SCHOLAR JIM’S CHRISTMAS PRESENT.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XI, Issue 51, 23 December 1893, Page 549

SCHOLAR JIM’S CHRISTMAS PRESENT.

BY

L. FROST RATTRAY.

(AUTHOR OF “SUCH A SUITABLE MATCH")

"JTr'dxTr' waa known amongst the other diggers on that I Sfc4l2j f Northern gumfield as Scholar Jim. He had J4w evidently seen better days than those in which j his lot was now cast. He devoured all the rare scraps of literature which found their way to the isolated work-field, and was willing enough to read them aloud to such of his mates as cared to listen. He was neat in his attire, and kept his hut clean and tidy ; but he was reticent about his past life, and smoked his pipe in solitude when the other men were yarning together, and filling the fresh evening air with their combined whiffs of rank tobacco. It was Christmas Eve. Scholar Jim was more than usually taciturn on festival occasions, and seemed to find all the entertainment he wanted in recollections of the past. In imagination he lived over the only happy months he had known in his life. The wild infatuation which possessed him for pretty, flighty Carrie Elder. His ardent courtship, her laughing refusal of his suit—he was so much older than she—and finally, his success. He knew now why Carrie had accepted him. She wanted to prove to handsome Harold Blake that she could marry if she liked, and was by no means so much in love with him that she would put up with his attentions to every other pretty girl in the township as well as herself. Jim had insisted on an immediate marriage. He wanted to tie his lovely prize securely to himself. Carrie reluctantly consented, and for a few months Jim was ecstatically happy. Harry Blake had gone South, and Carrie seemed to have sobered down to the responsibilities of her new •position. When the first baby—a bonnie little girl—was born, Jim felt that the whole world contained no man whose cup of happiness was fuller than his.

And then Harold Blake came back. Slowly, as the days went on, honest Jim became aware that his fickle wife’s heart was being turned back to its first love. He ground his teeth in impotent wrath, and devoted himself to the baby. Carrie went ont more and more frequently, and Jim supplied her place to the child as best he could. And then a crushing blow fell. * I shall be away for a couple of nights, Carrie,’ he said. * Now, like a good girl, take care of the little one for me.’ * You think a sight more of her than you do of me,' said the mother, petulantly. ‘And whose fault is that?’ retorted Jim. ‘She’s far fonder of me than you are.’ Jim left, and Carrie nursed an unreasoning, jealous anger. Late in the afternoon of the third day Jim returned. There was no smoke from the cottage chimney, no open, welcoming door. All seemed strangely deserted. The unhappy husband and father made a thorough search in his home for his wife and child. They were not there. ‘lt’s a trick of Carrie’s,' he said, with white face, and hard, staring eyes, ‘ She’s spending the evening with a neighbour.' He left the cottage and made diligent inquiries in the township. No one could tell him anything about bis wife, save that she had not been seen since the previous evening, and that Harry Blake had also disappeared. Jim waited a week,then threw up his work and went off to the gumfields, a soured and embittered man. Christmas was at hand. He could not spend it in the cottage which held for him such sweet memories of the previous happy Noel. It was his second Christmas Eve on that northern gumfield. He had the place pretty much to himself. The other diggers were off to the nearest store or public house to dispose of their hard-earned money as rapidly as possible. Jim smoked in front of his hut in miserable loneliness and silence. (The sound of approaching, heavy steps roused him.’ ‘ Hullo, mate,’ sang out a cheery voice, ‘ I’ve got a Christmas hamper for you. Blest if it isn’t a rum one.’ Jim started to his feet, then fell back on the log with a groan. ‘ Don’t chaff a fellow, Bill,’ ‘he said. ‘ There’s no one to send me a Christmas hamper.’ ‘ But as he spoke, a faint cry came from the large wicker basket which Bill had taken from his shoulder, and placed on the ground with as much care as if it contained something peculiarly fragile. Jim sprang forward, and was on his knees by the hamper in a moment. Something in that cry recalled his own lost baby. But it was not wee Carrie, of that he was sure. No such happiness was in store for him. No such precious Christmas present could be his. And yet! And yet— His trembling fingers unloosed the wrappings, and there in a dainty nest of straw, was a tiny girl. She looked into Jim’s face with wet, blue eyes. ‘My child I my child I My own little darling.’ Jim was hugging his recovered treasure rapturously to his breast, despite her wailing protestations, when Bill thrust a note into his hand. ‘ I was to give you this, mate,’ he said, huskily, and he drew his coat sleeve across his eyes. Jim took the soiled envelope, and a stern look came into his face as he recognised his wife’s untidy, scrawly handwriting. ‘ Where is she !’ he demanded, briefly. Bill looked at him with a certain rude sympathy. ‘ Don’t take on, mate,’ he said, kindly. ‘She’s gone to America. I met her by accident like, only heard her asking where you was. When she knowed, she give me the little ’un.’ Jim opened his letter, and read in silence its brief contents. It informed him that Carrie was on the eve of sailing for San Francisco where Harold Blake knew he could get work. ‘ Don’t be hard on me, Jim,’ pleaded the wife. ‘ I loved him long before I married you. I've looked after the baby all this time, it’s your turn now, and I send her as a Christmas present. I shan’t ever claim her. Better let her forget me, ’cause she’d only be in my way now. You was always that set on her, you'll not miss me.’

It was a disjointed letter, but it touched Jim stiangely. For a minute he could not see the little one in his arms for thronging memories of her winsome, faithless mother. Then little Carrie set up a genuine and bitter demand for her tea. And when Jim had satisfied her few wants to the best of his ability, and tucked her safely in his own rough bunk, he went out into the silence of the night and dug a hole close to his hut. Here he buried Carrie’s letter, and with it his love for his erring wife, and the bitter sweet memories of their life together. He could not burn her letter,nor could he hide it in the hut where some day curious prying eyes might detect it. Jim and his child were well treated by the diggers, and many a choice morsel found its way to little Carrie’s ever ready, cherry red lips. She was Jim's world now, his endless source of delight. As she grew older, and toddled after him all over the field, he never ceased wondering that such a little treasure should be really his. In the evenings he taught her to pore over the illustrated papers which he could obtain, and it was a sight to see the prematurelyworn face and the fresh, young one bending over the open page, Carrie’s fat finger pointing gleefully to any animal or capital letter which she recognised. Never did mortal man receive a more acceptable Christmas present than did Scholar Jim that lonely Christmas Eve.

Disputes.—lt is an excellent rule to be observed in all disputes, that men should give soft words and hard arguments ; that they should not so much strive to vex, as to convince an opponent.