LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 775, 14 December 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

WHAT’S IN THE PACK ? It was a lonely looking house, a good distance from any other, and standing at the end of a long avenue, and its only occupants on the day in question were two women servants and a boy. The time, perhaps, hung rather heavily upon the hands of these three, since the appearance of a queer figure toiling up the avenue was hailed with unconcealed satisfaction. ‘lt’s old Burke, the jagger,’ said one. ‘ It isn’t old Burke ; but he’s got a pack, anyhow. How slow he walks, and it’s getting dusk; we shan’t be able to see the things. ’ The jagger, or bagman, or pedlar, which ever name you like best, came to the door, wiping his forehead, and groaning under his burthen; and well he might. Surely a pack of such size had never before wearied the enduring shoulders of a bagman. He did not attempt to ease himself of it, however, or to display his wares in the customary manner, but he took off his hat to the women politely. ‘Would the mistress take pity on him, and let him leave his pack in the hall or the kitchen—anywhere, so that it would be safe 1 And he would fetch it the next day. ’ Now, the master and the mistress were, as we have seen, from home; so was the man who filled the offices of coachman, groom and gardener, with the help of the boy above mentioned as a sub; and neither master, mistress, nor coachman would return that night. The three servants, therefore, looked at each other inquiringly, a little curious, and a great deal disappointed. ‘ What’s in the pack ?’ asked one. ‘Oh, it’s not a regular pack, but an order,’ responded the bagman. ‘ A lot of coarse cloth and some gunpowder ; nothing that would do to show the ladies. But I am tired to death, and have got to go further. If I might leave it where it would be safe for to-night, I’ve got a few shawls and things I could bring with me to-morrow when i return for it.’ Again the women looked at each other. ‘ Shawls had he got 1 What else ?’ ‘ A few trifles. May be, a gown piece or two, that would come cheap.’ ‘Well, he might leave the pack if he liked, he must take it away early the next day.’ The pedler entered the hall, and prepared to lay down his burthen ; then he espied the door of a little room, which would have been a butler’s panty if the house had boasted a butler. Might he put it there, because of the gunpowder ? And it wus put

there accordingly, the bagman closing the door after him carefully, and warning the friendly receivers not to take a light into the room, or meddle with the pack on any account, because of the gunpowder. The women went back to their kitchen, and the boy lingered in the hall meditatively, having watched the pedler down the avenue. At last he went to the door of the butler’s pantry. And took a long look through the keyhole. The last rays of the setting sun streamed in through that little window, and fell upon the pack lying in huge state upon the flo n r. Again the boy walked up and down the hall, and again he looked long and anxiously through the keyhole. Did the pack move a little as he stax-ed at it ? What a fool he was, he thought; it was all fancy, of course. Suddenly his gaze became riveted on the corner of the pack, where there seemed to be a loophole ; and he saw, as he believed, in the red light, the gleaming of a human eye. He drew back his own from the keyhole ; he shot a bolt into its socket noiselessly, and then he began walking up and down again. He thought about the loneliness of the place, and the helplessness of its inmates; he thought about these two in the kitchen, and himself, and about the pedler, and what might happen. He walked till it was quite dark, and he could no longer distinguish the outlines of that mysterious pack ; then he went into the kitchen, where the two women were talking of the shawls and probable gown-pieces. ‘ Where’s the old gun ? ’ asked the boy. ‘ * a, Joseph, what should you want with that ? It’s up there, over the clock,’ ‘ls it loaded? All right,’ said Joseph, examining. ‘ Now then, I’ll tell you what I want with it; I'm going to shoot the pack,’ ‘To shoot it! Good gracious, what for ? ’ Joseph looked at the two terrified faces, with his own rather pale, but determined. ‘ You won’t squall or anything, if I tell you what for, will you ? ’ ‘No ; but Joseph—the gunpowder ! ’ ‘ Gunpowder’s all my eye. I’m going to shoot it, because there’s a mortal man in it; and a man doesn’t get hisself wrapped in a pack for no good purpose ; that’s what I say. If you’re afraid, give me the light, and stop where you are.’ But the women crept behind him tremulously, and kept silence while hs tried again if he could see anything through the keyhole. Then he opened the door boldly. ‘lf the pack’s an honest pack,’ said Joseph, * it won’t mind a shot.’ Perhaps the pack really moved, or perhaps Joseph was a little nervous, for the last word was not out of his mouth when the report of a gun rang through the room. A dead silence followed it Joseph’s eyes were fixed in a wide open stare on the pack. Presently, a small red spot came oozing through the coarse wrappering; it grew larger. A little red stream trickled down on the floor, and crawled towards the boy’s feet. Then he retired hastily, and locked the door again. His face was very pale. He had killed a man, and it was horrible thing to do or think of.

'Now you two lock all the doors, and make them as fast as you can,’ he said: ‘that pedler chap won’t stop till morning for his pack, I’m thinking. What o’clock is it —ten ? Let us put lights in all the rooms, and make-believe there’s a party, a regular houseful. Once during the night, Joseph, standing near a window, fancied he heard a low whistle outside; his heart gave a great jump, and he signalled to the two women to move about, and slam the doors, and make as much noise as they could. The whistle was repeated once only, and then all was quiet. But though the morning light broke in upon the servants, they could not go to bed or rest for thinking of that ghastly thing down in the butler’s pantry. Noon brought the master of the house, but no pedler came with shawls and gown pieces. When they undid the pack, the hand of the dead man was found clutching a small whistle, and he had a belt on, stuck with pistols and a cutlass. It is needless to add that Joseph was rewarded; and some time afterwards, one of a gang of robbers being caught in a burglary, confessed himself to be the identical bagman who left his pack at the lonely house, and never went to claim it.

THE MISCHIEF MAKER. Chapter I. On a luxurious and gorgeously apparelled open carriage, drawn by two thorough-bred bay horses, sat two ladies. The one, a middle aged maiden lady, was dressed with exceeding elegance, but in a style somewhat more suited to a girl in her teens. Her profile, of decidedly Roman contour, was not unattractive, though by no means innocent of paint; but her pearly teeth and golden curls gave it an appearance of falsity, which quite destroyed the impression of first sight. The other, a young matron, hardly yet of age, presented a total contrast to her companion. Almost as dark skinned as a half-caste, she possessed many creole peculiarities : a cogitative nose, thick lips, and teeth of dazzling whiteness ; her eyes were very large and dark ; and her hair, which was carefully arranged behind, hung in crisp little curls over her forehead. She wore a tasteful Chinese crape veil of blue, just fresh from the hands of a French modiste; and a small, gauzy hat, with flowing blue feather, surmounted with pretty curls. ‘Who was that, Nella V asked the elder lady, as, on turning into the gate of Dazelgrove Park, a gentleman on horseback met and saluted them. ‘lt was Theodore Gordon, the rector of Christchurch,’replied her companion. ‘He dines with us, this evening, auntie, so you will make his acquaintance soon.’ ‘Has Mr Clayforth left, then?’ inquired Miss Issott, as she slowly waved her richly painted Chinese fan. ‘ Yes ; he had the oiler of a rich living in the country, so ho gladly resigned. We went to the parish church for a little while after he left, but we have returned to Christchurch again. The Belvoirs are invited for this evening also, as Tom fancies Thedorc has a liking for Annie, and would like to encourage it.’ ‘ Do you mean to say you and Tom have began match-making already ? I should have thought you were too young. ’ ‘ I don’t call that match-making exactly ; but as the Belvoirs are such superior girls, and as Mr Gordon is so very refined a man,

we are glad to do what we can to cultivate a liking which may be beneficial to both parties ; and you see, it is rather fun, having got over our part of the business so early, to do a little in the same line for others. ’ *Ah 1’ laughed her aunt, as the carriage drew up to the hall door, and they alighted, * you have discovered that you married too early, at last, have you ?’ * No !’ emphatically exclaimed Mrs Lester. ‘ We are still perfectly satisfied with each other, though this is the fifth anniversary of our wedding. Where are the children, Kitty ?’ she said to her maid, as they passed through the hall and up the wide oak staircase. * Mary has taken them into the park, ma’am. ’ ‘Then come up and do my hair,’ said Nella ; ‘ and send Violette to Miss Issott.’ A little later, Miss Issott and her niece awaited their guests in the drawing-room. It was an elegantly furnished apartment, looking out on the grounds and lake, and, further off, on the fir crowned hills. The windows were large, opened to the floor, and at one of them there presently appeared two gentlemen. The one who entered first wore a short shooting-jacket and top-boots ; the other, a tall and clerically dressed personage, fastidiously attired, followed him, and hastened to pay his addresses to the ladies. ‘ Oh, Tom ! ’ said Nella, to her husband, after introducing Miss Issott and Mr Gordon ; ‘do go and dress ; the Belvoirs were invited for seven o’clock, and it is more than that now.’ ‘I kept Mr Lester at the lake,’ said Theodore, as Tom escaped through a side door, and was heard ascending the stairs four at a stride. ‘We have been watching the fish ; they seem to enjoy the sunshine immensely. ’ ‘As we all do, I think, Mr Gordon,’ said Nella. ‘ Auntie and I have been out for the first time to-day.’ ‘ You have not been here long. Miss Issott ? ’ said Theodore. ‘ Only four days ; and it has rained continuously until to-day. How do you like this part of the country, Mr Gordon ? N ella tells me you come from Edinburgh. Swiftwort must be rather tame after that.’

‘I like it very much,’ sauj ffheodore, ‘ though I am passionately fond of our modern Athens. You know it, I presume ?’ he continued, queationingly. ‘Ah, you detect the brogue !’ she laughingly answered. ‘ Yes,’ he said; ‘though it is hardly perceptible.’ ‘I lived there several years ago,’ she returned ; ‘ but for the last five 1 have been in Paris.’ ‘ Oh, yes !’ said Theodore, as if detected in a thought which would otherwise have remained uuuttered. He turned to the table, and began to look at some books of engravings that lay there ; but his thoughts were evidently far away. His brows were knit, as if in deep thought; but the book might have given him some information, from the way in which his face grew calm again, as he shut it up and turned to welcome the Belvoirs, who now entered. Mr Lester presently appeared, and led the way to the dining room with Miss Issott. At the table, Miss Issott kept Mr Gordon occupied with reminiscences of the Scotch capital, to the total abandonment of his companion on the left, who was no other than the Miss Belvoir mentioned by Nella as a particular object of the parson’s admiration. Mr Belvoir, Miss Issott’s right-hand neighbour, finding she had no ear to lend to his common place remarks, devoted all his attention to his hostess ; while his sister, a pretty girl of middle height, whose fair Saxon face was surmounted with plentiful coils of brown hair, was left to the tender mercies of Mr Lester, who did his best to entertain her. She wore a low dress of some light material, tastefully trimmed with a brightcoloured satin, and looked a very fair picture of English maidenhood—one whom one could look upon and love. f To he continued, 1