The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XLIX, Issue 49, 14 December 1922, Page 3

The Storyteller

(By Mrs. J. Sadlieb.)

.A-lioe DRior

CHAPTER XII. "'>'%* The first thing that Alice saw when she got home was ~ .Vhandsome new stove, planted right in the middle of the -V largest room,, and the next object that met her eye was : ;< her Uncle Harry, seated in her father's chair, his jolly red face brimful of glee, as he watched the speaking counten- - ance of his niece. / .. < > '- "Why, dear bless me, Uncle Harry! is this you?" she cried. . \ . ••'•, '.-'_. "Indeed, then, it is, Alice, my own four bones, and no mistake! Good-morrow to you, Cormac; how are you to- - day? 5 ?.. '..'■. * Before her father could reply, Alice spoke again: "Hut what stove is this, uncle, or do you know anything of it?" Harry laughed: "Why, what should I know about it, Alice? Didn't you tell me some days ago that you were going to buy a. stove, and so I made no remark about this one being here." '•'•'."■ "Aha! uncle, you're playing a trick on us, I see that plain enough. You know very well that we didn't get the stove, nor bring it here neither. What brought you hero • either, uncle dear, if it's no harm to ask?" she added with a smile. «•■ '..-■•■-' "Oh! what brought me," cried Harry, still laughing, "why, just to see how the chair fitted your father, or how he fitted it —ha! ha! ha!eh, Cormac, how do you like it?" "Ah! I knew very well," said Alice, "'that it was all a trick of yours." "Well,- and if it is," cried her uncle, shortly, "isn't it only serving you right for the trick yourself played off on poor Barney Dolan? Now, Alice, what do you say to that? You thought I didn't know anything about it, but you see you were mistaken. You needn't blush that way, or turn away your head. By the laws! Alice Riordan, T. was prouder when I heard that than I was for many a day before; and I said to myself at the very time, ' I'll bo no loss to them, anyway'; so you see I've kept my word — that's the whole secret now, if you must have it." "Why, what is it all about?" exclaimed Cormac, who had been anxiously turning from one speaker to the other, but was still at.a loss for the precise meaning of what he heard. "Nothing, father,", said Alice, very quietly, "only that Uncle Harry has brought us a. new stove, far better than the one I was thinking of buying. What do you think of that, now?" "• "What do I think?" cried Cormac; "why,.-what can 1 think or say, only pray that the Lord may increase his store, an' grant him whatever He sees him most in need of. That's my prayer from my heart out this day." "Well, well," cried Harry, "say no more about it, It's only a small share of what I owe you for the prayers you both offer up for me. I hope they'll take effect some of these days, and make me a better man than I am. What ■ kept you so long?" - Alice blushed, and pretended not to have heard the question, but her father quickly answered: "Well, indeed; Harry, I'm a.'most ashamed to teliyou, but then maybe it's best for you to know it." ,» •'. "Why, what the deuce do you mean?" cried Harry.. "There's Alice with a face as red as a rose. What is it, ""' at all?" ' ; : •■.-'; '" •■'-,. ■■; * ' /■• ■.-.. "Well, to tell you the truth, poor Alice was tormented•""' this hour past with a scamp of a fellow that followed her, an' kept talkin' to her, an' wouldn't go away, all'she could do, till she was fairly harassed with his impudence. - We turned at last to go to your place, for fear he'd .find/ out;where we lived,; an' as soon as we did, . there he was ;: hot foot after us again; : but;as luck would have it, he met •■ somebody that called him away, an' so we got rid of him." . , ■ "Yes, for that time, father," said Alice; "but he as

good as swore when he was going that he'd find me out before long. Indeed, Uncle Harry, I don't know what I'm to do; for though, with God's help, there's no danger me, still it's very unseemly for one like me to have a gentleman coming after her." "Cormac," cried Harry, "tell me this now, why didn't you give the fellow a good-trouncing; why didn't you, man alive?" •-';'■' "Ah, Harry Malone! Harry Malone!" and Cormac shook his head dolefully, "you forget who you're talkin' to. Do you think I wasn't well inclined to give him what he desarved? Why, man, the very blood in my veins was burnin' like fire, an' I'd have given more money than you ever counted if I could cnly get my sight for five minutes. But God wouldn't have it so, an' of course I couldn't murmur against His holy will. Oh! indeed, indeed, it was a sore trial to my patience, the sorest- I ever got." "Poor Cormac, give me your hand," said Harry; "I did forget, but no matter. Now, Alice, tell me all you know about this chap." Alice told her uncle all that she had before' told her father, and he listened in silence, his lips pursed up together, and his face redder than ever. When, his niece had concluded, he drew a long breath : "Never mind, Alice, never mind, we'll be up to him, or I'll lose a fall for it. Don't be a bit afraid, child; nor don't give yourself the least concern about it. Leave the lad to me, and I'll go bail you'll get rid of him." "Well, after all, uncle," said Alice, "I'd be sorry to hear of him being hurt. He's not bad in some respects." "Bad!" cried Harry, "why, what do you call bad? I'm sure he has the impudence of the very devil himself, or he wouldn't act as he does, following people in the street, and puttin' his- comether on them whether they will ro hot. But don't bother your head about him ; I'll not hurt a hair of his head." "Then how will you manage it at all. uncle?" "Be quiet now, I tell you," said Harry, with a low chuckling laugh. "'Can you tell me the. fellow's address? What regiment does he belong- to?" Alice told him, renewing her request at the same time that Reynolds might not be personally injured. "Not huthe deserves punishment," said she, "but, then/ I'd be sorry to be the cause of anyone being hurt." "Why, take care now, Alice, said her uncle, with a scrutinising glance, "or we'll begin to think that you have a little wish for the lad, eh, Cormac?" "No, no, Harry, no such thing," cried Cormac; "I'd stake my life on it that my Alice would never set her mind on the likes of him. Amn't I right, Alice?—you don't care anything about him?" "No more than I do about them. I never saw," replied Alice, warmly: "and I'm not much obliged to Uncle Harry for even hinting such a thing. I hope God will never permit me to give way to,, such foolish, vain imaginings as that. Oh, no, father! oh, no!" "Well, well," cried Harry, "go and try your new stove.. I'll bring Lizzie down this- evening to take tea. with you, if you'll promise to have some"of them nice hot cakes that you used to make." "Oh, indeed, then, I will, uncle; only bring aunty with you, and you'll see you'll have something nice. Go off now,' and let me go to my work;—and mind you come early." Don't forget now, Harry," said Cormac, as his brother-in-law shook hands with him. "We'll he on the look-out for you after nightfall." ;V-; : ■ So away went Harry, and Alice having seen her father comfortably settled in his chair, took her work and sat down beside him. / "Alice, my child," said Cormac. after a. short silence during which he had been puffing out huge volumes of smoke from his cutty pipe, "Alice, - I was very glad t o hear you say in' that you didn't care about that, faceless fellow.. To tell you the truth, dear, I was beginnin' to have -a. sort of a fear over me, though I wouldn't let on to Harry about it. I was af eared it was more of a trial to you than you let us know." §g:pii, father, father!" cried Alice, earnestly, "how could you think of such a thing? How could I ever have any liking for a man that from the very beginning tried openly to. seduce me into sin? \ Why, father, from the very

first time that he dared to mention his odious purpose, I just had that same fear of him that Susannah must have had of the filthy old man who persecuted her. I can't understand how anyone professing to be a Christian, and to fear God, can ever be induced to like people who would tempt them to break his commandments. Indeed I can't, father, nor never could. Oh, no, father dear, that's not my trial." , "That's not your trial, Alice!" said her father, quickly; "why, that's as much as to say that you have one." Alice sighed deeply but made no reply. Her father laid his hand on her shoulder, and turned his sightless eyes full upon her, as though he would force them to read her countenance. Then he sighed, too, before he spoke, and when he did speak his voice was very mournful and very solemn. "Alice, Alice, keep no secrets from your father; you know as well as I do that you ought to have none to keep." "Father," said Alice, with equal solemnity of tone, "you might easily guess s why I kept anything secret from you." . . "I do, my daughter, I do; God bless you," replied her father, moved almost to tears by the sudden seriousness of her voice and manner. "You'd tell your poor old father anything except what you thought would grieve him? Ah! I know that very well. But this secret, Alice, if it's anything that weighs heavily on your mind, isn't it better for you to let me know it, an' maybe I could give you some advice that would help you." "No, father dear, don't ask me," said Alice, and her voice trembled slightly, "advice could be of on use to me, as I have long ago put the matter in the hands of God, and my sweet Mother in heaven. So you see you needn't fear that any bad will come of it, and it would only grieve you, and make you fret if you knew it." "Well, well, Alice, you're always sure to be in the right, my daughter, for you always go to the fountainhead for advice and assistance. I'll not question you any more, though I'd like to know what your trouble is." Alice sighed again, but quickly shaking off her sadness, she said in a more cheerful tone: "I must soon go and prepare for the evening. I have to get in some things that I want." Just then a knock came to the door, and when Alice arose to open it, in walked Ellen Dempsey, with her smooth, quiet face, and her soft, stealthy step. Alice was rejoiced to see her, and taking her by the hand led her up to her father. Father, here's Ellen Dempsey. Sit down there beside him, Ellen." (To be continued.)

NATIONS ASSIST HUNGARIAN CHILDREN.

When the unspeakable Bolshevist Jew Bela Kun and his equally unspeakable Commune -swept out of Hungary, in- August, 1919, a period of intense misery followed, in which the unfortunate children' suffered most, .as their parents were unable to secure food and milk for them. The situation, was still acute this year, and one of the first actions of the present Pope, at the time of his coronation, was to give a generous sum to the Cardinal Primate of Hungary for the relief of the suffering children. But the difficulty was to find food and milk in sufficient quantities within Hungary itself, and so certain societies in England, Switzerland, and Holland undertook to find temporary homes for the suffering children. Under a committee headed by the Dutch Bishop of Hertogenbosch more than 10,000 Hungarian children were received in Dutch homes during the years 1920 and 1921. Switzerland came next, having offered hospitality to 3560 children during the summers of the past two years. In England the After Care Committee arranged for 485 children to be received in English homes. But this year that plan was dropped, so far as England is concerned, and the After Care Committee has spent its relief funds in Hungary, helping the children in their own homes, a plan which has the advantage of getting money circulated in the country.