MARGIE'S CHRISTMAS.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXX, Issue 14, 3 April 1902, Page 23

MARGIE'S CHRISTMAS.

* — OJLD General Flint, who was the landlord of our handsome Irish home in pretty Malahide, had been one of Wellingtons officers. It has always seemed a fortunate thing, and one that associated me with most stirring history, that I actually knew, m my childhood, one of the men who had fought beside the Iron Duke, when he contested the famous field of Waterloo. I always looked with awo at the tall gaunt, stern old veteran. My father had leased the general's ho.use, all except a few roo,ms on the ground floor ; which were occupied by the veteran himself, his sister, an ancient, nervous spinster, and his granddaughter, Margie Dunn, a gnl of 14, who was as happy and girlish as she dared to be in the presence of these two relatives. General Flint's home was a beautiful house, from the stately entrance hall, and the winding staircase that led to the large drawing room to the. pleasant sleeping rooms. Here the Hintons, of whom I was the youngest member, found an agreeable abode, while exiled from America by the Civil War. ' Eily,' said Margie Dunn, as we sat together in our breakfast room one snowy December morning, • I wish I could go home and see my mother at Christinas I always miss her so much when Christmas comes.' ' Why don't you go, Margie l > ' Tho young girl shook her head. ' Grandda won't let me even call her name.' The pretty rosy face grew very serious. ' You know, Eily, ho never forgave her for mairying my father. Grandda is a general and was one of Wellington's olhcers. My mother was his only child and he wanted her to many a high-up officer, or a rich man, or one ol the nobility. But she ran away with my father, who was only a half-pay lieutenant. Grandda has never spoken to her since When my father died Grandda wrote her a letter and said if she would send me to live with him, lie would leave me this house and all his money when lie died. Grandda is so awfully stern and Aunt Martha is so h.ud on me, and I do want to see niv mother.' Margie's voice broke into a sob and her pretty brown eves were filled with tears. 1 did feel so soriy, both for being without her mothei and for having such a grandfather and such a grandaunt Miss Martha Flint was certainly a fussy old lady. 1 think my small self was a severe tual to her I made a most delightfully dangerous toboggan of the bamusteis of the winding stairway. Then niv John Gilpm exercise on my high-spn ite<l donkey! I think that Miss Martha believed that the fact of my beni'j, a wild little American was all that saved niv life from hour to houi I tried to comfort Margie, for 1 liked her so much. ' Perhaps ;voii might go and see your mother .it Christmas ' She shook her head ' I daren't ask it. Crandda would murder me if I mentioned her name ' I shuddered, for I believed him quite cajiable of it ' You know, Eily, Grandda always has a splendid dinner at Chnstnias, but tho plum pudding doesn't taste right and the tarts aren't nice a bit when you are away from your mother.' Margie choked down a sob. We were standing together at the window, looking out upon the snowy streets. We had raised the sash and scattered a few broad ciuiubs on tlu i window ledge, thereby attracting quite a colony of hungry robins 'Maybe your mother will have a nice dinner, too. Margie,' I said, trying in my childish way to com-

foi t my companion. Then she broke down utteily. The teai s Jell on the frosted panes' as she leaned her brown cuily head against Ihe window. ' Oh, no ! Eily, she won't ha\e any nice dinner She has only a little, pension to live on, and she isi all by herself. She is so sad and lonesome she will just buy a few penny buns and make a cup of tea and then sit down by a poor little lire, while wo have a line dinner, with Colonel Floyd and his wife and Major Burton and his wife ! ' " Oh, yes ! ' I cried, ' I know, and you will have a new dress, a lovely led delaine, and your Aunt Martha, will have a gray poplin. I saw them at the mantua-makers in Dublin when I went to try on niv new dress ' But even the recital of these glories did not cheer up Margie. The picture of the poor lonely little mother was too much for the loving heart. Before I could think of anything further to say by way of comfort a voice, strong, metallic, and hard rang through the corridor. ' Margie ! Margie ! ' ' Coming, Grandda ! ' and the little girl flew to answer the summons 1 stood awhile watching the nimble robins picking up the crumbs and thinking of Margie. Now 1 did wish she could ha\e her mother with her at Christmas. What a very dreadful old man the general was Then Miss Martha, Margie's grandaunt ' She was a penitential exercise all by herself. Th« general was reputed to be wealthy. He was also the possessor of quite a quantity of silver plate, winch was always brought out when the general g"a\e a dinner to his friends. For da\s before and after such a function, Miss Martha lived m terror of robbers breaking into the house. At this timo Fentani^m was quite pievalent in Ireland The old General was loud m bus wrath against the Fenians, but they divided with the constantly-expected burglars a largn share of Miss Martha's dread. When the early nightfall came in thosu short December days, Margie had a wearisome pilgrimage to make of every door and window and gate — to sec if all were stiongly secured. Duo bleak, snowy night we sat beside the fire in Miss Martha's room. Margie was reading to me the Arabian Nights and I was lost to the world in following the fortunes of Ah Haba and the Forty Thieves All tit once, the knocker of the sticet door fell with a hca\y sound, one lonesome stroke, the legul.ir ' beggai \s knock.' Maigio stopped reading and looked inquiringly at her aunt Miss Maitha laid down her knitting and listened Again tho lonesome knock was sounden; ' It's a beggar,' whispered Margie ' M.i.vbe it's a Fenian,' suggested Miss Martha with a shiver Now if there was one thing in this world 1 did want to sec it was a Fenian — a n\il live Fenian I lumped up and started towards the door. 'Stop, Eily.' called Muss Martha. '() Margie, is the plate all locked up? O ! I'm sure it s a Fenian and we will all be murdered. Stephens, the head Foiimii, lias got out of gaol and is at large ' ' Maybe it's Stephens himself,' T cried trembling with a delightful terror I was determined now to get at the door and open it For the third timo the humble, solitary knock resounded ' Well, Aunt Martha,' said Margie, joining mo at) the door, 'if it is a

n ° JetJ ct him stau d there and freeze.' Well well,' sighed Miss Martha resignedly, 'w e will all go together; you girls go on ahead and I'll carry the light.' Sho lifted the tall silver candlestick and placed it high over our heads ; and in this order the little procession moved on to the hall and advanced towards the front door. iho heavy bolts were drawn back me great key of the huge lock turned laboriously Then the ponderous oaken door swung open. A gust of keen air and a shower of snowflakus sharp as needles flew in upon ut>. Without, the candle light fell upon the mu filed figure of a man. His hat was drawn down and his face scarcely visible. My excited imagination was at work. ' He looks just like the picture of Stephens,' 1 whispered to MissMaitha That good lady almost dropped the candle in her fright. Her trembling hands sent the hot wax on my face and neck. A gruff voice came from under the slouched hat. ' Please, Mann, does Miss Margie ])unn live here ? ' Yes, that is my name,* Margie answered faintly. ' Well, I've a letter for you, Miss. Your mother sent it from Kells. She is very sick and she said as how I was to give it into your own hands.' The man drew out a letter from tho pocket of his great coat. Margie took the letter and was so distressed that sho could not answer. 'I'm a carman,' the man continued, ' and I was going to Dublin, so I passed this way. I will pass here again the day after to-morrow, so if you have any message, miss, I will fetch it back.' • \ Miss Martha here found her voice. ' Won't you come in and have a hot cup of tea, my good man ? ' ' No, thank ye, ma'am, but I will kindly bid yo good-night.' With trembling hands, Margie barred the door and we returned to the room. Kneeling down beside the table, Margie placed her letter beside the spluttering candle to read. It seemed to be quite short, but she kept on reading it over and over softly. Suddenly the door was opened and in marched old General Flint. Margie sprang up and ran towards him. The tears were* falling fast as she put out her bands. ' O Grandda ! Grandda ! my mother, my poor mother ! ' ' Hush ! ' thundered the General ; and I thought that must have been the way the cannon sounded at Waterloo. ' How dare you speak of her ? ' Silenced and cowed, poor little Margie crept back to the fireplace. Miss Martha was as pale as a ghost and the knitting needles clinked in her shaking lingers. For me, I waited until the old General turned towards the mantel and I flew towards the open door and breathlessly mounted the stairs. Next morning I caught only a passing glimpse of Margie. Her eyes were red and swollen and her usually merry face quite dejected. I hung about the winding stairway, hoping to get a sight of my little companion and afraid to go too near the old General. Now upon this; winding stairway there were two landings. At the first was a large portrait of General Wellington in full uniform. At the second landing and just above the entrance door of the drawing-room was a handsome portrait of Queen Victoria in her coronation robes. Whenever old General Flint mounted the stairway he always paused before the Iron Duke and gave him a most dignified military salute. 'My commander at Waterloo ! ' he would impressively announce to the irreverent young Americans, who would afterwards rehearse this salutation, when they were sure that the old General was out of sight. Then when ho reached the drawing-room door, he would pause again and make a

most profound obeisance, a regular salaam, to the portrait of the Queen. 'My most gracious Sovereign ! ' he would impressively remark to the snickering tribe of American democrats, who gathered on the stairway to see this special performance. Next morning I was sitting in the drawing-room and looking out on the white road. Over the frozen fields I could see the crests of the hills, the beautiful ' Hills of Malahide,' that I loved so dearly in their spring and summer glory. There they rose up, old and white, and I could imagine, for I could not see, how the hard clear waves dashed like broken crystals on the strand at the feet of the rocky hills. The old General was mounting the stairway with the ponderous and precise tread of a war charger. I went) to the door because I could not miss seeing him salute his commander at Waterloo and his most gracious Sovereign. After ho had given Queen Victoria his most gracious salaam, he surveyed my small self from his soldierly altitude. When our exchange of ' good morning, ' was over there wasi a painful pause. Whatever could a poor little girl say to a tall, stern, straight old man, who had helped the Iron Duke fight the battle of Waterloo. I had so often been puzzled by the old General's reverence for the Queen that I now ventured to inquire : 'Do you think Queen Victoria is such a beautiful lady, General ? ' ' She is my most gracious Sovereign,' he answered with another profound salute, as if that fact removed all doubts as to her superlative beauty. But I was an American, ;, and, besides, the Queen did not! seem anything like as attractive to me as the Queen of the Fairies 1 had seen in the Christmas pantomime in Dublin, and I did not think that the most gracious Sovereign could dance near as long on one foot as the agile young performer. Then I remembered a picture which Margie had shown me of her mother, lust as she was going to the Castle ]3all in Dublin. ' But, General, the Queen isn't near such a pretty lady as Margie's mother.' These last two words werealmost whispered. But he evidently heard me, for he wheeled about, facing me. ' How do you know that Margie's mother was so pretty ? : ' Because 1 saw her picture. Margie showed it to me. Such a beautiful lady, all in a lovely dress going to the Castle Ball. Margie says you were going with her and she does look so lovely — lots more lovely than Queen Victoria.' The old man was so silent that 1 grew frightened. But 1 kept on. ' She's sick now too. That's what tho carman said when he brought Margie a letter. And she's poor and she won't have any Christinas dinner. Only some penny buns and a cup of tea. Margie says that the plum pudding don't taste right when you want to see your mother.' Gen. Flint stood silently staring at me. Then ho asked :—: — 'Do you think that Margie's mother, my daughter, is really prettier than the Queen ? ' ' O lots prettier ! ' I nodded decidedly. ' Aud Margie can't eat her plum pudding without her mother.' 'It doesn't taste right. Then how can she eat it when her mother is so sick ? ' ' That must be so. It must be The old man was ascending the steps. Ho stopped half way and looked up at me. ' Little girl, what was it the angels sang on Christmas? My poor old head cannot carry even a song.' ' Peace and goodwill to men.' ' Good will to men. Peace and goodwill.' Ho took a few steps downwards. He seemed to bo talking to himself.

' Mother and child. They were together that Christmas night. How can a Christian man separate a mother and her child at such a time ? ' The old man was slowly descending the stairs. He forgot to salute the Duke of Wellington and he did not look like a veteran of Waterloo : only a sad and tired old man. That evening Margie flew up to my room. ' O Eil.v ' Eily ' ' she was halfcrying and half laughing. 'Grandda says T am to go back to Kells with the carman ; and when my mother is better T am to bring her back and wo are to be together not only for Christmas but for all the t me. Next morning I watched Margie as she mounted the jaunting car and rode away. On Christmas Eve she rode back in Col. Floyd's coach, which had been sent for her, and which was like a house on wheels. Her mother, pale and gentle, but very pretty, was with her. General Flint did not give any Christmas dinner to his distinguished friends. All the handsome plate, however, was brought out, and Margie wore her new rod delaine and Miss Martha wore her grey poplin. 1 think that the dinner was a great success, for everybody seemed so happy. Margie's mother sat beside her little girl, and hen eyes were bright and shining as the goblets that held the wine. Nothing would do but I must come in for the dessert, and the old General asked mo if the plum pudding tasted all right now. Then ho rose up and lifted his silver goblet of wine and drank a toast 'to the memory of iu\ ■ man dor at Waterloo,' and then another toast to ' her most gracious Majesty the Queen.' — Exchange.