The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 24 February 1916, Page 3

The Storyteller

CHRISTMAS AT KILLEARY

Christmas bells and Christinas greetings-— the air was full of them, even in quiet Killeary. Sir Maui. Delaney shivered impatiently as the joy'bells from the church.——where the singers were practising vigorously—clashed forth, and, in the distance, Micxey Dolan, at work in the avenue, accosted the coachman as he passed with the accustomed ‘A Merry Christmas' to ye, Larry !’ Sir Maurice was not a sour or unchristian man—the very opposite, as any of the people on his estate would tell you heartily, but Christmas time, of all the year, was most hateful ,to him. It had not always been so. , Time was, only a few years back, when he had been as cheery and as ready to wish ‘ A happy Christmas’ to one and all as was his daughter Terry, How gay she used to make .the old oak hall with garlands of ivy" and shining holly and mistletoe, hfiw she used to trip forth daily, carrying good things to the poor who loved the ground she walked on, more of her interest in every detail of their simple lives and for her bright sweet ways than for her gifts. And then what quiet evenings they had spent together, she singing to him in her dead mother’s voice, or sitting on the rug at his feet for a chat, with only the glow of the wood fire for light and only, Pat, her faithful Irish terrier, for other company. He had come out to get away from the memory of it all, but it had followed him persistently. ‘Good evening, Mickey,’ he said, as he came up to the man.

Then, kindly, ‘ How are all at home V ‘ Well, sir, thankin’ you kindly. Kitty, my eldest, is goin’ to be married to-morrow,’ volunteered Mickey. * Ah, that’s the little girl with the curly hair. I hope he’s a good fellow, Mickey.’ ‘ Well, your honor,’ Mickey scratched his head, ‘ he’s not the one I’d have chosen for her meself. But there—-they’re that foolish about each ' other! And I’d rather see Kitty happy nor anythin’ else.’ v‘ So you’ve given in,’ said Sir Maurice, the loneliness in his heart deepening as he reflected that he might be a happier man to-day if he had put Terry’s happiness first, and ‘ given in,’ instead of making her choose between her young English husband and her father.

‘ Besides, sir,’ went on the man, with ,respectful talkativeness, ‘ I remembered that our Blessed Lord came to bring .“Peace on earth,” and to teach us to ,r forgive as, we hope to be forgiven, as Miss Terry (God bless her !) said to me one Christmas time when I was angry with some one. May I make so bold, your honor,’ hesitating with the inborn delicacy of the Irish peasant, - knowing, as everyone did, something of the state of affairs, ‘as to ask how Miss Terry is?’ ‘Very well, thank you, Mickey; very well,’ answered his master hastily; passing on his way. Pie wondered what this man would think of him if he

knew that Terry’s address even was unknown to her father. And her mother ! He had often wondered of late did she know, up in heaven, of his harshness to the little girl she had left in his care, a mite of four, two and twenty years ago. In his bitter indignation (hot old aristocrat that he was) that his daughter, a Delaney, should (in his opinion) so lower herself as to marry Jack Stanley, whose position depended on his own brains and energy, not on his ancestors, and who was not even a professional man, he would not forgive. He had torn up, unread, all her letters, and now she never wrote.

‘I-will' go to London till this wretched season is over,’ he told himself fiercely as he pursued his lonely walk. ‘ There, at any rate, nothing will remind me.’ \ Perhaps, deep down in his heart, there was the thought that Terry was in England, probably in Lon-

don, and that—by ■ some /strange chance — Jib might meet" her. v His mind once made »p; he could not get away fast enough from memory-haunted Killeary. tie was off next morning before his bewildered servants half realised that he was going, and by night was established in a hotel, in one of the western suburbs of London. Jr/ *****

l‘ What is my little girl crying for?’ asked Terry Stanley, bringing her own tear-filled eyes down from the big photograph on the wall before her to the little troubled face of the miniature Terry at hef knee. : ‘ ’Cos you’re cryin’, mammie,’ answered the child. ‘ Everybody shpuld be glad at Kismas, daddy says so.’ ‘ And daddy’s right, of course, darling,’ taking the little one to her knee and kissing the baby face framed in its scarlet colleen bawn hood. ‘ With you and daddy to love me I am glad always—all the year round—-J>ut just now I was thinking of tlye time' when my daddy and I spent Christmas together at Killeary —-dear old Killeary, that you’ve never seen, Terry, where the grass is green, real lovely green, not haycolored, and the great mountains are all shine and shade in the changing light and the sea murmurs always in the distance.’ Her blue-grey eyes darkened and softened as Irish eyes are wont to do at thought of the land where they first saw the light. ‘Lovely! lovely!’ breathed little Terry, gazing up at her mother as if she saw it all.

‘ A shaggy head was pushed between them, a shaggy paw scraped Terry’s arm impatiently, two other Irish eyes, faithful, speaking eyes, looked up as if to say, ‘ seen it —I think, too, of the days at Killearybefore she was born !’ Pat loved ,his little rival, but always asserted his, as he thought, prior right. ‘Yes; you'remember, don’t you, Pat?’ asked his mistress tenderly, stroking his rough head. ‘ The long rambles through the woods among the ferns and where the primroses shone in the damp mossy ditches, or across the mountains where the purple heather bloomed and the golden gorse flamed against the pale blue sky; the dear old people we went to see and who were always glad to see us and would make us have hot griddle bread and tea; and the warm mat in front of the big

fire in the oak hall ; and the dear old master who used

to talk to you ! You remember it all, I know you do!’

Pat did, and said so as plainly as clear, sad eyes and pensively wagging tail could speak. * I want to see it! I want to see it! ’ cried little Terry impatiently. ‘Oh, mammie, can’t we all go to Killeary for Kismas V No, darling; I’m afraid not,’ she answered. It was the unspoken longing of her own heart. - ‘ Why ?’ with childish insistence. ‘ Doesn’t grandfather want us?’

‘Yes; some day, but not now, dear.’ * He looks kind and good-,’ meditated the little one, critically considering the big portrait. ‘lf he knew we wanted very much to go I’m sure he’d ask us. If I could only see grandfather I would ask him mineself !’ / '

‘What is. all this that Miss Importance is going to do ’ asked a man’s voice at the door, and Jack Stanley crossed to the fireside and stood looking down from his goodly, height at the pretty picture. In a moment his quick eyes had noted the teardrops on his wife’s long, dark lashes. ‘Why, darling,’ he said, slipping his arm round the top of the chair and tilting up the lovely face to his, ‘ what is it?’ * Miss Importance ’ slipped down on to the rug with Pat, knowing full well that when daddy wanted J~her mother, everything else must go. * .V Terry looked up into her husband’s brave, young ace — strenuous, clever face that was all the world to her. ‘l’ll tell you,’ Jack,’ she answered.- Then she picked up little Terry from the rug, and carrying her off to the waiting nurse, despatched her for her daily walk with Pat and Jane in attendance. A moment later : she came back into the room, a slender figure in dainty gown thqit -matched her eyes, and went 5 , straight to her husband’s sk}e. • >v -

My little Irish girl is homesick,’ he said' tenderly, drawing her down beside, him on the couch: ; ’

f" You always understand, Jack,’ she answered,' leaning her head against' him contentedly. ‘ Something reminded me of Killeary this morning, and I felt that if only you and Terry, and I could spend Christmas in the dear old home with poor father, . my cup of happiness would be full.. ' ‘ Would' you like to write again,’ dear?’ he asked. ‘I do not mind, if you want to try once more. There can be no fear of your father imputing mercenary motives. I can provide for my wife as she should bo provided- for—’ ' ‘Better! Far, far better interrupted Terry impetuously. ‘lt is wicked, the money you lavish on me. Jack. I have never been used to, such reckless extravagance;poor father could not afford it.’ ‘ And,’ he continued, smiling at her eager interruption, ‘ though I don’t like suing to any one, with your father it is different', and your happiness comes before everything else.’ ‘I will write again to-day,’ she said hopefully,, ‘ and I will tell him how good you are to me, and how you have fought and are. fighting and winning all before you, for me ! And I will remind him, too, of the old days, and perhaps, if he is lonely (poor father!) he will call me back at last;’

Meanwhile, little Terry proceeded on her way, talking alternatively to Jane and Pat in the soft, musical tones she learned from her mother.

‘ We will go to the park, to-day, Jane,’ she announced/imperiously, and, accordingly to the park they went, where the child, having insisted on purchasing some biscuit, amused herself by feeding the ducks in the lake.

An old gentleman, resting on a seat near-by, watched with an all-absorbing interest. Every gesture, every turn of the little figure seemed strangely familiar to him ; and, as he watched, Pat suddenly darted across the grass to him, and, springing no '->e?an to lick his hands and to evince every sign of glad recognition. ‘Pat!’ he exclaimed .involuntarily, and the dog responded with boisterous delight. ‘ There could not be another dog in the world so like Pat!’ looking into the familiar, intelligent face. ‘ Don’t go near the water, Miss Terry,’ called the nurse.

The old man started and trembled. ‘ Terry !’ Who was the child with the voice, manners, and name of the little girl .whom his young wife had loved to clothe in just such a dainty colleen bawn cloak and hood twenty-two years ago, and who was in charge of his old friend, PaJ? She turned suddenly with a biscuit in her hand to look for the dog, and revealed the little mobile, lovely face of his Terry of long ago. With an uncontrollable impulse he rose and crossed the grass to her. She saw him coming, Pat bounding forward to introduce his two friends, and looked up at him, first with a child’s innocent, curious gaze, then with a great wonder and slowly dawning certainty and delight, every motion reflected on her changeful face. ‘ Grandfader !’ she cried, -and ran a few eager steps to meet him. ‘ You are my grandfader!’ ‘ Little maid,’ he answered brokenly, putting out a shaking hand to her, ‘ what is your name?’ ‘ Miss Terry ! Miss Terry !’ gasped the scandalised Jane, coming forward, aghast at her charge’s breach of etiquette in thus entering into conversation with a stranger. ‘ Be quiet at once, Jane,’ she said, with an imperious gesture. ‘My name is Tewentia Delaney Stanley,’ she answered him, pronouncing the long name with gravity and importance. . ‘ Terentia Delaney!’ he repeated, a great radiance on his face, and in his sad eyes. ‘ That is your mother’s name, is it not, little one?’ , The child looked puzzled. ‘lt was oncemammie told me so. But mammie’s~real name is Tewentia

Stanley,’ with conviction, ‘and you are her daddy. I know you are, because you’re like the big picture, and Pat knows you, too.’ ,Pat, who was sitting down watching the scene, with- a quiet satisfaction, as being

(in his opinion) the result of -his own cleverness, thumped his tail vigorously on the grass. ‘ Mammie was crying for you this morning,’ reproachfully, ‘ and she wants to see Killeary again, and so do I. You will ask us, Daddy and Mammie, and me, to spend- Kismas Jf)iere, woti’t you, grandfader V She finished her long speech breathlessly. . The sadness was fading out of Sir Maurice’s eyes, washed away by happy tears, the lines of pain out of his face ; the weary world was a changed place—transfigured by the sound of that baby voice lisping ‘ Grandfader,’ the sight of that little eager face lifted to his. / ,

‘ Take me to your mammie, darling,’ he said, lifting her in his arms, the soft red bundle seeming to warm his heart and drive the last shadow, of loneliness out of it, ‘ and -we will all go to Killeary at once, if your daddy,’ with a sudden misgiving, ‘will consent.’ ‘ He will do anything that is good for Mammie,’ announced the child, confidently.

And thus they started for the luxurious flat, which was Terry’s home, the bewildered and somewhat horrified Jane following meekly, and half afraid, in spite of the confidence inspired by Sir Maurice’s air of breeding, and by Pat’s evident recognition of him, to meet her mistress.

; ' Jack Stanley was sitting reading his paper in the drawing-room, Terry having gone away to write her letter, when a man’s step sounded on the stairs and he heard his little daughter’s voice in tones of strong excitement. A moment later, the door opened and Sir Maurice entered, Terry in his arms and Pat at his side.

‘Daddy! Daddy!’ cried Terry. ‘I have brought grandfader, and he wants us all to go to Killeary for Kismas!’ '* ■

The old man came forward quickly, out his hand timidly. 'You will forgive me?' he asked, with a strange humility. ' Your little Terry and my old friend Pat. have done so already.' 'With all my heart!' responded Jack heartily, grasping the outstretched hand. In her little boudoir the voices had reached Terry's quick ear, and, trembling, hardly knowing what she hoped, she flew down the passage, where she was met by Pat, who had come to fetch her, and who rushed before her into the drawing-room. For a moment she stood at the door, unable to believe the evidence of her eyes: then, with a joyous'cry of Father!' she was in his arms. * * '. * ' * * It was Christmas Eve, and Terry Stanley stood in the window looking out across Killeavy estate to where the sweep of the mountains and the distant gleam of the sea shut in the horizon. The heavy "curtains behind her parted, and her husband's tall figure appeared. ' Little girl,' he said wistfully, ' are you regretting that you are no longer Miss Delaney of Killeary?' ' Jack,' she answered reproachfully, putting one hand on each side of his coat and giving him a little shake. ' Don't you know that, though every fibre of my being" responds to the magic name of the home of my fathers, I would give it all up again, twenty times over, for your sake I have gained more than I have lost. Heaven itself would not be heaven without you,' her voice taking a passionate tone as she looked up into "his true eyes. He bent his fair head to hers, and his arms closed •round her. '"Forgive me, darling,' he begged. -<-' I am. as jealous a brute as ever. , What a triumphal Jpfocession you and little Miss Importance and Pat had *to-day. ' She laughed at the recollection, but there was a 'note of deep feeling in her. voice as she answered. ' Yes, my own dear people. I am afraid Baby Terry would soon be utterly spoilt by them if we were going to stay here altogether. -Bo you know, Jack, a great "many admiring eyes followed you as you rode t through the village this morning with father ? ,We Irish people do love a man who can ride, and^a^o^ looks well on

horseback. I . had some very nice things said to me about you, too, but. I’m ; not going to repeat them, for fear you should grow conceited. These poor people are great judges of character— is no deceiving them.’

V",!' The door opened, and they pushed aside the curtains, and crossed to the fireplace as Sir Maurice entered

- , ‘This is real Christmas Eve,i he said gladly, his face full of a deep content and thankfulness, as Terry slipped down into her old position on the rug at his feet, and Jack came and bent over his high old chair. - ' ‘ Yes,’ answered Terry, looking up from her lowly place and noting every detail of the heart-satisfying picture, the glow from the wood fire lighting up her father’s happy face, beyond that her husband’s brave, boyish one, and beyond again flashing and gleaming on the oak panelling and great clusters of shining holly and scarlet berries, with which little Terry had so damaged '* her small fingers in her determined •efforts to assist in the decoration. ‘ And I think all our hearts are echoing the angels’ song, “ Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men!”’ Mount A ngeV Magazine.