THE STORYTELLER

Waikato Times, Volume 94, Issue 14773, 12 October 1921, Page 8

THE STORYTELLER

The Wrath of Ishmael Goudie

(By MARY STUART BOYD.) Author of "Clipped Wings," "The 'Story of Ansler," "The Fortunate Isles," etc. CHAPTER I.—A DIFFICULT SELECTION. As she stood in the small boys' classroom of the city poorhouse, the centre of scores of inquisitorial eyes, Mrs Goudie endured a tumult of confusion. Her face, which had been blanched with apprehension when she entered the gales of the institution, was painfully Hushed now, as she looked helplessly over the rows of pauper children who confronted her In turn, they—lhe wail's and strays of the community—regarded her either Willi a'u indifference born of mental torpor or with the avid curiosity of those in whose turgid lives the sight of a strange face makes a welcome, break. Though Ihe children were all under eight years old, the consciousness ol being the focus of their concentrated interest lired Mrs Goudlc's cheeks as she paused in an agony of Indecision. The long-sustained opposition of her farmer-husband lo her project at last overcome. „li o had left her homo, in Fife early thai morning, glowing With the spirit of charitable adventure. For

her mission I" the poorhousc had ••- been Hi'' hiudablc one of choosing .'in orphan boy whom who might rear in place of I.lie child tli; L fifteen years of married HTc had failed to bring Iter. ("But while in theory Ihe selection of a child for adoption had seemed n simple matter, in practice it was threatening to prove the hardest lask of her industrious life. Now that Ihe pr> liminary negotiations had born yon" through, and Ihe conclusion of Hie mailer rested solely with herself, the good soul found it impossible to make up her mind. Half-amused, half-contempluous. Hie teacher glanced at Ihe comely countrywoman who stood fidgeting uneasily in her Sunday clothes. The teacher's sympathy was tinclured with scorn. 'Why should a person who was evidently in comfortable circumstances saddle herself with Ihe care of one of the.se brats?' she wondered, Ihq stultifying theory of heredity aswim in her brain. Why not. adopt a boy whose parents she knew something of? The schoolmistress did not realise that Mrs Goudie's generous heart craved a child who had known no other mother, one who would come to regard her as the protecting In luenee of his life. Meanwhile the pupils, lit He guessing that the fate of one of their number hung in the balance, stared frankly at the. lady in the rose-tinted bonnet and plush dolman, whose entrance into the schoolroom had so pleasantly delayed . the progress of their spelling-lesson. The teacher cleared her throat as a modest hint that time was passing. 'lt's real perplcxin'—there are that many of Iheni; but if you would just bear with mc a wee while. I never thought it would be so difficult!' .Mrs Goudie said helplessly. 'lf you would just have patience with mc a minute, miss. You see, it's no' a light mailer pickin' out a bairn to adopt; it's for always, ye see.' 'Certainly, certainly. By all means take your time,' agreed the teacher, something of compassion i;n her tone. Had the selection been left to her, she could easily have named the boy most likly to do credit to a good home; but when her advice was not asked it was decidedly not her place to offer it. 'lt's that difficult;' Mrs Goudie murmured again, passing her handkerchief over her heated brow; 'an' it isn't that I havena sought guidance, for I have that. But when I look at Ihe bairns, thej all look sac much alike that I'm feared I may take the wrang anc!' 'Perhaps you would like to see die babies, the teacher suggested, taking pity on her indecision. Mrs Goudiie gratefully accepted Ihe suggestion. Well, if it wouldn't be too much trouble to you, miss.' 'Get your slates, boys; go on with your writing, and copy what I have written on the blackboard. I'll not be a minute away.—Now, ma'am, if you'll eomc this way.' In a ward that smelt of soured milk and half-dnied washing, four toothless old crones were nursing the infants. A cursory scrutiny served to convince Mrs Goudie that she did not feel specially attracted to any of their charges. And this fresh disappointment made her wonder if >it was any lack of the true motherly instinct m herself that made her so hard to please.

She had fondly believed that, her husband's permission once gained, the difficulties of her scheme were ended. It had taken half-a-dozen years ol

gentle, suasion*, .mingled with tearful * entreaty, before that a-fiifor of her actions—that captious erllic of her innocent desires—had condescended to give a tardy arid grudging consent to her satisfying the craving of her empty heart. One would have, thought Nature had fashioned Elizabeth Goudie for a mother. All Ihe little living things at the farm were a joy to ,'ier, I hough her pleasure In their being was shadowed by the knowledge that early' death necessarily awaited them. What her hungry soul demanded was a. little child that she could love and care for —a human entity all her own, that she could comfort and cherish and mother. In the breast that now rose and fell tumultudusly with the healing of her perturbed heart a vast fund of tenderness lay fallow. The old wives, having learned her errand, were crowing round, each pager [n exhrhit Iheir special bantling. The pallid faces and puny forms thus revealed bore little resemblance I" the !rt<\il hah-- Mrs Gouldie.'s mind had formed durina the sleepless nights when she had hugged the thought of possession close in her cmplv arms. Slid. one refined little being, who slumbered as peacefully mi the hard pHlow as if ]f, had been a cushion of down, attracted hep as mighl some fraarile flower seen blooming in (he confines Of n dark courtyard. 'That yin's a rale bonny wee lassie, lop'am. I'll bring her,' volunteered ■ n old woman who had intercepted )i n r plane" of interest. She was hobbling 0,7. when, touched bv a sudden refillerft'on. Mrs Goudie stopped her. 'My guidman couldna hide a. lassie. If» tell mo I must bring hame a laddie or nacthtng. An' I'm jus! mindin',' Brie said, turning In the teacher.' 'thai he was terrible particular that the bavrn would lie auld enough to rim about his lane. He said he wouldna 'l)f fashed wi' bairns greetin' about the doors.' Suppose we go back to the schoolroom, then?' suggested the teacher. "You'll maybe judge hotter on a second look And I'm afraid the boys may be getting unruly in my absence.' Her conjectures proved to be eorjeot. They re-entered the classroom i

to lint! it a scene of confusion. On Ihe floor lay a slate shattered to atoms, ■and in the front row a sleek, fairhaired urchin, actuated by a desire to call attention to his grievance, was blubbering loudly. •Stop Diat noise!' the teacher ordered sharply. 'Who broke that slate?'

'Please, teacher, Ishmael threw hi:s I slate at me, an' hit rue on (he brow, so. he did. An' 1 wasna doin naething to him —so I wasna,' he bleated, ending with a wail thai, aitested to his deep sense of injured innocence. , Casting a stern glance at a boy who i sal erect in his place, his checks I a.flame, his dark eyes aglow with | futile rage, the teacher, addressing j herself to I tie class, asked for an impartial account of Hie preliminaries that had led to the outrage. 'What happened while I was out of the room boys? Why did Ishmael | throw Ihe slate at Richard? What had I Iticliard done to him? No—stop— ! don't all speak at once.—Peter Munro, I you tell me.' ! 'Please, teacher, Richard Bird said Ishmael was to get another leathcrin' after Ihe woman went away. And Ishmael up an' frows his slate at ! Iticliard an' bashed him in the face, an' j near put his eye out.' 'Sland out here, Ishmael. What ! have you got lb say for yourself?" j The boy named Ishmael, moving ' Willi mingled reluctance and defiance. ' left his corner of the hard wooden bench, and stood before I hem—a pitiful culprit, straight of limb, but paini fully thin, and with his dark hair cropped till it showed the while skin beneath. As he sloorl speechless, confronted by accusing eyes. .Mrs Goudie felt a thrill of sympathetic misery. 'Well, Ishmael, so you've taken advantage of my absence from the room to have another fit of temper. You threw a slate at a boy and narrowly escaped killing him. Is there any reason why you should not well be punished V 'He said —he said' 'Who said?' 'Richard Bird: an' he said you had bought new taws, foe Ihc old one wasna' pippin' enough. An' it was me that ye were goin' to try them on,' the hoy called Ishmael stammered out at last, speaking in a husky, panting voice. When he slopped. the injured Richard, who had ceased wailing to listen lo his reply, broke inki a fresh howl.

'Stop I hat noise. lU'ebard. You're not killed.—lshmael, p-o and stand with your face lo the wall. I'll attend to you later, sir." As she looked al Ihe offender standing apart. Mrs Goudie's heart mellod in pity. Scanning the rows of callous young faces whose owners seemed I" anticipate his promised punishment as an entertainment that would break the monotony id' Hie eventless day, she had a feeling almost amounting to repulsion.

Between her unruly charges and ihe visitor's indecision, the teacher's slock of pali'enco was almost exhausted. 'Now, ma'am' —her sharp voice recalled Mrs Goudie's attention to the matter in hand —'If you'll please, we'll get back to business. That boy's temper is Ihe plam'o of my life. I've tried all ways wilh him. But there's nothing for il but to Hog the savage out. of hilm.'

'But if the other bairns had been leasin' him?' Mrs Goudie hazarded tentatively.

"Oh, it's a poor disposition that can't sland a flout! Now, I don't want to single out boys, for I Ihink you're better to choose for yourself; but ihe boy. Richard'Bird, thai Ishmael attacked, is a boy thai would pay for rearing. lie is my best scholar. He is an orphan, loo; his folks were respectable, but unfortunate. He's a boy that would do credit 'to a good home.—Richard, bring up your slnlo to show this lady.—See how neat Ihe writing is, and how clean Bird keeps his slate!' she said appreciatively when the victim of the outrage stood, smug and self-righteous, before them, the rising bump on his temple bearing evidence of his wrong. 'lf Bird goes on as he is doing he'll be in lon.-,'' division soon,' she added, ,ns Biird went back to his seat. 'Yes. that's a boy whom i.t would pay you to I rain.'

But Mrs Goudie's eyes had strayed from the complacent Richard to whore Hie untamable outcast stood, a for-

lorn little figure, his face turned lo the wall, his vivid imagination picturing the punishment awaiting him. Some-

thing about the isolation of lhr> child —the thought of his loveless existence —tugged cruelly at her hoarf.-stiimrs. To take the immaculate Bird by the hand and lead him away to a comfortable home, leaving the pariah to his judgment, was impossible lo ho-. Yet surely one ought to choose a good boy!

Sore harassed by an energetic and domineering conscience, and torn by half-a-dozen conflicting emotions, Mrs Goudie paused, tongue-tied. An impatient gesture on the pari of Ihe "much-tried schoolmistress, her stance at the clock that marked the racing of the premianl moments.

passed unnoticed. Then, arling from sheer force of habit, the teacher rapped smartly on Ihe desk wilh her ruler, and the sound recalled Mrs Goudie from her rcven:e.

'Well, ma'am, do you Ihink Richard Bird will suit?' 'No, I've decided. I'li lake 111" boy—lshrnaei you ca'cd him.' The shrewd gray eyes of Ihe schoolmistress scanned her visitor with undisguised astonishment. Was ever mortal woman hen| upon so suicidal a project? 'You surely don'l mean' 'Yes, I do. It's the laddie with his faro turned to the wa' that I'm gaun to take, the one yc we're goiif In gi'e Ihe taws.' 'Well, it's no! for rne to attempt In guide your choice, and I musl say it'* a sond Christian act you're fining !n taking a poor friendless wean out "l Die poorhousc and giving him a zeal home; hut, I must warn you that, you'll find Hie hoy yoii've selllod on a heavy handful.' Actuated by ;. sincere desire fur the goorl of the generoushearted woman before tier, Ihe reach." - spoke bluntly. 'l've had Ishmael ill my hands all his flays, and. as f luh'l you. I've tried humouring h'rn and I've tnied |iiinishing him: and yet, in spite of that, when his temper' gels lire heller of him he's like a mad wean.' 'Maybe if he was awav from here ■■ the laddies were t.easin' him, ye ken.' Mrs fioudie demurred. 'And there wouldna he onv oilier bairns lo ruffle his temper ril the [faim'ngs.' 'Well, if vour mind's mafic up. you'd belter see in,, gtivernor and the inspector, and get Ihejr consent. What ?' Pile smiled us she answered a whispered request from Mrs Condi", 'lib no ! I promise no| lo lay a finder on Ishmael. He's yours now. you know.' To hi' continued next Wednesday. ■ The palm for longevity i- i]ivi<{<"! between the elophnnl and Ihe parrot. Both pass the century.