A TRUE STORY THAT WILL BRING TEARS.

King Country Chronicle, Volume V, Issue 350, 5 April 1911, Page 2

A TRUE STORY THAT WILL BRING TEARS.

Sir Henry Irving used to toll the following story of an experience of his early Jays : "On tour with an Edinburgh company, we were playing a good old melodrama., ' Oramond Brig.' When the play was being rehearsed our jolly manager said, ' Now, boys, I shall stand a real supper to-night ; n(i pasteboard and parsley, 'nut a real sheep'* head and a little drop of real Scotch.' A tumult of applause. The manager was as good as his word, for at. night there were real sheep's heads, well equipped with turniss and carrots, and the "drop of real Scotch.' The 'neighbour's bairn,' an important character in the scene, came in and took her seat beside the miller's chair. She was a pretty, sad-eyed intelligent child of some nine years old. In the course of the meal, when Jock Howison was freely passing the whisky, she leaned over to him and said, ' Please will you give me a little ?' He looked surprised. She was so earnest in her request that I whispered to her, ' To-morrow, perhaps, if you want it very much, you shall have a thimbleful." "To-morrow night came, and as the piece was going on, to my amusement, she produced from the pocket of her little plaid frock a bright piece of brass and held it out to me. I said, ' What's this?" 'A thimble, sir !' ' But what am I to do with it ?' ; You said that you would give me a thimbleful oi rhisky if I wanted it ; and I do want it.' "This was said so naturally that the audience laughed and applauded. I looked over to the miller, and found him with the butt-end of his knife and fork on the table, and his eyes wide open, gazing at us in astonishment. However, we were both experienced enough to pass off this unrehearsed effect as a pari of the piece. I filled the thimble, and the child took it back carefully to her little stool beside the miller. I watched her, and presently saw her turn her back to the audience and pour the whisky into a tin snuff-box. Covering it with a bit of paper, she screwed on the lid, which made it fairly watertight, and put it into her pocket. 'When the curtain fell our manager came forward and patted the child's head. 'Why, my little girl,' said he, ' you are quite a gsnius. Your gag is the best thing in the piece. We must have it in every night. But, my child, you mustn't drink the whisky. No, that would never do.' "' 'Oh, sir, indeed I won't ; I give you my word I won't,' she said quite, earnestly, and ran to her dress-ing-room. " 'C'ramond Brig ' had an unprecedented run of six nights, and the lady alsvays got her thimbleful of whisky and her round of applause. And each time I noticed that she screwed it up safely in her little tin snuff-box. I was curious as to what she could possibly want with the spirit, and who she was, and where she came from. 1 asked her; but she seemed so unwilling to tell and turned so red that I did not. rress her ; but I found that it was the old story—no mother and a drunken father. "I took a fancy to the little thing and wished to fathom her secret, for a secret I felt sure there was. After the performance I saw my little body came out. Poor little child ! there was no mother or brother to se? to her home. She hurried up the street, and, turning into the poorest quarter of the town, entered the common stair of a tumbledown old house. I followed, feeling my way as best I could. She went up and up, till in the very top flat she entered a little room. A handful of glimmering in the grate revealed a sickly boy, some two years her junior, who crawled towards her from where he was lying before the fire. " 'Cissy, I'm glad your home,' he said. 'I thought you'd never come.' ' She put her arms round him, laid the poor little head on her thin shoulder, and took him over to the fire again, trying to comfort him as she went. She leaned over and put her arms round him and kissed him ; she then put her hand into her pocket and took out the snuflI ox. •* Oh, Willy, I wish we had more, so tint it might cure the pain.' •'Hav'ng lighted a dip candle, she rubbed the child's rheumatic shoulder with a few drops of spirit, and then covered up the little £dy,, and, sitting before the fire, the 1 oy's head on her knee and began to sing him to sleep. "I took another look into the room throu-h the half-open door ; my foot crea'-.cd ; the frightened eyes met mine. I put my fingers an my lips and crept away. ' But as I began to descend the stair I met a drunken man ascend-ing-s'ipping and stumbling as he came. He stumbled by me and entered the room. T followed to the landing unnoticed, and stood in the dirk shadow of the half-open door. "A hoarse, brutal voice growled, • What are yon doing there ? Get up :' "1 can't, father ; Willy's head is on my knees." ; - '(Jet up I' Tin- girl bowed her he id lower and lower. "1 eould not bear it. i entered the room. The brute was oil the bed already in his besotted sleep. The child stole up I o me, and in a half-frightened whisper said, '<> h. sir, oughtn't people in keep secrets, if they know them ? I think they ought, if they are other people's.' This wit 1: a strange dignity. 1 eould not gainsay her. S.i 1 said as gravely as 1 could to the little woman, 'The secret shall be kepi, but you must ;u ; k me if you want anything.' tflie

; bent, over, suddenly kissed my hands, and I went down the stair. I 'The next night she was shy in coming for the whisky, and I. took ; care that she bad good measure. , "The last night of our long run ! of six nights she looked more happy than 1 had ever seen her. When I she came for the whisky she held ; o-.it the thimble and whispered to me, with her poor, pale lips trembling, ' You need only pretend tonight.' " 'Why ?' I whispered. " 'Because—he doesn't want it now. ! He's dead.' "—"Grand Magazine."