THE PARRISH LUCK.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIX, Issue 49, 5 December 1901, Page 23

THE PARRISH LUCK.

THE road to Loneville trailed hot and dusty in the afternoon heat. That part of the world always got its full measure of heat, for there were no hills to temper the sun's rays, which shone down relentlessly upon the burnt fields. The sky was clear save for two long bands of white which stretched across the western sky, where a portion of the sun peeped between, likje a prisoner behind bars. All the beauty there was in the surroundings lay in the shjy, the air and the fields, not in the dingy-looking house, considerably the worse for paint and general repairs. There was an air of desolation' about the place that bespoke poverty or shiftlessness or both. Suddenly a girl came forth carrying a pail, and walked slowly over to the well. Drawing the water she left the pail on the stone flagging, and came over to the sagging gate that barred the way to the road. Here she stood for a while, and one saw that she was tall and wellformed. Her face was lighted by a pair of large brown eyes, and her well-rounded arms were bared to the elbow. Were it not for the expression of weariness about the mouth — an anxious troubled look that lurked about her every facial movement — one would have termed her decidedly prepossessing. Suddenly below the bend in the road there emerged tho figure of a young man, whom the girl no sooner sighted than her whole expression changed. The mouth, took on the pretty, wellmoulded lines that belonged to it by right, while the eyes brightened with a sudden welcome. A moment ago she was a listless, tired girl, now she was all alert. Smilingly, she awaited the newcomer, who came straight to the gate. He was a good-looking young fellow, with a bright eye and close curling brown hair. He worked in the country store, nad his name was Ernest Thompson. ' Well ! ' ho said, ' I've done it at last.' The girl's eyes widened, as though this was not quite the greeting she expected. ' You have ? ' she asked. Yes ! I quit this place to-night for good.' 'Oh ! Ernest ! ' It was almost a reproach and the man turned impatiently, oblivious of tho girl's whitened face. ' Oh. ! what ! I told you I was getting sick of it here — that I couldn't stand it much longer, and — ' ' But you promised the other night you'd stay for another year any.way.* ' Well ! — I won't ! that settles it,' retorted he somewhat ungraciously. The girl clasped her hands, while he averted his eyes, continuing hurriedly, ' I hate poverty ! and I hate Loneville ! I am going to-night — on the 8.10 train. You won't mind, Em, will you ? Why, there ain't nothing for a fellow here. Out there,' he waved his hand to the setting sun, ' I'll get to be something. And then — you and I — Em, we can live as we ought to live, and I'll write often and I'll come out whenever I can — an d — ' his farewell frittered away suddenly, while he took both her hands in his, striking them in an absent sort of way. His eyes were filled with the ambition of other things, and though he saw there were tears in hers it was with no great reciprocal sympathy. « Then this is to be good-bye,' she said after a moment while the sun sank into the fields and the gray pallor spread over tho landscape. She shivered slightly, as with a sudden chilli and the man looked away quickly. . A Yes, I suppose it is, he said.

' It's getting dark, and I haven't much time left.' ' Won't you come in and say goodbye to mother ? ' asked the girl, almost timidly. ' No,' he replied, releasing her hands, ' what's the use. Why, you'd think I was going to the ends of the earth. I'll be back again, sure enough — and I'll write and — well, good-bye !' he was off — gone ! The girl watched him with straining eyes till the figure merged itself in the gathering shadow. So he was gone. And how little he had seemed to care. How lightly he had said good-bye. And yet this man was her promised husband ; they were to be married soon ; it had been understood in an indefinite sort of way that it might be in the fall. And now ? A hundred things that she ought to have asked him, and that ho ought to have spoken of leaped to her mind. What few words they had said, and how simple and ordinary the whole thing seemed. Of course he could do better in the town, but — but — oh, why did it have to come just now, on top of all the day's bitter experiences. For she had not time to tell him that their troubles, already great, had multiplied. That very day her father, who was slowly recovering from an attack of fever, had received a curt note from Wilson and Co., that the mortgage of five hundred would have to be settled in ninety days at tho farthest. This being the culmination of many previous warnings to a like -effect Emma felt that the worst was really come to them at last. With burning eyes she walked back to the pail, picked it up, and entered the house. Her mother had made a light, and soon observed the distress in her girl's face. ' Emmy — what is the matter now ? Don't let your father see you with that long face or he'll give in entirely. Ain't our troubles enough without a dwellin' on 'em as if it was a treat ? I see Ernest out there, why didn't he come in ? ' ' Oh, mother, he's gone — he's gone away to do better, he says.' ' ' Give up his place in Saunders ? ' demanded the elder woman. ' Well that's sense I do declare ! If that ain't a shame — a good place, too, and Mr. Saunders so nice to him. What possessed him.' ' He never lilqed it — be hates . the place — he wants to do something to make money — ' ' And he left you like that,' questioned her mother. ' Without any plans made for you ? Well ! My opinion ain't the same of Ernest Thompson. Lord knows where he'll find us if he ever comes back' — I don't ! If ever 1 say — for after that he's likely to do anything.' Mrs. Parrish was one of those women who at the first hint of trouble became filled with the prophecies as to the future. And yet she was fully convinced that she was the one member of the family who bore a cheerful air under any and all conditions. Mr. Parrish, with his large and growing family, his ill-health, hisi •wife, and his demoralised farm, had a good deal to contend against. It was hardly a wonder lie grew discouraged. Old Sol Hunter in talk >at Saunders' store was wont to outline the poor man's difficulties in this wise : ' Parrish is one of them 'er durned critters what's allus up agin suthin hard and rocky the hull blamed time. I've known that feller years and years — and 1 never seed him different. He's allus worked, yes, and worked hard — I tell yor, mighty hard. I ain't done half as hard — and Where's he to-day ? up agin it with a dull thud ! Yes, sir, stacked up agin a wife an' five children an' a mortgage

that's got to be paid — an' can't be-^ an' him sick as well ! It's a case of opportunity an' other things banging' him on the head an* countin' him out every time. He's an unlucky speciment. Some is born that "way, some gets it, and others agin has it thrust upon 'em. Parrish is one of the triple-plated kind.' And so it seemed. With all his efforts everything- went wrong. He had foreseen the loss of the farm from the first. He had also struggled to lessen the danger but without avail. Now he was not bewailing or bemoaning. He was staring the issue in the face. It had to come — they would have to go — somewhere ! It hardly mattered where, and he did not care to think much about it. Emma was his constant help. She never despaired — to him anyhow. His wife always did ; so he got to confiding things to Emma who soon had her young shoulders burdened with the dreary weight. Emma was ambitious. She wanted to do a host of things. As a preliminary she had studied and worked hard to secure tho appointment of teacher in the local district school, but a personage with more influence and less brains had secured the place. There were two younger boys and two small girls. The boys wero 15 and 16 respectively, bright and ambitious like herself ; they did what little they could, but withal it was very little. It was Emma's constant regret that they could not receive more schooling, that they could not have many things. But there were limitations. She was thinking of all these things in a bitter way unusual with her as she went to her room t'ffat night. When she crept to bed it seemed as though the accumulated dreariness threatened to engulf her, and with a sudden sob she turned to her pillow and wept long and bitterly. As for Ernest, he went ' out there,' which for him meant a large city with crowded streets and brilliant stores. In a week he was fortunate enough to secure a place as salesman in a leading dry goods house. This was his element and he revelled in it. His first letter, telling of the glories of the present, reached Emma as he had promised. It disparaged everything relating to Saunders and the country store at Loneville, and it lauded to the skies everything in the city. Emma sighed and tried to picture him in his new environment, with the new manners and ways that he spoke of. An unbidden thrill of resentment shot through her that he should so despise and belittle the past. There were some things in it that ought to be sweet to remember. They would never have changed with her. But Ernest's letter, explanatory though it was, did not tell her all. It could not tell her how quickly he picked up city ways, how well his new clothes became him, nor how fashionable in a small way his habits grew. A recital of them would have dazzled Loneville. He boarded at a rather well-kept boarding house. It was situated in a retired street surrounded by genteel neighbors, whose gentility impressed Ernest very much. So did Miss Ida Townley, the daughter of his landlady. Miss Ida was of the blonde type of beauty, the very reverse of Emma, who looked dingy by comparison. Ernest made that mental remark the first evening of his arrival, which was a dangerous beginning. He thought of Emma as he had seen her last, leaning with clasped hands on the rickiety gate with the rickety house for a background and—contrasting her with this lovely creature in her frills and laces — he distinctly regretted ever being engaged. In his letters he adroitly avoided all mention of this circumstance, however, and when Miss Ida smiled almost forgot that he had ever known or cared for another girl. Being a bold and courageous young man and perceiving Ihat Ida seemed not averse to him, he redoubled his little attentions to her. Her mother remained a diffident observer, not evincing any bias in

either way, which proved her to be a diplomat. Not being in the confidence of his fellow-boarders, Ernest failed to hear the gossip which said that Miss Townley was only flirting with him for her own amusement and incidentally to tantalise another swain. He would not have believed it anyway, for his faith in Miss Townley grew day by day. Likewise his admiration. He was sure she liked him. If he might only claim her for his own he would In. a.^ happy as a king. He still wrote to Emma, but it was a gicatoi efiort every time. The letters grew more and more unisteresting. He knew they must be, but he was growing icckless and did not care. The memory of his engagement galled him more and more every day. He had been an ass, a fool, to limit his prospects so. Meanwhile he took Ida to the theatre and whatever else his pocket could afford. Of course he had no time to run up to Lioneville. Emma had looked for him at first, but gradually a conviction that he would not come came to her 'Ain't it about time Ernest would come out ? ' her mother would say, and the poor girl's pride would force her to formulate some excuse that passed for the moment Fortunately their troubles were great enough to take Ernest ofl her mind at times. Their financial difficulties were as great as ever, and there remained but thirty days to pay the five hundred dollars. And they had not fi\e hundred cents to spare ' Guess be the looks o' things we'll be out o' tins domicile by next month,' the farmer said one evening at the supper table He had not eaten much, and though he made the announcement as he might have discussed the weather, Emma knew it was breaking his heart She looked away with a sudden mist of tears in her eyes. That night she prayed as one nrays once in a lifetime, and the next morning a letter came fi om Ernest. For a long time after she opened it she sat gazing stomlv before her. It began Dear Em — You will foigive me when von understand as 1 do the necessity of this, but 1 find we two weie not made for each other as we thought I could never go back to l,one\ille under the same old c n cumstances Time has changed everything for me, and I see now that we weie foolish and unwise It ma\ seem haish, but it is better so 1 feel urn will be far moie happy with some one else Under these circumstances \<>u will surely agree with me that it is better to break our engagenn nt now Ever your cordial fnend. ERNEST It was her mothers step th.it roused her and caused her to gather her wits and the letter togethet for the morning's mail, and so ti led to dismiss him from her life As foi Ei nest , now that the dis.igii'cable task was done with he felt lelieved Thenceforth Eoneville tor him became but an abstract theory, the only thing that nlled his thoughts being Ida Townlev. That v oung peison still smiled sweet! v- upon him. and even the gossips admitted it was a pretty long flirtation About a week after the it'ceipt of Ernest's letter Emma was sitting drearily and sleeplessly by hei bedroom Window, Which, being in the rear of the house, looked out on the farm. It was past midnight and a warm moonlit night. The git 1 had crept to the window to soothe the pam in her heart, if possible Suddenly a huge dark shadow shot u|> out of the earth some distance fi om the bouse It went to a gieat height .md stood shimmering and trembling in the moonlight A dull rushmn roar accompanied this <>u( alk*d-for apparition and set\.d Lo convince Emma tint she was not dreaming Alarmed, she watched it as if fascinated, while the huge body changed its outline every moment What could it be 9 She leaned out of the window and felt her cheek touched

with a sudden moisture. At the same moment her father stepped out from below. She called down to him : ' What is it father ? It frightened me, it sprang into the night so suddenly. What a noise it makes.' ' Hush, child, I am going out to see.' He stepped into the house and reappeared with the two boys Emma hurriedly dressed and was soon beside them. ' It's — it's 1 (i wif'T^pont surr' ' snid one of her brotheis. ' Jt will drown the house out,' 'It'll spoil them potatoes,' said the other. ' It's just in the patch 1 put in shape to-day — see ! it's flooded it already.' As they walked toward the towering column tho wind carried a shower of spray which quickly saturated their clothing. ' Ugh ! It's grease — not water,' said Emma suddenly. ' There comes old Hunter to see what's up,' said her brother, as the figure of that worthy came hurrying across the fields in the moonlight 'Well, neighboi — what the dickens do >c call this '> ' he began. 'The n'ise o' the thing woke me up. Thinks J this is suthm' uncommon, so I just lit out For a moment the party gazed at it in silence A huge ge\ ser of mud and some black oily substance that smelled strongly of petroleum was shooting up into the moonlit sky, with a loai that was momentarily increasing, while the low-lv ing land below was ah eadv a immature lake. Emma turned and looked at her father. 11 is tace was strangely white Old Sol Hunter gave a sniff or two, then a whoop ' Whoo ' Its de ' By JmgO — it S lie ! lie — a bustin' cut o' this held like nroworks ' (Jallons o' lie ItarTs— Yes sir— Bar l's ! I'll bet t here s just a thousand a minute g-oin' up m the ,vi Jle, smell it The Fairish luck, by ginger ' but good luck tins tune. .Joel, I'm proud to know \ e— \ ell be <i i lch man before niDi nmn ' After a tune the gioup went back to the house, the two sons and the father and daughtei On the thiesliold they tinned again to watch that w ondei lul column ' It seems too good, father , .m hour ago we weie almost beggai s, no w — ' ' Now,' he lepeated ' Now we are lich, child Do \ on hear Illth beyond out wildtst dieaiiis — and most of all— l thank Cod for your sake ' lie bowed his head 10l a moment W hlle Ihe gnl kissed him ' Now daughtei , tiv and get some rest We must wait till morning befoie We get 100 sine "boill anyIlnns! It nun not be all we claim for it — though I think it 1-< Theie's \ out moilKi Don t let hei get too excited Emma tumid away 'I liei c was her mother with the two little girls • Well ' .loci Pal rish she began, ' of all things ' Not ,i soul lett m the house but me and the little ones — ,Uld in the middle of the night too ! Whatovir has happened now -> ' 'Oh molht r. it's gleat good foi t une this tune ' began Emma ' My ' ' c i led the luolhel, catching sight ot Ihe ge\ sei tor Ihe 111 st tune .Joel — what is it '> ' She looked tel filled nut ll lie e\pl. lined, t hen s),c s.i r k (low n o\ ci ( olne ' Aml we'll be lull \on sa v .1 oel ' Emma f — vour sine \<>u ain't lokui' We won't have to |>a \ von sa\ '' • We 11 have Id pay ' said her husband. ' but if this is oil — and it soi ms to lie — pa \ m '11 he oasv.' Soon the moonlight began to wane and the ( oluinn I o.ik oil .1 dull biowilish hue in the ghost lv llL r l)t of the new-bom d,\\ The family did no nioie sleeping, but spent the tune w. ilkmt; from the new wonder lo the house By da\ light a crowd of nemhbois had gatheied about the wondei . to speculate, and to uibil.ite ' lie ' He ' ' v\.is heal d on every side The Farnsh luck had changed with a vengeance. By dinner

time Joe Parrish was a person to be deferred to. His ideas had to be respected. Three of the wealthiest neighbors made him successive offers for the potato patch, that given a day before would have turned his head. But he waved them aside. ' 1 am't sellin',' he said calmly. By evening all the papers of the country held ' l'arrisli printed m largu letters on their front pages, and the world was talking of the new oil fields- iit T/onevillp Before the week was out .Joel had raised a lonn and nmd off the rnort cage, while a horde of people — speculators, gamblers, and what not — invaded the once lonely Texas farm. The ' gusher ' had come to stay. Experts pronounced the product petroleum of a good price. With the rest of the world Ernest read of the Parrish luck and in the privacy of his own room adjudged himself an idiot of the first order. ' I'd cut my hand off to recall that letter,' he observed mentally. It plunge him into such painful reminiscence that he even forgot Ida. When he went to bed he dreamed of 'gushers,' and Emma, and himself walking- off down the Loneville road. He grew desperate and had the had taste lo compose a letter to Emma It came back two days later with this inscription written across in a strange scrawl. ' Don't advertise your fool ways like this — T wouldn't if I was you ' He knew Emma had never seen it tlien, but doubtless her father hail, and this was the lesult. One day he was riding his wheel home to dinner. It was a crowded street, with carriages, pedestrians, and bicycles .ill inextricably mixed in tm efiort to get somewhere. A team of spirited horses loomed suddenly upon him and to save himself lie spiawled into the putter with his machine Angrily he looked up. Then; was an impressive-looking coachman ill g1.1.V on the box, and behind m luxurious ease, wen Emma and her mother ' Yes Emma and looking like a princess, now — the girl who might have been his ! Both women saw him, and knew him. as t lie elder woman showed by the scorntul ciiiM' of her lip As for Emma, her face whitened for a moment. then she ga^ed straight ahead without a tiemor Then Ernest knowing he had lost her for ever, picked h'tliself il|) and slunk oil" m ihe ciowd lie went back to Ida, but she chingid hoi mind and took the other gentleman Emma I'aiii h lias gone abio.ul to complete hot studies, her father, as treasuiet of the Punni'i Oil t'ompanv. being well able to allot d this diveision the bo\ s ale at college — ami Ernest is still drawing fifteen a week at 1 lie di v goods store — ' llonahoe s Magazine