LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2399, 10 December 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

ALMOST A HEROINE.

I was a brave, fearless girl, my father’s own lass, he called me, and I was proud enough of the title. My mother had died when I was but a helpless infant, and so he had lavished on me the love which should have been for both. To light bis pipe at even time, to have his coffee hot and steaming in the morning, to prepare his midday meal proud enough I was, when old enough, to assume these duties ; and a smile from him, a glance of approval, a pat on the cheek, was my highest reward. We lived alone in a little cottage, with no neighbors within miles of us. Some two miles distant was the mine in which my father worked as anb-overseer. The miners for the most part wero Welshmen —a rough, stubborn set, and lately there had been a good deal of dissatisfaction among them. My father, who had been a prime favorite, had met with frowns and scowls because he insisted upon carrying out the wishes of the owners. Finally the frowns became threats, the soowla curses, and he deemed it beat that he should make a journey, and tell the propria', ors how the true state of the case lay, and see if they could not comply with the demands made by the men. To do this ho must be absent two days and nights. ‘ I don’t alogether like leaving you here alone, honey,’ he said. But I laughed. Solitude was no bugbear for me, and, as I said, I knew no fear. • Take care of yourself, father,’ I answered, ‘and I promise to do the same.’ So he made ready for his departure, and just as he was about to start, one of the agents arrived, bringing with him a thousand dollars which my ftther was to dispense, according to order. He had just finished counting It out, when two of the miners, rough, surly looking fellows, and hearing bad reputations, came to the door. I saw their eyes glance at the money with hungry greed, but they quickly lowered them, transacted the business on which they had come, and turned away. ‘ I don’t know what to do with this money,’ said father, when we wero again alone. ‘ I don’t like the responsibility of carrying it with me, nor i) it quite safe to leave it with you.’ * Oh ! yes,’ I answered, proud of the trust, 4 I will take care of it. What harm can come to it here ! I will hide it so securely no one can find it.’

So, thinking it over, we bath decided it was indeed the boat way, and with a heart over which hung no presentiment of coming ill. I threw my arms about his neck, watohed him mount his horse on which he was to make the journey, and with eyes all undimmed by a single tear, went singing back to my work. When nightfall gathered I carefully closed tho windows, barring tho outer shutters and the door, then glanced round my domain, its clean, shining floor, the cheery lamp on the mantle, tho bright fire, the tea-table set tor one, and envijd no city belle iu tho luxurious warmth of her drawing room

Then my eye fell on the money, which still lay on the shelf where I bad placed it. Was it not safe enough ? Who could enter ? But as a wiser provision I again took tbo roll of notes, and, running up stairs, hid them within tho tin box where I kept my most sacred treasures —two or three letters, badly spelled and badly written, I bar, but straight from Tom Harding’s heart to mine —my brave sailor lad, who was now on tho seas, but who soon was coming home to claim hia bride and settle down as a landsman, all for my sake. I forgot all about the money, reading these, arid dream'ng over the happy dreams to which they gave rise. Already the clearing had been made in sight of my present home for tho little cottage which was to bo ours, and when tho mine developed and the town grew, we soon would be in the centre of quite a population. So we hoped, and were content. ‘Ah! if this money were only ours,’l thought, with a sigh, as I laid it at last away ; and with a fond kiss put the letters by its side, then closed and locked the box and ran lightly down tho stairs. When at last nine struck from the old clock In the corner, I laid aside my sawing, arranged everything in readiness for the morning, and soon was snugly ensconced in my bed, where sleep came to me as sweetly, as swiftly as though guarded from harm on evary side. It was a strange sound which wakened me, and which caused mo in a moment to sit upright in my bed, silent and li-.tening, Again it came. It was the noise of chisel and steel, accompanied by low murmurs of vcices. What could it be? But hardly had the thought ilished through my brain thou answering thought solved it. The two men who that afternoon had so;n the money in my father’s hands—the avaricious greed their eyes betrayed, their enmity for him, their probable knowledge of his departure—this made the mystery clear ! But what was to be done ? I crept from my bed, wondering if this feeling paralysing my heart was fear, experienced for tho first time in my life. I glanced at the stout door, the barred windows, and took fresh courage. It would be long before they could effect an entrance.

* What do you want ? ’ I asked at last, boldly, my feat dying away at sound of my own voloo. I could distinguish, in answer, a whispered consultation, then a gruff voice replied : * We want to get in, and the sooner you open this door the better. If you force us to break It down, look out for yourself, Open it and wo’U do you no barm.* * 1 know you,’ I answered— ‘ both of you and I prefer your acquaintance wUh good solid oak between. If you don’t wish mo to aronee my father you will go away. ’ ‘Hal ha! they laughed, scornfully. ‘ That la your game, my girl, is it 1 You play it well ; but your father is beyond reach of your voice, and wo know it. Open the door, that’s a good lass. We are cold and want a sight of your fire.’

[To this I made no answer, so they continued : ‘ Wo’d like a drop of beer, too, if you ' have it handy. Wiil you let ns in or not?’ ‘ This is my father’s house,’ I answered, • In h!s absence I admit no strangers.’ ‘ We’ll show you ? ’ they scornfully replied. And once more chisel and steel fell boldly to work. Oh! how I blessed the trusiy lock, and when at laot they ceased their useless efforts, and their footsteps dioi away, I fell on my knees in a transpoit of gratitude that I escaped tho danger. But it was, alas 1 short-lived. From it I was roused by a crash which made the walla tremble. The men had withdrawn, and arming themselves with a huge log as a battering-ram, assailed the door. I saw tho bar shako, and knew it could not long withstand their united pressure. With strength almost superhuman 1 dragged what furniture I could to its defence, i iling it up as a barricade, fear being lost in frenzied indignation at this outrage to this helpless girl. Then speeding np stairs, I took Ihe money from the place I had deposited it and placed it In my breast, determined to protect it with my life. As I turned to go down again my eye fell on my father’s gun, and with almost a sob of thanksgiving I seized It in my grasp. As I did so another blow was struck, followed by another and another. ‘ I am armed 1’ I cried, through the door. ‘ If you force an entrance I will kill you. ’ A scornful laugh was tho only reply, as tho blows fell thick and fast, the men retreating just far enongh to move forward with newly acquired strength. Once more I glanced round tho room. The fire was dying out; only a few embers wero left in the ashes. I could picture the girl’s white face, with blaz'ng, resolute eyes and stout young heai t facing the unseen enemy, not knowing at what moment her sole defence would yield. Another blow ! Tho timbers creak. Soon, stout as they are, they will give way. But a few momenta more must i elapse before they are destroyed. Once more I shout through the door—- * Men, if yon enter, it is at the peril of your lives ! Bs warned in time!’ i Again a scornful laugh is my reply. ‘ Yon shall pay well for this work, so no - more of your threats, ’ they say ; and I obey them.

What is my best defence ? Back of me Is a window, low to the ground. Have they a spy at the rear ? This I must risk, and trusting to the noise and darkness, slip silently tho bolt, and raising the sash, leap to the ground, just as, with an awful crash, my barricade falls to the floor, the door gives way, and the men leap Into the now deserted roam.

The open window betrays me. They rush forward. There is but one chance. I raise gun and empty both barrels into space; then clutching the money, pressing it tight to my breast, I flee into the darkness. On and on I go, until I pause to listen to the footsteps following, but the beating of my own heart is all the sonnd I bear. Then I sink faint* ing, for the first time in my life, upon the cold ground. When I open my eyes, they peer into my father’s pale anxious face, who bends and kisses me. ‘ The money—is It safe ? ’ Is my first question. * Yes, my brave girl, thanks to you—every dollar of it ’ * And the man ? ’ * One has gone to meet his reward at a higher tribunal than ours, and one lies bound in jail,’ Then, when I grew stronger, they told me all—how the ball had pierced the heart of one of the men, and the other had fallen helpless, shot in the leg. Surely Providence had directed by aim. Some one had found me cold and lifeless on the ground in the morning, and bearing me to my home, discovered the men—one dead, one living—and from the latter’s lips heard the confession of the night. Instead of opening my eyes from my long faint I had opened them from the long fever and delirium through which I had been; but as my father stepped back, Tom Haring’s face appeared beside it. and sobbing in his arms my happiness, 1 forgot tho fact that 1 had been almost a heroine, but only knew myself a girl, loved and loving. He says I never again shall prove my claims to heroism; and as our cottage is now almost completed, and I soon am to accept forever his protecting care, I gladly hope I never may.