A Sinner Unrepentant

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 369, 4 June 1903, Page 8

A Sinner Unrepentant

LB j Stphte Gate* Kerr. ft

, OMmmiUMMr•*<***. a*prteMlvF«r»tal«.)

|Uf Yi BUT your mornin' glories do f JYJ[ look nica. Miss Phemey I Wish save me some seed offen that arhite one."- It waa Mrs, Ridley eonsjsaf up tht walk. F "I trill. Mis' Ridley. Come in an* \*\ 4own. There's a pa'm leaf on the towage, an' mebbe you'll take a glass 'cf cool water. It's a scorchin" morning," said Miss Phemey. ; "I would like a drink, thank you," responded Mrs. Ridley. "Seems like sjrhen anybody's fat as I am, they just get het up like a coal stove. My, that testes good. You got a grand well, Kiss Phemey." The hostess smiled a flattered smile, but before she could speak Mrs. Ridley went on: "I brought over three of Mr. Ridley's vesta, Miss Phemey, to get you to mend 'em. He's bu'sted 'em aver* one right down the back, fr all the world like a seven-year locust, I tell 'im, an't seems like I got no time to fix 'em, with Emma May gittin* married next week. We're just livin* in a regular whirlwind, an' sorry as I*ll be to see Emma May go—not that I aosj't like Charlie Foote, but you know what I mean—l cert'ney shall be (lad when all this fuss is over." "I expect it is trying," sympathized

Miss Phemey. "But Emma May's always been a good daughter, an' she deserves a fine weddin'." "'Tain't that I don't want her fo bate it," said Mrs. Ridley, hastily. "But I'm just dog-tired this mornin'— for the land Bakes, it's half-past ten o'clock already; I got to go. You bring them vests over when tffey're done. Miss Phemey, an* I'll pay you Fr 'em. I'd send one o' the boys over, but Emma May wants you to come pertickler an' see her presents, so'll be killin' two birds with one stone." She •buckled comfortably as she stepped outside the door. < Miss Phemey looked after her* departing- form with resentful stare. "Yes," she muttered, "she can get Miss Maxwell to make Emma May's weddin' elothes, but I'm good enough to mend np Jim Ridley's old vests. 11l charge "her 15 cents apiece, see 'f I don't; that'll be 45 cents. Does seem a feed bit to charge fr mendin' three rwss." "Emma May wants you to come pertickler to see her presents! Tain't no hint; oh, no! Sally Ridley needn't 'a'tronbled herself to say that. I got a present for Emma May, an* Pm going

to give it to her. I'd like to get eTen with them, the whole kid band of 'em. •Test as if I couldn't 'a'made Rmmn * May's weddin* clo's! They tell me Miss Maxwell uses a chain-stitch machine. I always did say chain-stitch machines was made for the careless, an' I don't see no reason to change my mind. Well, 'pon word, this vest ain't on'y bu'st ed, but frayed int' the bargain." Miss Phemey fell briskly to aewing. The next day, despite the threatening rumble of a distant storm. Miss Phemey dressed in her best and started toward the Kidleys, carefully carrying two packages. She was graciously received by Emma May, a fart, fair girl of pleasant mien and placid

disposition. "I brought home them Tests," explained Miss Phemey; "and here, Emma May, is a little present I brought for you. It'll be nice f r your dining-room table, I thought." She held out a small white pasteboard box, with an expression of the heap-ing-coals-of-fire kind. "Ma," called Emma May, "come here; Miss Phemey's brought me a butter knife! Wisht you'd look!* That cert'ney is beautiful." "It's solid silver," said the donor,

proudly. "My niece down to Hew York got it for me." She received the thank:-, delivered a trifle embarrassedly.'of mother and daughter, with polite coolness. When Ihe bride-elect invited her to an inspection of the presents. Miss Phemey looked them orer and made few comments. She turned the set of silver spoons, "presented by the groom's parents," so that the platemark was risible, and she tapped the globe of a gaudy china lamp with the remark that they were just two dollars and thirty-nine cent* down to Beedham's. When she had looked at ail, she said, cheerfully: "Now I want to see your clothes, Emma May."

Mr. and Mrs. Ridley exchanged glances of annoyance, but the latter led the way to the spare room, where, -on bed and chair, lay the creations of Miss Maxwell, "City Modiste." There was the white silk wedding dress, the tan traveling dress, some odd waists, a black satin, stiff with jet, and a "tea gown." No girl in a country town marries without these last indispensable garments; they are the real backbone of tha trousseau.

Miss Phemey looked at the display, felt the quality of the material, and examined the despised chain-stitch-ing, without a word. At last she said, pleasantly conscious of paying Old scores:

"If I might persoom to criticise, I really do think it's a pity you got your wedding dress made with a p'inted overskirt, AS the latest fashion books say they're not worn at all this season; and box plaits, too, is kind of dropping out. I was readin' only yesterday that 'twas just the cheapest goods was made up so any snore. That black satin's real pretty, though. Did you see Lena Sullivan's black satin? Hers i was a beauty—finest ptea* b' satin I ever cut into, *»' Set aaefe %p with these plaited nMt§, vThgfc buna May, seana if

these fine things in here with th winder open, this room on tin ground floor, like it is. It's been a real treat to see such elegant clothes, an' I hope your married life'U be happy. The Footes have, all got terrible onreasonable tempers, they say; but I hope you'll be able to manage Charlie. Good-by, all." MSbs Phemey walked home slowly. Even the thought of the darts she had planted in Mrs. Ridley's capacious breast brought her no real comfort, when the vision of the •aowy wedding dress rose before her. "Things ain't edge even yet," she murmured. A low growl of thunder startled her, and she hastened into the house to shut out the cuttine flare of the lightning. When the kettlo boiled she set her lonely tabl* and made tea. The quick thump ol heavy rain drops on the roof inn do her start nervously. Night had come with the storm, and after her supper was over, Miss Phemey sat in the dark and meditated. About ten o'clock the rain ceased, and she Ann; the shutters open. The stars were shining now. The air outside waf cool and damp and fragrant. Slv looked over toward the Ridley house and as she did so their last light went out. Miss Phemey strained her eye? to no avail. All was darkness there.

"I'm a-goin' to do it," she said aloud, determinedly. Rumaging over the table, she found a pair of scissors. She took a match from the box beside the window and unlocked the door. The moon was creeping up, a flat disk of pale yellow. Miss Phemey looked down at herself and saw that she still wore her best dress. "It'll be all drabbled," she thought; then, recklessly: "I don't care, nohow."

She, brushed'against the dripping flowers beside the garden path, and held her breath as the gate gave a whining cr-e-ak. Out on the road, walking noiselessly, she went. Once she heard a team coming and erouched in a corner of the fence.behind a little gum tree sprout, till it was past. Sh'e recognized the doctor's rig, and her heart came up in her throat and beat there with great frightened leaps; but he passed by and safely she crept on. At last, after a seemingly unending journey, she reached the Ridley"* •rate. The maples threw deep shad ows, and, so, sheltered, she reached the house. Round to the left wingslowly—slowly—and the window was still open! She stopped and looked in. The moonlight lay in patches on the floor, the dresses spread upon th«» bed, and there, within reach, it fell full upon the wonderful pearl beading of the wedding dress and mad* scintillating lights. Miss Phemey

saw all this, and slowly—slowly—her hand went out toward those glistening beads. A quick jerk, and the waist of Emma May Ridley's wedd : nr> dress lay across her knees. She sought the seam in the middle of thr back. She could feel the despised chain stitching, and she slipped her fingers deftly along toward the collar. What was this? A loose end of thread—a little pull—r-i-i-i-i-ip—it was done. In a spasm of fear Miss Phemey hustled the waist through the window, back into place\ and ran into the concealing shadow. Out to the gate, down the road again—she was almost home. Suddenly she stopped and gave a little chuckle. "Them bastinVU hold it together so nobody'U s'spect—lucky she left 'em in. But when Emma May puts it on, big an* fat as she is, it'll bu'st square up the back like a frog." She couldn't help laughing at the idea; it tickled her fancy so. She forgot her wet feet, her draggled, muddy skirts, and went to bed with a smile still

pulling at the corners of her mouth The next morning the exposure had done it* work. She was hoarse and feverish, and there was a sharp pain that stabhed her at every breath. "Threatened with pneumonia." the doctor said, and commanded her not to stir from her bed, though she could not hare done so had she wished. The neighbors wen very kind, and attended her faithfully, and the tenth day found her sitting up, very weak and frail, but with life in her eyes and roiee. Mrs. Emerson, the town gossip, came In and brought a bundle. "Jest as soon as you git able. Miss Phemey, I want you to make me a dress. It's one Mr. Emerson got me over to Bristol, an' he showed real good taste for a man, I must say. Look-a-there. ain't that fern leaf real pretty?" "It's just beautiful," assented Miss Phemey. "Seems U you'd have Miss Maxwell make it up, bain' she's from the city an* all." "She'll never cut into a piece of goods f*r me, I c'n tell you," said Mrs. "Emerson, with emphasis. "Ain't nobody told you how she made Emma May Ridley's weddin* dress and never sewed up the back, a»* Emma May, not suspicionin', put it on an' busted it clean wide open? O' course, you was sick am' didn't git to the weddin'; but 1 was there, an' the weddin' party was nigh an hour late jest on that account. Nothin' but a bastiif* thread to hold it together; sueh shif*lessness! Course, bein' bad luck, Emma May never tried on the dress after it come home, like she did the others, an' I c'n tell you she was hoppin". People at the ehurch didn't know what was t*he matter. No'ndeed, Miss Maxwell makes no clo'c f r Vie."

After her visitor was gone. Miss Phemey lay back on her pillows and looked out of the window a long time.

** Twai an awful mean trick, I know," she said, at last. " 'Twasn't right; but I got this spell o* sickness to par up fer it, an' that butter knife was solid silver and real expensive. I'm ewned up all 'round—en' somehow*—l j»>sf can't care."