LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2414, 30 December 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

• BOYCOTTED.’ [From tho ‘Burlington Magazine.’] ( Continued.) ‘They lire away,’ mutters Gerry, rod ns a peony, and Norah etepa into tho breach — * I am sorry you bavo missed them, Oo'onel Trmnaino ; they will bo here next week, I think.’

Nicely put, and she has not said anything th-'t la not true. And then—horror _of horrors I—l hoar that awful colonel tolling Gerry that ho will bo able, after all, to stay for at least a fortnight on a long-promised visit for hunting. A fortnight! when the man wrote to say he could only coma for two days on his way to pay a visit to somebody else. We shall never be able to keep this up for a fortnight. However, mamma and Gerry aro expressing their pleasure at thodcllghtfnl prospect. The turkey, legs and nil, has made ita appearance, and 1 have at last, after throe trials, hristed tho roast bref over mamma’s shoulder and set it on tho table, nearly falling over Colonel Tremaine as I did so. * Oh, X bog your pardon.’ I cry, taken off my guard, and speaking In my own voice, snd forgetting to ‘say’ in tho excitement of the moment, Gerry laughs ;It was nearly all up with ns that time, but Eily is thrusting a plate of turkey under the colonel's cose, and I have a moment to re cover myself. Gerry’s face, frowning at those uplifted appealing lego of that fearful bird is a sight ; but he carves on, and the dinner progresses on tha whole in a high'y satisfactory manner. Tho snipe are raw, and a little feathery it mast be confessed, and their legs have tho same upward inclination as the turkey’s had, hot Colonel Tremaine devoured tho blackened fluffy motael, for we anxiously watch every mouthful ; and I breathe freely when he declines Eily’s moat unpalatable looking pudding—it took her hours to mako —but the result is not all her fancy painted. With tho dessert that most awful child Dot comes in and makes for mamma ; but nurse must have trained her pretty well, for she ssys nothing to Eily and mo ; but presently when her first shyness has worn off, she looks gravely at Colonel Tremaine, and says with terrible distinctness, ‘ I know a secret, and you don’t.' * Dot.’ shouts Gerry, * come to me for an orange.’ So she goes round the table, making matters worse by saying, ‘Oh, don’t bo frightened, Gerald; 1 won’t tell him tho seoret. ’ This awful dinner is over at last, and we are back in the drawing room talkiog it over with mamma and Nora. Mamma says she doesjnot like it at all; the plan never met with her approval; Colonel Tremaine will be snre to find it out, Ac,, Ac. But what can we do T * Boycotted ’we are, and * Boycotted ’ we must remain. * Colonel Tremaine rather admires the Irish possantry, ’ Nora says, smiling; ‘he said our maids were the prettiest girls he had ever seen, and tho tall one with tha great eyes was a re»l beauty, much better looking than half the Loudon beauties. Now, Mab, what do you say to that P’ * He will be making love to Mab when she is bringing him up bis boots and shaving water,’ laughs Elly delightedly. 1 Oh, I saw him admiring her that time she nearly sent the beef spinning into hia lap. Don’t look so indignant, Mab. and come and make the coffee, and yon can carry it in to the Colonel.’ It may be great fan, but it is very risky. Every instant tho chances of discovery seem to increase. When I proceed to the drawing room, coffee tray in hand, I find the colonel and Gerry already located there —Colonel Tremaine in dangerous proximity to Dot, with—oh ! horror of horrors ! —an open photograph book between them, Dot with a desire of imparting information explaining who everyone is. ‘That’s Gerry, and this is me; and that —oh I that’s Mab.’ Here she stops and looks up at him gravely, nodding her head. ‘That’s the secret, and I muan't tell.’ - * Ccffae, sir, ’ I whimpered in an agony. And straight from contemplating the photograph Colonel Tremaine looks right up into my face, gives ono quick, puzzled, startled look, first at me, then down to the photograph, and then his eyes are lifted again and meet mine full, and I am sure there is a gleam of amusement in his face —a sort of ray cf enlightenment as he takes his coffee cup from the tray ; while, crims-m with humiliation, I make ono heroic endeavor to retrieve tha moment by saying to that dreadful child, in a voice that will be shaky in spite of myself,— ‘Miss Dot, nurse is waiting for you to go to bod.’ Bound-eyed she stares. ‘ Why Mat)!’ is on her lips, hut I give her a terrible look that recalls her to her senses, and take myself and my coffee tray out of tho room. But lam sure that tho colonel more than half guesses that I am cot the Susan I pretend to be. ."'oven o’clock on a raw February morning is not the pleasantest moment of the day, and it is not an hour calculated to make ‘ Boycotting ’ appear a bearable ordeal. But we bravely proceed to tho farmyard, and manfully struggle with those cows again. Gerry has gone to tho stables to attend to tho horses, and Eily -and I are patiently filling our m'.lk-pails by thimblefuls. ‘I can get on famously with ono hand,’ Eily says dismally ; but when I try two I get out of time.’ ‘So do I,’ I answer in equally mournful acooenta. ‘ Oh, Eily !' A tall figure rises up beside Clover, who looks as if sne would kick over the milkpail; and I put on tho Susan face and milk away for bare life. What possesses tho man to come out at this hour of the morning ? There he stands, calmly surveying our frantic endeavours, and I feel ho is smiling—nay, laughing. * Allow me.’ Whether such politeness I? meant for tho cows or me, I know not, but ho pushes up between Strawberry and Clover and stands looking down at mo.

‘ Misa Desmond, you might have told mo yon were ‘Boycotted.” It is all over then, and I lock np blankly. Tho ludicrous side of tho question seems to strike all throe of us at once, for we all burst oat laughing, and tho laugh takes away tho awkwardness.

‘How did you find out? ’ I ask, when I can speak agsin. ‘ Your little slstar let out the secret,’ ho answers, 'and I partly guessed it when I recognised you in the photograph-book.’ ‘ What a shame ! and we were flattering ourselves you would never find out.’ ' I am vary glad I have, heartily ; for now I can help you. Let me have a try at the mllking-pail ; I used to be a capital hand at it long ago.’ We laugh, we talk, and surely the February morning has got warmer ; for when wo carry the pails of white frothing milk to the dairy we a-e rosy and smiling, and it seems to Elly and me as it we had knewn Colonel Tremaine for years, tVhat fun we have cooking the breakfast, each mishap and disaster canning fresh bursts of merriment The colonel fries baoon and eggs and does it to perfection. Norah’s face when she comes into the bitch m is a sight worth seeing, but wo soon explain, and matters progress swimmingly. Colonel Tremaine announces his intention of lending ns his volnable services as long as we are * Boycotted,’ and when Gerry comes In he finds us at breakfast, praising up onr own cooking, and all feeling in a state of high good humiur

‘ By Jove! ’ he says, standing in tho open doorway, ‘ the manners of the Irish peasantry are rather forward; don’t you think so, Tremaine ? ’

‘The murder is out,’ the colonel replies, 'and I apply for tho post of coachman, Gerald, old man.’

‘ You can’t got it then, for I have just engaged a man, and he is coming into breakfast.’

* Who ? ’ simultaneously from all. ‘George Dane. Be camo over and volunteered hla services this morning,’ says Gerry, giving a quick look at Eily, who hushes scarlet and looks daggers. ‘ I am sure we can dispense with his services,’ she retorts scornfully. George Dane has been Eily’s devoted slave for three years ; she has refused him twice, and now they have quarrelled hopelessly, ‘Don’t ‘‘Boycott” me,’ says a bumble voice at - the door, and George makes his appearance with a would-be contrite smile on his face. He is quite good-looking enough, quite nice enough, and quite rich enough.

too, if Elly would only see it; but she is a veritable coquette, as poor George baa found out Ions; ago. • * Wo have been ‘ Boycotted ’ for three weeks, and wo are holding out still—grimly, as In a besieged garrison. Provisions are getting scarce. The last turkey has met ite end, the last goose ditto, and groceries are at a premium ; but I—l sing, ‘lf we must starve, ah, why must it bo now ?’ For in my heart I find myself blessing the Land League, and counting those three weeks as the only weeks in which I have lived ; hitherto I existed. But what a fool I am ! Colonel Tremaine will marry Nora, Mamma thinks so, Gerry thinks so, and Nora is sure of it. Why on earth sbonld he think of me ? one of the younger ones—notout yet even. Of course he looks upon me as a jolly sort of girl, a very good companion, while Nora The family have it all settled without saying anything, but mamma loaves them together on every opportunity, and Nora wears a conscious look of piido and importance.

I am only Mab to him, nothing more, while—oh 1 what fools wo womonkind are from seventeen to seventy ! —I could lay down my life for this grave, dignified man, and give it all without a sigh; and he do’sn’t want me or my life, only Nora He is thinking of her now, 1 fool sure, as we stand together in the stable yard. He is grooming Nora’s pony, and hissing softly like a cobra over the process, and I am watching him ; while in the harness room I can hear Elly and George Dane carrying on a laughing argument. Elly has been very civil to him of late.

Colonel Tremaine stops hissing, and looks at me over the pony’s back, ‘ Young Bane looks very happy to-day, don’t yon think ?’ 'I don’t know,’ I answer gravely. He laughs a little. ‘ Don’t you know anything about love and lovers, Queen Mab ?’ ‘No,’ I make answer, ‘indeed I don't,’ and laugh back at him, lo jking not at nim ai I speak. ‘lt will come some day,’ho replies; and then he lowers his voice suddenly, and the colour flames up in my face hotly. ‘ 1 didn’t think it would ever come to me.’ So softly he whispers the words, and yet they strike full and strong like a sledgehammsr. Is ho going to tell me of his love for Nora? *Mab.’ Only my own name, but I cannot boar to h'ar it in his voice. * May I toll yon about it, dear ? ’ ‘No I ’ I gasp, with one wild look at his trantformed fase, one wild wish that that look and that smile were for me ; and then I speed away with flying feet, and leave him there, and I wish that it was all over, and that he and Nora were married. On the way I meet Nora So calm and nnrufiled she looks; a fit wife for him —such a contrast to my wild, turbulent nature. And yet I wonder if Nora has one-tenth the love for him that I have—l who have given It all, unasked, unsought—whose love must die, nncared for, unthought of. {To he continued.)