The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 5 September 1912, Page 5

The Storyteller

THE LESSON OF THE DAY Mrs. Morrison rustled into Bernard Chester’s largest and most fashionably equipped dry goods store, trying' to appear at ease and unconscious of the gaze of those who passed, as befitted a true aristocrat and woman of the world. It was a new sensation to be noticed among the crowd of shoppers, to be glanced at with curiosity and interest. Though she had recently put behind her, banishing even the distasteful memory of it, a life in which toil and economy played the leading parts, she knew her present sphere, for she had lived its fairylike existence in imagination while humble household duties kept .her hands employed long before the real world had opened its doors and said to her hungering, willing spirit, ‘ Come.’ • Down among the hills of Berkley, the rural community from whence the Morrisons had come to Chester —because Chester was the retiring place for the well-to-do - and the wealthypeople had always recognised some subtle quality differing from themselves in Mrs. Morrison, and they had with _ no slight contempt analysed.. and labelled that quality ‘pride,’ pointing for its source to the ancestor in velvet and lace whose oil portrait hung in the little parlor of her home. She had spent much of her meagre allowance of egg-and-butter money for books and magazines, which some ■of the pious old ladies of Berkley, who read nothing but prayer bocks, considered a foolish and idle waste of means i she had made her few simple clothes after the prevailing fashion; and remade them when fashions changed, and this they regarded as indicating a vain and frivolous mind. The head clerk of the dress goods department -■ came forward affable and smiling, as Mrs. Morrison paused at his counter.

;< ‘ What can I show you, .Mrs. Morrison he asked. ; ‘ Something in a rose silk for Sunday ' she paused and bit her "lip in mortification over the slip. - - She still found herself often on the brink of the chasm which separated the past from the.present.

‘ Something for an afternoon dress,’ she added quickly, trusting he had not noticed ; this lapse into the vernacular of the Berkley hills, where a silk dress was always a Sunday dress. With true discernment Mrs. Morrison recognised thy vast difference between a rose silk for Mrs, Tilden » reception and a rose silk for church going at Berkley, even though they were cut from the same pattern. • She allowed the smiling salesman to take down bolt after bolt, examining them with the assumed air of . a critic, and yet with the keen and undisguised enjoyment of one revelling for the first time in a . new delight. There was a fascination in lingering over those bolts of soft, filmy goods, hanging on the brink of purchase over one piece, then passing easily on to examine something of a richer texture, without experiencing that haunting nervous fear of going beyond her means. She had hung in the background often, enviously watching others at this fascinating task: of; selection. The dallying ways of these more fortunate women had seemed to her trivial and foolish then. She would have snatched up joyfully the : poorest piece of the shimmering masses others cast aside, in those days when the rigid practice of economy allowed nothing finer than ginghams and calicoes. Now that she had come into the class of leisure and wealth she regarded it as her province to daily harass busy clerks, to linger on the brink of purchase and then, if she chose, purchase nothing at all. I’ll take this,’ she said at last, when the bolts were piled high on either side of her, and the salesman’s smile had faded into a look of annoyance. All right, Mrs. Morrison,’ he replied, resuming an affable tone; ‘it’s a beautiful piece and will make up splendidly. How many?’ he asked, measuring off the shimmering yards. Ten will •be enough, she answered, not sure in her own mind that it would be, but she would exhibit no ignorant uncertainty in the matter. When the purchase was completed she ordered it sent to her home on Howard Avenue, and left the store with that feelmg of satisfaction which comes to those who are'able to gratify their wants, however extravagant they may

As she approached the big handsome house on Howard Avenue, her home, she felt again that thrill of satisfaction. Five months of ownership had not sufficed to dim the pleasure she experienced daily in •the feel of velvet rugs under her feet, the broad expanse of polished floors, artistic furniture, and rich cut glass and silver. Her husband had denied her nothing in the first flush of prosperity. She had at fames thought him ungenerous, in the days back in Berkley, before the big inheritance from his uncle had come, engulfing them like a' flood in the night. They lived even yet a sort of dreamlike existence, grasping up what treasures money could buy and selfishly revelling in the joy of their possession. - She entered the house and walked softly across the long hall, pausing at the library door. In a chair drawn up before the grate sat a young girl poring over the pages of a magazine: A wealth of dark hair crowned a sweet, attractive face in which there seemed to be something of an artist’s soul reflected, something veiy much akin to the ancestor in lace and velvet, whose portrait hung above the mantel opposite. Her dress of dark material, cut after the fashion of the season in some way fell short of what fashion intended, fitted idly and looked out of place in the handsome room. A painful recognition swept across Mrs. Morrison’s face. The girl was her niece, Mary Carrol, from Berkley’ The very atmosphere of Berkley clung to her; it was evident in the ill-fitting dress, the coarse heavy shoes and the tired, drooping pose of the wearer. ’ ; Why, Mary, when did you come up she asked moving slowly across the room towards her visitor '■ ’ ‘ On the noon train,’Mary replied, after a moment of startled recognition. Then, with a soft laugh- * You

|-r*> v ... ... : so changed and grand, Aunt*Kitty! I thought . were some one els© for a moment.’ Mrs. Morrison ignored this allusion to her altered appearance: -It called up for comparison with her present elegance the days of calico wrappers, ill-shod feet, and other painful memories. She kissed her niece, and then, removing her wraps, drew up a chair beside the fire. .

, ‘.I. am sorry I was out when you came, Mary. I went to Mrs. Patterson’s for luncheon to-day, and she stopped up town to do some shopping afterwards,’ she explained. f I came up for the sales, and have been shopping, too,’ Mary replied, with a gesture toward a chair piled with bundles.

Mrs. Morrison frowned ,slightly. It was another thrust that stirred her memory. She knew without being told what those parcels contained— ginghams and calicoes that Mary would make up for her younger brothers and sisters at home; coarse cloths of ugly patterns, picked up from bargain counters for a mere fragment of what the rose silk had cost. ' How did you leave the folks at Berkley?’ she asked, interrupting quickly, as she saw Mary’s hand reach towards the pile. After revelling among the silks at Bernard’s she had no desire to see those crude, unbeautiful things displayed. 9 h > they’re well,’ she answered lightly. ‘ Mother’s been wishing you’d come down and visit. She’s anxious to hear about the. grand times you’re having here in Chester,’ she added, with her soft, girlish laugh. Mrs. Morrison flushed and toyed a moment with the jewelled rings on her fingers. Her relatives were part of the banished Berkley she had forgotten in these proud and prosperous days. She had not meant to be cold and neglectful, but the new life had swept her far adrift from the old, and it was so rich in excitement and pleasure. - ‘l’ve been busy, Mary,’ she excused. ‘And it’s hard to leave a big house and servants, and the children are in school. A maid entered the room with the package from Bernard’s.

‘Leave it on the table, Anna,’ Mrs. Morrison commanded. Mary turned toward the parcel with suddenly awakened curiosity. ‘What have you bought, Aunt Kitty? A new dress. I suppose you can have no end of pretty clothes nowadays,’ she remarked, awaiting with an expectant smile. Mrs. Morrison reached for the parcel a trifle reluctantly At Berkley it was customary to display purchases for the admiration of relatives and neighbors and-discuss with them the plans for making up ’ She undid the wrappings, and the , bright folds of the goods her pal© * &P ’ Casting a reflect i n g glow across ~ . *** ? ust be fine to be able to buy such beautiful things,, she remarked, with a wistful expression. Her glance had. wandered about the long room with its-well-filled bookcases, leather-covered furniture, and polished woodwork, then beyond where the open doors of the adjoining room disclosed to view the shining surface of a grand piano. r ‘You ** ave a piano, too, Aunt Kitty! May— I see it? she asked eagerly. J J ri , Ce q l ainl /i 1 Mary. Go in and play anything you like. She followed her niece into the little music room, and the girl’s fingers sought the keys of the instrument with the quick instinct of the music-loving

i Morrison stood at the window, gazing out while Mary played. It would soon be spring f little patches of green were showing on the brown surface of Hie lawn, but the chill of March was still’ in the air ? lld grey, ominous clouds were gathering threateningly in the west fl Mary played on, changing from one to another of the few simple pieces she knew ; there was beauty and expression in her playing. A sudden feel mg of misery smote Mrs. Morrison’s heart, as she remembered the old broken down instrument in a corner

of her sister’s little sitting room at Berkley. Her niece turned reluctantly from the piano at last. ' ;■ ’ V ' It’s beautiful!’. she declared.' ‘l’d love to play on that forever! Father O’Brien wants an organ for the church at Berkley. He asked mother if I might take lessons and learn to play for the Masses. Father says perhaps I can if-if the crops and the stock do well this year. She was pinning on her . hat while she spoke. t . . • Can’t you stay over until to-morrow, Mary?’ ‘No, Aunt Kitty, I’d like to, but I promised mother I would be back on the afternoon train. It’s almost spring and there’s 'the sowing to be done now, and the gardening later, you know.’ / Mrs. Morrison sighed. She did know so well those incessant demands on time. Stepping to a corner of the room where the telephone stand stood, she ordered the carriage from the stable in spite of Mary’s repeated demand to be allowed to walk. She carried out the pile of bundles herself, and after saying good-bye, stood with the March wind whipping chillingly about; her until the coachman turned out of Howard avenue towards the station. Then in a strange, dreary mood she went back to her seat by the library fire. . The velvet carpet under her feet; the rich shimmering folds of the rose colored silk on the table; all the objects of the beautiful room seemed to accuse her of some cold, heartless neglect. Mary had come like a ghost of her past, bringing back unpleasant memories of all she had left behind her. In sharp contrast against her own present life of ease and luxury stood the dull, cheerless existence which her sister’s family led. .She had experienced all these privations ■ herself ’ in a measure, but wealth had come to her, sweeping her out of the old sphere into new delights they had been satisfying, engrossing. She had forgotten while' shepursued, this pleasant life, that there were hunger and poverty and sorrow in the world. va - The poor farming community of Berkley had need of a helping hand. The little-church where'Father 0 Brien said Mass twice a month was ill need of many things. It was their desire to .have a, resident priest and a school where their children might receive instruction in their faith. She wondered now why she had forgotten all these things. .- -v v * . a: ' ; - While she sat there watching the glow of the fire in the grate, thinking new and troubled thoughts, the children came home and crowded about her with their childish prattle of school life. Helen, the eldest, a pretty little girl of twelve, drew up a chair beside her mother and curled herself gracefully into its spacious depths. ' • - ‘ Oh, mother! I must have another new dress !’ she exclaimed with sudden decision. ‘ All the girls at the convent who are going to Aunt Daly party next week are having new dresses made.’ ‘ But you have so many, dear,’ Mrs. Morrison protested, repressing a smile at her young daughter’s air of importance. Then her eyes fell on the rose silk on the table, and for a second time that afternoon a feeling of guilt swept over her. It mutely accused her again of the proud, vain life she was blindly .following and into which she was unconsciously leading her children. She saw it all clearly now, as she listened to their various and incessant demands. . she sat opposite her husband that evening at dinner, she spoke of the visit of her niece, Mary Carrol; . . He glanced up from his plate with momentary interest. J

. ‘Mary here? Why didn’t she stay over for the night? We might have taken her to the theatre and shown her a good time.’ Then, as if the matter were of slight importance, he went on. ‘I ordered the automobile from Granger’s to-day. It will be here in a month,’ .

She listened dutifully while he enumerated the merits of the machine. She had expected him to talk of Berkley, but that seemed a far-off world to him now. The grasp of the business world was growing.strong upon him. He was eager to add to the accumulated wealth his uncle had left him. He, too, was forgetting spiritual things. - 5 . s

With a sudden energy that surprised him, she spoke up: ; • ' .. V/- * John, I think- we’ve been selfish and wicked! What have we been"doing with our money ? Don’t you remember how we used to freeze in the church at Berkley when the cold wind swept in where the plaster had fallen off? Father O’Brien wants an organ. And there's the school to be built. Oh, there’s so much I’d forgotten until Mary came to-day!’ John Morrison looked down at his plate a few moments, then met his wife’s eyes earnestly. * Kitty, I guess you’re right,’ he said. ‘ I’ll cancel that order at Granger’s to-morrow and send Father O’Brien a cheque that will start things moving at Berkley.’

The spirit of the old days of poverty had come back to reside in Mrs. Morrison’s heart, and she was grateful for the lesson the day had taught. —S. Y. Reilly, in The Rosary. ' ~ *