Copyright Story. A City Idyll,

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIX, Issue I, 5 July 1902, Page 9

Copyright Story. A City Idyll,

By

J. MARSHALL MATHER.

Author of "I'he Veiled Lady'" and "The Two Marriages," Etc,

The city clocks were booming the hour of eight, confirmed by the discordant accompaniment ot gongs and whistles from the surrounding manufactories. Snow was lying thickly along the streets, and an east wind blew shrewdly, nipping the wayfarer, and awakening the invalid’s cough and slumbering rheum. No one was out of doors who could obtain shelter, and at the same time fulfil their duty; while those who were forefed otherwise hurried along as fast as their feet could carry them, swinging their arms and blowing into thenhands to seek artificial warmth. It was a morning to be dreaded. Nature being in one of her relentless and cruel moods.—a bitter morning, prophetic of a still bitterer day. The gloomy portals of the great gaol looked gloomier than ever at this gloomy hour as they were thrown open to release a batch of prisoners who had that day completed their term- It was a motley procession of both sexes, and of all ages. There was the, worn-out tatterdemalion, the swell mobsman, the ragged remnants of what once had been, a woman, and roystering youths and girls. Some scampered out, others trailed weary limbs, while not a few put on an air of bravado as though to mock society and law —a study for the student of human nature, a field for the philanthropist, and fuel for the devil’s flame. Last, and least came a child—a pinch-faced, lean-limbed, trembling child- She walked with a timorous gait, a look of shame shadowing hetface, as she crouched beneath the under side of the gaol wall. A quick eye could easily have detected that it was her first imprisonment, and that the iron had entered into her soul. She looked about in a wild, scared manner, as though some other prison ■were about to open and receive her—and so it was —the fearful prison of society that holds out no hope and shows no forgiveness to those who have once crossed the threshold of a gaol.

Poor child, she had been more sinned against than sinning-, not having stolen for her own end, but that she might gain one which would soothe ■the suffering of an ailing sister whom there had been none to befriend. This sister was two years older than herself, and lived with her, and her drunken mother, in a room in Angel’s Court. Kitty loved her dearly, and keen was her pain as she saw her waste away day by day, powerless to help, save in supplying through the sale of matches, a handful of shreds and scraps that barely held together soul and body. One night, as they lay awake side by side, Pollie's cough cruelly torturing her, she turned to Kitty and said: “How I could eat an orange.” Kitty sighed a sigh of despair, for she knew full well that no orange was within her reach wherewith to grant the suppliant’s request, aud all that night she lay tossing and tumbling, and fretting and weeping because her dying sister was without this nectar of Nature’s which she longed f6r to cool her parched lips. At last an idea struck her: “Why not. be early at the market, and see if any by mischance, rolled out of the packing boxes as they were unloading! Surely she might take one of these without fear of molestation! At. any rate it was worth the risk, for poor Pollie’s cough was bad and her throat parched, and her cheek flushed, and oranges were so cooling, and she was •o longing for one. Yes! she wsuld

go and risk it.” And getting quietly out of bed, she donned her scanty wardrobe, and crept down the stairs into the Court and along the back streets to the market, towards which the wains of vegetables and fruit were rolling.

Though but in the small hours everything was bustle and activity. Horses were stamping, men were cursing, crates and hampers were being thrown in wild confusion amid the glare of lanterns and the flare of gas. As she was entering the market, the wheel came off a light cart of fruit, and hurled the contents on the pavement. In a moment she saw her chance, and, without stopping to think of moralities or of consequences, she seized three luscious oranges and buried them in the tattered bosom of her gown, sweeping round, and making for a rapid flight into the darkness. But the eye of the law was too swift for her, and its hand too strong-. In a moment a sturdy policeman had her in his grip, and rudely snatching the -fruit out of her breast, he said, "Not sharp enough this time, young woman; caught in the act, so come along with me.”

“Oh,” pleaded the child, “they are not for myself, they are for Pollie that’s dying at home; please let me go, do let me go! I only picked them up in the street. I didn’t take them out of the box. It was not stealing; no, I’m sure it wasn’t. I only took what fell; and they were lying in the gutter too, and covered with dirt.”

“Stow that, and come along with me,” said he. And along with him the child walked with shamefacedness and fear, and was the same morning brought before the magistrate and sentenced to a week’s imprisonment, from which she was emerging into the cruel world on this cruel March day.

With temerity and a blushing sense of shame she crept forth once more into the world, which now to her was full of eyes that searched her through and through. Every object seemed to scan her, nay, to burn its fiery inquisitorial glance into her very soul. To her the foot-passengers appeared to pause and turn and follow her with their cruel scrutiny; the windows glared into her face as she had never known them before, and the signboards stared her out of countenance. Where should site turn, whither should she go? If she followed the main thoroughfare there was the shame of publicity; if she turned to the right she would tread the purlieus where she was wont to ply her trade as vendor of matches, and be subject to the skits and chaff of her merciless companions, while if she took the turn to the left it would bring her within the precincts of her home, which she dreaded to enter, knowing too well what awaited her there.

For a moment she halted, undecided as to her course. Here in a whole city full of homes she had none —a ehild-wreck, drifting out into a shoreless sea. Suddenly she made a rush across the street, and passing through a narrow thoroughfare began to climb some waste ground which mounted upwards towards a crest of trees that fringed one of the parks of the city, amid which she disappeared. In a little while she emerged into an open space intersected with walks, and dotted with shelters. She was the sole occupant, and in her loneliness she felt at home—now no rude eye would scan her, no rude hand would molest her, the "snow and the trees were her sole companions, •nd these she knew would harm her not. ~ '

For half an hour she paced the grounds in a mood of settled despair, her little body shivering in the blast, her feet sodden with the snow, her limbs bitten with the cold. Then she turned into one of the shelters, and gathering herself together into a corner fell asleep, the sleep of utter weariness and despair. She slept long and soundly, slept while the snow fell, slept while the wind blew, while the great city groaned and screamed at its tasks and toils, slept while fires burnt brightly in warm homes, and the well-to-do moved about in warm wraps or sat before well spread boards. The clocks struck the successive hours, the sun rode low in the heavens, and then began to fall, while the shadows lengthened and deepened, and the mists dropped their canopy over the streets that were now ablaze with gaslights, and windows aflame with illumination. Howlong she might have slept it is hard to say; but the rude hand of the park-keeper aroused her as he cleared the ground for the evening, bidding her begone. Once more she was adrift, but not so shame-faced as before, for darkness was now lending its kindly shadows, and wrapping her in its gloom. She dropped down the brow which in the morning she had ascended, and passed beneath the walls of the gaol out of which but a few hours before she had emerged; then crossing- a bridge she dived down into a netway of narrow streets, for curiosity and love had overcome her sense of fear and shame, and she determined to discover how her sick sister was faring, even at the risk of that cruel strap which her drunken mother kept for her flagellation. Shyly she crept into the court, and stealthily she stole up the winding stair until she reached the door of the wretched room *she called home. As she paused upon the threshold the tones of a strident voice struck upon her ear. It was her mother who was madly raving, and who in wild and inhuman language was denouncing her delinquent daughter, vowing that when she returned home, as she knew she would that day, she would flay her alive for her theft and imprisonment. Terrorised and in despair Kitty crept downstairs, seeking refuge again in the city streets and under the now starlit sky. It was a rude wooden structure heated with the flare of gaslights'

and stifled with the breath of chil-' dren who were mit'.aed round a lantern screen on which was a hideous and realistic rei»resentatlon of the most fateful scene in all history. There upon the brow of a* hill, and above e surging mob were three crosses on which were nulled three writhing forms. The figure to the left was wagging his head in raillery, the figure to the right was lifting his head in pleading prayer, while the centre figure whose brow was bloody with its crown of thorns w-as looking on in pity and in love. Before the screen stood a rough, uneducated man, telling in somewhat course phraseology the old story of the Cross. “Now boys and girls,” said he, raising his pointer to the screen, “these two were thieves, and if they’d been living to-day the gaol would have been their place and not the cross. Now nobody cares for thieves; they didn’t care in those days, ami they don’t care now. Give a dog a bad name and hang him, so the world says, and so the world does. But Him as hangs on this middle cross cared for thieves, loved thieves, died for thieves, and He took this chap on His right hand up with Him into heaven, and he’s there, with Him to-night.” Then after a pause he continued, “Are there any thieves here, boys and girls, upon whom the world has shut its doors? If there are, let them remember that Jesus is still the thief's Saviour, the tfiieflover, the thief-redeemer —that is, if they are penitent thieves. His arms arc open when the. world’s arms are shut, and so is the door of His Kingdom, His beautiful paradise, where He lives and reigns with His Father.” At this juncture a lady stepped on the platform, with a face as pure as the driven snow that lay upon the roofs, and in a voice as sweet as an angel's, and low, yet penetrating tones, sang; . ; There is a green hill far away. Without a city wall, Where the dear Lord was crucified — Who died to save us all. Ho died that we might be forgiven, He died to make us good, That we might go at last to heaven Saved by His precious blood. Every eye was riveted and every ear was fascinated. The plaintive air, the touching theme, the pathetic voice together went home to every little heart, and tears coursed down

cheeks that were callous in sin, and tosoms heaved in response. The song —accompanied by the rude lantern slide—told its own tale, and told it well.

There had been no more attentive listener than Kitty. At first her ears had been opened in fear as she had beard the name of thief. Then as the story proceeded fear had given place to shame. But now shame was lost in hope and in joy. She had heard of someone who cared for her, who loved her, who had forgiven her, and who had a great house of His own to which He would take her, where she would be for ever happy and at rest; so she made up her mind that she would find out where He had died and where He now lived, and ask Him to take her in.

That night as she stood beneath the city lamps looking up into - the frosty heavens where the moon was calmly sailing, she determined to commence her search, for until she found Him how could she be forgiven, how could she find a home? She remembered that it war a green hill and on a cross where He died, somewhere outside a city wall. But then the city was so big. and there were so many roads leading in so many opposite directions out of it! Which should she take? She might easily take the wrong one, and so journey in vain. Should she enquire of the wayfarers? Nay, she dare not do that, they might suspect her of being a thief, and Want to know what she wanted with the thief’s friend. Still she might ask for the green hill, and, bracing up her nerves for one supreme effort, she appealed with her enquiry to a benevolent-looking old gentleman who was walking leisurely past her side. "Please sir,” she said, “could you tell me where green hill is?” "Green Hill, my little girl,” was his reply, "yes, and it's a long long way from 1 ere, too far for you to walk on such a night as this.” "But I must go, sir, please show me the way.” "But Green Hill,” he continued, "is a burying ground; what can you want there at such an hour as this? There are no bouses and no shelters of any kind.”

“But, please, sir, I must go, will you show me the way?”

“Well,” said he, “when must drives there’s no standing in the gait. You follow these tram lines as far as they go, and then continue straight ahead for twenty minutes, and that brings you to Green Hill burying-ground. You can’t miss it, for it stands on the brow.”

With joyous steps Kitty' leapt from his side, and bounded along like a young hart, the snow crunching beneath her poorly shod feet, and her breath steaming in the frosty air. .For upwards of two miles she kept up this racing speed, then as her strength began to ebb unwillingly Blackened. But her mission gave her zest and on she kept. She had long since left the warehouses behind, and the shops and the streets, and she was now passing the villa residences within their enclosures of trees. Soon these became further and further apart, until at last she was in the open country where the tram lilies stopped. The high road lay stretched before her, and now she knew she was within twenty minutes of her destination, and she clapped her hands for joy. But her strength had almost gone; she had been long without food, and pinched with exposure to the cold. But her spirit and her hope sustained her. She was going to the green hill, where the thief's friend had died, and she would find out the house where He now lived, and she would ask Him to take her in.

A few minutes brought her to the foot of the hill she was so eagerly seeking, and climbing a low mossgrown waH she stood among a crowd of tombstones marking the underly* ing dead. They were all sizes and all shapes, some recumbent, others upright. There were obelisks, broken columns, urns, and on the summit of the hill, ailhoutted in the moonlight, ■food a huge granite cross. In a mo-

ment Kitty’s eye caught its outline, and plunging knee-deep through the snow, she climbed with eager haste and expectancy ths heights. Soon she st< od at its foot and looked up in wonder, then tears came into her eyes, and with a great sob she fell down and kissed it.

There she lay in silence and alone, with no watchers save the stars, and no companions save the dead. But while she lay -there the message of sdmitisree came from the home of the thief’s friend, and angels carried the soul of the little sufferer into the Paradise of God.

At aaybreak, as the sexton was making his early rounds, he saw a child’s form lying at the foot of the granite cross that marked the tomb on the summit of the hill. He hastened towards her, shouting her to be gone, but her ears were opened to other sounds, and her eyes beheld other glories than those of the frosty sunrise on the eastern sky.