BEGINNING ALONE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VII, Issue 10, 7 March 1891, Page 18

BEGINNING ALONE.

In Eight Chapters.—Chapter VI. LOST IN THE SNOW. Jk\ Mf/n 'ELLIE began to be exceedingly anxious h/IIH as tbe minutes went by after the I all breaking up of the mock-trial. Mr iWmRIBO Cornelius, seeing her sitting alone, had y .••/'V/iMK sauntered over and tried in vain to renKw -/"HmI assure her. r ,r JaZH II I * Eet us g° over by the chapel,’ he ' said. * I thought I heard a shout.’ I' |l II It was a short walk across the Park. /r um Ascending the steps, they /(jj stood in the shadow of the great Doric columns of the portico and listened. • He can't be in here,’ said Nellie. ‘ Wait,’ answered Mr Cornelius, going down the steps and around the corner of the building. At one of the windows, less overgrown by the vines than the others, he perceived a slight,

dark figure vainly endeavouring to lift the heavy sa<h. ‘ Is that you, Walter ?’ ‘lf you don’t let me out quick,’ shouted Walter, ‘ I’ll kick a hole in the glass !’ ‘ Don’t do anything rash,’ said Mr Cornelius. ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Walter. ‘ls that you ?’ ‘ Go to the gallery door. Nellie is there,’ was the answer. ‘ He is in the chapel,’ said Mr Cornelius to Nellie, * and he is frightened, too, I think. I shall be back in a moment. I must go over to Dick’s for the key.’ In a little while Nellie heard steps and some one panting. ‘ Walter,’ she called, ‘ are you afraid ?’ ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’he answered. gtuHiy, ‘ but I wish some one would hurry and let me out '.’ ‘ I am right here by the door !’ called Nellie. ‘What good does that do if you can’t open it! Hello! hello !’ • Walter, stop ! Some one might hear you. Don’t be so frightened. There’s nothing theie. ‘ I’m not frightened, and I want some one to hear me?’ he retorted, violently shaking the door. Nellie again noted his quick, agitated breathing. ‘They are coming. Do be patient !’ she answered, a little angrily, as the boy began to kick and shout vigorously. Mr Cornelius ran up the ster>s as rapidly as his lameness would permit, and the door was soon opened. ‘ I was afraid,’ gasped Walter, staggering out into the air, ‘ of catching cold !’ Mr Cornelius had too much tact to laugh just then, and Nellie’s sympathy and resentment at what she considered very unjust treatment inclined her to tears rather than to amusement. When the gossip about the mock-trial had finally subsided, the last excitement of the season was over, and studious Dulwich settled down to its books. The chief pleasure that autumn of the two younger children had been to walk part of the way home with Belle Billingham when she returned to her home on Friday, after her week of school in Dulwich. The roads that led by old Mr Tucker’s and the Dillingham farm formed what was called in Dulwich ‘ The Big Triangle.’ At its apex stood Dulwich, at its right hand angle the Zion Methodist Church, and occupying its left corner was the Dillingham farm. The Tucker cottage on the hill-top, with its two tall pines, stood about midway of the base of the triangle opposite the village. It was not a long walk for Belle Dillingham, as her father's house stood on the slope of a long hill on the left hand nr mill road, only a little more than a mile and a half from Dulwich. A dilapidated bridge cramed the creek at the foot of the hill and here the children loved to tarry anil look lx tween the broken planks at the water below which

A raced to the great Red Mill near by. It had been the Red Mill for fifty years, until a misguided and contrary miller painted it yellow ; but it made no difference ; the Red Mill it always bad been, and Dulwich decreed the Red Mill it should remain in spite of chromatic variations. As ;the cold weather came on these long walks were gradually discontinued, and later, when Mr Dillingham began to come in his waggon for Belle, they ceased entirely. Generous and industrious little Elizabeth early began to work for Christmas, and before long had collected an array of articles over which from time to time she sadly shook her head. ‘ Couldn’t you give her a little help about her things ?’ asked Walter of Nellie. ‘ The poor little dear is up there snarling her threads and breaking her needles, while the tears keep dropping down and spotting her work. I think you might lend her a hand.’ ‘ I can’t neglect my studies to make Elizabeth’s Christmas presents !’ Nellie grumbled .as she mounted the stairs and opened the nursery door in no agreeable frame of mind. ‘ What are you doing, Elizabeth ?’ Elizabeth looked up. There were great red circles about her eyes, and her voice trembled. ‘ It all gets so mussy,’ she cried, despairingly, ‘ and I can’t make the edges even, and I can »ot keep it clean !’ ‘Of course you can’t if you never wash your hands. What makes you try to do such difficult things?’ ‘ But I made a lovely one with mamma last year '.’ ‘ I suppose she did all the fine work.’ ‘No, I did every bit myself, Nellie. She only showed

‘ Very well. Go wash your face and hands, and I will see what I can do.’ Nellie examined the work. It was soiled and defaced beyond redemption. * You may as well throw this away,’ was her greeting when, with damp hair and clean hands, Elizabeth came back to the nursery. Cold water and reviving hope had put a new expression in the tired little face, and the child advanced a step or two before it left it. Then as Nellie, suit-

ing the action to the word, threw the work into the wastebasket, the overwrought nerves gave way, and with a wild scream Elizabeth Hung herself on the floor. A torrent of angry words and cries burst from her lips. Walter came upstairs two steps at a time. • What have you done to her ?’ he cried. ‘ What is the matter ?’ ‘ Nothing is the matter, and you might know that I hadn’t “ lone ” anything to her !’ answered Nellie, crossly. ‘She has simply worn herself out over those foolish presents.’ •She threw my needle-book into the waste-basket !’ sobbed Elizabeth, as, kneeling by her side, Walter tried to lift her from the floor. ‘ You certainly have, along with your other abilities, remarkable talents for rubbing people the wrong way !’ said Walter, looking up at Nellie indignantly over the dishevelled head which now rested on his shoulder. ‘ O Walter,’ sobbed Elizabeth, as Nellie walked away, ‘ you are so dear !’ ‘Come,’ said Walter, trying to raise her to her feet, ‘ there is nothing to cry about.’ ‘ But I can never make my presents 1’ The sobs became more violent. ‘ Nellie hasn’t the time to show me, and she says nobody would have anything I could make. There is not a person to care now whether I have my presents ready or not. Oh, if mamma only—’ ‘ Hush, hush, that’s a good girl !’ pleaded Walter. ‘ You will make yourself ill.’ ‘ Couldn’t you help me, Walter?’ The boy hesitated. ‘ I can’t help with sewing,’ he began, thinking of the lessons of the morrow as yet unprepared, ‘ but I’ll tell what I can do some day, Elizabeth. I can show you how to paste and cut. Are there no presents to be made without sewing ?’ ‘ Photograph frames aie parted,’ hazaided Elizabeth. ‘ Oh, T can make those,’ said Walter, ‘ but I really haven’t time for it this afternoon ; there are my lessons.’ ‘ Here is a horr’ble one Ditty made tor me,’ said Keginald, going to a drawer where he kept his paper dolls and producing a pasty, uneven affair in which he had placed a picture of his mother. Walter took it out of his hands to examine it. ‘Be careful of it,’ said Reginald. ‘ That’s my very precionsest thing.’ Without removing his eyes from the picture, Walter put it slowly down on the table and seated himself in front of

* Get jour things together,’ he said, * and we will see what we can do. ’ Before long the three were deep in clipping cardboard and silk, while Walter made accurate measurements and delicately applied the glue. He was deft at all such things, and Elizabeth, who was much like him, soon acquired quite respectable skill, * I've measured all the rest of these and marked them,’" said Walter, at last. * Can’t you go on now without me?* * Yes,’ said Elizabeth, •we can. Walter,’ she added, solemnly, * I have been comparing you, and I think you are very like mamma—very, very like her !’ * Walter is a comferd,’ said Reginald. When in his Greek the next day Walter’s recitation was below the average, it was a compensation to remember the sound of the twoearnest voices assuring him that he was a comfort and like mamma. The children looked forward to the near approach of Christmas with all the ardour of their childish hearts. Elizabeth’s presents began to progress rapidly, and by the twentieth of December all was in readiness. Reginald had broken into his bank and invested in sundry articles, appropriate and otherwise, at the village store, and between themselves they had much discussion as to the mode of presentation. ‘ What time shall you have the tree, Nellie ?’ asked Elizabeth one morning at breakfast. ‘ Tree !’ said Nellie. ‘ There is not going to be any tree. r ‘ No tree ! Why, Nellie, we’ve always had a tree !’ ‘ls there anything to prevent ?’ said Mr Wharton. ‘ You know that the tree is an old institution.’ ‘ I have not sent to Mr Dillingham for one,’ said Nellie. * You can get one up at the church,’ suggested Walter. ‘ They have ordered all the decorations by the yard this year,’ said Nellie,’ ‘ and there are no other evergreens to be put up. I think it is too late for a tree. Besides, we haven’t anything to put on it.’ ‘lt is not too late, said Mr Wharton. ‘ Why, to-day is only the twenty-second ! I will write to Dillingham about it this morning.’ ‘Papa,’ said Nellie, ‘it is so much trouble, and I have so many things to do. I think they will be just as happy to have the presents on the table. There are only a few little things, from Walter and me.’ Mr Wharton woke suddenly to the fact that he had himself forgotten the Christmas presents. Only a few little tilings ! how the childish faces fell ! ‘ We have lots of things to give you,’ said Reginald, piteously, ‘ lovely s’prises. ’ ‘ Never mind, Totie,’ said Elizabeth, trying to be very brave, ‘ we can't expect to have as many presents as w’e used to when mamma ’ She stopped abruptly, for her father, unable to bear the disappointment shown on the two little faces, had risen from the table with something that sounded almost like a groan. He soon returned, however, with a portal-card in his hand addressed to Mr Dillingham. ‘Walter,’ he said, ‘take this card upto the mail, and engage a buggy at Arragon’s for me to-morrow morning. I am going in to Littleton. Do you want to go, Nellie ?’ ‘ I can’t go,’ answered Nellie, not very regretfully. ‘ I must practice the anthems all the morning. It will be dreadfully crowded in there.' ‘Very well,’ said her father. ‘ I cando my Christmas shopping alone.’ ‘ I should like to go,’ said Walter diffidently. ‘ Come, then. I think we can arrange it between us.’ Next morning, instead of a buggy, Arragon, the livery-stable keeper, sent down a sleigh. It had snowed heavily through the afternoon and night. At the sight of the sleigh the children w ere eager for a drive. Bundling them in, Walter and his father drove once or twice upand down the park, and then, leaving them at the gate with some letters to take to the postoffice, jingled merrily off toward Littleton. The trees on the middle path were loaded until their branches creaked with the weight, and from time to time showers of snow shook down upon the two little well-booted figures as they plodded along through the half-broken drifts. Everything was strangely quiet, and Elizabeth’s laugh at Reginald, who was impelled to talk only in whispers, broke clearly on the air. After depositing their letters they proceeded to carry on a conversation with the post-mistress upon the subject that interested them most. ‘ Mrs Burns,’ called Reginald, ‘ how do you do’’ * Is that you, Reginald, and Elizabeth, too’’ cried MrsBurns, putting her face through the delivery door with a pleasant smile. ‘ Well, you are a big boy !’ ‘ Mrs Burns, has Mr Dillingham been in lately for his mail ?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘ Jennie,’ called Mrs Burns to some one at the back of the office, ‘ has Dillingham sent for his mail ?’ ‘ There isn’t anything for him but a postal-card,’ said Jennie. ‘lt is there in the box.’ ‘ Sure enough,’ said Mrs Burns, pointing to a letter box, low enough for the children to see into. They pressed their noses against the glass; the postal-card was lying in the bottom of the box. ‘ Oh !’ wailed Reginald, ‘ it’s our Christmas tree !’ Mrs Burns took it up and read it. ‘ Dear me I’ she cried, with consternation upon her kind, comely face ; ‘ so it is ? What shall we do about it ?’ Elizabeth made no answer; she was quite pale—the calamity seemed so dreadful. ‘ I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Mrs Burns. ‘ I will give it to the first man who comes in that lives over in that direction, and tell him to be sure and deliver it early to Mr Dillingham ; and you'll have your tree before night.’ The children turned away, not much comforted. • Don’t fret,’ called Mrs Burns after them, ‘you’ll have your tree!' Silently Jhe children retraced their steps. They walked quietly in the beaten track, and Elizabeth no longer laughed at Reginald because be whispered. Half way down the college park they stopped and looked ont across the broad valley to where, on the opposite hills, Ms Tucker’s two pine trees were outlined against the sky.

•It isn’t very far,’ said Elizabeth. •We could get over there before dinner-time.’ • And ride home on the tree !’ answered Reginald. Without further ado they started. Sturdily they trudged on through the snowy roads, unconscious of the length of time it was taking. They crossed the bridge and climbed the hill. They had not started as early as they had thought; they could go but slowly, and it was nearly four o’clock, and beginning to be dark, when they reached the Dillinghams’. The gate stood ajar in the white drifts of snow which stretched unbroken up to the doorway. Not a track marred the perfect whiteness, and no smoke issued from any of the chimneys. • There’s no one at home!’ exclaimed Elizabeth. But Reginald was so tired that she waded alone through the snow to the door, and knocked violently. Everything was still; down the hill tn the barn could be heard an occasional stamp from the horses, and the lowing of the cattle. The children could tell by the tracks in that direction that some one had been there earlier in the morning—probably Joe White, the hired man. < We must go home,’ said Elizabeth, going back to Reginald. ‘ Look at the sky ; it is going to snow again.’ • I can’t,’ answered Reginald. ‘I must ride home ; I’m too tiled.’ ‘ But you must come, Reginald ! There is no one to give us a ride.’ • But I can’t walk any more,’ said Reginald ; * I am cold and my legs would go.’ Elizabeth looked up at the sky. It was growing very dark; a great puff of icy wind swept suddenly over the hill top and down the slope, laden with flakes of snow. ‘ Totie,’ she said, * you can easily get to Mrs Tucker’s.’ • I can’t easily get anywhere,’ answered Reginald, who had firmly seated himself on the horse-block. ‘She always bakes lemon snaps on Monday,’ said wily Elizabeth. Reginald climbed down from his perch and wearily plodded forward ; but he soon dragged behind. The air was now thick with snow, and the darkness and wind constantly incieased. The child who was tired and hungry, began to be benumbed by the cold. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks as he unsteadily planted one foot before the other. Elizabeth coaxed, scolded and pushed him onward, although herself almost falling from fatigue. ‘ O Ditty, Ditty, please let me rest!’ Reginald begged, and from time to time in the midst of the whirling drifts she waited, shielding him in her arms until a nameless terror drove her to advance. • Totie ! Totie ! Darling Totie, mamma’s Totie, Ditty will save you,’ she cried, panting and struggling against the blast. ‘ Leave me alone,’ munnuied Reginald, ‘ leave me alone !’ The storm, grown to a tempest, again rushed down upon them, almost blowing them from their feet. ‘ I’m not going any further 1’ said Reginald coming to a standstill. Then Elizabeth’s stout little loving heart seemed to break. Frantic and despairing, she lifted her voice and shrieked wildly again and again. The startling screams seemed to arouse Reginald from the lethargy into which he was sinking, and he made a feeble effort to go on. Two tall, dark objects loomed up through the falling snow, and with a sudden throb of joy Elizabeth recognised Mr Tucker’s pine trees ; but no ray of light gleamed from any of the windows, and it was almost night. ‘ There is no one here either !’ she murmured desperately, as, literally carrying Reginald, she staggered up the unbroken path, and fell helplessly with her burden against the closed door, knocking and calling loudly as she did so. •I am sleepy, Ditty !’ whispered Reginald, almost inaudibly. The words conveyed a dreadful meaning to her fainting senses. ‘You must wake up !’ she cried. ‘ Wake up, Totie, or you will die!’ She shook him violently ; she even slapped his cheeks and hands, but Reginald only muttered, ‘ Don’t !’ and sank in a little heap at her feet. Mary Tappan Wright. (TO BE CONTINUED.