THE ANGEL MAKER.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 2, 10 July 1912, Page 55

THE ANGEL MAKER.

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MAY RICHMOND, Ponsonby.

/TT\ R- TOOMBS leaned upon his 4 I spade and looked anxiously jJ I 7 across the cemetery. What / he saw coming up the white path was the figure of a young woman dressed in heavy mourning, carrying a basket of flowers.

"I guessed she’d come this mornin’,” he muttered ruefully, “and I’m sure I don’t know wot to say to 'er. I reckon she’ll he awful riled hup.” Under the somewhat peculiar exterior of Mr. Toombs beat the softest heart in the world. The face was keen and kindly, and to the waist his figure was normal, but forty years of gravedigging and exposure to all weathers had played havoe with the rest of his person. His poor legs bulged out in the most alarming manner, giving one the impression he had warped severely.

Mr. Toombs now' turned his attention to a corner of the cemetery where two tiny graves lay side by side in the morning sun. Two small mounds, but what x contrast! The one flowerladen, placed there by tender, loving Kinds; the other—a forlorn heap of via v.

Air. Toombs watched the black-robed figure as if fascinated, watched it approach the graves, saw it start, then wheel round angrily, and beckon imperatively to him. "It’s out now,” he said to himself, grimly, as he hurried across ,as fast as his warped appendages would let him.

"They have desecrated baby’s grave,- my darling baby!” cried the wrathful young voice, when Mr. Toombs arrived rather breathless. "Do you know who has dared?” and the tears -trnggled with the indignation of her t<ne. Mr. Toombs flicked a speck of clay limn his sleeve. "Yes, lady,” he replied, i'<peetfiilly; "I know- who did it.” "You know who did it!” and on the n.iturally sweet face was an expression mi, good to see. "Tell me at once, and I will have them punished,” demanded the mother, angrily. "Lady.” said Mr. Toombs very’ gently, “will you let me tell you the tale o’ that there little grave? Belike you won't feel so bitter when you know.” Something in the simplicity of the chi man, and the almost wistful look in the kindly grey’ eyes, arrested the bitter retort upon the lips of the mother. "Tell me of it, then,” she answered. they were standing beneath a giant kowhai tree, laden with a wealth of yellow blossoms, for it was springtime in New Zealand, and above the quiet sleepers within this Acre of God grow' the l.eautiful native trees, and close by the blue sea murmurs. ' 1 were the girl-mother as done it,” began the old sexton, "ami. ’ow she "-cd to dote on the little lad! Many's toe time she brought ini 'ere to play, ha-tways when she could get a day off liom >r work. It’s a pleasant spot this, lady, with the native bush and the •'it o’ beach. ’E were a wonderful 'right child, too. and used to chat away tn me. Mr. Toombs,’ ’<• sez one day. My ii.uim, Toombs, lady—kind o’ bappro I'ii.ite i-ohineidence, j calls it. Mr. Toombs,’ ’e sez, solemn-like, ’is i-dler curls a'bob—bobbin’ in the you make people into angels, don't " ike people into angels?’ I sez. ’’"'H'sed. ’Wot do you mean, laddie?’ " ben you plant people they grow Him beautiful angels, wif shinv wings, •on t they?’ ' , Well, I ’opes so; maybe J docs ’elp on a bit,’ I sez.

“ ’And when you’re an angel, will your legs be straight, Mr. Toombs?’ “‘I ’opes so,’ I sez again. Then ’e picks ’imself up quick. "’I sorry- I sed that; mother says I should never hurt anyone’s feelings; ’course I didn’t mean to. ’Ave I Tut your feelin's, Mr. Toombs?’ ’e sez, anxious like.

‘No, laddie,' I sezj 'my feelin's ain't so easy ’urt.’ “ 'Cause, after all, I like you just 'zactly as you are, Mr. Toombs; you're uncommon.’

"Did you ever 'ear the like? Anyway, 'e adds, laughin’, ‘Don’t make me into an angel quite yet: I want to stay on top a long time, and play with the butterflies and flowers'; and 'e woves ’is fat little ’and to me and dances off. But, poor mite, in less than a week 'e

were an angel, sure enough"; and the old sexton passed a grimy hand across his eyes. “Dip-thery it were, lady, that took ’ini off. We burieTT '"im just after your little one was brought ’ere, just the ’eartbrokeu girl-mother, and the parson ehap. who was very kind and gentle, and me. I'm used to bury in's, but a lump rose in my throat as we laid ’ini away, and I felt sorry when 1 found ’is mother ’ad no flowers to put there, for women set a power o’ store by such things, and I saw ’er gazin’ envious like on wot ’ad been brought for your baby, and 1 guessed wot wos in ’er mind.”

“'I ’ad no money to buy any, Mr. Toombs,’ she said, ’and mv baby loved the flowers go.” "Well,” continued the old man. “two ■lays after, just at dusk, hack she came, and stands and gazes and gazes at ’is bare little grave, then she gives a guilty glance roundt It were gettin’ dark, and she did not see me. I turned my back, and could ’ave kicked myself for a dunderhead, for if I'd only thought to buy- the poor lass a few flowers, all this needn’t ’ave ’appened. But men folk don't think. I emild 'ear ’er eryin’ ami croonin’ away to the little chap as if ’e were alive. Then she tears ’er-elf away, and I shoulders iny spade, and steps along casual like.” "•Oh. Mr. Toombs.'" she aez. with a start. "'I I bought you would be in at your tea. I have come to say good-bye to my laddie. I'm goin' away? '“Goin’ away,’ 1 sez.

“ ;Yes,’ she sez, ’augin’ ’er ’ead, and eryin’ afresh. ’They ’ave found it out where I am. and ’ave sent me off—the world isn’t kind to a girl who 'as once done, wrong, it doesn't forgive—so I’m goin’ away to make a frosh start. If my boy ’ad lived, I think ’e would ’ave been a good man. I tried to teach him wot was right, and to love wot was beautiful. Perhaps it is better as it is. for I shall be spared the pain of ever seeing anything but love in ’is eyes for me. And, Mr Toombs, I’ve done wrong just now. but the other baby ’ad so many flowers an’ my boy ’ad to do without so much in life, and it wos the last thing 1 could do for 'im, so 1 took the other baby’s. I didn't mean any 'arm. You won't tell, Mr Toombs, will you—you never saw anybody take them ?’

“‘No.'l -ez, '1 never saw anybody take 'em.’ “ ‘Good-bye, M r Toombs,’ she sez, ’oldin’ out 'er 'and, ‘l* thank you for bein’ such a good friend to my boy an’ me; my laddie loved you, an’ 1 know you loved ’im, an’ ’e "ad so few to love ’im, poor mite, an’ ’e was bonnie an sweet, wosu’t ’e, Mr Toombs?’ an’ she lifts up ’er big girlish eyes full of tears. “ 'Ay, that ’e wos,’ I sez. “‘And I can never, never thank you, Mr Toombs,’ an before I could say another word she slips away in the darkness, an’ I suddenly felt kind o’ lonely an’ sad, standin’ there and thinkin’ I should never see ’er, or the baby with the yaller curls, again, or ’ear ’is merry dancin’ feet.” Softly the tears fell down the face of I lie young mother. "My baby had yellow curls and dancing feet, too,” she murmured.

“Mr Toombs,” she said gently, "you have taught me much to-day. I was selfish in my grief, and who am 1 that 1 -hoiild judge? 1 loved my lai by girl dearly, but 1 have those near me who help me bear my trouble, husband, friends; while she—poor soul! Ah, there is a world of suffering there. Tins laddie shall have my flowers, and these too —at least, most of them, that I brought for niy own baby,” and her face was softly tender as she laid spring violets upon the resting place of tho little stranger. As she did so. a breeze shook the tassels of the kowhai free,

nd a shower of golden petals felt, covering the" grave of her’owi little ore with a flowery carpet. “See,” she said, smiling. “It is a bene* diction"; and Mr Toombs, standing by, was not ashamed of the tear that slowly made its way down the honest grime of his furrowed cheek.

When spring gave place to sunune;, under the big kowhai tree nestled two carefully-tended green mounds, alike as two flowers upon one stem. A tiny cross, stands at the head of each. "For,? says the sweet : faced woman who places blossoms upon them both. “The girl-mother may come back some day—who knows?” And Mr Toombj. never far away when tne young blackrobed figure makes its appearance,echoes "Who knows, indeed?” "Have you no children of your own. Mr Toombs?” she asked one day. Mr Toombs' face puckered into a smile. “No. lady, 1 am a baeheldor; t always 'olds that with a depressed trade like mine, to say nothin' o' the name, it would be selfish o’ me to ax any woman.” “That is very thoughtful of you.” "But if 1 ad been marrit, and 'ad a child,” continued Mr Toombs, waxing eloquent upon the subject: "I’d like 'im to’’live been the livin’ image o’ the little lad who lies there.”