NEW ZEALAND STORIES.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 20, 13 November 1912, Page 54

NEW ZEALAND STORIES.

The Editor desires to state that tiew Zealand Stories by Ecu; Zealand writers are published on this, page regularly. The page is open to any contributor, and all accepted stories will be paid for at current rates. Terse bright titetches of Dominion life and people, woven in short story form, are required,, and should be headed “ A'eto Zealand Stories." Stamps for return of AIS. must be enclosed

The Boss Driver.

By

I.S. PEACOCKE,

Auckland.

THE Honourable Richard Anthony Rayne, fifth and youngest sou of an impecunions peer, known familiarly all over London as fthe ‘’Honourable Dick,” and affectionately- in his own set as ‘’good old Dicky' Rayne,” hail darned, and gamed, and llirled his lighthearted way through several seasons, had glided into and blundered out of as many' affairs of the heart as was proper to his age and standing. had finally hade a fond farewell to She ‘flesh-pots." and now', at the age /of twenty seven, was driving Cook and Co.'s stage-coach in a remote township, ill New Zealand. He had not attained to this giddy eminence without hardships and failures, and rebuffs innumerable from Dame 'fortune, but the Honourable Dicky was blessed with pluck and a light heart, and long after the greater part of his small capital had been sunk beyond retrieving an a worthless mine, and the tiny store die had opened with the remainder, had “gone smash,” chiefly' through the unconquerable habit of its proprietor of troyally refusing payment when times were bad, and never exacting it when Aimes were good. Dicky Rayne laboured yvith his hands. He worked in a mine with pick and shovel, and then on a farm, from dawn to dark, when after modding through a rough meal of salt ineat and potatoes in the back kitchen <>f a rude farmhouse, the new chum Aumbled into a blue-blanketed bunk and slept the profound dreamless sleep of .utter physical tiredness, until the grey ilawn called him to work again. ’Twas (then he needed alt that insouciance and gaiety of disposition, that among his associates, had earned him the title of ‘ Happy Dick." But brighter times Were Homing. He knew how to handle a horse, rind hail many a time taken his brother’s drag through city traffic, suburban fluster rind country roads with consummate skill. . nd when he applied to took and < 0.. the big eo.ich proprietors, for a position. he w.<s taken on at once. t ook anil to.. kept up livery stables in most of tin- townships, and their big chocolate and yellow loaches, and fine glossy bays and greys, were known fir und wide. But the chief pride and glory <»f the ”< o„” and the .-tables generally from the ”bo-s” driver, Jimmv Rankin, clown to the smallest roustabout wlro swept up the stable-floors, was the big mail-coach. 1 ! - body was dark-blue with chocolate panels, and its wheels were picked out in scarlet. It was built as milch as pos-ible to resemble the old fashioned stage-coach, with a high boot at the rear and a boy in livery to wind n horn, and a fine sight i( was. to see the Blue Lightning coach drawn bv five powerful greys come dashing up the main .street, proud Jimmy Rankin in hi- livery - Cook and < 0.. obliged all their drivers to wear livery on the box. and the horn waking the echoes, and drawing up with a grand sweep and flourish ami a skilful L .If turn before rhe "Golden Cross" hotel. A fine < oaeh. and a tine driver, Jimmy Rankin, the admiration and envy of all ook and ( o. - men. but the billy road between Waip.ike and Merlon i, long •mil cold on winter days, and way-ide fiostelrie- not infrequent, and by-and in from the rumour that "Jimmvtqqied li'is eUa>w a hit too frequent riowad.iv’s" grew the scandal that Jimmy was ‘’drinking hard," had lieen seen drunk on his coach, had missed going over the embankment nt Two Mile Hill, by a more shave. But drunk or Holier, Rankin was acknowledged the finest driver on the road, and < oifld handle a team better when drunk, Uaan moat men sober, and the news

came as a thunder-clap that Cook and Co., had dispensed with Mr. Rankin's services. Hard on that came the news that the new driver for "Blue Lightning" was to be Mr. Rayne, better known to these primitive folk as "Dick Rayne the new-chum, who went broke on the River Road store.” There were some murmurs of prejudice and dislike. Knowing nothing of Dick Rayne’s origin or antecedents they had yet an instinctive knowledge of his class, and a half-resentful halfcontemptuous distrust of the “gentleman." Besides, Jimmy had been a favourite on the road, hail-fellow-well-met with everyone, hailed every man, woman and child by- name, and, if an ugly- man in a quarrel, was a staunch friend, and there was no denying it, was the “boss” driver for all Cook and Co., to whom had been entrurted the great Blue Light ning coach, a charge almost sacred. Kayne was at this time driving a small yellow 'bus on short runs. When the great man. Cook, sent for him and explained tile nature of his bidding, the Honourable Dick considered, then shook his head. “Pay not good enough?" -napped Cook, and Dick smiled derisively at the idea. He then sought to explain. Rankin was popular on the road, a rattling good driver, would feel losing his job keenly, would no doubt “pull up” after his fright, another chance, etc., etc. “Very good!” Cook's jaws shut with a snap. "You won't take the job? Must look for another man then, but you ■might as well know it won’t be Rankin, Cook ami Co., Imve no use for drunken drivers" “in that case," Kayne spoke slowly. “I’ll take the job amt thank volt for th.offer, sir." Outside the office Rayne came fweC to face with Rankin who stopped and looked him insolently in the eyes. “Well,” he sneered. "Mr. Driver of the Blue Lightning. Ail lived up. eh?” "Don’t be a fool. Rankin," -aid Rayne. “I've been offered the job, and I've accepted temporarily. It's your job, 1 recognise that, and a rattling good job you've made of it up to now. Pull yourself together, num, and—’’ But Rankin only interrupted with .1 Litter sneer, as to "line gentlemen” tak ing "bread out of working men's mouths" and was working up to an impassioned bit. of oratory in thi- strain, which becoming lather involved, was cut short by Rayne "Very well. Jimmy, as you please" and with a laugh, lie pa.-sed on. Thus did the Honourable Richard Rayne become driver of the Blue Lightning coach, and now' behold him in C ook's livery of immaculate cream corduroys, ■brown top-boot-, brown coat and vest, and top-hat. with a many-caped scarlet lined overcoat for wet weather, seated on the Box of the "Blue Lightning," his mettlesome greys in perfect control, responsive to his least touch on the rein, liis lightest word. Often his thoughts flew to his old associates, driving in the Park, riding in the Row. and he smil'd whimsically, if a little ruefully, at the thought of their horror and dismay at what he called hi- "Dick Turpin" array. But, truth to tell, the picturesque, if somewhat "stagey" get up very well berime bis well knit, stalwart proportions, -ami so thought many a maiden, who s homed to get the seat next the handsome stage driver, with the lie! air. ami gallant manner. So thought Nora, the daughter of old Terry O’Brien of the “Golden Cross,” and many a sigh and many a smHe did pretty Nora give in the course of the day to the tunc of her thoughts of Dick liay tie.

One morning, she stood, lost in thought watching the coach bowling swiftly away to the stables, Rayne on the box, handling the reins in his accustomed masterly yet easy style. He had drawn up in passing, and leaning from liis seat had spoken the low word or two that always brought the blood to Nora’s cheek, and the happy light to her dark eyes, the words which, if unspoken, left the day blank to the girl and the night dreamless. Taking a rose from his coat, he had put it into her hand saying-. “Wear it for me, Nora Creina,” and then with the sweet smile w-hieh lit up his handsome bronzed face and grey eyes pleasantly, he had gathered up the reins and driven away', humming lightly: Oh! My Nora Creina, dear. My mild, my artless Nora Creina Beauty lies In many eyes, But love is yours, sweet Nora Creina.” And the girl, holding the rose in heedless fingers, gazed after him until a voice startled her abruptly from day-dreaming. “Morning. Nora.” She turned a little impatiently. “Oh. good morning. Jim.” “Got a few minutes to spare for an old friend, Nora?” Jim gazed meaningly after the receding coach. There was something bitter and forlorn in the man’s tone, and warm-heart-ed Nora was touched by- it. She am! the late "boss” driver had once been very- good friend-, and now she answered warmly: "Why, surely. Jimmy, but you’ll have to come into the back porch while I -hell some peas for dinner.” And tucking the crimson rose into the bosom of her white dress she led the way into the sunny porch. Jim seating himself sideways on the big chopping block, proceeded absently to hack at and whittle it with his clasp knife, as they talked. “Now, Jimmy.” said Nora cheerfully, “you'd better make yourself useful and shell some peas than spoil a good chop ping block. He reached over and took a handful and slowly broke a green pod with his strong brown thumb; then taking unconsciously, careful aim at a fowl scratching in the dust, he shot the peas out one after the other, speaking slowly as he did so. “You’re not one to forget old friends. Nora, eh?” “No. indeed! She gave him a bright upward glance, “-ami we’ve been friends a long time. Jim?” "Yes—it’s precious few friends I have now though. When Jimmy Rankin was a big man. boss driver, and good for a “shout” now- and then, it was different. Now's he's lost his job and down on his luck—- “ Nonsense, Jimmy." interrupted Nora, briskly, “you have plenty of friends if—if only—you—” She "hesitated. coloured, and stopped. “If only—go on. Nora if only l - .ver.not a drunken sWeep.” "Don't be horrid. I wasn't going to say that, but -but —oh! Jim, I must say it. Can't you try to give it up? You're such a splendid driver. Mr. Rayne vva, saying—” “Cut Mr. Rayne out. please. I’ll listen to you Nora, but I'm blowed if I'm tak ing any of your line gentleman-driver's patronising talk." "Well, never mind him. Think of your mother. How proud she was—is of you." “ Yes, poor old mother,” he assented. “Things have gone badly with me .since she went to my sister Maggie's at Greytown.” “ Then how could you make her go !”

burst out the girl. “She cried like anything the day she left.”

1 know—l know, lip sa id gloomily, “but after what Maggie said . about 'drunken sons ' and ’ discomfort,’ I just had to let her go. make her go, and here's Christmas near—the first 1 haven't spent with thu old girt since 1 was a kid.” " But you’ll surely ride over and spend Christmas day or she'll break her poor old heart.” He shook his head. "No ! When Maggie up and threw mi ’drunken habits' in my teeth. I just vowed I'd never set foot in her Imus,, again, nor take bite nor sup with her, so you see " Nora was silent revolving a scheme in her head, one of the tremendous ideas that so frequently struck the warm hearted, quick-tempered impulsive Irish girl, but which must on no account be divulged until the psychological moment. So absorbed was she that she did not notice that Jim had risen, regardless of the litter of pea-pods that fell from his person. "Nora." he said, very pale, -you seemed just now as if you cared what became of a poor worthless devil like me —as if you realty wanted me to "Pull up,” and run straight." “I do, oh! I do indeed, Jim,” cried the girl fervently. “Then —then —*’ he cried hoarsely "give me something to live for. to work for, give me yourself, Nora. No. no ! Listen.” He flung himself down on the step and clasped her hands. “ 1 love you. Nora. Marry me and I’ll not touch another drop as long as I live. I’ll get work—l’ll work like two men for you. I’ll —I'll —Oh, Nora ! You’ll give me the last push down into the mud. I’m fast sinking into if you refuse me you'll wreck me. bodv and soul. You’ll —"

"Coward ! " cried the girl, scornfully, “to put the responsibility of your weakness on a woman's shoulders, and the woman you say you love.” Then softening at his dejected air, she added more gently, “I'm sorry. Jim. but- but I don't care for you—not in that wav vou see."

“ I see," he said, savagely-sullen. "Y’ou're flying for higher game—for the gentleman-driver of the Blue Lightning But,” with a scornful laugh, “you may be all very well for a passing flirtation

for him, but men of his sort don't marry hotel-keeper's daughters. He'll play with and flatter you amt then he'll go back to his own lot at Houle and marry a lady." "Will you be silent," cried Nora, with blazing eyes and scarlet cheeks. " Bow dare you speak so ?”

“I dare because I want to warn you, Nora. Why. he’s something great at Home—a lord or a Duke's son or some thing. I was behind him at the post Office when he got his mail. ‘The Honourable Richard Payne,’ it said on one letter in a woman’s writing and he was standing on the steps reading it as I came out and I heard him say in a soft sort of way, “Good little girl." "Then you spied upon him,” said the girl contemptuously. "If Mr Rayne has a letter from any ‘good little girl,’ it is nothing to me.” She lifted her rounded little chin with a wroud gesture and walked away, but once out of sight sho passionately snatched the rose from her gown and strewed it in pieces at her feet. CHAPTER IL Dicky Rayne drove his team to the stables and having seen his horses water ed and fed, superintended their rubbingdown and seen the great Blue Lightning coach backed into its special compartment and. protected from scratches by a light-covering thrown over it, lie was free to his own devices for the ufternoiin, which was his half-holiday. His thoughts flow to a secluded bend of the river, mil then by natural sequence they tumid I" Nora's charming face, all smiles and blushes above a red rose in her finger-. His pleasant face, which in the- - List few strenuous years, when lie had !■■■■'>< learning life from the standpoint of Ils' worker had fallen into graver Ini’ was now alight with some of that .-miling radiance that had earned him In- old title. In 'an affectionate letter lie had received from a favourite sister, the i.”"’ lead come to him of a small legaev "I 11500, and lie was reckoning with deligl'l how he might now “chuck” the coaching, and be no more tcollided with the sight • ! poor sore-headed Rankin's sour look- H’’ went to his rooms to wa-li and brush up and get into what lie called his “sane clothes, und half-an-lmur later lie 1 ,r, “ senlcd himself at the Golden < rowi'. where he took his meals, for uiid d.iV dinner. Nora was setting the tables ane

ero«s?ng the room. Dick seated himself astride a chair and whistied softly, but his spirits would not permit him to sit still long, and jumping lip he cried: “Caii’t I help,. Miss Nora?” -No, thank you !’’ the girl never turned her head.. , •• I’ve something to tell yon. Miss Nora.” he' burst out like a school-boy with a secret he cannot contain longer. •• fd meant to keep it for this afternoon, down at the river—but it won’t keep.’* •Just as well,’’ remarked Nora drily, always with that tell-tale Hushed face bent* over her work, “as I’m spending the afternoon at home.’’ ••<)h ! 1 say. but you promised—Oh • Well, if you didn’t 1 thought it was. understood on my holiday ” •‘Come, tell me your news,’’ interrupted the girl ami thus urged, Dick plunged into it happily. •• To-day, I had a letter ” the girl winced “which made me as happy as a King.” “ Yes !” •• It seems that a relative who has lately died, has left me £500.” “ £SOO ! < Hi. Mr. Rayne, I am glad.” There was genuine pleasure in the uiiTs voice, and for a moment, as she turned. Dick had a glimpse of an ex-quisitely-flushed cheek and big eyes alight and shining. £SOO seemed a fortune to simple Nora O’Brien. ••(Had! So am 1. girleen.” he sail soberly. “Glad enough of the money, Ih aven knows, but — but more glad than 1 can say. of something else the letter taught me.” “Yes.’’ The tones were brave ami brisk enough, but could he have seen, the dark eyes were jewelled now. “ It taught me—it made me sure of myself — sure of my love for a sweet girl." "Ah-h ” hardly more than a breath it was. “ Yes. This dear girl has been much to me. but while I was a penniless worker, ] always put the thought of how much, aside. But now this money has come little enough, but sufficient to make a start my first thought was one of thankfulness that I might now ask her to share it. I was sure of my love, you see. That may sound egotistical, but like most men 1 have fancied myself in love often enough before.’’ “Ami—and this girl.'*’ Nora stammered. “are you so —so sure of her ?” Dicky Rayne smiled tenderly, whimsically. lie saw now she had misunderstood him, but with mischievous tenderness. he \jent on. “Yes, I believe 1 can say I’m sure of Lor. I may seem a conceited ass, but I think I’m sure of her.’’ ’’ I’m —l’m so glad,” Nora flashed him a brief smile that hid her pain. “Arc you really glad, Nora ? ” Dicky Rayne sprang up and put an arm closely, tenderly about her waist, lb* would have drawn the brown head to his breast, but that the girl wrenched h'l-elf away with scarlet cheeks. You—you—how dare you touch me !” Do you think because I am only an hotel-keeper's daughter it gives you the i ight to insult me ? ’’ “Why. Nora ’’ Don’t—don’t speak to me,” she cried passionately, “ I know what you are—a gnat gentleman—a a lord or something. but if you can take what liberlies y«>u phase in your own land, yo'n will find New Zealand girls respect lliem-s<-l\<-s. Lord or no lord. Go go back to the girl you are so sure of.” Faith ! ” .muttered Dicky Rayne, aghast ami rubbing the back of his head. I in I’m not so sure of the girl as L thought I was.” But Nora with her crimson cheeks, her tearful eyes ami trembling lips had g leaving a very rueful and crestfallen Dicky. It was not that lie despaired of explaining himself to Nora, but her very decided ami indignant rejection of his caresses, told him she ‘ould not posibly care a jot for him. Dli ! wise and sapient Dicky ! Oil '. All di-rerning man. Dinner over he strolled out onto the ba<k porch in the vague hope of seeing Noia. Someone tapped him on the dionhh-r. A word with yon, Mr Rayne,” said •liinniy Rankin. A\ ell, Jimmy ! ’’ Rayne spoke ab- * ntly. Not Jimmy to you, if you please, Ali-tvr Rayne.” As you please. Rankin,” returned Ra\ne shortly. “ What’s your business ?” hist this—you’ve sneaked my job, but hands off my girl, you see ! ” Rayne s colour rose ami his brow tliukcnod, but he answered quietly: Bon t Is* an ass, Jimmy. You know

if you hadn’t had more than was good for you, I’d give you a thrashing for that.” Rankin snarled truculently. “And you know your hanging round Nora O’Brien isn’t playing the game — she a poor girl and you a lord or something big. I loved her. and by Heavens, 1 believe she loved me before you came along with your gentleman swagger and unsettled her.” “That’ll do, Rankin,” said the other in a deadly-quiet tone, “ bring Miss O’Brien into this conversation again and I’ll knock you down.” “Ami I tell you,” cried Rankin thrusting his furious white face and clenched fists into the other’s face, “1 won’t have her played with by any poverty-stricken lord. Nora O’Brien— ” Rayne’s list shot out and Rankin rolled in the dust of the yard, where he lay stunned for a moment. Rayne, with one contemptuous glance satisfied himself that his fallen adversary was all right and strolled through to the front verandah. There he found Mark Beau, one of Cook's drivers, smoking a last pipe. Bean worshipped Dicky ever since the latter had begged him oil dismissal for some skylarking, for the word of the “ boss ” driver has some weight at headquarters. “ Mark,” said Rayne. ” You’ll find Jimmy Rankin at the bark. He’s —he s met with a slight accident, (io to him. and—you’re a good fellow. Mark—keep your mouth shut.” He sauntered ofi’. but the keen edge of Life was suddenly dulled for him. What had eonie over Nora? Had her smile< and blushes and pretty ways been the actions of a c minion coquette after all? He had honestly loved her when he went to her, rather complacently, sure of her yielding, but since his repulse, his love swelled to a passion of desire. Was there anything in Rankin’s avowal of their mutual love? Ami again what meant this incane throwing in his teeth, fimt by Nora and then Rankin, of a title ho ‘lid not possess? He had been careful to sink the -honourable” to which ho was entitled, and. unless the post-mistress had babbled, was at a loss to understand matters. Altogether he frit a much-injured man. And in the yard Jimmy Rankin was cursing steadily. “But I’ll get even with him yet. Mark. Mind you. I’ll get even with him, come Christmas.” A speech reported by the faithful Mark to Richard Rayne, by way of warning, at which the warned snapped his lingers in contempt. But Mark Bean shook his head. “I don’t know. Jimmy Rankin’s an ugly man in a quarrel. 1 never knew him fail to get the last blow in. Bost look out for Jimmy. He won’t slick at trifles.” CHAPTER 111. It was thd day before Christmas. Business . at the bar of the “Golden four o’clock came a lull. It was then that Jimmy Rankin parsed in througu the swing-doors. He was heated and dusty but there was something alert and eager in hio manner, even elated, a mood]oijg foreign to him. and meeting two men going out, wiping their mouths, he slapped them on the shoulders and wished them the compliments of the season with all his old boisterous heartiness. He gave his order and invited his host to join him. Terry O’Brien, a fat goodnatured Irishman, pushed the bottle across the counter, saying in his richest brogue. ‘ Here’s’ t'ye. .Jimmy, me bhoy. the ould year’s nearly out. Here’s betther luck in the new wan.” “Oh! I’m not complaining.” .said Rankin briskly, ami O'Brien looked at him hard as he took his second glass. The man had evidently been drinking, though by no means drunk, but Terry felt some misgiving. “ Coach not in yet ?” asked Rankin. Terry glanced at the (dock. “Not for nearly an hour yet. Dicky Rayne’s ahvay on time. A powerful good •I river—” Terry stopped in some confusion, cleared his throat and began hastily arranging bottles. "'rhe best drivers are -Mimet inn s out in th-dr reckoning though,” remarked Jimmy easily. “Well, 1 hope not this time, for T expect a g<»o«l load in by the coach, and a powerful big dinner to get on, and Nora, me right ha ml’s aboard the coach, too.” H What!” Jimmy set down his halfemptied glass with a crash. “Nora on Rayne’s coach ?’’ “Yes; aure,’.’ aaid Terry comfortably and rambled on, “an’ that culls to we

mind, Jimmy, me bhoy. that you’re in this, but sorra a word to Nora or she’d be skiiiin’ me alive tor lettin* on t’ye d’ye see! It is to be a surprise, a dead sac ret, d’ye mind? But knowin’ the pattron of a woman’s mind an’ how a surprise is bread an’ meat an’ drink an’ all to her for rale enjoyment—an’ knowin’ how a man detests bein’ took unawares, as when his best girl drops in, an’ finds him passin’ the time o’ day with her hated rival, or in a llannel shirt an’ a week’s beard to his chin—” “For Heaven’s sake, man—what is it?” Jimmy gasped, as white as paper. “Why? Jimmy, you’re had a turn sure. —another drop whisky,” but Jimmy only pushed R aside silently ami the ohl man proceeded. “My Nora was set on you spendin’ Christmas with your mother, an’ I ofi’en-.l the ould lady a bed and welcome an’ Nora’s gone over to Gray tons to fetch her.” Without a word Rankin dashed out of the bar. Outside ctood - Micsy ” his little mare, hitched to the ring, dusty ami sweat-stained, but in a moment Rankin was on her back, urging the weary but game little beast into a furious gallop along the road he had travelled not ten minutes earlier. “If I can reach Two mile Hill before—before—oh! mother! mother! and Nora O’Brien.” ( HAPER IV. Three times a week the “Blue Lightning” coach did the long trip between Hardlield, a town of some size ami importance, and Waipuke ami lhe route tapped the townships of Alorton and < •’raytow n. At the cross-roads in (.'raytown, this eventful ChriNtmao eve. islood Nora O’Brien and Jimmy Rankin’s old mother, waiting tor the <o ; .ich to pick them up. The old lady, tremulous and excited, was tightly clutching Nora’s arm. “I’m. sure it’s very good of you. niv dear, to bother about an old woman like mo. I’d a-fretted-like not to see my boy at Christmas. He was always a good boy to me, was my Jimmy an’ Maggie’s cruel-hard on him—her own flesh an’ blood too —it aint natural," and she cried soft Iy. “Look! Airs Rankin.” cried Nora hastily, “here’s the coach.” as the winding of a horn sounded in the near, distance ami a cloud of golden dust advancing, resolved itself into the “ Blue Lightning” coach, with glittering harness and Hashing wheels ami 1 he big greys as fresh almost as when they started. “ Dear me —dear m< —yes!*’ cried Mrs Rankin in a fluster ami began collecting her various impedinunta. then with a eoldly-critieal eye on Hie advancing coach, “that’s the new driver? Humph! he don’t drive like my Jimmy.*’ Nora had barely repressed a mischievous dimpling smile when, with a rattle of bits ami grinding of wheels the coach drew up. Rayne, on the box seat, took oil his hat gravely but said nothing. Ih* felt he had the right to be aggrieved, and as Nora seemed bent on avoiding him. In? had made no eilorts at reconciliation. She had chosen to travel on Mark Bean's coach that morning and would, no doubt, have returned on it if it had been possible. The girl silcntlv bowed and set about assisting* t In* old lady into the vehicle. - Now. Mrs Rankin, your toot on the step please. Yes—yes —” in a carefullylowered tone. ’Mr Rayne is a perfectly safe driver. Yes, I have the kit of apples—your bag’s on your arm—see! Yes, I'll see to the parcel of Jimmy’s socks and the pot of jam. Now, are you right ?” Presently the coach became rather uncomfortably crow (led. without ami within. “Aly dear.” said Mrs Rankin fanning her Hushed face with a handkerchief, "isn't it very warm in here? Mercy on us,” as the coach bumped into a rut, “my poor bones’ My Jimmy drove more careful than that. The coach drew' up again and a woman with a child in her arms appeared. Nora heard Rayne’s \oice. “ Full up, inside. I'm afraid, Airs ( heal, bin I’ve room for one up here. Hand up tin- kiddie first —” "Alercy!” cried the woman, “drive with them prancing horses right in front of my two eyes going down I wo Mile Hill! Can’t I squeeze in f” But the inside of the vehicle was packed with women, ami the top of it with men, ami there was a pause. “ I’ll get up in front,” said Nora then, "and give yon my seat. You'll be all right, Mrs Rankin,” she added soothingly at” a nervous clutch from her < oinpanlon, “Yes! yes! dearie, I will, but 1 wish Jimmy was on the box.’ Rayne waited impassively dining this colloquy and when Nora, with a lire ilarnc in her cheeks and defiantly uplifted

chin clambered up over the wheel, I»< sat with an immovable face, his eyes fixed on the leader’s pricked ears. The other man on the front drew ta Hie rail, thus compelling r Nora to take her place between them. Off again with scattering dust ami singing wheels, ami not a word between these blinded young people. But it was not in ilesli - and - blood, or at all • vents in the Honourable Dicky Rayne’s nature, to keep that up long. Tho exhilaration of the pa«i\ and the soft fresh wind in his face, and the occasional light brushing of his sweetheart’s sleeve against his, all got into his blood, ami after a glance or two, that always found a still piquantc profile b: side him. ami a very steady brown rye ii\e«l firmly ahead, he turned suddenly ami surprised two mournful dark eye* sri nt inizing him furtively. Instantly a radiant smile broke out upon his face to meet them. It was useless that flax wore instantly turned away while the scarlet dyed the (ips of the little ears, for leaning towards her. he whispered: “Aren’t we to be frit lids any more, Mis* Nora':’’ After a moment : “ Yes,” she murmured, “if you wish,” adding mischievously. “My Led'. “Oh! (hop that. Miss Nma, 1 am no Lord.” “Jimmy said y<m were a Duke. He laughed heartily: “A Duke? No! I’m a hmg way off the strawberry leases, he sai«L a speech which she did not comprehend in the least. Now they approached the crest of Two Mile Hill. As its name denoted the hill descended al an abruptly steep grade for close on two miles, ami at the foot swept suddenly round a bend into the road known as lhe River Road. Below the road ran tho river, fierce and shallow, over sharp upstanding rocks, and at tin? abrupt bend a railing had been built above the river. It was a dangerous spot lor drivers ami had been the scene of more than one accident. 'Hie coach commenced the long descent ami Rayne, his entire attention concentrated on his horses, was silently alert, speaking not at all. sax«* now ami then a soothing word or two to one of his leaders, which was inclined to nervousness and jumpiness. Nora was silent but unsuspicious until it occurred to her that the roach was swaying strangely and seenpyl to be rapidly gathering pace. . She stole a glance at Rayne. His ia<e was and siern. his eves narrowed and inlent. and his linn brown hands with their supple fingers gripped on tin? reins. She saw he was in the grip of some great anxiety, and a •■old fear touched her heart ami blanched her cheek at thought of her charge within the coach, but she would n<«t hamper him with h< i tears, so was silent. Faster ami fasier went the coach, and now uneasy cries rami' Hom within. “Driver! Driver! for im r y’s sike.” • Here. Di< k Raym . Jeady on! Are you mad, man?” This was a man*- voice from the top of the coach, ami wa* e-.-hned Lx others in fear and angry protest. “Right!” shout<•<! bark Rayne, reassuringly. “The horses are running away?” a-ked Nora, very pale ami quiet. “Yes,” he replied, as quietly, "for God’s sake, don’t let them guess. The. brakes won't grip.” "Do you think ” “I think shortly I ran do it with luck.” “Nora! Nora!” wailed “Id Mrs. Rankin, ami Nora turm-d ami shouted back cheerily. “Don’t be frightened, dear. This js always a nasty pieei*. x«m know. I»■ J them in there you arc mother of the •bos*’ drixer for Cook’s and know all about these things.” "I will, dearie, I will,” and the old lady stiffened her pride and remained rotd ami brave and cherry through all that followed. “Thank you; you’re a braxe girl." said Rayne to Nora. l he roach xxa< now plunging and rocking from side to side and travelling at sickening speed and the f roublesonm leader showed signs of swinging round. \\ «tp he to go down under the feet of (he other horses it meant instant wreck to the coach. Rayne stood up and lashed his Lorsrs savagely. Tim man on (he other side of Nora, with an oath, look a flying leap on Io the roadway and inside the coach was pandemonium. “Let him go, the skunk!’’ said Rayno sav ige’ly, and from within ranie contused erics to lleaAvnly and earthly, dvities Noru dung to the rail, whil#

and silent, from time to time glancing at the set face of the driver. The horses were Hying madly. Suddenly a look of relief, of .slackening tension, relaxed the strained lines of the man's face. “I believe I can do it, Nora," he gasped. "The worst is over and the grade is lessening. Thank God!" But even with the words a simultaneous low cry burst from their lips and they stared wildly in each other's white faces. The railing at the side of the road was gone. At this mad pace the excited horses would never take the sharp curve but would dash straight on to certain death. For the'first time a look of despair swept away the dogged courage that had inspired Rayne's face. “It is—death!" whispered Nora, after a moment's silence. ‘'Death!” he answered, dully. 'Forgive me ." ‘'Forgive you? Oh! Dicky—and you were to have been so happy!” “Nora!” only that passionately breathed word and one burning look he gave her, then his steady eyes were again on his wild horses, but it flashed a light into her very soul and she knew the truth. “I'm not so afraid now," she thought, whatever happens, and the next moment was clutching Dick’s arm with shaking fingers. "Air. Rayne! Mr. Rayne!” she gasped, ‘you must drive over the bank—you must-- you must—it is the only chance.”

She pointed to the low clay bank on the further side with a short drop on to boggy ground and soft grass below. He realised the truth of her words, and putting all the strength of his great arms and nervous fingers into the effort, he swung his team round. There was a toppling fall, a crash, the rattle of breaking glass and cracks of splintering wood, shrieks, and oaths and groans, and the sound of the frantic struggling of terrified horses, and the great blue coach, pride and glory of all Cook and Co. lay on its side, wrecked and helpless, with shattered windows. Nora had closed her eyes and clenched her little white teeth iu the effort not to scream uncontrollably as the coach went over. When she opened them again, she staggered to her feet amazed to find herself no more than bruised and shaken. Rayne was lying white and still with a bleeding cut on his head and the reins still in his fingers. ■ “Oh! Dicky!” moaned Nora, on her knees beside him, but rose again instantly on frantic cries from the coach. Someone was sitting on a horse’s head and a man was savagely hacking at the traces, and in the general confusion she felt no surprise to recognise Jimmy Rankin. With the help of a man on the top of the coach, the girl tore open the door and received old Airs. Rankin in her arms, dazed and trembling, but unhurt. "Thank God!” cried Nora and burst into tears. One by one the passengers mustered.

Few were very much injured, and miraculously none were killed, but they were all much shaken and mostly had sprains, bruises and cuts to show, and all were furiously angry. By the time that Rayne, helped by Nora and Rankin, was sitting daz.ed and white on the bank, with a broken arm and a wound in his head, which Nora strove pitifully to staunch, he was surrounded by an excited, gesticulating crowd of hysterical women and furious men." "You —yon murderer," shouted a man with a child in his arms and shook his clenched fist. “You deserve to be shot. He done it deliberate, boys—women an’ children on the coach an' he tore down Two Alile at a hand-gallop till he lost control o' course. He drove like a madman.” "Afad drunk more like." chimed in a woman's voice and another man broke in: "Talk about Jimmy Rankin—drunk or sober Jimmy'd never have wrecked the coach. This is a crow for you. Jimmy, my boy.” The angry men pressed closer with threatening gestures, and all the time Richard Rayne said never a word, mechanically pressing the hand of the pale and trembling girl that clung to him, but suddenly she sprang to her feet. "Shame! you cowards." she cried indignantly. “to threaten an injured man.” "And ain't we injured?" burst out the wan. holding up a bleeding hand, "ain't our wives an’ children been put in fear of death by that madman?” Then they were aware Of Jimmy Rankin, who had been standing apart with his mother, standing iu their midst very pale and quiet. "Boys, listen!” he said, "I wrecked the 'Blue lightning.’ I was mad I suppose, mad with drink and months of jealousy of Dick Rayne here. 1 queered the brakes while the coach was standing in the yard of the Hardfield Arms and after Rayne had been over ’em. I queered ’ em in a way I knew, so they'd scarce feel the strain on the short grades, but wear an’ wear till they’d be useless in any big strain. I rode back ahead of the coach an’ suddenly to make all sure I thought of breakin’ away the rail. Believe me or not, but I never give a thought to what might happen to the passengers till 1 heard my own mother and Nora O'Brien was aboard.” They had listened in stupitied silence, but as the full significance of Rankin’s confession eame home to them, there was another outburst of fury. "Lynch him—fling him into the river—the hound!” but old Airs. Rankin flung her arms about her son. "Oh, no! no! Jimmy, my boy! my boy!” she wailed. "Hush, mother!” he put his arm about her; "they are right." Rayne had risen a little unsteadily, passing his hand in a dazed way across his forehead. "Wait,” he said slowly; “it’s been a bad business and you've all a right to feel angry. But all said and done I've the most right—my coach wrecked—my reputation as a driver gone—one of my horses”—his face quivered as he glanced at and away from the dead animalproperty I’m responsible for and—and— I say let the man go. Not for Iris own sake, gentlemen, the only plea for him his own—that he is mad —but for the sake of his brave old mother who loves him.”

So Jimmy Rankin was pardoned his sin for the sake of tire love his mother bore him, in the divine way of mothers for erring sons.

And Dick and Nora had a happy Christmas after all. and at their wedding which followed a few months later, the Honourable Air. and Airs. Richard Anthony Rayne were driven from church by driver Jimmy Rankin, spick and span in the full livery of took and Co. Jimmy sobered, pardoned and restored, for the great Cook had “come down handsome.” to' quote the chastened Jimmy, and restored him to full honours as driver of the “Bine lightning” coach. But what Jimmy did not know was that this miracle was wrought by the direct interposition of the Honourable Richard Rayne. Old Cook was never tired of telling patrons how for six months his coach had been driven by the brother of a real live lord—and really the great Cook did not come so badly out -of the business, since the coach was not ser iously damaged and Rayne paid for the horse, and as Cook remarked to Co: “All said and done Jimmy Rankin is boss driver on the road.