THE STORYTELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XLII, Issue 3424, 9 June 1894, Page 13

THE STORYTELLER.

CICELY, [By Alice Kenny,] Uncle Dave was moved, profoundly moved ; he shifted in his chair, he stooped and laid his pipe down on the floor, drew a handkerchief from his pocket. Oh! dear, such a dirty one, and wiped his eyes. After that he blew his nose and cleared his throat several times, Opposite'him sat' a tall lady in black, and she too. was moved, for her head was bent down, and she let her heavy veil hang over her face, to hide the slow tears that gathered, Uncle Dave looked at her and his kind old eyes were dim. " How long? how long?" said the lady with a kind of falter in her voice... "Eleven, near twelve,years," sakl Uncle' Dave, glancing , at the sun bonnet that hung on the wall, " He came to my whare, dead .beat, and 1 gavo him a bunk," ; , "Yes!" said ,his visitor "and—the child?" " It was with him, a, little gal 'bout five years old." He was out of work," went on Uncle Dave, " an' hard up, so he took work in the battery yonder, but he didn't get on much, he. was \veakly, and you see mum, the liquor was. killing him even then" ; " Oh! my brother," said -the lady under her breath; with a gasp as of pain, and humiliation. " He was a good sort,' lie was," said Uncle Dave, "he was a gentleman, I suppose that's where it Was; lie was sound in spite of all. I say that I lived three years with him like a brother. I used to talk to him sometimes about it, but he'd say, ' Yes! Dave,' and ■I know it Dave, but it ain't no use! I'm a cursed coward 1 know,-but I've tried to get up, and only come down the harder.' Them were his words. Sometimes he'd sit and look at the child, and j kiss her, and say 4 It ain't right nor fit that she should be here, my wife's child; my little posie, growing up with only a drunken beast like me to look arter her.' You see ma'am lie had three sortsjof moods, and I'gotto know them pretty well. There was when he was drunk, and I don't much-like to think of them, and when he was sober he was always that gay and cheerful that you'd think there wasn't such.a thing as care in the world and again fit to die of misery and remorse. He wanted to kill himself once, by jumping off a cutting, but I stopped him ; I had to hold him by main force." " And then he died ma'am," said Uncle Dave, feeling round vaguely for his handkerchief, and at last wiping his eyes on the.old rag he had. been using to clean his gun. " The horse threw him and rolled on him ——he lasted a day and a half, but. lie wasn't sensible all the time. He kept paying things to me, such as 'l've made a mess of everytliing ; Dave; I ought to a died years ago; I never ought to a had a child,' and then he kept say in', '(.You'll .take care of her Dave; for God's sake, Dave, look arter my little gal.' I axed him if there was anyone ! could write to, but lie. said; ' there's no one but my sister, and she's married and gone away, I don't know where. I've been too bad for them to have anything to do witil me.' The lady wrung her hands together, "Oh! my poor boy,my poor Harry, if I had known ?" . . ; The Doctor said all along that there wasn't no hope," went on Uncle Dave, feeling that in spite of the pain it gave her, his visitor was listening with a yearning heart for anything lie could tell ; "but he ejected, jnjected, morphy to stop the pain. Just before he died he was moaning about the child, saying he didn't dare to go an J leave her that was a girl, alone in the world, but I swore I'd look arter her as tho' : she was my own,, and he went off easy : in his mind, lioldin' my hand," concluded Uncle Dave, looking reflectively at his hand, and again applying the 'gun rag to his eyes. There was a moment's silence, then he said," Then my sister-in-law that was a widder died and- left me her boy to mind; and so I chucked jip mining and all that, and come over ■here and 'farmed. Near eight years we've been here, me and them two." > iv{| 'f) " 1 (V *

" Did he——did my brother leave anything ? " Nothin' but a desk with letters and things in, I gave it to Ois'ly last Wrtlijay, Mebbe you'd like to see them ma'am." He rose and shuffling across the floor in homemade slippers, fetched a little leather desk from the,mantelpiece. There was nothing of any importance in it. Only a marriage certificate, a few old papers, and some faded photographs that made the lady's heart ache with, memories. One was fresher than the rest, and it was wrapped round: with a love-letter that began; "My Dearest darling Harry." " That's his wife " said Uncle Dave "a pretty gal, but Cis'ly ain't much like her," " Where is she ?" asked the. lady abruptly. " Lot me see her, sir." "She went with Dave to get peaches off the hill," said Uncle Dave " they oaghter be back.". He went to the window. " Ah! here they are a cotnin'." , The lady rose and went to the window. A young couple were coming across the grass towards the house, A tall girl whose face was hidden by a broad flapping, hat, clad in a dress that could be best described by the word " skimpy," and beside her a youth of about nineteen, dressed in free and easy colonial style. A coloured shirt, white trousers, a faded blue necktie, and a rush hat with a ragged brim, which shaded a pleasant, and honest young face, j " Oh!" was all the lady said, but her eyes were widened with surprise, she had vaguely expected to see a I child, and here was almost a young woman. " And what can she be like," she groaned to herself, ' what can she be like, brought up in this wild rough place, with no companion but an old man and a boy. Oh my Harry ! my Harry, who was once such a proud, bright bov. This is the fruit of your wild ways." ;

Uncle Dave met the two at the door, and said as they glanced at the visitor in surprise, "You ain'c wanted here, Davie, Cicely my lass come in," Cicely came in shy and awkward, looking at the stranger with soft blue eyes. Whatever else she might be the girl was comely, and when she looked at the hdy with those eyes, " The family eyes" she said to herself, a' sudden thrill went through her, and she put back the veil from her handsome, pale face, and took both of Cicely's hands. : "0! child" she said tremulously "you have your father's face.". , Cicely blushed, and stared. " You have never heard of me," went'on - the lady." my name is Mrs Ferguson; lam your aunt," and she kissed her. \ 1 "My Aunt!" said Cicely looking' round bewildered. "I didn't know " Uncle Dave, with a terrible dread of loss, upon him shuffled off into: the kitchen where young Dave was waiting for him with a great number of questions. Then the stranger aunt and neice being left alone, and feeling the same'blood run in their veins, drew together and talked, asking and telling many things. And presently the girl, being more demonstrative than the elder was down on her knees with both her vigorous young arms thrown, round Mrs Ferguson, whose small hand .was stroking her hair. 1

Cicely knew scarcely anything of her own sex, and the proud-faced woman, who looked at her so kindly, attracted her strongly for the while. ; As for Mrs Ferguson she was studying her neice keenly. " Blood will 1 tell; " she-said to herself; in spite of all she is a true Mayle. Her face is good. Olear cut, intelligent, and refined, with,.l think,a promise of beauty, she walks well, and her voice has no roughness, but Heavens! what an upbringing for my neice. I must have her; I must and will take her away." She spoke in her mellowest tones, and when she wished she could be a j very fascinating woman, and Cicely 'listened, with many new feelings waking up in her heart. "I ah) so lonely," said. Mrs Ferguson " and my dear you would be such a comfort to me, and you want companions of your own age, and sex, and class. > You, could live

in a home more fitted to you, and I could educate you, dear." " Yes! I do want to learn,"' assented Cicely, listening, with bright eyes, "There are many things a girt like you should learn, like plajing. and singing." "Music!" cried Cicely clasping her hands together, "Oh! I love it dearly; that; would be fine." . "I need a daughter, and you need a mother," continued Mrs Ferguson;; "Your father was my boy before—he went away. We two are thenearest together. Cicely you will come with me will you not f "Go right away with you ?' said; Cicely inquiringly, " Yes! I have plenty of money>. we would travel together, and other countries. Cicely you would, like that." " Oh! rather," cried Cicely clap-, ping her hands with a boyish gesture. The words jarred on heraunt and she said inly. " She will need some training." "I would dress you more be-, comingly" she said, glancing down at the dress the girl wore; " you don't mind my saying that dear, 'tis, hard for a young girl to dres9 herself well." "Oh! no," said Cicely with a. short laugh, "besides even if I. knew how, we're quite a poorfamily." There was a little pause, and. Cicely's bright interested facechanged "Aunt" she said " I don't think I ought to go. There's UncleDave, and young Dave." " But dear, but dear, think; of; course they have been very kind,, but has not a blood relation a firmer chain. Think; would not. your father have wished this, would, not any true friend wish this. And,; once more child, although you. owe these people a great deal, still you must consider, they are not exactly of the same class as yon. are. You are a lady, and as. such should mingle with gentle-, folk."

" I am the same as they are," said the girl with a little flare up i " Uncle Dave is the best man in the world, and if I am a lady Davie is a. gentleman." With quiet tact, Mrs Fergusonsmoothed the little storm she had raised, and drew such an alluring picture of luxury, of learning and amusement, that Cicely's eyesglowed with hope and longing. And at last she said hesitatingly that she would like to come if onlyfor a little while. Mrs Ferguson* bewitched her with her full caressingvoice, and her deep eyes, which shecould make hard or soft at pleasure; and the tales she could tell of Ens- •> Q ' land, and the almost forgotten father, and her home away down in Christchurch. "I'll come, I'll come? she cried 'that is if Uncle Dave will let. me." . Then Uncle Dave came back, and Cicely went to her own loom to tryand realise it all. "Cicely wishes it," said Mrs. Ferguson to Uncle Dave " and it is. but natural. I, am her nearest living relation." Uncle Dave bowed his head down ~ upon his hands. " Ma'am," he said " it'll be a bad .day for me that yecame here.- The little maid waft happy enough here; and I couldn't, do without her." " You would not wish to stand iiv the way of her advancement. She is only waiting your permispion to. come," said-Mrs Ferguson, her former kindly feeling changed to oneof passionate impatience, that such a. creature should presume to stand between her and her wishes. " Think what it will mean to her. Money,, position, education." "She's been educated," cried Uncle Dave eagerly; " She went to the school down there till she was thirteen ; and I never see such a girl ; for readin'. Ma'am for the love of goodness,' don't rob me of her. You : that's never had her can do without, her, but I can't. She's my darter, Harry left her to me, and I've looked ' arter her faithful." " This is what her father would have wished. Would you like tothink that your love did her a positive mjury," ; 1 "No! 110 !" he answered getting up and beginning to shuffle uneasily •about. the room " I couldn't stand in

her way, I mustn't: stand in her way; but oh! ifwe'dneverknown." : "You have been good to my niece, so ; good that we can, never,hope. to. repay you', but I too, have, a claim," ;'said: ; MrSfFerguson,. , : • Yes, I iwouldn't go. to deny that,: but.ma'am you wouldn't take her if she,didn't want to go." ' "Yes! but she wishes to come if: you will allow hor,.'and; I hope you will stand her friend more truly now than over, and offer no opposition,; . Let her go willingly* and afterwards ■ she. will thank-you; when the pain of .parting is over."' *' : " And when shall I see her again," said Uncle Dave sadly. :I ■ • ; '."That! cannot say, but; rest assured that you will: not bo: forgotten." ; -" It's hard, Oh! Lord! it's hard," ■muttered' the .old maii turiiing away, and then he went to the door, anil called to Cicely. She came; and stood shyly • between them. ' " Cis'ly my little gal," said the old man, " we've been 'talking about : you, me and this lady yer, your aunt, and if you want to go: with her you can. It'll be for your ; good, and I'll give you my blessing dear, though l Til be missing you .sorely." - k: '■V ; ' y ; Cicely wavered,' " I'll come - back' Uncle Dave," she said. To herself 'Mrs' Ferguson ' said, " No, that you will not, if .1 once get you away," and aloud " There is no need to delay. If I come for you to-morrow will you be ready." : : Uncle Dave would have protested against such-cruel haste, but Cicely' said simply, U Yes .. "Then. I will go back to. the hotel .; ; G opd-bye till' tp-morrow' my dearest child." '' :

She was gone, and 'Cicely' stood watcbing.lierj'tlie. sun ranking a lialo of her fluffy hair, as slip stood at the door. After a; wlii !eVslje turned round with a sigh, and busied herself about getting tea..

Uncle Dave watched her sadly, with ; a Learfc • that- .was... growing heavier, and heavier. " You'll, come back my own pretty," lie said, " Yesj' : ' '

; u You mustn't let. all the fin®, .things you're: going, to see, put us right otit,o,f your niiiid.",. . , <s Oh f I won't, I won't,".she said, pausing to drop a kiss on his cheek, " but, 'Uncle, Dave, ,it's 'so' strange; Uncje. Dave it will be,so splendid."

• When toa was reaiy,- she called Dave, from his. work outside, and •saying,," I don't want, any tea this evening," ran dowivi to;.tlie stony creek.at thejoot of tho garden, and there sii.t. down to think, and dream awhile.. ; Young Bave came in from h|s milking, and flung himself down in a chair. ,> ,

"Where's Cis'ly?" ho- inquired briefly.

■ u t. Down by the creek,"-replied Uncle Dave sadly.. . /.;■ Making' a hasty meal, he planted the old rush hat on liis head, and' went after her. She saw him coming and'roso to %,• but • he overtook her in a moment.. ; - v ■

"Stop" lie said taking her by tlic ; ; arms; " Cis'ly, -I - want to speak to you 1 • : i-.: . ' ".Well!',' said Cicely struggling to get free. " Let me go Dave,' " What's this : about- you goin' away.".Z* Why just I'm goin' away." "Where.?" "Oh! to England,, and Christchurch, and places with my mint,", replied Cicely, whs -felfc somehow very far removed, from ; her old comrade, , " When ?" : '•To-morrow," : . "I say you're not to go." . I ; am. goia', r JDdTio. * I'm sorry to kvo you,, hut Uncle, Dave says I can go, and so,I will.',' f: Cis'ly it ain't right., of you. What'll Uncle Dave do with vou , .. • y. awav. f / . ~ • " She wants me, she's my aunt my, real aunt." , j : ~ f] ..., y Cis'ly," said ; ; ; Dave 'threat eningly,lf you,go; if you throw us over, for a rich aunt you. don't know anything abouty Wr never thinkanything of you again." . '"Who ' cares?" said- Cicely saucily; "Let go of me, Dave, 1 : ;y ;V: _ " Cis'ly," said Dave again changing his tone to one of pleading, " Cta ly, don't gn tway from me, I love you so much, I put you to fcem^wife."' ' i 1 - * - V *•

"What!" cried. Cicely snatching herself out of his hold. > "No! listen " said Dave taking possession of her, -in spite of : herself, and pleading. ; "I know we're both too young to get married, but in a couple of years, I'll be twenty-one; and I lovo you. Don't go away from me Cis'ly darling."' Dave, ha 1 here some intention of kissing her, but Cicely resisted violently, in fact she smacked his face. ■ "I won't,' I-wpn't," she cried, " let me. go! Dave you're a silly idiot,. let me go I sav. I hate you. a Dave did not let her go. He .got very angry and shook her. " Are you going," he demanded. "Yes! I am," gasped the girl. " How dare you. I'll tell, Uncle Dave." " Well you mind this Cis'ly. Once you go away you needn't trouble : ever to come back, "you mind that. • You'll abide by your choice. We won't have any airs and graces round about here. If you ;i go were done with you for good." ,r::.: \ v :

I Uncle Dave sat at • the cottage | door; in: the sun, and gazed down the pathway, : Four;years had changed him a good deal.: He was more bowed, grayer, and more dishevelled, and there , was a wist< ful expression in his gentle old face. "His clothes too 1 had a sadly uncared for appearance. On his knees lay a newspaper and a Bible; :He : . was Ming, his news, sandwiched between chapters of scrip* ture. He had ceased to read;; his hand rested; en the open book, and ho was pondering over a verse, struck, not so much, by the beauty, and pathos of it, as by its application to himself. _Tby sons, and thy daughters, shall be gi'vei) unto another people, and thine eyes shall look,-"and fail with longiogior them, all tho day long And there: shall be no might in thine hand.

" Thtti how it is with me," he pondered sadly " yes, " mine ; eyes do look and fail with longing for her," It's never bin the same,:since my little. Cicely went away, I hadn't,known how much of his soul a ; man could, give' away in, love, But it ain't to .be expected that she'd fee) the same for me. Eh! dear,; my eyes do fail with longing for her; and there's no might in my hand; but I reckon age has got somethin' to do with that." ,

Young Dave came up the path, .a taller stronger Dave than of-olil, but with the.same honest face, lie came and stood leaning against the doorpost, f blinking at ; the sun.;, . ' .. .

- u : Readin'", he i nquired. casually. "I have bin," replied Uncle Dave; but now I'm thin kin' about things I wish—-rr ? . ..

"So do, I," said Dave discontentedly. - Mebbe' we. wish the same thing" said;.(Uncle : Dave. "I'd give .. a . great .deal to . have ; Cis'ly here.'

' "I wouldn't," said young .Dave giving;the .idoor. post a-thump;-.«I doiilt want to see; her, again.'. I tell ;you, ; . : vvhat,it -is '.(Uncle;Dave,' she's behaved,, downright bad; to us, she's an : ungrateful,- goodfornothin- " No, no, Davie, don't say that. Its not her fault. She's, only, a young gal. I'm . sure I don't blame her. I only wish I could get my old arms round her .again, like when she used to sit on my knee."

"So do Isaid young Dave " I lay I'd astonish her, I'd box her ears; for a mean, . despicable girl." .. H ,: ':

it ain't nice. What, can we understand of, her,;,feelin's. Alter all filly's a lady, born, and mebbe she's: glad enough to .get. away from all this. ■_ I'm . sure I don't blame her."

" Chaw!" said young Dave with great; contempt; '.' its better to be good, than elegant .and grand, and if she'd been any. good at least she'd have written to. you.. .A lady ? Why if you hadn't .took, her her ;bein' a lady .wouldn't have saved her from, bein' .brought up in the Orphan.Home : and sent out as a servant. But, i never a word, or line.- I've no patience ■ with her' you're too soft Uncle Dave. A lady! she's a worthless stuck-up snob? She's ( forgotten all those years of - care you

She's .forgotten me, and everything." "Pra'aps her /aunt wont let her,' pleaded Uncle Dave; 'She looked as tho' she might be a hard one." His nephew snorted, the more contemptuously because of. certain memories that were; tugging at his heart, Memories of a clear feminine voice, no longer heard, a girlish supple form, and laughing eyes. ,f I hate her,".he said in a low bitter voice. But Uncle. Dave had intuition enough to. know better. Well! well," he said sighing," what must be, must be I s'pose. If it's the Lord's will I don't see my little gal again but I'm wanting her now I'm getting old." " She ought to be here," said young Dave vehemently, 'to pay back .some of the care you gave her, when she was'little." " Blood's thicker than water," murmured Uncle Dave. * V "No,"said Dave with a laugh. " else you wouldn't care for Cis'ly twice as much as for me." Uncle Dave sighed and relapsed into silence. ■: . (To.be continued.)'