Written for the "Free Lance" Christmas Number.

Free Lance, 15 December 1902, Page 11

Written for the "Free Lance" Christmas Number.

WHKRiC's New Zealand, Governor?" I was sitting in the library of the old home in Devonshire, reading The History of British Beer," by Lord Stunmon, the great brewing monarch, and he, in his clever treatise, lef erred to a curious teetotal law the natives of that country had to observe. I\\ as interested in beer myself, for the governor, after ho left the Army, went into the eminent firm of Bluestone, Le Lute and Co., partly because Bluestone was our oldest family friend, but mainly because beer pays. "Oh, somewhere down Australia way, my boy '" my father replied. "Lots of tattooed cannibals and things there. Some of 'Ours' sent out in the early days to kill 'em off. Devilish fine sport you know. What d'you want to know for, eh?" I explained that Roker Ponsonby, who had been "plucked" for his Army examination for the th'rd time, and whose mother, Lady Ponsonby, was fined £250 for bribing officials to give her the examination papers, intended to ?o there until the affair had blown over, and wanted a friend with, a few hundreds to go out there buffalo shooting. Thought he would combine business with pleasure, as. New Zealand buffalo hides fetched fabulous prices in London. I turned up Philips's big atlas, and found the ragged splash indicating New Zealand in, it, and wondered where all the buffaloes got to on a couple of small patches like that. Then, I had a confab with the pater, and asked him if I could &o to New Zealand with Ponsonby He said "Yes " and. I commenced buying guns and an outfit. I flattered myself that the beast that got away fiom my armoury could win a Derby, and the pater said something m Hindustani when he saw the bill. Then, I wired to Ponsonby, who lived in Wiltshire, and told him I would go with him to New Zealand. Roke-r replied by poet, saying that he had ''oaned the New Yeomanry, for service in Africa, and backed out of the colonial business. I was determined to see the savages and the buffaloes, however, and, in an affecting interview with my father, the Colonel, told him I would carve my way to fortune with my gun in that strange wild land. "Bless yon, my boy, bless you, you're a chip of the old block. You'll put up a good fight, I know, as your dad has done before you," he said. Dad had put in his twenty years' soldiering eating chutney and drinking brandy pawnee at Allahabad and I didn't ask him what he meant, for Dad's temper had not improved with the loss of his liver. Then, I told him about May. May was the daughter of old Bluestone, the head of Dad's firm. I loved May, and I nattered myself May loved me. If you had seen Dad during this particular interview, you would have gone to New Zealand too. Dad's sun-bleached skin turned the colour of an unripe plum, and two perpendicular ridges rose on his forehead. There was a deep purpose, however, in the sudden calmness that came over my respected parent. "Jack, mv boy," he said, recovering, go , and if May is still true to you in five years' time, come back and marry her." Two days later I had taken a fond farewell of May, had gripped the pater's shaking hand, and was looking on England through the mirk of the Channel for the last time for many years. A sob rose in my throat, but I choked it down, and thought of May and buffaloes. The pater had given me £250, and I gave it to people in small or large lots

en route What splendid things on© gets for tw el ye times their value in maples' What delicious sugary beer one can purchase at Port Sand, for 2s 6d a bottle! How those soft-footed niggars can play billiards at Colombo, and what splendid chaps they are at pocketpicking ' Talking about Naples — I got a, letter there from Dad. He had married May himself, he said, and had asked her to be a mother to his dear lost boy. Dad never did have much sense of humour. Of course, I went in for amusements aftei that, just to kill the awful pain that was gnawing at my heart and all that kind of thing, and I wrote a note to ' Mother" too. I didn't think at the time I'd return home while Dad was livmir, somehow I bclic\c he is apoplectic, or something. I told a friend on board about the Governor's awful look when I had mentioned May previous to my "coming out," and he said it might have been because' he loved the erirl himself. I think now that is what it must have been. Albany delighted mci utterly. I saw wild-looking men there, with big hats, and asked one man if he was a buffalo hunter. He said he was looking for lambs, and asked me to kindly exchange a- couple of £5 Bank of New Zealand notes, as he had just come from that country, and the notes were not negotiable in Westralia. Of course, I exchanged them for gold. When I took them to the purser to deposit, he said I'd been "lambed down," ond laughed. Utoti my word, I didn't know why but I afterwards found out the notes were "wrong 'uns." One- morning, a friend, who had been awfully good to me, and who had allowed me to spend quite a lot of money on him, told me> we were getting in to Adelaide, and warned me to get armed, as. there was no trusting the aboriginals ashore. I got my belt and holsters on, and went on deck. What the sailors laughed at I could not at the time imagine, but when a couple of policemen came aboard, and threatened to run me in for carrying arms, and when I saw that most of the people were as whit© as I myself was, I cut the acquaintance of my friend. I was disappointed with Adelaide and Melbourne . They were towns, and Rokeir had told me that the people were all bushmen, and wore red shirts, and carried rifles. I actually saw a lot of bounders ashore wearing top-hats. A fellow could see that kind of thing at Home and I wished to goodness I had staved at Home, and cut the pater out with May. Let me see, it was September when the boat got into Wellington Harbour. Some idiot had told me that it was sum-mer-time in, New Zealand when it was winter in the Old Country. Eveirybodv ashore had an overcoat on, however, and an umbrella up, so it appeared to me my informant was- another of those beastly smart Johnnies. However, I have found out since that it really is summer in Wellmfirton when the people say so, but that it is also the time you wear overcoats, and wraps, and things, especially aolc-ohes. This, them, was what they called carving ont a home in the wilderness, I thought, as I looked at the jagged houses, and at the time I considered it pretty poor carving, but since I got a black eye for saying Wellington was a "beastly hole." I have refrained from telling the truth. I thought I had done pretty well to have £10 when I got to Wellington, so I decided to put in a couple of days at an hotel, and would then go into the forests, and make some money buffalo shooting. I thought it was a trifle familiar of a cabman to call me "bloke " and to

charge me 10s to take a few packages to the Umpire Hotel. However, I found a decent lot of chaps there. Awfully sociable and willing to show me round Awfully surprised me to find that the people were not teetotallers after all. It seemed to be the custom to drink long beers. I drank several of these things during the' first night, after gom^ to the theatre, and w as shown to my hotel by a decent chap who said he hated to see a "new chum" lost, especially as there were spielers about Funny thing where my money went. I hadn't a penny in the morning. I told the fellow at the hotel that my father Coloiel Neuchamp, would send him his money if he'd w ire for it but the boundei wouldn't, and I was told to go." Now , I thought it was time to co up the country buffalo shooting, and asked one of the Johnnies at the hotel about it. He called me a " idiot" point blank, and said there was not a buffalo nearer th.an Western Australia. Great Scot l Why didn't I land tlwre? It is all ve>rv well for a Johnny to laugh at another Johnny's hard luok. Here was Im a count ry where there wasn't a bally buffalo, without a penny. I asked a fellow at the hotel, before I went to lend me some money to send a cable to the governor but he wanted security I e;ave him my best buffalo gun and got ten shillings for it. I wired for £1000, for I was not so silly as a fellow miornt think. Where was I to sleep s 3 The chap who gave me the 10s told me to sell the rest of my guns, but the landlord would not let me. He kept them to pay my hotel bill. I w r andered down a long, holey, ugly looking place someone said was the Quay and bought a paper. An employment bureau advertised that it had "places" for everybody. My difficulties were over! I found the office. It was up three flights of srreasy stairs, and tihe fellow at the top was as greasy as the stairs. Could he find me employment? He saw '>c could. I had no money, I told him, but would leave some portmanteaux with, him for security. This pleased him, and I got. a letter from him addressed to Donald Pawky Esq., pastorahst, The Glen, Wairarapa. The train went within two miles of Pawky's place, leaving at 9.30 next morning. Wages? Oh, Mr. Pawky would fix that. Dutaes? Just to ride round, and look after the men, and superintend the grass-cutters. I was delighted. So simple to get lucrative employment. Nothing to do but "ride round." I sold my gold watch to a gentleman that, I fancy, had brothers in Colombo, and was surprised that it was worth £5 I paid my bill at the hotel, and received my portmanteaux and guns and took them to the office of my benefactor. What fatherly care he exhibited, and with what interest he examined, at my invitation, many little articles of value therein. Revertmo- to that distant time I might mention that I have not beheld any of those things since. The gentleman afterwards wired that his place had been burnt down, although the house had been re-built with much faithfulness when last I saw it. I stayed that night in a small board-ing-house, njsmanaged by a lajrge woman, and she looked with suspicion on mv Gladstone bag, the only thing at present between mci and poverty. I was surprised in the morning that she allowed me to take the bag away, and felt' that I was getting on in colonial experience. Mv sleeve-links disappeared in the night, but the clericaliookmg gentleman, who slept in the same oed , was the only one who appeared to be in the room, so it is just likely I lost them in the street. But, to our muttons, for to them I supposed I should be indebted in the future for my daily bread. I was learning economy. No familiar cabman demanded unearned shillings from me when I left the mismanaged boardinghouse. I shook the mud of Wellington off my feet, and spurned the strip of footpath, and, with my little Gladstone bag, I boarded the train that would take me to my new position. I noticed that the whole of the passengers talked about horseracing, or football, and I heard men, whom I should have classed as loafers or tramps, talking about large sums of money. I concluded that they were burglars, or something of the kind but a familiar young fellow, with a red tie, informed me that that fellow — indicating a man in corduroy trousers, "was the owner of Defender, the best 'orse in New Zealand," and the other coye — pointing to a farm bailiff kind of person — was the Hon. Leopold Swankey, M.L.C. It seemed to me as if New Zealand had suddenly run short of "nice" people, and had imported labourers to take prominent positions. I might say that my feelings afterwards changed with the putting on of mj first moleskins. I heard porters gulp out words with heaps of "ks" in as we flashed past little,

weird-looking sidings, at ten mixes an how and as we journeyed I was sandwiched xn between two immense Maori ladies, xn, red and yellow, smoking very horrid tobacco. When they laughed, it sounded like a big marble rolling round inside a barrel, and I found that their explosions resulted from a sidelong look at me, and the ejaculation, "Noo-chum!" Towards evening, the rushing steam monarch had consumed enough country to have satisfied an English express for an hour or«o, and forests grew into the view. The train began to slow. A sheeip was on the Imp someone said. The real fact was we were getting to a station, and the coal had run out, or something, of the kind. "Karaniki !" said a tired man in uniform as he jerked into' a little box and stc-m>ed. '•How much further is it to 'The Glen'- 1 ' I asked an elderly person on the platform, who had borrowed a pipeful of tobacco from me. "Glen? That's Pawkv's place, ain't it? Why, it's a matter of a mile or so over the hills. Buti Pawky's 'ere with his cart. Sez 'c is lookin' for a new 'and wot the labour bloke in Wellin'ton is sendin' up.". "Yes? Perhaps, he is getting up some, labourers as well. I have come up to superintend his estate, you know, and look after the grass-cutters." "Holy smoke '" returned my disreputable informant. ' 'Superintend the grass-cutters. Why Pawky's got to work tarnation hard to make tucker!" And then the wretched creature laughed as if he would burst. I returned to the train, and got my bag. "Ere's Pawky a conrn' now, looking for his 'superintendent'"' giggled the scarecrow "A tall, thin, erect, and hard-featured man, with a scowl, came up as the image spoke. "Seen anything of a farm-hand knockin' around?" he asked of anyone who might want to answer. "Yes, boss 'ere he is'" roared the nondescript. " 'E's a comin' to superintend 'The Glen' fer yez, 'c sez !" Pawky came ud. "This is not the mam," he said. "I'm looking for a labourer. "Pardon me," I saad, "I'm looking for a gentleman by th© name of Pawky, who owns the Glen Estate. I have been sent up by Mr. Haver, of the Wellington Labour Bureau, to superintend , his estate, and look after the grasscutters. "Well, I'll be hanged!" said the newcomer, introducing himself as> Pawky, without a smile, "but you are the greenest new chum this side of the line. I want a 'man' — a fellow who can fence and split, and saw, drive a team of horses and break colts chop firewood and milk cows, muster sheep and butcher them, build pi^styes, and earn his 15si a week. If you like to take it on say so, if not clear to blazes out of this'" Here was a pretty go. Farm labourer, milk cows, chop firewood. Good heavens ' What would the pat er say ? 'Well," said Pawky. "Make up your mind. Take it on?" I felt the few coins in my pocket. I also felt a fool — perhaps, for the first time m my life. '"Yes," I said. "I've got no money, and I must do something. "What's your name?" he asked, looking at me keenly. "Harry Evans," I s.aid, telling a clever he. ' Kow long have you bin out from Home?" was his next query. "/^' week," I replied. ' Vv\ id you do at Home?" "CaL -driving." A splendid inspiration that, for I could handle any horse that ever threatened. "I believe ye're a liar!" said my uncompromising patron, "but I'll give ye a trial. Jump up in the buggy, and we'll get home." Now, I had recently concluded that I was a silly ass, but I never had the name of liar tacked on to me. "Look here, my man " I said, 'Til punch your head, superintendent or labourer, if you give me any of your bally insolence'" Pawky gave a peculiar wriggle of his shoulder and loosened the lash of his driving whip, muttered something, and then laughed it off. He said I was a cheeky beggar for a new-chum, but I'd soon get colonised. The derelict's "mile or so" was about ten as far as I could gather^ and when nay new employer (and my first) pulled up the horse at a gat© it was pitch dark. He drove through, and threw the reins down. A glow of light from a suddenly-opened door streamed out on the darkness, and a most musical voice called out "That you, Dad ?" "Yes, dearie, that's me." "Did you bring the man home, Dad ?" again asked the tuneful voice. "Yes," he replied, pulling the trace harness off the horse, letting it fall, and turning the horse adrift with a slap on the buttock. "Here's the man'" he said, as he gently pushed me in the door, and following to gloat on her look of surprise. Perhaps, the dainty little female

Pawky had expected to see a. deieliotof the type to which my railway fnead belonged. That she was really sui prised to see a somewhat lengthy and, I trust, somewhat handsome youth, in a quiet shooting suit of tweeds, with the legulation stockings, and brown, broadwelted boots and spats., I have no doubt whatever. "Oh, I beg youi pardon!" she saad. "Father is not often given to joking." "I assure you, nevertheless, Miss Pawky," I said, as the saturnine farmer introduced me, "that I am the labouring man sent up from Wellington." Thereafter the really sweet little maiden said little. We partook of what I know now to be a ''holiday feed" m a farming country — corned beef and potatoes, milk pudding, and "stewey" tea. " 'Spect you're tired," remarked Pawky, as I finished my cup of tea with much agony. "I'il show you ver bunk." Naturally, I expected to be shown into an inner room. He, however, opened the front door, and led me into the darkness. We traversed some ground redolent of pigs, and brought up in the end at an out-house. He knocked at a door "Mick 1 " he cried. "Hello 1" a voice anwsered from within. "Onen the door. Here's the new man." "Why the divil don't the new man come to bed in dacent toime, 'stead of disturbing us at this ungodly hour o' the night?" A tousled man, wressed in moleskin trousers, and a filthy shirt, appeared at tihe door, visible behind a match he had struck. When Mick saw me, he merely ejaculated "By cnpes-! a bloomin' newchum toff!" and went to bed. I noticed his bed. It was made of sacks and he did not disrobe when he got into it. "You'll have to make bags do for blankets to-night, young follow, " said my benefactor. "You oan buy some at the store to-morrow." I said nothing. I was too disgust^ cd. Pawky swung the door to on its grecnhide hinges. a;id disappeared. I struck matches, and asked the recumbent Mick where my bed was "Over there!" he growled, pointing to the corner opposite to his own recherche resting place. "Over there" was a heam of fusty sacks — sacks that Jawgins, the governor's koruiel-keeper, dare not have put dor n for the foxterriers. "For the loveofhivin, blow the light out, an' go to bed'" grumbled Mick, and I went. For the first time in my life I retired in mv clothes, with a Gladstone bag for a pillow , and frowsy corn sacks for blankets. If the governor only know. Why should I make the gentle reader pity me for eventually having blistered hands, and aching head, dissatisfied stomach, and silent midnight weeps. In a fortnight I could chop a log throusrh without breaking an axe handle. I had ploughed a furrow, and turned the comer of a "land" without throwing the mouldboard out, and had done other things, among which were stealing into the nearby township in the dead of night, and buying food with mv first earnings. Pawky, at meal-times, came to the house-door, and blew a bottle with the end out. We — that is, Pawky, Miss Pawky Mick, and myself — ate together. I noticed by the leers that escaped from Mick's hairy countenance that he would much like Miss Gwendoline (this was Mr. Pawky's daughter's name to be Mrs. Mick, and I could see, too, that the natural refinement of the girl revolted at the coarse creature's stupid grinnings. Gwen (for so in my mind I called her) would have graced the governor's country home. She never descended to the talking of twaddle*. She was just a wholesome, hearty, honest, country girl, unspoilt by farm rudeness. She gave no sign that she was interested, in me, more than in Mick, although she accepted my proferred courtesies with native grace. Mick, I could see, was madly jealous. One morning, as we were in the tumbledown stable, harnessing up our respective teams, Mick, without any preliminaries, turned to me, and said "S'pose yer came out here to wear out yer old clothes. Pity yer had to clear out, wasn't it. Playing off some of yer old tricks now, I suppose. Pitohin' a tale to the gal there, and palaverin' the old man. Well, the old man ain't exactly the clean potato take it from me, and the girl's his daughter'" Fellow s at the old school used to say I was cool I said nothing to Mick, but went on my soul and skin destroying duty of carting firewood, which the old man used to send down to Wellington. I thought over what Mick said. Was the old man the "clean potato?" Was there any reason for his evident fear of me? I had taken to the new life like a duck to water. Pawky told me so, but he was always distrustful of me.

and often I caught luni gazing at mo under his bushy eyebrows Was there any nrysterv aibout this lone fannei? I was to find out soonei than I anticipated. Next day I nas initiated into the ait of post and wire fencing. Pawky showed me how io get the* "line," left me strainers, wires. toma.hawks, and so on, and went auaj to his timber geititing. Miok was ploughing m the same paddock, and bi ought his team along the fence line. Blistered yer hands, sawney? Work till thej bust then. Toffs do come down, mv word," and so on. Mick came lound the fourth time The police is up horn Wellington, looting after a toff spieler'" he called out as he passed. I dropped the ciowbai, and twisted up my shirt sleeves. I forgot mv hands were blistered, and mv feet sore' with heavy boots and hard work. I remembered that I was the middleweight boxer of the* old school, and I called to Mick to stop. He stopped in incredulous amazement as he siaw I wanted fight, and he pulled his waistcoat off and hung it on the plouerh handles. Mick was strong, but in the arms only His heart was a flabby arrangement. lam afraid if the old sergeant-major who taught me that "La Blanche" swipe had seen me get it on to Mick he would have gone mad with iov- Mick's hau-y face assumed several colours, and mv own required some mending. Mick was swearing prodisiouslv. and putting 1 on his waistcoat a^ain, when the dainty figure of Gwen tripped alone the fence with a lunch kit on her arm Mick did not wait for her Ho picked up his ha + and, with a ]errup" to his horseis, he was gone Gwen's eves *, ere dancing. 'Oh

how lovely of you!" she saad. 'I am so glad. Has the brute been annoying, you? Oh, how beautifully you do fight, Mr. Evans l " I own I was. astonished, but I have found out since that New Zealandei s> are "sports" to the* heart's core. I told Gwen the reason for the fight, and when I mentioned her father sine looked grave. She said she didn't know her father. He loved her passionately, but she know nothing of hie Me. He was an Englishman, and had been in New Zealand far many ye>airs. The dark shadow that was over ras life srtie could not fathom. She gently nuestioiied me. She kn©AV I was a gentleman, she said Why was I in so humble a position ? Why did I not explain all to my people? Would they not forgive me? Here I laughed. I told her all. I was under no ban. I should get money soon. Then, I should go away from the Glen. My people had nothing to forgive. Gwen's animated face wag' less animated. "You will go soon ?" she said, half to herself. "Yes, Miss Pawky and win not?" "Of course y. u will go You were never intended for a faun labourer, but " She checked herself, and blushed vividly. I saw it all, and was not. ashamed to see it. The fight had brought her heart to the surface. Did she love me? "Gwen, I believe I have loved since the time you cut my first beef sandwich'" I said for want of a better measure of tune, "and I know now that

I love you with all my heart. lam not Haiy Jllvans, the cab-driver. I am Haiz-y Neuchamp, the temporarily embairas&ed son of not a bad sort of old Colonel of that name 1 " What wo said thereafter delayed that fence, but Gwen went away disconsolate. She would never marry any one until the shadow o^ er her father's life was removed Wei were sitting around the not very festiive board one evening, myself wondering; w hat to expect m the way of dinneir, when Gwon brought in th© preliminary course. EggsP Hadn't eaten eggs for quite a while. I felt glad Gwon handed me the only silver eiers;cup on the tray, and I saw Pawky stare, and turn pale. '"Here — I — that egg-cup," he iaved, then said "Bog pardon'" and subsided. I looked in astonishment, first at the perturbed Pawky, and then at the eergcup. I picked it up, and examined it. Did I know that egg-cup? I should do so, for it had the Bluestone coiat-of-arms on it. — a mailed fist, with, the well-re-membered motto — "Nemo me impune laccssit." It camo upon me like a flash. Gw en's mother was a Bluestone. Tlie Sarah Bluestone who had married. The sister of May Bluestone. my stepmother. The Sara<h who had mysteriously disappe-aed with the handsome manseirvant of the old brewer. The Sarah Bluestone whose mesalliance had been a family topic among thei friends of the Newchamps for twenty-five years. And this was Raggs, the m?n-s©rvant — this farmeir Pawky ? I could marry Gweoi, then. She was a. lady on her mother's side, at least, and certainly she was a lady in my oroinion on every side. How I sjot th rough that dinner without yelling Rasas'" I don't know. It had bee<>' raining in a. desultory

way since I had landed in New Zealand. As it was neanng Christmas, it commenced to rain in real earnest. The cieeks were in flood, a few sheep were washed down these creeks, and an occasional fowl-house. "There's a big fresh in the river, Harry " said Pavky one morning, "and there will be some logs down soon. We will have to go and do a bit of rafting." I was delighted. Had heard tha/t rafting logs was a dangerous game, and it was better fun than fencing anyhow. The ' booms" were close to the house, and we awaited the onrush of those logs as they came down tihe stream tossang like corks. When I saw Pawky step en. to the booms, with the river surging like a porridge pot, I quailed, but he called me, and I went. He hopped from log to log, pushing the big trees here and there to make room for others, and working like a veritable demon. I followed him, and was soon engaged balancing myself on the skppery trunks, trying to be not afraid. Pawky was standing on a rocking log, pushing with all his might to eet his timber cleared. The last time I saw Pawky alive and well was in a bent attitude, leaning almost at right angles, striving with all his strength. The log reeled, Pawky fell in among the eddying timber, and was rrnned fast. With fraaitic h^ste, I shoved the logs with my pole. As I saw the agonised face of Rages, my whole heart went out to him. He was Gwen's father' I moved the log, and he floated for one instant clear I dived in, and knew no more

'Hoary 1" My eyes opened. I was in a room — a daintly curtained room— and Given was there. "It's Christmas Day, dear," I heard her say, and then I telt no more, except a sense of utter comfort and rest. When next I opened my eyes, Gvven was standing over me with tihe saddest face I ever beheld. ' "You have <nven me my jjf e baok for a Christmas present, darling Gwen " I murmured, vaguely. "Where is Mr. Pawky ?" Gwen shuddered. "He 1 is hurt, too, dear. Both of you were thrown up, clasped in each other's arms at tihe Home Bend. Do not ask any further 1 questions." Two days later I was able to sit up. Curious 1 that Gwen never left my room. Had she then someone beside herself nursing her father? I gently questioned her. Gwen broke down. Her father had been washed ashore stricken unto death. The: log had crushed out his life. With his dying breath he had told her the story of her life. He had been a soldier servant of Colonel Newahamp, my father, and, subsequently, a servant to Mr. Bluestone the brewer. In his position, he had to escort the young ladies on horseback, and Sarah had gradually given, him her love. She had t^ken all her available money, a few trinkets and family possessions, and the strangely-assorted pair had come to New Zealand. Their married life had been singularly happy and Gwen,'s father, after her death had become the moirose man I knew him to be . He had suspected from the first, by my likeness to Colonel Newchamp, that I was his son,, and had intended to "tell me hie life's story. He wanted hisi daughter to go home, and take her proper place. Mr. Pawky's will was an. astonishing document. He left every penny to me, provided the said Harry Evans marries my dear doughter. Here were easy conditions. I had the pleasure, ten days later, when my illness had gone, and Gwen's grief had softened, of heaping coals 1 of fire on Miok'si head. I offered him a billet as my valet if he would shave himself, and have a few baths. I have not seen him since. "The Glen" was at once put m the market, and realised what everybody said was a very poor price. However, I did not mind. I had the finest piece of property the farm had ever produced. Gwen went to Wellington, attended by a woman who had been at the first event of her life, and I followed later. I went to the '"Umpire" Hotel, and asked for letters. I got one. My father wrote, saying that old Bluestone, the head of the firm, had died. His portion of the business and the estates represented a nett value of £100,000, and was left entirely to his daughter Sarah and her 1 heirs for ever. "But,*' the paiter wrote, "we cannot find the foolish woman or any of her people." . I rushed roumd to the post-office, and cabled, "Heiress is found," and theraafter I spent a good deal of Pawky's legacy on cables. , When Gwen heard of her luck, she was frightened. The dear girl, as she put her arms 1 round my neck (not in the presence of the severe old lady be-fore-mentioned), said that she did not car© a bit about it, and that shs would give it all for five minutes with her dear old Dad. Then, Gwen went to friends at Rotorua, and I became a man-about-town. Of -course, I could not marry Gwen so soon after her father's death. Somehow, I got rheumatism. Anyhow, I went to Rotorua every three weeks for nine months. I was going Home to England, and would show my father's men how to sink post-hole®. Before I went, I had rheumatism, again and Rotorua was the only cure. I left Gwen there, and found that her father's memory was still dear to her, although the sting left by his dreadful death had gone. Gwen would follow me in the Orizaba, with the respectable party as a guardian. Once more aboard the good old Orient, homeward bound! Once more at Tilbury, with the giddy old pater on, the wharf, with his blooming wife, tihe youthful aunt of my Gwen. We exchanged no Pushes. I put myself down as having been, during the May episode, a young fool, and May, my respected step mother, probably felt that way too. ♦ * • Bluestone Hall is open, and the Bluestone servants ax i waiting to receive its new mistress. My people fortunately, were not cads. The old Colonel himself met Gwen, and the old Colonel gave Gwen to me at the village church. We are man and wife, Gwen and I, and Gwen is as much at home among salaaming chawbacons and aigretted society dames as she was in her own little room at The Glen. On this second memorable Christmas Day, as the carriage stops before the fine old steps of the Hail, and I hand my darling wife down, lead her up the steps, and kissi her under the mistletoe, hanging inside, my darling Gwen gives me a Christmas present. It is a little silver egg-cup, bearing the Bluestone coat-of-arii.s.