up out of her enveloping furs like a startled Esquimaux. She pinched her husband's arm hysterically, and he, in his turn, rubbed his eyes half out of sight of the apparition that confronted them. " Come in I come in 1" it cried cordially. " You must bo half frozen, both of you." " How do you come here ?" said John Macklefresh, fearfully, not stirring a step in answer to this invitation. •'How do you come, I should say," returned brother Samuel, for it was he, blue coat, brass buttons and all. Come, are you dead ? You act so." " No," broke in Mrs. John, who had found a tongue," but we thought you were. It said so — the telegraph did. We came up to the funeral 1" And so, between hysterical tears and laughter and questions that nobody pretended to answer, they unloaded and got into the house. At least, Mrs. John did. The two brothers sidled off behind the barn. There John got hold of brother Samuel's hand and shook it silently and solemnly, while the strong tears ran down both their rugged faces. Neither offered or asked explanations. In that moment their heart's spoke plainly onough. " This my ' brother ' was dead and is alive again." In the house they went to work more reasonably to nnravel the mystery. Mrs. John showed them the telegram. " I seel" cried one of them with a sudden light, " there's a Samuel Macklefresh down at the Four Corners, and I did hear he was very low last week. He's got a brother John, too, but I didn't know he lived in your town. Now he won't get it. Ain't that too bad ?" The brothers now came in wiping away surreptitious tears with their coat-sleeves. They sat talking over the curious event, when the village post came rattling by, tossing the mail at them aa they sat at the window. Some one rushed out to get it, but seized with a sudden impulse, John Macklefrosh dashed past him and secured it himself. Hastily glancing about him he stuffed one thin epistle into his own pocket. It was the " cutting " letter. " That'll keep to the day o' judgment," he muttered, rejoicingly. " I'll write him a receipt in full for the two hundred — seem' I'm a deacon and a 'Christian.'" — Portland Transcript.