"THE SUNDAY PAPER."

King Country Chronicle, Volume VI, Issue 496, 31 August 1912, Page 7

"THE SUNDAY PAPER."

HOW IT MISLED THE VILLAGERS As; I sat one wet evening in the kitchen of that little village hostelry, the "Rose in June," and lis-' tened to the tick-tick of .the clock, I began to grow melancholy, and to wish for company. And as if in reply to my wish, iavoluntarily spoken aloud, the door opened and Mr. Huckleson slowly entered. His salutation was without gaiety. He dragged a cane-bottomed chair to the hearth, and seated himself more gravely than when taking his place at the desk. He thoughtfully fixed his eyes upon me. But believing himself detected, he turned his head and gazed stolidly into the fire. A minute later came Corporal Edwards and then my landlord after him. The smith came, and so did his journeyman. Even old Hezekiah found his way there that night. Indeed, the whole parish came—a greater number than had been seen for years a t the "Rose in June." Each one arrived alone after an equal interval.

They must have been conferring outside, and dropped in thus by arrangement, so as to give a natural and accidental appearance to their coming. Each one expressed the opinion that the weather was going to "hold up," and then with great deliberation sat down.

"Would ee care to take a look at the Sunday paper ?" drawled the smith, drawing a crumpled, well-worn sheet from his packet. "Thank ee then. I don't so very much mind if I dQ," replied Mr. Huckleson. But although he spoke in this careless manner, his hand trembled with anticipation as he took the journal. He had no need t 0 open it. It had been folded to display the interesting column. The old man's brow puckered with concentrated attention as he gazed upon a portrait which adorned the page, and sometimes he took a critical glance at my face. He handed it to my landlord, who afterwards passed it on to Martin Chedsey, who gave it to old Hezekiah.

It was clear by the way they looked at me and at each other that identification was complete.

By a flash of inspiration the whole truth became revealed to me.

These simple, honest souls, they were not dull. Their depression did not follow upon the week's rain. Beguiled by a fancied likeness, they were mistaking me for one of those grateful celebrities who owe life and their present well-nourished condition to a patent remedy. Their grave reserve had been but sympathy. Their silence was but a token of the pain inflicted upon friendly hearts at the thought of my terrible sufferings and narrow escape. Of course they felt a shyness also, in the presence of a person of such distinction. "Might I also see the paper ?"

Mr. Huckleson took it from Hezeviah, who seemed to have a difficulty in finding the place, and handed it silently, as if passing a hymnhook to a stranger in church. The portrait was of a fraudulent absconding financier for whose apprehension the reward of £IOO was offered. It seemed cruel to. dispel the illusion,, yet with that intent I closely read the text. "There's a rascal here," cried I gaily, "who has run away with £500,000. The police seem 'to have no trace of him. However, anyone who comes across the rogue ought to be >,able to obtain the reward. He was a farmer's son, it seems, and in boyhood the top of his left thumb was knocked off in a turnip-cutter. That should be good enough >for anybody."

I laid the paper on the bench and held both hands towards the fire as if they were cold. The change was instantaneous. In a minute they were all talking at once, cracking jokes and making sly hits at one another that I was supposed not to understand. Bach accused all the rest in turn of hoping to earn a hundred pounds and set •up for a gentleman. Then came the reaction in my favour, and an outburst of popularity so marked that Mr. Huckleson asked me what I would take, and Martin Chedsey rose to bring anything called for.—"'The Book of Simple Delights."