THE TIDE-LANDS.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XVI, Issue 37, 4 January 1889, Page 7

THE TIDE-LANDS.

(Flora Hainks Lotjoheao in the Argonaut,)

Miss Vakdebpool came down the steps of her lodging-house and stood looking about her with an expression of discontent on her high* bied face. It was not a very genteel lodging-house, and it was not in a very genteel quarter. The paint was off in patches, and one of the faded green blinds hung on a single hinge. The steps were worn, and tbe little front area was used as a depository for wood and coal. There were a pair of dirty faces at the bisement windows, and outaicie of the door Sairy Ann, tbe Gorgon's eldest, watched her depart with undisguised cariosity. Possibly she knew that Miss Vanderpool's rent for her tingle room, third story in the rear, was a week oveidue. Bhe might have been stationed there as a spy by the Gorgon, her mother, to see that no recreant lodger contrived to slip off, bag «nd baggage, without a formal parting. Sbe need not give herself any concern on Miss Vanderpool's account, that lady reflected. Her piano, the one article of value among her possessions, was much toj cumbersome to carry, aud it was mortgaged up to its full value. Why was it that people never exhibited any conscience or honour about her mniic teacher's bills, as they did about their butcher's and washerwoman's ? Why was it that sbe, respected and admired as the rich Mus Vanderpool, could fiad no market for her accomplishments now that sbe mu«t earn her daily bread? Why did everyone take advantage of her aud cheat ber, down to the pawnbroker wh3 had lately taken the last piece of jewellery saved from her financial wreck ? Sbe was faint and hungry, and a gnawing pain that was new to her reminded ber that she bad lived on bread and water for six weeks, and that she bad been on short rations for the last few day*. If she bad been a soldier, now, sbe could have withstood it right valoroosly, for there was martial blood in ber veins. But to suffer it for no heroic reason, in nothing but the common way I Tbe thought humiliated her, and she put it aside. Sbe was walking down the street, lined with low cottages, when sbe stopped before one of the poorest and meanest, where a stunted lilac, just budding in the front yard, gave evidence of some little refinement on tbe part ef the occupants. But it was not this that attracted Miss Yaoderpool's attention: Floating from the door knob she beheld a little piece of thin white crepe, tied with narrow ribbon, the wan banner of sorrow. This was tbe cottage where the two little girls had looked out upon her, with laughing faces, every day a&ahe passed by. Only yesterday they had flung her kisses from the window. Now one was gone. The shock bore down upon her with all tbe sens* of a personal loss.

Sb« pushed tbe gate open and went up tbe steps. A woman opened the door and led her to a darkened room. It was tie custom of the neighbourhood to give free admission to visitors at such a time. In a little white coffin lay tbe younger of the two children. Beside it sat the father and mother, the woman sobbing quietly, the father with his arm about her, and in bis lap the remaining child ; who had cried herself to sleep in his aims.

" I am so sorry," eaid Miss Vanderpool, £«n ly ; ' is there any thing I can do?"

The moment she spoke she regretted it. The mother uncoveied her f ace and looked np piteously, then shrank from the strange visitor. " Nothing, nothing," she moaned, " unless you could bring back my child."

" There, there, Emily," said the man, patting her kindly ; '• don't take on so. It's haid on all of us. We've got to bear it together." Miss Vandcrpool's eyes were wet as she went silently out of tbe room and closed the door behind her. It had been a mistake her coming. They bad plainly resented the intrusion. If only she cjuld have done something for them, could have given them some testimony of her sympathy. To lose a little life that was part of your very own must be hard, but doubly hard when poverty and want are attendant upon sorrow. The room had been so bare. Tnere was not a flower about tbe coffin. Miss Vanderpool had been accustomed to see grief smothered in costliest offerings, and this little creature was going to her last rest without so much as a flower in her little hands — the tiny hands that had thrown kisses to her but yesterday. She wished that she could get some flowers for that dead baby. It was April, and there were none in tbe city gardens, just recovering from a shock of a severe Eastern winter. Sbe had no money to buy tbem from a florist. Up in the great house on the bloff that had been her home, there was a conservatory, and in it there was a magnificent climbing rose that she had planted herself years gone by, and nmtured into a vigorous growth. Out of all the ticbea that sbe had lost, at this moment she wished only for one of the large pointed buds, with its petals hhlf unfolded, anut in a little bower of green leaves. But that was out of the question. Not even for this sacred purpose could she ask any favours from the people in the bouse on the bill.

A little later, and there would be plenty of wild floweis outside thatown. The vijlets always came first. Nay; it was already the la« of April, and with the soft wind blowing and the clear sunshine of the past two weeks the violets must be already out. fche quickened her steps at the thought. A little brook ran through tbe town and cut a narrow channel down the bluffs, on its way to the sea. Near tie foot of the bluffs there was a narrow bench of land stretching between the hills and the tide-lands, and there beside the brook sbe haJ gathered early spring violets since childhood. If uhe walked quick y Bbc could easily get there and back again before the night bad cloted down. To reach tbe place she bad to pws through the business portion of the town. Walking swiftly along, looking to neither right nor ' left, she was surprised to have some one accost her. " Miss Vanderpool I" It whs John Ashton, whom she had not seen since the day that ahe found her father's name dishonoured and herself beggared aijd homeless. He had asked her to be his wife and she bad rtfused. Waa it because sbe had known him as a poor boy, born in tbe lowest walks of society, whil« the Vanderpools had inherited the wealth and

high standing of many generations T Or was it because tie elected to bear her poverty and disgrace alone. Bhe flashed now as she recognised him T •• One minute " he said •' Not now, I cannot wait," the insisted, and he t'epped back without a word.

What could he wish to see her for 1 She remembered what he had said that time.

If you were rich and honoured I should have been too proud to addreos yon." She had resented the speech then Recalling it now she could not help admitting that it did honour to Jjhn Aabton. She whs thinking of John Asht >n the boy, the litt c ragged fellow who arei to do chorea about her father's house, picking up an education nt the public schools,devoting himself to her services on holidays. John Asbtoa tbe m&n was a separate entity, and abe had never truute I herself to analyze her impression of him . He was liked and truited by all men , and very probably admired by women. She knew his errand to this place. Ue was a celebrated engineer now, and had ome down to take charge of a great project for reclaiming the tide- and s. People called tbe enterptiae "the the march of improvemeat," but Mix Vanderpool hated the march ot improvement, and did not care for benefits to commerce, bat liked best the wide stretch of salt marches with their rusty vegitation, their black pools anl Sitting fogs. She was coming to them now. for her path lay along their border, and soon she was beside then and drew a long breath, inhaling tbe fresh ocean air with its briny smell She looked out to sea were a luminous glow along tbe horiz m commemorated the going down of tbe sun, and sullen clouds above presaged the gathering of tbe storm. Bhe hoped with a feeling of pity new to her, that it might be clear for an boar or two on tbe morrow, that the burial of the little child might not be made drearier by clouded skies and a driving rain. Not far away on the marsh, surrounded by broad pools, which reflected the distant gbw in tbe sky, she saw the tall chimney of a steam dtrrick, and a low barge like shape that seemed to be anchored in the mud. She did not give herself much time to speculate now. Night was fast falling, and a little ahead she saw the tidy brook she sought. But think a moment I Was it the right iplact? She hesitated for an instant in doubt and perplexity, then looked quickly about to determine her bearings by familiar landmarks. There on the bluff where the square outlines ot her old home, just risible against the sky, and there, off to tbe right, or beyond, were the harbour lights. Just a little further on, then a sharp turn to the left a climb up tbe rocks to the little bench that lay between the bluffs and shore, and she should find the flowers. She pressed hurriedly on to gain the place before it should be wholly dark, she knew a way up the bluffs, a steep and winding path, by which she could gain tue lighted upper street when she was done. If only she could once find the flowers, the dewy, spring flowers, with their faint, sweet, odour, and their fresh sheltering leaves.

All wordly thoughts seemed to fall away from her, the w light of dig appointment and care was lifted from her heart, and she felt like an eager ctuld, bent on her innocent quest.

(Concluded in our next )