DADDY HAYES'S CRIME.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 409, 10 March 1904, Page 7

DADDY HAYES'S CRIME.

MADDT HAYES, as he was called by all the dwellers in Peaae'a Buildings, ires a strange old man His silvery-white hair shone in the sunlight as he slowly passed through' the noisy group of squalid children who romped ia the asphalt courtyard which formed, partly a playground and partly a drying-ground fcr the inmates of the Buildings. Daddy Hayes made his way from the gloomy, prison-like block across Oxford Street towards the British Museum. His coat, which had onco been black, was now a ebiny green and almost threadbare, and was buttoned up closely to conceal the want of a waistcoat. His boots were carefully blacked over, and looked as though their shattered constitutions would not last through the winter. In spite, however, of his poverty of dress, Daddy Hayes was at heart a gentleman, and, moreover, he was a scholar. He entered the portals of the British Museum aad made his way to the reading-room, which he had daily attended for manjg years. He wrote tales for little children/? sweet, ta.es that made the tears start tT" the eyes of those who read them. f Not OBly did Daddy Hayes write ox i Santa Claus who dwells in his forest home of ice-wonders, but he put his theories into practice; The little blind girl in, Pease's Dwellings, living with her grandmother, who was in receipt of outdoor relief, always welcomed the well-known footstep, and Daddy Hayes would often read one of his legendary tales to his little blind protege before he sent it to his publishers. And the old beldame, who was deaf and could hear none of the sweet sayings, nor catch the fragrance of the story, would hobble up to him as he was leaving! and say, 'lt's a great tie upon me, that it is j it ain't as if she could work a bit, but, helpless as she is. she is a drag.'. And the door shut upon him, and the little blind child's life grew darker. Christmas was fast coming on. Daddy Hayes looked colder and thinner, and drew his shabby* coat round him closer than ever. He had planned a wonderful Santa Claus surprise on Christmas morning for his little friends. There were to be in all fourteen little Christmas puddings, each of which he was going to send up, smoking hot, early on Christmas morning to his friends. Now, fourteen puddings require a good deal of cooking, but after due deliberation with Mrs Murphy, the housekeeper at Pease's Buildings, he had arranged all that. The puddings he was to buy in tins, and as for their cooking, upon his undertaking to have in a Back of coals, and to pay Mrs Murphy and her niece five shillings -for • a-bilin' o' the puddens,' she had pledged herself to have one delivered to each of his charges. Besides this, he had eight little dolls and six boxes of bricks, together with a goodly pile of oranges, and little bags of raisins, which were eventually to find their way to the recipients of the puddings. The whole thing was planned, and Santa Claus had but to touch his wand and fourteen hearts would instantaneously, beat with joy. The snow had fallen in London, and the streets were slippery as glass. It was Christmas week, everyone was hurrying homewards laden with parcels and beaming with pleasure. Daddy Hayes, too, looked quite gay. He had bought himself a red woollen comforter, which helped out his old coat considerably* His last sovereign was burning a hole in his pocket; he longed to make the final purchases for his Christmas morning surprise. Lost in pleasure at the coming venture, his foot slipped and he fell heavily on his back. Daddy Hayes was not long in picking himself up, but he had had a nasty fall, and was very-much shaken. Nothing daunted, however, he made his way slowly and painfully to the shop where puddings were sold. He gave his order, which the wondering shopman executed; but on putting his hand into his pocket for the money, Daddy Hayes, to hia horror, found tuat it was gone. Search though he might the ugly fact still remained, and the poor old man, half-dazed, stole out of the shop and silently wended hia way home to Pease's Buildings. Half the night did he sit up, attempting to find out some way of procuring the necessary money on -the morrow for the coining treat. He racked his brains in vain.

The morrow' dawaed. Poor Daddy Hayes sallied forth as usual to the British Museum reading-room. There he sat, until aroused by the attendant, who brought him some half-dozen of his beloved volumes. Presently, as if an electric current had gone through him, Daddy Hayes's tranquillity was disturbed by some all-powerful thought. Three hours before his accustomed time he left the Museum with bowed head, and after crossing and recrossing Oxford Street as though in fear of pursuers, he reached home, and shortly after he issued forth and stealthily made his way through the mazes of Holbora up a aide street into a pawnbroker's shop, where he staved for some minutes, and came out looking as if ten years had been added to his life. Christmas morning came; the puddings were safely delivered, the rejoicing waa great. Fourteen innocent hearts blessed Daddy Hayes. Mrs Murphy sounded the praises of Daddy Hajea as she went to and fro with the steaming puddings, and all the neighbours came out to see her go by with her load. They all said 'Daddy Hayes was a good sort, that he were.' ■God bless 'on, say I,' added the great navvy, whose tongue did not usually give utterance to blessings. * God bless 'iml' uided aIL Diddy Hayes sat with his head on his

hands. They found him so when they .came in. In one band he held a pawnticket of a book pledged only the night before. In the other was a dry pen, and on the table an unfinished letter, which ran as follows : 'Gentlemen,—l enclose a pawnticket as evidence that I have committed one of the gravest crimes that it is possible for a scholar to commit I have Btolen one of the books from the national library in a moment of great temptation. There only remains now for me to give myself up to the officers of justice. I await your pleasure. I—-* The letter was incomplete. It would never be completed. Daddy Hayes was dead.—Arthur Haydeh.