The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVII, Issue 24, 15 June 1899, Page 23

The Storyteller.

LOVE'S RESURRECTION. • Thekm. that un ain't wuth nuthin'.' Jacob Stern pushed the small woolly animal out of the way with hia fool. It certainly did not look worth much that wpp Inmb only two days old, as it lay on a bunch of straw gasping its little life away. It was very small, very thin, and very ugly. Tt denied all legs. If its eyes had been either open or shut it might have excited more pity, but there was something almost repulsive in the halfclosed orbs that had the death-film over them. ' Yes, it'll be as dead as a door-nail in half an hour, I tell ye.' the man continued, as he pave his attention to other more likely lambs of his flock. But Sarah Stern watched the dying creatnre with a growing 1 pity in her eye?. She had stood near her husband when he kicked it, and a pain shot through her heart when the big, coarse boot touched the helpless thing. A moment longer she watched, then stooping down she gathered the ugly, shivering lamb into her checked apron and started for the house. There was nothing to suggest tenderness or pity in the retreating figure of Sarah Stern. Her back was btiff and straight. Determination and repression were written on those broad, flat shoulders and in that springless walk. There was nothing to awaken a thought of pity in the awkward figure in its short scant skirt, flapping the tops of the heavy shoes, as it took a near cut to the house across the corner of the ploughed field. Her face, when ahe turned an instant to see if she were followed, was scarcely more attractive. It was wrinkled, yellow, and dried, and resembled a leaf which had withered in the unfolding. The eyes were cold, the lips firmly pressed together, and the iron-gray hair was wiry and lifbless. It would never occur to any one to abk Sarah Stern for sympathy, but just now, when she opened one corner of the blue and white apron and looked again at the motionless thing she carried, there was a strange expression on her face. New and strange as it was. it did not look out of place on those homely features. I believe he's gettin' harder every day,' she muttered, as she hurried along. ' Laws, I guess we've both bin gettin' harder and colder sence ' The sentence was left unfinished, but the heavy aigh and the one word 'Mamie' that quivered through the thin lips told there was much not said in that unfinished sentence. ' You'll live, little lamb : you'll live just for the sake of them old days.' The woman *as crooning over the lamb now as it lay on a ragged shawl under the kitchen stove. Sarah Stern, who had never been known to say a caressing word in twenty years, was lifting that morsel of life with the tenderness she might have bestowed on°an infant. She coaxed a few drops of warm milk between the lamb's nerveless lips, covered it snugly with the shawl, and then sat down beside it to await results. When Jacob came into the house an hour later the lamb had recovered sufficiently to open its eyes, and its breathing was more regular. Sarah's face wore a brighter expression than it had for years. Jacob saw it and wondered. ' Queer creatures women be,' he muttered. ' There, she's looking more pleased over that mis' able lanab than 1 ever seen her look at me sence—' : and Jacob stopped abruptly when he reached the point in his sentence whore hU wife had faltered an hour before. Like other men, when .Jacob Stern was puzzled he was apt to be unreasonable. He strode over to the stove, lifted the shawl none too gently and looked at tbe lamb. "Taint no use coddlin' that thing. I told you it wnnt wuth nuthin', anrl it ain't. Yell sec it'll die and ye'il hey ye're trouble fur nuthin " ' 'If I want to waste my time over a pick lamb it ain't none of your affair,' was the gruff answer that Jacob received for his prying. Between the preparations for dinner Sarah found many opportunities to visit the corner behind the stove and watch the struggle between life and death that was gc'ng on there. Sometimes her eyes were bright and sometimes troubled, when she went back to the potato-paring or table-setting ; it all depended on the progress nature was making in its fight with death. At dinner the man and woman were silent. They were never talkative, but there were frequently remarks to exchange about the condition of the weather or the crops ; to-day there was none. But twice they looked at each other and caught a look in the other's eyes that made the shadow of some remembered thought flit over their faces. Each •was conscious of it and each wanted to hide it from the other. Cold and apathetic ns these two were, there was an undercurrent in their lives that was being stirred to-day. Sarah showed it by being more cold and reserved than ever. Jacob showed it by being more than usually irritable. The lamb seemed to be the cause of his illnature. It was able now to bleat feebly at intervals, and there was an occasional wriggling under the shawl that betokened greater activity shortly. • You surely don't expect to keep that creature around the house If it should live a day or two. "l'won't last more'n that,, I know,' Jacob said, while he changed his old house-coat for an older one he wore about the barn. ' I haven't said yet what I was a-going to do, and I guess you hey your hands full with them other lambs at the barn without troubling about this one ' ; and Sarah caught up the remains of the roast pork and went down to the cellar to escape further questioning. When she came back Jacob had gone and the kitchen was quiet. 'He don't seem to have any more heart than a stone. He can t seem to think about anything that isn't big and strong and that •will bring in money. Money ! money ! — that's all we either seem to live for now. 0 Mamie, it might hey bin different if you'd hey stayed with us."

The voice that was irritable at first sank to a wail of griei, tbe gray head dropped on the table, and Sarah Stern wept bitterly. Great sobs that shook her from head to foot sounded through the quiet kitchen and the stillness waß oppressive with that terrible sorrow. Sarah did not not cry often. Tears did not come readily to her eyes ; her grief would have been lighter if they had. Deep sorrows, like deep waters, are not easily stirred ; when c thtr la moved there is a change in consequence. The clock struck the half-hour since Jacob left tbe house. The dinner-table was still covered with the remains of the last meal. The fire had gone out and the lamb under the Btove was very quiet. The woman's head was still bowed on her arms. Her sobs had ceased and she sat there motionless. In the silence of that hour Sarah Stern saw a pleasant vision.

It was twilight in the summer time. The evening meal had been finished an hour ago, and Sarah eat by the open window, through which the sweet-scented honeysuckle nodded, and hemmed a child's white frock. Jacob's broad back could be seen in the distance leaning over tbe gate he had just closed on his herd of cows. The sleek creatures were wading knee-deep through the dewy grass looking for the juiciest little bite in that luscious field of clover. They were not hungry, and soon lay down one by one among the rank grass and were satisfied. In the pool over by the woods the frogs were croaking and an occasional June-bug flew against Jacob's hat in the flight towards the light. The air was heavy with the i perfume of clover and wild flowers. Nature was in her most delightful mood and man and beast were content. The stillness in the house was broken by a childish voice saying, as a little figure stepped over the door-stone : ' Mamma, I want to sleep with my pet lamb ; he's all alone to-night.' ' What'll mamma do do if Mamie sleeps in Billy's pen ? She'll be all alone then. 1 ' Oh ! do let me sleep with him just for to-night, mamma.' Sarah put down her sewing and took the little one in her arms. She was a sturdy little miss ; her big hazel eyes, shaded by long, dark lashes, were troubled now when she thought of her playmate spending the night alone. The mother pushed back the mass of yellow curls and looked in the baby face that already had a woman's tenderness dawning in it. ' Will Mamie leave mamma and sleep out-doors with Billy ? She'll be very cold, I'm afraid.' 1 'Tisn't a bit cold to-night, mamma ; and. besides, I'll lay close beside Billy, and his wool is very warm, you know. Do let me go, mamma.' What was the use of arguing ? The child's heart was set upon it, coaxing would not convince her, so better let her find out for herself the foolishness of her plan. ' Get your night-gown and pillow, then, and mamma will undress her little girl.' The child needed no second bidding, and in a moment was back on her mother's lap trying to hurry the undressing process. All tbe time the mother talked how dark Billy's pen wonld be after awhile, how there was no soft bed in it, and no one would be near to hear her if she called. But the little girl was firm, and taking her pillow she started for the garden. The mother followed, for the first time thinking it might be difficult to make the maiden change her mind. It was very quiet in the lamb's pen. The twilight had deepened into night and only a few stirs looked down from a dark sky. Billy was lying in the corner, quite oblivious to the concern of his little mistress. She peered through the bars at the lamb curled up on tbe gra«s, then she looked up into her mother's face. There was a short mental struggle ending in a sigh of perplexity, then two arms were reached up to the mother's neck and a quivering voice said : ' It is dark, isn't it. mamma 1 and Billy doesn't seem to care's much as you do ; so I guess Mamie'll sleep with you.' An hour later Sarah was telling it all to Jacob as they stood by the bedside and watchad their sleeping child. The mother laughed for the fulness of her love and the father stooped to kiss the sunny curls on the pillow, then kissed his wife as Bhe stood beside him. * * * The scene changed, and time turned back a few more yaars in its record. Now Jacob and fcarah Stern were standing hand in hand in the kitchen of their home. It was a plainly furnished room, but there seemed to be a halo over the common deal table, the painted chairs, and the bare floor. The man and woman had been married a few days before and had come for the first time into their new home — the place dearer than all the world to them, the centre of their ambitions and their hopes. ' We'll gather the sunbeams together, love, and we'll go hand in hand through the shadows,' Jacob said tenderly as he drew his wife close to him. ' Yes, Jacob, we are all the world to one another, and life can not be very hard,' she auswered. * • * Another shifting of memory's pictures and now a thiok, dark curtain seemed to obscure the light. Jacob and Sarah were standing on either side of a small casket, looking down with dry, strained eyes on a dead baby's face wreathed in sunny curls. The happy, loving, laughing Mamie the most precious part of that home, had been taken out of it, and the father and mother refused to be comforted. The blow had been so swift, bo oruel ; a few daya of acute suffering that no human aid could ease, then the bazel eyes closed under the long lashes and the sunshine went out of that home and never since returned to it. From that day there was a change in Jacob Stern and his wife. Instead of sorrow bringing them closer together, it rested as a barrier between them. The little child had been the idol which each worshipped, and now that it was broken each seemed to blame the other for the loss. They gew indifferent,

then cold and hard, and farther apart as each year passed. They tried to forget their grief in {raining: wealth, so they clutched their possessions with a selfish, greedy grasp. Slowly the years passed into silent review before Sarah's vision aa she sat wilh bowed head in the quiet kitchen. She recognised them all ; no incident was forgotten. Gradually the consciousness came that there had been a mibtalre, that life had been hard because it had not been travelled tog-ether, because she and Jacob had rot tcoue hand in hand through the shadows With the conviction came the longing to hear ag-un the tenderness of her husband's voice as he t>j)uk« to her in those early days. The longring became more intense until the woman's body quivered beneath it. Jußt then the lamb under the stove begun to Lloi.t and Sarah arose ; the vision had vanished. Mechanically she pave the creature a few spoonfuls of milk stirred the fire into a blaze, drew the kettle of dish-water over the flames, and gathered up the dinner dishes. Hur face was pale and set, but down in the depths of h*r eyes there was a gleam that; had not been there for twenty years. Carefully Bhe performed her afternoon tasks, then took her sewing-basket And sat down near the stove to patch one of Jacob's faded shirts. There was no sign of emotion in her face or actions, nothing but that new gleam in her eye. Evening came and she eet the table for supper. She laid it with unusual care and apparently unthinkingly brought out the dishes she had used in her early married life. Almost unconsciously she prepared the same things for supper as she did on the night she and Jacob took their first meal together. There was the same kind of cake, a plate of hot biscuits, and she emptied a can of plums into the same glass dish that had held the same kind of fruit on that night. Sarah Stern was a careful, methodical woman ; there was little outward change in her home in all those years. When supper was ready she went to her bedroom and drew a piece of faded blue ribbon out of the bureau drawn. She tied it round her neck, then smiled grimly at the delicate colour against her sallow face ; it was the same ribbon she had worn when a bride. ' What's the use of it all ? 'Taint likely he'll notice anything ; he don't care fur sich things now,' she half sobbed as she looked again in the mirror and then went out to put the tea to steep. Strange what destinies shape our lives ! Strange how the the thoughts in one mind are those uppermost in another's ! Jacob Stern saw many of the same pictures that afternoon that his wife had seen. They came to him as he tended the 9heep and looked after the rest of his stock. Every time he went to the sheepfold the figure of a little girl with golden curls seemed to walk near him, and each time he passed into the cow-sh^d a woman's pleading eyes seemed to follow him and a woman's voice seemed to say, ' We'll go through life together, Jacob.' ' It's all Donsenwe,' the man said as he brought in the straw to bed the cows, ' but I wonder if she'd notice if I tried to act a oit as we did that night ; ' then he laughed to himself a.* he thought of the gruff, ugly old Jacob Stern making love to his wife. They drew their chairs silently to the supper table. Neither had spoken tince Jacob came into the house, but Sarah noticed that her husband had gone to the stove to look at the lamb when he thought she was not looking. Jacob saw the faded ribbon round hia wife's neck and there was a queer clutching at his heart, but he made no remark on his observations. The meal was almost finished, though neither had eaten much. Jacob had broken one of the hot biscuits, then pus-hed it from him. and a moment later he choked on a mouthful of plums. Sarah made scarcely any pretence at eating. In a moment Jacob would pu'<h b^ck his crair and go out to the barn a^uin ; she could alino»t heur her heart while she waited tor him to go. Just thi-n the lumb fj">ive a feeble bleat, and the man and woman, looking up ut lue .-aine in.-tant. saw the new, strange gltam m each other's eyes. ' Sarah I ' • Jacob ! ' It was all they said, but time rolled back twenty ysirs in that instant, and love that hi.d been dead ail that time was alive again. As they stood with their arms about each other and their faded, wrinkled faces pressed close together, Jacob said :—: — ' We went through the shudow s apart, dear, but we may still find a few sunbeams et the last.' And Sarah answered : ' Yes, Ja:ob, we'll be all the world to one another and life will loße it h hardnens. Again the lamb under the stove pave a feeble cry. — Catholic World.

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