LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1250, 21 March 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

LEE, THE LETTER MAN. By Johnny Ludlow. Concluded. ' We took the way of the Ravine, It was a searching day ; the wintry wind keen and ' unkind as man's ingratitude.' Before us, toiling up the descent to the ravine at the other end, and coming to a halt at the stile to pant and cough, went a woe-begone figure, thinly clad, which turned out to he Lee hinvelf. He had a small bundle of loose sticks in his hand, which he had come to pick up. The Squire was preparing a kind of blowing-up greeting for him, touch ing lighted matches and carelessuees, but the sight of the mild, starved, grey face disarmed him ; he thought instead of the days when Lee had been a prosperous farmer, and his tone changed to one of pity. ' Hard times, I'm afraid, (ee ' • Yes, sir, very hard. I have known hard times before, but I never thought to see any so cruel as these. There's one comfort, air: when things come to this low ebb, life can't last long.' ' Stuff,' said the Squire. ' For all you know, you may be back in your old place soon' and-and Mrs Todhetley wi!l find some sewing when Mamie's well enough to do it.' A faint light, the dawn-ray of hope, shone in Lee's eyes. ' Oh, sir, if it could be ! and I heard a whisper to-day that young Jelf refuses to keep the post. If it had been anybody's letter but Mr, Tanerton's perhaps—but he does not forgive.' ' I'm on my now to ask him to,' cried the Pater, unable fcb keep intbe news. * Cheer up,'Lee—-of course you'd pass your word not to go burning letters again.'

' I'd not expose myself to the danger, sir. Once I got my old place back, I would never take out a pipe with me on my rounds ; never, as long as I live.' Leaving him wit s his new hope and the

: nn le of firewood, we trudged on to the rectory Herbe t and Grace wera both at home and glad to s-e us.

■ut the interview ended in smoke. Tod had c oreseen he result exactly: the rector was harder than nai's .he talked of example' and 'Christian d:ty;' ad refused po nt-biank to allow Lee to be reinstated. The 8 )uire gave h m a few sharp words and flung out of the house in a . a sion.

'A pretty Christian he is, Johnny 1 He was cold and hard as a boy. I once told him so before his step-fatbe-, poor Jacob Lewis : but he is colder and harder now,'

*.t the turning of the ryad by jiinberdsde Court we came u on L< e. .■> f ter taking his faggots home, he waited about to see us and bear the news. The ' ater's face, red and angry, told him the truth. ' here's no hope for me, sir, I fear?' 1 ' Not a bit of it,' growled the Squire. ' h\r "auerton won't listen to reason. r'erhaps we can find some other light post for y u, auy poor fellow, when the winter shall have turned, t'ou had betfer get in-doors out of this biting cold; and here's a couple of shillings.' fco hope went clean out of Andrew I.ee,

Christmas Day and jolly weather. Snow on the ground to one's heart's content;. Holly and ivy on the walls in-doors, and great fires blazing on the hearths ; turkeys and plum-puddings, and oranges, and fun. 1 hat was our lucky state at Crabb Cot and at ! irnberdale generally, but not at undrew Lea's.

The sweet bells were chiming people out of church, as was the custom at Timberdale on high festivals. Poor Lee sat listening to them, his hsnd held up to his aching head. I here had been no church for him : he had neither clothes to go in nor face to sit through the service. Mamie, wrapped in an old bed qui t, lay back on the pillow by the fire. The coal merchant, opening his heait, had sent a sack each of best . talfbrdshire coal tii ten pour families, and Lee's was one. fc'xcept the Squire's two shillings he had no money given to hi:n. A loaf of bread was in the cupboard; and a saucepan of broth, made of carrots and turnips, out of the garden, simmered on the trivet; and that would be their Christmas dinner.

Uncommonly low was Mamie to-day. The longer she endured this famished state of affairs the weaker she got ; it stands to reason. J*he felt that a few days, perhaps hours, would finish her up. The little ones were up-stairs with their grandmother, so that sho had an interval of rest; and she l»y back, her breath short and her chest aching as she thought of the past. ( f the time when James A est, the handsome young man in his gay regimentals, c me wooing her, as the soldier did the miller's daughter. In those happy days, when fcer heart was light and her song blithe as a bird's in May, that used to b one of her songs, '"2 he Ranks of Allan Water." Her dream had come to the same ending as the one told of in the ballad, and here she lay, deserted and dying. Timberdale was in the habit of prosaically telling he?" that she had • brought her pigs to a fine market.' Of the market there could be no question ; but when Mamie looked into the past she saw more of romance than pigs. The breaking out of the church bells forced a rush of tears to her heart and eyes. She tried to battle with the feeling, then turned and put her cheek against her father's shoulder.

' forgive me, father;' she besought him, in a sobbing whisper. ' 1 don't think it will be long now; I want you to say you forgive me before I go. It"—if you can.' And the words finished up for Lee what the bells had only partly done. He broke down, and sobbed with his daughter. ' I've never thought there was need of it, or to say it, child; and if there had been Christ forgave all. ' Peace on earth and goodwill to men.' fhe bells are ringing it out now. He will soou take us to him, Mamie, my forlorn one : forgiven ; yes, forgiven ; and in flis beautiful world there is neither hunger, nor disgrace, nor paiu. You are dying of that cold you caught in the autumn, and I shan't be loug behind you. There's no longer any place for me here. 5 ' Not of the cold, father; lam not dying of that, bub of a broken heart.' Lee sobbed. He did not answer.

' And ; should like to leave my forgiveness to James, should he ever co*e back here,' she whispered : "and -and my love. Please tell him that I'd have got well if I could, if only for the chance of seeing him once again in this world ; and tell him that I havt thought all along there must be some mistake ; that he did not mean deliberately to harm'me. I think so still, father. And if he should [notics little Mima, please tell him '

A paroxism of coughing interrupted the rest Mrs lee came down stairs with the children, asking if it was not time for dinner.

' The little ones are crying out for it, Mamie, and I'm sure the rejt of us are hungry enough.' fro they bestirred themselves to take up the broth, and to take seats round the table All but Mamie, who did not leave her pillow. Very watery broth, the carrots and turnips swimming in it. '.Hay grace, Andy,' ctied his grandmother, "or they kept up proper manners at i.ee's, in spUe of the short commons. 'ifor what we are going to receive,' began Andy : and then he pulled himself up, and looked round.

Hurating in at the door, a laugh his face and a basin in his hands, came Mr Beti Rymer. The basin was three parts filled with delicious slices of hot roa3b boef and gravy. ' I thought you might like to eat a bit as it's Christmas 1 >ay,' said Be"*:. ' And here's an orange or two for you ycrrngsters.' Putting the oranges out of his pocket, and not waiting to be thanked, Ben went off agaiu. Hut he did not tell them what he was laughing at, or the trick he had played his mother —ia slicing away at the round of beef and rifling the n'ishof oran?es ; wbiln her back was turned, looking af r er the servant's doings in the kitchen, and the turning-out of the pudding. Fur Mrs Rymer followed Timberdale in taking an exaggerated view of f ee's sins, and declined to help him Tbeir faces had hardly done shining with the unusual luxury of the betf, when I dropped iu. We had gone that day to church at Timberdale ; after the service, the Squire left the others to walk on, and, taking me with him, called at the rectory to tackle Herbert Tanertjon again. He did not hold out. How could he, with those bells, enjoining good will, ringing in his ears ?—the bells of his own church- But he had meant to come round of his own accord.

•I'll see .Salmon about it to-morrow,' said he. 'I did say juat a word to him yesterday. As you go home, Johnny may look in at Lee's and tell him so.'

'And Johnny, if you don't mind carrying it, I'll send a drop of beef-tea to Mamie,' whispered Grace, hiding her wet eyelashes. So, when it was getting towards dusk, for the Squire stayed, talking of this and that, there 1 was, with the bottle of beef tea, telling Lee 'the good news that his place would be restored to him with the new year, and hearing about Ben Bymer's basin of meat. The tears rolled down old Lee's haggard cheeks. ' And I had been fearing that God had abandoned me'!' be cried, full of remorse for the doubt. 'Mamie, perhaps you can struggle ou a bit longer now.'

But the greatest eyeut of all was to come. While I stood there, somebody opened the doo l -, and looked in. A tall, fine, handsome soldier : and;ljjdid not at the moment notice that he had a wooden leg from the knee downwards. Ben's basin of beef bad been a surprise, but it was nothing to this.. Taking a glance round the it rested on Mamie, and went up to her, the smile on hia open face phangiug to concern. ' My dear lassie, what's s,mis" ?' 'James!' the faititjy screamed: 'it's Jaraea !' and burst into a fit of sobs on bis

breast. And next the company was argamented by Salmon and Hen Rymer, who had seen James West go by, and came after him to know what it meant, and to blow him up for his delinquencies.

4 Mamie not married 1* laughed James. * Timberdale has been saying that ? Why what extraordinary people you must be? We were married 'at Bristol—and I've got the certificate in my knapsack at Spicer'a ; I've always kept it You can paste it up on the church door if you like Not married ! Mamie would not elsa have gone with mej neither should I have taken her.'

'But,' said poor Lee, thinking that heaven must have opened right over his head, that afternoon, to shower down gifts ; ' why did you not marry her here openly?' ' Because I could not get leave to marry openly. We soldiers cannot marry at will, yon know, Mr Lee. I ought not to have done it; that's a fact; but I did not care to leave Mamie, I liked her too well; and I w&s punished afterwards by not being allowed to take her to India.'

' You never wrote, f James, 'Jgwhispered Mamie.

' Yes, I did, dear; I wrote twice to Ireland, not knowing you had left it. That was at first, just after we landed. Soon we had a skirmish with the natives out there, and I got shot in the leg and otherwise wounded : and for a long time I lay between life and death, only partly conscious : and now I am discharged with a pension and a wooden leg.'

' Then you can't go for a soldier again 1 cried Salmon.

' Not I. I shall settle at Timberdale, I think, if I can meet with a pretty little place to suit me. I found my poor mother dead when I came home, and what was hers is now mine. And it will be a comfortable living for us, Mamie, of itself : besides a few spare hundred pounds to the good, some of which you shall be heartily welcome to, Mr Lee, for you look as if you wanted it. And the first thing i shall do Mamie my dear, will be to nurse you back to health. Bless my heart! Not married ! I wish I had the handling of him that first set the idea afloat I'

• You'll get well now, Mamie,' I whispered to her. For she was looking better already. 4 Oh, Master Johnny, perhaps I shall! How good God is to us ! And James— James, this is the little one. I named her af you : Jemima.' ' Peace on earth, and good-will to men 1 cried Lee, in his thankfulness. ' The bells said it to-day.'

And as I made off at last to catch up the Squire, the little Mima was being smothered with kisses in her father's anus.'

'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will towards men 1' To every one of us, my friends, are the bells saying it, this later Christmas, 1877.