THE STORYTELLER.

Waikato Times, Volume XLIII, Issue 3495, 17 November 1894, Page 13

THE STORYTELLER.

EXPIATIOI. Two cousins, Willard Bates and Duncan Wright, sat on the fence of a country barnyard one lovely morning in spring. Willard was a city boy, as one could easily see by the fit of his well-made clothes. Duncan was a rosy-cheeked country lad, whose straw hat was pushed away from a brown forehead and closely cut brown hair. With hands nearly as dark he whittled the end of a pine stick, but his thoughts were not on his work. From time to time both bojs glanced anxiously down the road. "There she comes!" cried Willard at length, "hobbling along with that old cane of hers. I hate that cane!" " You don't know anything *bout her," answered Duncan gloomily. " She never made a suit of clothes for you." " I should think not!" " Her knuckles are ut cold as her scissors," Duncan went on in an injured tone, " and pretty near as sharp. She digs 'em into your neck; and, if you say a word, she calls you ' Miss Nancy.' Oh, she's so funny !" " Well," answered Willard, complacently, "you won't be troubled with her any more after this. Here she is. Let's pretend not to see her." By this time the little woman had hobbled up to them. She stopped for a moment to rest her tired limbs. "Good morning, Mr Wright!" she called out, as soon as she could speak. " Good morning!" mumbled Duncan, adding under his breath, "So funny!" "Good morning, Mr City Boy!" chirped the little woman. Her voice had a sort of aggressive cheerincss in it which rasped her listeners. "Good morning, Miss Smithers!" responded Willard. "Who is to be my victim to-day?' asked the voice, blithely. This was a poser. The hoys looked at each other, and neither spoke. Fortunately' for Miss Smithers, in her lonely and somewhat dependent estate, she was neither suspicious nor sensitive. Finding that the boys were not disposed to be communicative, she moved slowly on toward the house, remarking composedly to herself •' Something's gone agin the grain to-day, I'll warrant!" They were watching her again now; and, strange to say, there was just a faint suggestion of pity in the expression of their bright eyes. V' '/ "#he is awful lame, isn't she t said Willard at length. " Y e-s," replied Duncan. "Pr'aps mother'll make her spend the day, now she's up here." " How did she ever get to be so lame, Dune f asked Willard. " Fell on the ice when she was a girl." " A girl!" repeated Willard, forgetting his pity in his amusement. "You don't mean to say that she was ever a girl, Dune f " Yes," answered Duncan, with a seriousness which .nearly sent Willard off the fence in an explosion of laughter. "She was a girl once, and she fell on the ice as she was taking her sick sister's baby home to take care of it. The baby wasn't hurt a bit." " Where is that baby now ?" " That baby lives right over here in Bucksville. She married a rich man, and has everything she wants. She don't have much to do with Miss Smithers now, though." "Why not?" " Why, you see, she's rich ; and Miss Smithers is just a tailoress going out by the clay." "That's a great reason!" exclaimed Willard. "It's all the reason I know," replied Duncan. " Does Miss Smithers ever go to see her f "Only when some of 'em are sick. They're glad to get hev then." "She's a goose!" ejaculated Willard, with disgust, "I don't

suppose they ever pay her anything." "Oh, they givo her their old clothes sometimes." "She's ii great goose!" repeated Willard, more disdainfully. By this time the little woman had reached the house. They heard the sharp rap of her cane against the side door. The boys looked furtively into each other's eyes. "Let's go into the barn," proposed Duncan. They went slowly in, and, contrary to custom, closed the great doors behind them. "I say, Dnnc," exclaimed Willard at length, " why didn't you tell me all this before—about her sister's baby and that fall on the ice, I mean V "Never thought of it. You see, she talks so much and makes a fellow spin round so that I forgot there was anything else." "H-m-m-m!" responded Willard. Meanwhile Miss Smithers had been ushered into the sitting-room, and was composedly removing her bonnet and shawl, much to the surprise of the two Indies who sat there with their work. They received her kindly, however; and Mrs Wright installed her in the comfortable rocking-chair before the bright fire. " I'll just set a minute an' git my breath," she panted. " I was goin' to Miss Burden's to-day; but, when I got your note last night, I ran in an' talked it over with her, an' she said she'd wait." "My note!" Mrs. Wright repeated these words almost in a whisper, she was very much perplexed. " I couldn't tell who wanted me," Miss Smithers went on , " but I s'posed 'twas you, Didn't think Mis' Bates would want a sample of my work to take back to the city," and she laughed gaily. But neither of the ladies felt like laughing. They knew that the boys disliked Miss Smithers, but they hud not for a moment imagined they would make her the subject or a cruel hoax. They had seen them watching the poor old woman as she toiled up the hill, and had noticed with surprise their disappearance afterwards. "Then your note didn't' say which one of our boys you were to work for to day," said Mrs Bates trying to smile. '' Not a word. It j usfc said there was something up here for me to do. An'here I be" Mrs. Bates stood for a moment in silent perplexity. Miss Smithers, realising that her precious time was flying, arose from her chair with a cheerful, '• All ready for business ?" "Not quite," answered Mrs. Bates. "I shall have to ktep you waiting for a few minutes, Miss Smithers. lam very sorry. Just make yourself comfortable by the fire until I come back." She went into the kitchen, where she was speedily, followed by Mrs, Wright, A short consultation eat sued. There was absolutely nothing in the house for the poor old lady to do. "Itwas the boys!"cried Mrs, Wright, her voice quivering with indignation. "I thought something was up; they've been so very quiet all the morning. I'm ashamed of Duncan." Mrs. Bates did not reply.. She walked ou* to the barn, where she heard her son whistling a melancholy air. "Willard," she said, severely, "some one has deceived Miss Smithers most cruelly. Some one has sent her a mean,.anonymous, note, and she has postponed one of her engagements, and changed her plans .for the sake of coming up here to oblige us. Can you think of aDy one who would be wicked enough to send such a note ?" Willard's face burned. He tried to look at his mother, but his eyes fell. " Tell me at once, Willard! Was it you ?" "Yes, mother" He raised his eyes then, and she saw in them a look which softened her a little. At the same moment Duncan spoke. "It was'nt his fault, Cousin Emily. He wouldn't have done it if I hadn't made such a fuss." " How do you know I wouldn'tf asked Willard, gruffly. '"Cause yon wouldn't."

11 We haven't time to settle that matter now," said Mrs. Bates. " All that we can think of is that a poor ■old lady has been cruelly imposed upon We must see that she never .finds it out." The boys looked at her inquiringly, " Not for the world would I have iher know that my boys had been .guilty of such a thing I." she went on, with a ring of indignation in her voice. "So go, Wiliard, as fast as you can, to Blake and Wilson's. Ask them to give you a good, stout cloth—enough for a suit of clothes. You may choose your own colour, •but let them select the quality. Go •quickly, now i Don't keep Miss .iSmithers waiting!" "0 mother," growned Willard, "I can't wear " "Don't stop to talk! Go at once!" " But, mother, I'm too old for her things. I'm a year older than Duncan." Bqfc mother was inexorable. " You were not to old to do a very mean thing, Willard. Go now, and say uo more about it!" "I'll gn wit'i you, Will," said Duncan ; and the two hoys started ■off. Mrs. Bales went back to Miss Smithers, whom she found industrious ripping up an old dress of Mrs. Wright's. ' ." I gave her this to pacify her," Avhispeiv.d that lady. " What are we to do?" " It's coming," was the reassuring reply. Then Mrs Bates apologised to Miss Smithers for the delay ; and -the little tailoress, who had been revolving in her own mind the shiftlessness of people who hire their workmen before they are ready, was appeased when she learned that it was Willard for whom she was to work. "I don't pretend to compete with the city tailors," she said, looking very much pleased—"never thought I should be asked to; but Til do the best I know how." That was a hard day for Willard, the cold scissors, the sharp knuckles, the pull here, and the jerk therehe felt them all. As the suit progressed, he gave many an inward groan, but none escaped his lips. He endured manfully the punishment of his misdeed; and, when told ■that another day would be necpssary to complete the work, he stood stoically silent. "You don't say how you like the jacket," said Miss Smithers, with an wtrafnill Rt'ttie collar. " Look in the glass now and admire yourself. That ain't a bad.lookin' suit now, is it?" ■'■'■".• Willard gave one glance. "It'll do well enough," was his ungracious rejoinder. "There's one thing about it," (remarked Miss Smithers, with satis--faction; 4 i it's easy. You can •climb trees and kick football in that suit, and never a break in the stitches." " I'll try it," answered Willard ■with a grim smile. A shower came up at evening, «rid the little tailoress was easily persuaded to spend the night at th<» hospitable farmhouse, Notwithstanding Willard's lack of appreciation, the day had been a proud one "for Miss Smithers; and even the hovs remarked the bright look on the wrinkled face. " I can't see to sew evenings as I -used to," she remarked, folding her work carefully; "hut I'll he through by 3 o'clock to-morrer, an' then you won't see me no more for some time —unless vou should send for me," she added complacently. She was a guest now that her •day's work was done; and Mr* Wright, with kindly hospitality, brought out books and pictures for her entertainment. Reclining in the large easy-chair, she looked through them with childish delight. Some of the pictures were simple •country scenes with which she was so familiar, and which recalled to her mind experiences of her early •childhood, which she related in .an off-hand, easy manner, which 'brought the two boys to her side at • once.

There was a pathos in some of these experiences which Miss 'Smithers' droll way of telling them could not conceal; and the hoys, who were really huge-hearted little fellows, felt a keen sense of humiliation as they thought of the meagreness

of her lot and the courage with which she bore it. "I say, Dune," said Willard, when they went up to bed that night, " let's take her home in the new carriage." "All right!" answered Duncan. " And we'll give her a ride first." " I don't exactly like her," remarked Willard thoughtfully; "but I like her pluck. It must be an awfui grind to make clothes all the year round, especially such "he stopped suddenly, remembering that Duncan was still Miss Smitilers' victim. So the little tailoress went home in state the next day. The new carriage was very comfortable; and, when the boys proposed the longest way round, which led them past pleasant farms and trees just donning their coat of spring green, her delight was unbounded. " I don't know what you've had, boys," she said, as Willard politely assisted her to dismount, " but I've had a real good time." And the boys spoke the truth when they answered that they were very glad. The next week brought Willard's father for a few days' sojourn at the farm. One morning as they watched the two cousins sauntering leisurely down the road, Mr Bates remarked to his wife : " What was your idea, Emily, jn having Willard's suit made up hereI never thought you especially in love with Miss Smither's style. How persistently the boy wears it, too, I've hardly seen him in anything else since I've been here." " I suspect there's method in that iradness," replied Mrs Bates with a smile. Then she told the story of the would-be hoax, at which both could afford to laugh a little now, But the subject was never mentioned to Willard again.—Mary C. Bartlett, in Christian Register.