MATTIE’S FRIEND.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VI, Issue 23, 7 June 1890, Page 18

MATTIE’S FRIEND.

CHAPTER I. 'Then you may feel like me. half-ashamed of the good you can do. ('ompared with the good you are getting from lives so human and true.’ It was a lovely day in spring, one of those warm, sunny days that everyone likes. A day that slatternly housewives hate because of the brilliant sunshine that exposes forgotten cornel's, and a day that thrifty wives love, for it is to them the herald of the spring cleaning, 'with all its attendant glories of paint and white-wash. Even smoky Glasgow looked clear and smelt fresh, for the smoke curled upwards, and the West wind blew away all obnoxious vapours. ‘ How the sun shows up the dirt,’ said Marion Clark, as she climbed up a steep wooden stair in one of the most densely populated districts of the city. She was beating up recruits for the mission school that she taught in on Sundays. It was very discouraging work, but she persevered. Suddenly she paused as the sound of passionate sobbing fell on her ear, and as the sobs did not abate she pushed open the door. As her eyes fell on the sole occupant of the scrupulously clean room she went forward quietly and swiftly. • My poor child, are you ill?’ she asked in a tender, sympathetic tone, that caused the little figure in the baby chair to sob more vehemently than ever. Tn a quiet, womanly way the girl soothed the little sufferer. ‘lt is my back; I have taken bad ; I want to lie down, and Lizzie won’t be home till night,’ sobbed the child. ■Will I do instead of Lizzie?’ asked Marion, as she smoothed the child’s hair back from her hot brow. ‘I am frightened you let me fall. I want Lizzie. Oh ! I want her badly,’ cried the little girl, as a spasm of pain Hashed over her face and left her deadly pale. * Why, dear, you may trust me,’ and stooping down Marion gathered the tiny figure in her strong young arms, and carried her over to the bed. • Please don’t go away,’begged the child, as she caught hold of Marion's dress ; * I will lie better in a little.’ Silently Marion stood lieside the bed, and watched the little girl battle with her pain. Her eyes took a deeper hue as the little face before her twitched and the tiny limbs writhed an<l twisted. Instinctively she took the little sufferer’s hands in her own, and they closed upon hers like a vice. In a few minutes the attack was over, and the child lay exhausted. ’* You ate better now, little one ; can I give you anything ?’ said Marion, her impulsive manner returning as she saw the child smile faintly. * I would like some tea. Can you make tea?’ asked the little girl, innocently. Marion l>ent down and kissed the old-fashioned face, and answered gaily.— ‘ltis a very funny woman that can’t make tea. Tell me where to get the things and we shall have tea in a triee.’

* You will get water at the sink on the stair head, and the things are in that press, and please don't have too heavy a hand with the tea caddy.’ Marion nodded, and taking the kettle she ofiened the door and walked quickly down the wooden landing to thesink, that served the twelve families on the flat with water. When she returned to the room her little patient surveyed her curiously, and said, in a quaint, old-fashioned way—- ‘ You are a very nice lady. Will you tell me your name ?’ Marion told her, and as she put on the kettle, she asked—- ‘ What is yours ?’ ‘ Martha Jackson ; but Lizzie calls me Mattie. I will let you call me Mattie too if you like, ’ was the grave reply ; and she added, ‘ I am twelve years old. The way I am only the size of a baby is because my legs have never grown since since I met with an accident,’ she added in a more reserved tone. ‘ Well, Mattie, I am going out for some cream, and as I was not expected to tea you will be my guest,’ and picking up a basket she ran out before Mattie could speak. It was a good quarter of an hour before Marion returned, and she at once ordered Mattie to turn her face to the wall, or shut her eyes tight until the tea was ready. Then she threw off her hat and jacket and bustled about in a most mysterious fashion. It seemed a very long time to Mattie before she got permission to open her eyes. But when the word came she gave a cry, for in the middle of the table stood a jug without a handle filled with tai], white lilies. ‘ Oh ! the pretty, pretty tlowere! Please put me in my chair.’ ‘ Now, Mattie, you must eat a lot,’ said Marion, as she pushed the chair close to the table. ‘Yes, so I will, but please let me say grace. ’ With an effort she reached forward her thin, little arms, and drawing the jug towards her, she said, with touching simplicity —‘ O Lord, thank you for the pretty flowers, the nice lady, and the good things for tea—Amen. ’ ‘ Now, Mattie, tell me all about Lizzie.’ A bright smile passed over the little girl’s face. Her strong, beautiful sister, who worked for them both, was the one theme that she could be eloquent about. Before they had finished tea Marion had heard their whole family history, and a sad one it was. ‘ We are very poor, but we are quite honest, and father won’t come and ask money to get drunk with as long as I am here.’ The child lowered her voice as she continued—‘lt is father’s fault that I am like this, but he was drunk, poor father- ! so one must not be too hard on him. ’ There was a little pause, which Marion broke by saying —‘ Are you not afraid to stay all day by yourself, Mattie !’ ‘ Yes, dreadful! I am frightened father comes, ’ answered the child, in a scared way, as she looked apprehensively towards the door. ‘ He came one day and swore at me. I just lifted my frock and showed him my legs. He turned quite white and went away, and has never come back since. I would have liked a nice father,' she continued, in a wistful tone ; ‘ Jamie Duncan is a cripple, and his father carries him to the West End Park every fine Sunday. ‘ And when your father comes back, Mattie, he will be a good man, and will carry you to the park to see the trees, the flowers, and the swans,’ said Marion, impulsivelv, as she bent forward and patted the little girl on the shoulder. Mattie shook her head doubtfully, and for a little there was no sound save the subdued roar of the gieat citv’s traffic. ‘ Have you got a nice father, Marion ?’ asked the deformed child. ‘ Yes, dear, and a mother too ; but I have no sister Lizzie,’ she added, as Mattie looked enviously at her. There was another pause, which Mattie broke by saying, in a tremulous tone — ‘ Do I look very funny ? I am such an old girl to sit in a baby-chair ;’ and the child burst into a piteous fit of sobbing. Marion took the tiny figure on to her lap, and soothed her tenderly. ‘ Even father cah’t bear to look at me, and I am such a hindrance to Lizzie,’ said Mattie, between her sobs. Marion had to swallow her own tears before she could reply. ‘ Mattie, shall I tell you why I think your father can’t bear to look at you ?’ And as the little girl nodded, Marion continued, gently— ‘ I think he is away trying to overcome his enemy, and when he can pass the public-house without lieing tempted, he will come back again and be a good father to you. ’ ‘ Do you really think so? But I am frightened for him,’ and, sitting erect, she added, quickly, ‘ I would like to be fond of father when he comes back good. Do you think he will be long in coming ?’ ‘ I hope not,’ answered Marion, wishing with all her heart that she had not spoken so impulsively. ‘ I will watch for him. You have come like an angel and comforted me, and I will always love you, Marion,’ said Mattie, as she raised the girl’s white hand to her lips and kissed it. ‘ I shall write to you, Mattie, and perhaps I shall come and see you soon, flood-bye,’ Andas Marion kissed the little face turned towards her the child said, in a gentle, patient way. — ‘ I will keep looking for you and father. ’ CHAPTER 11. ■ The right man casually met, the curious coincidence of matters ; The fruits to-day is gathering from plantings of old yesterdays.’ ‘Miss Clark, I have got a new orchid which you must come and see,’ said Mr Hamilton, the genial owner of Holm-

hurst, to Marion Claik. as he offered hei his arm to take her to dinner. Mr Hamilton was an old friend of her father's, and their nearest neighbour. They were dining at the house of a mutual ftiend, and it was with a sigh of relief that Marion took his arm. She had been in mortal horror that the simpering young man with the waxed moustache and rimless eyeglass, who hail been introduced to her as ‘ My nephew,’ by her hostess would fall to her share. ‘ I have found out which is my favourite flower, Mr Hamilton,’ said Marion, with unusual animation. ‘ Indeed !’ ‘ Y’es ; but I am afraid sentiment has a good deal to do with my choice,’ and as it was the first time Marion had seen her friend since her visit to Mattie Jackson, she told him about the deformed child and the lilies. ‘lt is very sa.l, poor little thing ! If you are sending flowers or fruit to her, my hot-houses and vinery are at your service. My new gardener is rather stiff, but I will speak to him. I have been trying an experiment and it is turning out very well.’ ‘lt is nice when our experiments turn out successful. Have yon raised some wonderful plant, Mr Hamilton ?’ ‘ No, not exactly, but I took this man without a character. Can you imagine* me trusting my orchids to a man who eame to me without a single recommendation ?’ ‘ Scarcely,’ answered Marion with a smile, for her companion was popularly supposed to be orchid-mad. ‘ I am very much interested in him ; he seems to have, no home ties. I wish he would marry, but I am afraid some woman has twisted him. ’ ‘ This is quite thrilling ; what is your theory about him ? Gardeners are interesting,’ said Marion, her thoughts roving to Claude Melnotte. ‘ I have no particular theory about him, but I would like to square things for him. ’ • ‘ Is he old ?’ asked Marion, as she chased some jelly round her plate. ‘Ah ! there you have me. How ean I tell what a young lady like you considers old ?’ ‘ I consider that young man opposite to us old ; I shudder to think what he would be without the barber, the tailor, and the optician. Any man who shows, or rather whose complexion shows, that he has an alimentary canal is old,’ explained Marion, as she captured the jelly and swallowed it. ‘ Dear me !’ ejaculated Mr Hamilton, ‘ where did you pick up such astonishing ideas about age ?’ Marion laughed, and answered nisjjuestion with—- ‘ What is your gardener’s name ?’ ‘ John Jackson I My dear Marion, what is wrong?’ ‘ Tell me more about him. Does he drink ?’ ‘ My dear child, do you for one moment imagine I would give my hothouses into the care of a man who drinks ' Jackson is a teetotaller. ’ ‘Do you think he can lie Mattie’s father ? Jackson is not a veiy common name, and you say he looks as if he had something on Ms conscience. ’ ‘ I did not exactly—but I would not be at all astonished if he.tums out to be that little girl’s father,’ answered Mr Hamilton, with unwonted energy, as he recalled many trifling things he had observed about his gardener. ‘He is a stern, morose man, and appears to dislike children.’ Marion’s face lengthened as she repeated ‘Seems to dislike children. ’ ‘Yes, it is rather curious,’ remarked Mr Hamilton, reflectively. ‘As a rule, a person who is fond of flowers likes animals and children. ’ ‘ I feel quite sure he is Mattie’s father, but if you think he w-ould not be kind to his children it would be better not to move in the matter. ’ ‘ The best plan will be for you to come and judge for yourself. He seems to be a hard, dour kind of man, but I do not think he would be deliberately unkind to any one.’ ‘ Mattie told me that her father was to blame for her deformity ; he was drunk at the time. If you had only heard her wail when she said. “Poor father—one must not be hard on him. ” I cannot forget the wistful way she asked me if I had a nice father. ’ ‘I hope it is her father. How strange that she should have said, “ I will keep looking for you and father,” ’ thought Marion, as she trifled with the clasp of her bracelet. Immediately after breakfast the following morning Marion started for Holmhuist. She met Mr Hamilton on the wav, who at once accosted her with—‘lt is the right man, sure enough.’ And in a few words he told Marion how he had gone into his hothouses to look at the new orchid, and in turning he had upset the plant ami broken the blossom. I was terribly vexed about it, for it was a fine specimen—when Jackson startled me by saying ‘ Thank God it is only a plant and not a human being that you have blighted ;’ so I concluded he was thinking 'of his little girl. ‘ Did he seem sorry ?’ asked Marion, eagerly. ‘ He looked so broken-hearted I felt inclined to tell him There he is,’ he added, quickly, as a tall man passed from the vinery into the hothouse. ‘ Now, look here,’ said Marion, ‘you will take me in and I will talk to him. If he does not offer me any flowers, you must tell him to cut me some ; and when I take them I shall mention my intention of sending them to a little friend in Glasgow who cannot walk, and I will tell him her name. If he turns pale or upsets anything it will prove that he is the man.’ ‘ And what next ?’ ‘ We will see how he takes it,’ replied Marion. When the} - entered the hothouse the gardener was bending over the broken orchid. He wa« exactly what Mr Hamilton had described him, a stern, morose man ; but he thawed before Marion’s frank questioning. ‘ I suppose you like the delicate plants that require a lot of care best ?’ she asked, as she seated herself in a cane chair and surveyed the two men before her. A shadow passed over the gardener’s face. Marion noticed it, and adroitly turned the conversation to the approaching flower show. ‘Jacksen, are you going to cut some flowers for Miss Clark ?’ asked his master, as he swung a miniature wateringcan on his forefinger. ‘ If the young lady will tell me her favourites, I will soon cut her a bouquet. ’ ‘ Please give me your favourites, Mr Jackson ; they are all so lovely, I could not make a choice,’ returned Slarion, quickly.

The man looked pleased, and moved from one table to another cutting his-choicest blossoms, ami as he passed into another house Marion looked up at her companion and nodded gravely. When he returned Marion uttered a cry of admiration. It was certainly a lovely basket of Howers. ‘ They will carry lietterin a basket,’ he explained. ‘ They are very "beautiful —too beautiful to waste on me. I will send them to a little girl in Glasgow who cannot walk. Her name is Mattie Jackson. Oh ! I knew you were her father !’ she exclaimed impulsively, as the man started violently. ‘Why did you not send for your children when you got this good situation?' demanded Marion, as she dried her eyes. ' ‘ Send for them,’ echoed the man. ‘My God, had you seen the look that Mattie gave me when she lifted up her frock and showed me her poor, little, shrunken limbs. I tell you, my children loathe and hate me.’ * They do not,’ said Marion, firmly. ‘ You do not know how Mattie ’ ‘ I do know,’ interrupted Marion, ‘ and I also know that Mattie is waiting and watching for you. We will both go down this very day.’ ‘ They will not come, for they are afraid of me.’ ‘ (If course, if you don’t want them,’ said Marion, with a little gust of passion. ‘ But I must say it is selfish of you living in the country like a gentleman, and poor little Mattie shut up all the year round in a l>ox about six feet square, and Lizzie working herself to death.’ ‘Do you think they would come ? God only knows the agony I have endured". I have seen my child’s reproachful eyes gaze at me out of the very flowers I tend. ’ ‘ But you are changed now, and you can make up for it al',’ said Marion, comfortingly. ‘ I will do whatever you wish, but I—l could not stand another such look from Mattie. My poor little broken flower ! I was not myself she—she—their mother ’ ‘ Perhaps it would be as well to forget her,'interrupted Marion gently. She is dead.’ CHAPTER 111. ‘AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT.’ ‘ Lizzie, Lizzie ! You are not losing heart ?’ There was a wondering note in Mattie’s voice as she lifted her head and looked at her sister, who had flung herself down on the bed in an agony of team. The room was very bare, and there was no fire. The reason was not far to seek —trade was slack, and Lizzie had lost her situation. She had been idle for more than a month—bit-by-bit the furniture had gone —even Mattie’s chair was away. Lizzie had been out all day looking for work. She had offered to wash stairs, clean windows, or beat rugs, but no one had employed her. ‘ I have not a single penny in the world, Mattie, the rent is due to-morrow, and we will be turned out to the street if we don’t pay. ’ ‘ The blankets will pay the rent, Lizzie, and you must write to Marion. ’ ‘ No, no, let us both lie still and die ; I am tired, there is no room for us, and there is no work. ’ ‘ “ And it shall be 1 ight at evening time,” ’ quoted Mattie, softly, as she nestled down beside her sister. The door opened gently from the outside, and Marion Clark entered quietly. In her hand she carried a basket of rare flowers, and dangling from the handle by a blue ribbon was a card. ‘ Mattie,’ she eried, her eyes travelling round the bare room. ‘ Lizzie, wake up, Marion has come, and she has brought ’ The little girl gave a peculiar cry, and fainted. ‘ I want to sleep; I am not hungry now,’ murmured Lizzie, in a dull heavy tone. The next thing Mattie remembered was drinking something out of a cup, and being folded close in somebody’s arms. ‘ Has father come too ?’ she asked in a weak voice, as she •was laid down. ‘ Yes, Mattie,’ answered Marion, and bending over the child she whispered something in her ear. ‘ A home in the country with father for Lizzie and me,' she cried, ‘ a radiant smile lighting up her pale little face ; and holding out her arms to her father she murmured, brokenly—‘ Dear father, lam so glad.’ ‘ And Lizzie ?’ there was a tremor in the man’s voice as he looked earnestly at his elder daughter. ‘ I am glad too,’ replied Lizzie, as she came towards him. ‘You were sorely tried,’ she added; as his arms folded round her, ‘ but she is dead. - J J 4 .11 J ‘ Ay, thank God, she is dead.’ . » “ Marion slipped out of the room very quietly, and before they had missed her she returned, and for the second time she made tea in that little room. They were a very thankful quartette, ami t.vo hours later they were on their w«y to Helensburgh. Marion had telegraphed to Mr Hamilton to expect them. He was waiting on the platform, and as Jackson with Mattie in his arms, stepped out of the train, he wrung his gardener’s hand in silent congratulation and sympathy. ‘ I have the eairiage Here for you to take your daughters home. Miss Clark will go with me in the dog-cart,’ said Mr Hamilton, quietly, as he led the way out of the station. ‘ I will come and see you to morrow, Lizzie,’ said Marion, as the girl turned to her impetuously. ‘ We have never said “ Thank you,” ’ she exclaimed. ‘ We never can,’ interrupted her father. ‘ Indeed, Mr Jackson, you had better wait and see how they turn out,’ returned Marion, with a queer little smile, and then she turned away to the dog-cart. ‘ They were starving,’ she muttered, as she waved her hand to Mattie, who was looking at her from the carriage window. To the two girls who hod been pent up in the city for years that drive was a revelation. On one side lay theGareloch, its white-tipped waves dancing and gurgling in the eveninc sunshine, the sea-gulls skimmed lightly over the water, ami the fresh, cool breeze fancied the girls’ faces lovingly. ‘Children, there :s your home,’ said Mr Jackson, as he pointed to a lodge shaded by a lilac tree in full blossom. Little Mattie fell asleep that night with a spray of lilac in her hand. In her quaint way she had told her father and sister that the perfume of the lilac was like Marion.

J. T. ORD.