OUR XMAS STORIES 1894

Southern Cross, Volume 2, Issue 39, 22 December 1894, Page 8

OUR XMAS STORIES 1894

(By Grandfather).

No. 2 'Sps A DAY TOO LATE,

‘ Grandfather, you must tell us a good yarn to-night, because it’s so near Christmas,” said Fred. ‘Yes,’ we all chorused, ‘tell us a good Christmas story, Grandfather, please.’ ‘ Very well,’ said Grandfather, ‘ I’ll tell you about a man I knew very well down here once. It’s a long story, and a sad one, too. I always think of it at Christmas time, and it all came back to me very vividly this morning when I heard Jack bawlirg, in highly dramatic tones, those lines of Lindsay Gordon’s — ‘ My parents bid me cross the flood, My kindred frowned on me; They say I have belied my blood, And stained my pedigree.’ ‘ Well, this man we’ll call, for convenience sake, Dr Roberts. The first time I saw him was in ’43, down in Tautuku. We were whaling there, and he came down to steer for Tommy Ohasland. But Tommy was getting a bit uppish then and wanted to be called Mr Chasland, so the doctor wouldn’t stay with him. ‘ The doctor told us then that he had come out as surgeon on an emigrant ship bound for Port Nicholson. On arriving there he left and went in a whaler to Sydney. Then he went sperm-whaling with a captain named George Chatman. I knew the man well as a little boy. I remember once he took me on the brig he belonged to, and I had dinner there —it was a Christmas Day, too and I got a flogging when I went home for going away without leave and nearly frightening my mother out of her wits.

‘ Well, Dr Roberts went as boatsteerer in George Chatman’s boat, and though altogether unused to the work, he managed to get on fairly well. He had a very winning manner, and was an immense favourite with all the men. I think he was the handsomest man I ever saw. He was tall, with a splendid soldierly carriage, a manly, sunburnt face, blue eyes— the real Irish blue—and a crop of chestnut curls. Yes, I admired him immensely, and loved him too, more with the protecting love one gives to a child, he was so different from the others about us. ‘ They went out in Chatman’s vessel—the Earl of Stanhope—for a season’s whaling. They had not been out very long when one day it was blowing very hard and the vessel ran on a coral reef, and became waterlogged. Her main-mast was carried away in the storm and all her boats smashed. ‘ The crew made a raft out of the spars and anything they could manage to pick up, and they all set out on it. Before leaving the ship, however, the captain wrote on a slate the circumstances of the wreck, the course they were about to try to steer, their names, the date, an urgent appeal for help from anyone who might see the slate, and ended with the words, ‘ Lord have mercy upon us then nailed the slate to the stump of the main-mast. ‘ The next day a vessel passed by and saw the remains of the Earl of Stanhope, and read the captain’s appeal on the slate. The captain at once ordered the vessel to go in search of the unfortunate castaways, but they could see nothing of them', till the next day they discovered a solitary man lashed to a piece of wreckage.

4 lt was Dr Roberts. At first they thought him dead, but he came round at last, and told them that the others were washed ashore on an island inhabited by cannibals. ‘ He had seen some of the men. killed and eaten at once before his eyes, so he managed somehow to escape and lashed himself to some oars, preferring to take his chances in the sea than at the hands of the murderous islanders. ‘He never knew how long he had been in the water, but it must have been some hours before he was picked up. The vessel was coming down to New Zealand, and dropped the doctor at Cloudy Bay. He worked his way somehow from there down to Otago, where Chasland picked him up. Then he came down to Jacob’s River and steered for a long time for Captain Howell. Nobody would believe that he was really a doctor ; they used to call him the ‘ blooming imposter,’ till one day an accident happened which turned the tide in his favour. ‘ A fellow named Whitelock had been grubbing fern with an adze and cut a sinew in his heel. It bled terribly and he seemed in great pain, when someone suggested sending for the doctor. Most of them laughed as if they hadn’t much faith in him, but they sent for him all the same.

‘ When the doctor came he examined the foot, and then he said, ‘ Well, Bungari, my hoy, you have performed a neat little operation on yourself, and unless you want to he a cripple all your life you’ll have to let me peform another.’ But Bungari would have none of it, till at last some of us persuaded him that he might as well let the doctor try. ‘ ‘ Very well, in for a penny in for a pound,’ and he held out his foot with a martyr-like air to the doctor, who hacked off a bit of the sinew with an old razor and then bound it up in some wonderful way. Anyhow, in a few days Bungari could walk all right, and they all said the doctor was a doctor after all. ‘ Time went on, and I often wondered why a well-educated man like Dr .Roberts could be content to spend his days at Jacob’s River, for he did not seem to want to make money — not that I thought he was exactly content either, though he evinced an indifference to his surroundings which a close observer could see was only feigned, and sometimes be had a bitter sarcastic way of talking. ‘ He was a great naturalist, and would talk for hours about the habits and lives of insects and animals and the formation of plants. He would recite yards of poetry, too. I used to have him reciting and reading to me by the hour —-not that I paid much attention to some of his scientific stuff, but I loved to hear his soft, refined voice. ‘ At meal times he was forever talking about the component parts of everything we were eating. I used to laugh at him, and his lecture generally ended with—* I don’t believe you care a pin how much potash and carbon you are eating, old man, as long as you get plenty of it,’ and I suppose he was about right. ‘ I used to like to hear him best reciting poetry, or singing his Irish songs, for he had a splendid tenor voice. I went down with Captain Howell and Dr. Roberts to Mussel Beach in, the old Kairari one year. Just the day before we started Dr Roberts received some letters which seemed to upset him terribly—sometimes when he’d ‘get his letters he’d be over-flowing with good spirits, and behave like a school boy just out of school; but this time he seemed greatly cut up and, for the first time since I had known him, drank very heavily. When we turned in the first night on board the old Kairan, I told him how sorry I was to see him in the condition he was in. His eyes were bloodshot and his face deathly white under his sun-burn. £ Iknow I’ /e made a beast of myself, old man,’ he said : ‘you can’t despise me half as much as I despise and loath myself. The fact is, Bill, I’m awfully down in the mouth.’ ‘ What’s the matter with you is,’ said I, ‘ that you keep things too much

to yourself. Out with it like a man and perhaps it-will do you good.’ ‘ Old fellow j he said, ‘ I am dying for a little sympathy, that’s true, and I know you won’t let this go any farther. Perhaps when you know all you won’t think so badly of me. Look at that.’ £ He handed me a small heart-shaped locket, which, when I touched the spring flew open. Then I understood why I heard so much about ‘ dusky hair and dewy eyes,’ and it was a lovely laughing face, too, though with a pathetic little droops about the mouth. I gave it back without a word and he seemed to expect none; he gazed hungrily at the photograph for some minutes. ‘ My poor little girl,’ he murmured, then with a short bitter sigh, he closed the locket with a sharp snap and returned it to his pocket. After a short silence he began : My father’s estate is in the south of Ireland, the most beautiful old place in the world to my eyes, and I love every stick and stone of the old property. It is not a large place by any means', but my father has an independent fortune of his own and never troubled much about his rents. He was very easy-going for the most part and dearly loved by all his tenants, but stubborn and unforgiving to a degree when he took it into his head.’ There were four of us —my elder brother Owen, then myself and two sisters. As I was the younger son I had to take my choice of a profession. I chose medicine, and went to Dublin to study. I had never been away from home in my life before, having been tutored by our clergyman. I was a mere hoy, only eighteen, and young for my age too. But I got in with a fast set of young students who courted me chiefly for my money, for 1 had a good income from my father. There were some good-hearted ones amongst them, however, who wer® really fond of ‘ the kid,’ as they called me, and fthey kept me in check to a certain degree. There was one grave young fellow I noticed who seemed desperately poor. He always attended to the lectures and worked very hard. I was interested in his grave, dark face, for somehow he reminded me of my brother Owen, and I always looked forward to his slow smile when I nodded to him. Somehow we became friends, though he was not in ‘ our set,’ and the fellows used to laugh at me and ask how 1 Old Sobersides ’ was. One day Phil Morgan, for that was my friend’s name, came into my rooms, as he said, for a book, but he fidgeted about so long I was sure there was something else to come. ‘ Look here,’ he said at last, ‘ don’t you think you are going the pace rather much ? What would your mother say if she saw you now. Forgive me, old chap, but when you first came I used to admire your bright boyish face, but now you look decidedly dissipated.’ j Don’t ’ I groaned, £ for God’s sake, don’t, Phil,’ and then I buried my j head in my arms and sobbed, for I j was still a boy, though I had been trying so hard to ape the man of I late. | At last I determined to tell him all j my troubles. ‘ Phil, you don’t know half how bad things are with me,’ I said. When I think of the poor little mother and the girls it nearly breaks my heart.’ ‘ Old fellow,’ he said, and his kind tones only added to ray misery.’ ‘ I know you have been led into it, partly from ignorance, partly from thoughtlessness, by men who ought to know better.’ ‘ That doesn’t make my folly any the less,’ I answered. ‘ The fact "is Phil, what with card and wine parties, suppers, cigars, horseracing, and other follies, I’ve neglected study, and am awfully in debt, and as my father has given me such a liberal allowance he will never forgive me. ‘ Well of course,’ Phil replied, ‘ it is no use deceiving yourself by imagining you will get through in your exam. You are bound to be plucked, but don’t go on in this style, George. Come home with me in the long vac.

and work hard, old man. You’ll soon make up for lost time. My home’s a very humble one, I know, but you will have a warm welcome. I’ve told my mother about you many a time in writing. We live in a little village in Devonshire, mother and Nancy and I. We live in what was the home farm of my great grandfather’s once extensive property, which he gambled away, all except the rambling old house and a few acres of garden and orchard. My father was an officer in the army,’ he continued, and my mother has his pension, which is woefully small and expires at her death. There we have lived all our lives, Nancy and I, till my uncle offered to pay for my university career, and the offer was too good to be refused, much as I hated leaving home and being under an obligation to my uncle.’ ‘ I thanked the old boy warmly for his kindness, and he reminded me that I could be saving money as well to in a measure pay my debts. This thought comforted me immensely, and I wrote to mother saying that I was going over to England with a friend for a month or so to read hard. I knew she would be disappointed that I had been plucked in my first exam.’

For the remainder of the term I kept under the fatherly wing of Phil, and by the time we reached England I was my old self again.’ I can never forget my arrival at that pretty Devonshire home. I can see it clearly now. It was late in the afternoon of a very hot day ; everything seemed resting after the fatigues of the day; even the bees appeared to be buzzing in and out of the flowers lazily; the roses and other flowers sent up a heavy, rich perfume.

The house was a low, rambling one, and seemed to be all gables and French windows, with a verandah running round three sides of it. At the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel two forms emerged from what I afterwards found was the drawing room, through an open French window. ‘ Dear old Phil,’ from the girl, and, ‘my darling boy,’ from the mother, and I was completely forgotten. I turned to the driver and paid him, and at last Phil remembered me and introduced me to his mother, a sweetvoiced, gentle little woman very like Phil. Phil asked where Nancy was, but she had fled, evidently to hurry the dinnerrtea,which was to be earlier than usual on account of our arrival. Presently, after having removed all dust and travel stains, I descended to the verandah, and was sniffing a huge rose which grew cn a tree climbing up one of the verandah posts. ‘We haven’t been introduced,’ said a merry voice behind me, ‘ but I’m Nancy and you’re George, but I’m going to call you Pat because you’re so Irish.’ I turued in surprise, and there stood a dainty, childlike, saucy little thing with glorious dark eyes—not those round brown eyes like cow’s eyes, but soft dark eyes —and with a mass of dark fluffy hair. We shook hands and were friends in a minute.

In the shabby old drawing room that evening I discovered that Haney had a beautiful voice, and could paint ■well, too, in fact she earned a good deal of the money on which they lived by her brush, and how homelike and dainty she had managed to make that long, low ceiled room.’ Phil suggested that I should make a clean breast of it to the mater, as he called her, adding ‘ she’s a rare one to help a fellow out of a hole.’ I hesitated at first, but his mother’s gentle, ‘ do tell me, poor boy, and I hope I may be able to help you,’ decided me, so I told her all. As I finishedlglancedatHancy; her eyes were full of tears and from that moment it was all up with me. Young and all as I was, I lost my heart for ever to sweet Haney Morgan. ‘ Mrs Morgan gave me some excellent advice, and told me to tell everything to my mother when I went home, for she kn«w how she’d feel it if Phil deceived her. I’m sorry to say I thought more of Haney’s dark eyes than all the good advice in the world.

Things went on smoothy enough at the White House, as the Morgan’s place was always called. I worked hard for the simple reason that they all combined to make me read man so hours a day; had it not been for my kind friends I’m afraid I would have wasted my time sadly. Though Nancy was only seventeen I saw she had plenty of admirers — two country squires, the young doctor, and the curate, to say nothing of every boy for miles round, who all loved ‘ Lady Nancy,’ a name her queenly, gracious, little ways had won for her. Needless to say I -was jealous, undone day after I had been in Devonshire about a month, I determined to propose to Nancy, though I felt sure she would only laugh at me. ‘ She certainly was no flirt, but still she was sweet and gracious to everybody, and I was not going to stand it any longer. In this frame of mind I was wandering round the house one bright, sunny day, when all of a sudden I found myself in the back regions somewhere, and there was my dainty lady sitting on the door step, an old straw hat of her brother’s on her head, peeling potatoes. ‘ Hood Heavens ! Nancy,’ I said, what are you doing ?’ ‘ Paring paraties, your honour,’ she responded merrily. ‘ Martha (their one servant) has a headache, and being of a peculiarly sympathetic and poetical nature, I fully sympathise with your lost and undone condition when a meal is served before you without paraties.’ ‘ Thanks,’ said I, ‘ and I may lay the flattering unction to my soul that you are dirtying your fingers for my sake ; it’s too good of you, but, Nancy dear, I’d eat potatoes for ev*r if you would only peel them for me. Will you, Nancy P’ ‘ It’s a charming prospect you are after offering me, Patrick, me darlint, but, ambitious as I am, my soul never soared to such unknown heights as the bliss of paring paraties for you to the end of my natural life.’

I saw what a blundering idiot I had been. 4 Nancy, you know what I mean,’ I gasped. ‘ Quite, Patrick/ she laughed; ‘and may I have the honour of feeding the pigs, too ? I dote on pigs, Pat, especially your country pigs, dear affectionate creatures, who show their devotion by taking up their abode in the front parlour.’ ‘Nancy, don’t laugh at me, dear,’ I said, and I was moving towards her. ‘ Don’t come a step nearer, Patrick, me boy. Phil and mater are both interested spectators from the kitchen window, and I don’t want to commit murder before their eyes this knife is sharp, you know.’ With an angry exclamation, I strode away, followed by Nancy’s merry ringing laugh, which, however, only added to my wrath. I walked and walked it seemed for hours, and when at last I returned it was almost tea-time. I met the postman just at the gate and took the White House budget from him—some business letters for Phil and a telegram for me. With a sudden feeling of horror I tore the flimsy envelope open. ‘ Come home at once,’ the message ran, 4 Owen was thrown from his horse and killed instantly, to-day.— ‘ Kathleen.’ Owen, ray poor brother whom I loved so well. I couldn’t realize that he was dead—it seemed too horrible to be true. As I walked mechanically onto the verandah Nancy’s bright voice broke in upon me— ‘ Where have you been Patrick ?’ then seeing my face, she cried, ‘ What is the matter ! Have you had bad news ?’ I told her that my sister had wired me to say my only brother was killed by a fall from his horse. ‘ Oh I’m so sorry for you all,’ she said at last, and looking up into my white stony face she burst into tears. Dear tender-hearted soul, my sweet Nancy. It was some comfort in the midst of all my misery to know that she loved me. We sat down on a

rustic seat in the verandah, where we had often sat before, and she had teased the very life out of me. But what a different Nancy it was to-night. I could hardly believe that the clinging, tearful little thing who was doing everything to comfort me in my first great sorrow, was the gay careless child of a few hours before. All the happy weeks I had spent in this dear old place seemed as a dream and I could scarcely think of anything but that Owen was dead. Phil came out presently, and Nancy told him about my telegram. It was found that I would have to wait till morning, as there was no train that night. Bright and beautiful the next morning dawned and though I had to be off at six they were all in the dining room when I went down. Mrs Morgan kissed me as if I were her own son and wished me God speed. Phil insisted on coming to the station with me, but guessing our secret I think, left Nancy and me to walk together as far as the gate. ‘My darling/ I said, ‘ I’ll come back again. God bless you, my little comfort.’ I kissed her passionately, and with a quick sob she tore herself away just/ as old Phil came up. ‘ I’ll never forget that journey—the train and then the boat seemed scarcely to move, so great, was my impatience to get home. But at last I arrived —such a terrible gloom hung over the house. I was met in the hall by my two sisters, with young Dirk Burton, an officer in the army, to whom my pet sister Kathleen was engaged. ‘ The girls’ faces were pale and swollen with crying. Dirk, too, was pale and grave. Those few days seemed so unreal and horrible that I often wondered if I were awake or dreaming. My mother was fretting terribly over her favourite son, and father, too, looked years older in those few days. ! Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to tell them my misdeeds then —they were so gentle and good, and seemed to look to me for some comfort. 1 told them, however, about Nancy, and a fortnight later they sent me back with their blessing to my Nancy. It was decided that I should go fiom Devonshire back to Dublin with Phil.

It was delightful to be back at the peaceful White House again—to be petted and sympathised with by Nancy, who, though lovely in her former tantalising sauciness, was lovelier still in her sweet, pitying, womanly ways.

Her mother and Phil agreed to our engagement on condition that nothing should be said about marriage until I had obtained my diploma, on account of our being so young. In justice to myself I may say that no thought of the pecuniary advantages to me in my brother’s death ever occurred to me, nor, I believe, did they to Nancy. Of course there was no need for me to study, but I never even thought of that, for I was truly and deeply grieved at my brother’s death. I spent several peaceful, happy weeks at the White House, but Mrs Morgan insisted upon my going home and telling my difficulties to the mother before returning to the University. I went, reluctantly enough, it is true, and owned up to everything. My mother said very little, but she looked a great deal, and I knew she was contrasting my conduct with Owen’s. My father, however, raved at me, swore I should never go back to Dublin, that I wasn’t to be trusted outside the grounds. Pinally he cooled down, asked for a list of my debts, gave me a cheque for the amount, and insisted on my going back to college to, as he said, live down my disgrace. That night my mother called me into her room. ‘ George,’ she said, £ promise me, ray boy, that, come what may, you’ll never gamble again promise me, George.’ I promised on my sacred word of honour, and God knows I meant to keep my promise, too.

Then my mother told her story for the first time in her life. She said : ‘ George, I know what gambling is. It’s

a mania, a disease. I have suffered bitterly through it. My grandfather was an inveterate gambler—he died by his own hand and a bankrupt. My father, his only son, inherited the passion for play, and though a fond and indulgent husband, he broke my poor mother’s heart, for he could not keep away from the green tables, and I grew up in the home, and as the daughter of a professional swindler and gambler. I hated it, and never had a happy moment till your father took me away from it all. I know what it is, and I hate it—l hate it. If I had my way I’d destroy every card and billiard cue in Christendom,’ my mother ended, in a burst of tears. ‘ I had never seen her so moved before. ‘ Don’t, mother dear,’ I cried. ‘ I swear I’ll never gamble again. I’ll do anything you like, little mother. I’ll try and be more like dear steadygoing old Owen ’—and I meant it, too. My mother was comforted, and said she knew she could trust me.

Well, Pliil and I went back to Dublin, and for a time all went well. I worked hard under his protecting eye and was getting on famously. But one day word came to Phil that his mother was dying, and he was going home at once. I begged to accompany him, and he seemed glad to have me. Mrs Morgan was unconscious when we arrived, and died shortly after, never having regained consciousness.

Poor Phil and Nancy were both terribly grieved, and I, in my turn, turned comforter. My mother wrote a kind letter to Nancy, inviting her to go to Ireland and stay with them till Phil passed his final exam. Nancy seemed too stunned to care what became of her, but Phil gratefully accepted the invitation for his sister, and was also successful in letting the White House on very reasonable terms.’

Before returning to College, Phil and I took Nancy over to my mother, who loved my darling at once, and Kathleen and Eileen became her firm friends. We left her there, knowing that she would be well cared for, and after the first shock of grief was over would learn to be happy. Phil and I worked like Trojans for the rest of the term, and we both passed creditably—Phil his final, and I my first exam. Then we went home, where my kind old father had made arrangements for Phil to take the practice of the old Doctor who was about to retire. Phil was overwhelmed with gratitude, but father declared it was all for the sake of 4 sweet Nancy,’ who had evidently won all hearts. We all had great fun getting the house ready for Dr Phil Morgan and his little housekeeper, ‘ Lady Nancy.’ I always look back to that vacation as the happiest time in my life. Towards the end of my holiday Kathleen was married to Dirk Burton, and Nancy and Eileen acted as bridesmaids, while Phil and I were groomsmen. It was a jolly little wedding, and a week afterwards I went back to Dublin, this time alone. At first it was all right, but gradually I got back into the old set, and a good deal into my old ways. I heard from Nancy every week—those dear little letters and the memory of her sweet, tender little face kept me straight many and many a time when I was tempted to go astray. ‘ I had kept faith with mother about gambling, till one day a man named Thorn, the most unscrupulous fellow in the University, was trying to get me to back a horse which he had backed heavily. I told him I never gambled on principle, and he and his chosen friend Somers both roared with laughter. I was furious, but thought of my mother, and kept silent. 4 At last Somers, with some difficulty, checked his mirth, and said—--4 You know, Thorn, the kid is engaged to be married to a little angel, who told him to be a good boy,’ and he began singing—- ‘ My dear little Nancy, My own little Nancy.’ 4 1 was half mad with rage, and

knocked Somers down without a moment’s hesitation, then turning to Thorn I backed the horse for a sum that seemed to take his breath away. Afterwards I found that it was only by chance that Somers hit on my darling’s name, for I had never mentioned it to anyone. ‘ After my rage had subsided I thought of what I had done, and remorse and disgust with myself nearly maddened me. I made a beast of myself, as you saw me this time. To make matters worse, the horse I was backing did not win, and of course my father heard of my debt. It was impossible for me to pay up without letting him know. He paid my debts, and then furiously forbade me the house. What with fretting over Owen and the shock of my falseness, my mother died, and that nearly killed me. My father would not let me go home even then. 1 stayed on in Dublin, but I had had enough of gambling; though had it not been for Haney and my sisters I believe I would have gone straight to the dogs. I passed my final exam, at length, never having been home in all that time —once 1 had seen Phil and two or three times my married sister, whose husband’s regiment had been in Dublin for a few weeks.

Well, when I obtained my diploma I thought I would be reconciled to my father, and be able to be married to Nancy, my poor little love, who had stood up for me through thick and thin, bless her. Imagine my feelings, then, when I received a letter from my father informing me that he had obtained a berth for me as surgeon on the Happy Jack, bound for New Zealand, and that if I behaved myself for five years I could go back to Ireland —at present he did not consider me fit to marry a good, pure girl—and that I was to live down the bad name I had earned for myself. My sweet little Nancy, my sisters, and Phil all pleaded for me, but it was no use, go I must. Phil came to see me off, but my father would not see me himself nor allow any of the girls to see me. And so I left Ireland proud and bitter in spirit. It is three years ago now, and somehow we hoped that for Nancy’s sake he would shorten my probation, for my poor little girl felt my absence more than I deserve. That’s what I hoped, old man, when I got my letters, but my father is as hard as ever, 1 and so I’ll have to stay on in this hole for two more years. I hate it all sometimes —the rough food, the coarseness of the men, and my own bitter thoughts, for I feel as if I have killed my mother. I often think that life isn’t worth living so far from all I love, and I don’t believe I’ll ever see old Ireland and sweet Nancy again. If anything ever happens to me, Bill,’ he went on, ‘ you’ll see that any letters I leave are sent Home, won’t you ?’ I promised, and after that one burst of confidence neither he nor I ever alluded to the story again, though I felt sorry for him, for Jack’s favourite poet’s words —

“ And if I chose the path of sin My choice ha* cost me dear ’ — might have been written for him, so well do they apply. “ Time went on; the two years were more than up, and still no word came from Dr Roberts’ I could see how feverishly anxious he was. He neglected his work, and by Christmas time had not a penny of his own. One and another of us lent him money to keep him going. At last, however, he began drinking, and got into a fearful state. I tried to stop him, but it was all of no use. ‘ At last Christmas Eve came. The doctor was out of funds again, and the man who kept the grog shop, afraid of losing a few pence, refused him a pannikin of rum. He went straight away and borrowed a gun, and walked along the beach past the men who were building the Amazon for Capt. Howell. One of the men called out that the doctor was going to shoot himself—just in jest of course —then another said that he wasn’t game. The doctor just laughed and passed on.

‘He went to the house of a fellow named Shannon, took off one boot, sat down with the muzzle of the gun pressed to his heart, fired the trigger with his toe, and was dead almost instantly. We all rushed to the spot on hearing the report, and were horrified at the sight we saw. We carried him gently to his own hut, and an old woman was called to get him ready for burial. She found round his neck a plait of dark hair, and the heart-shaped locket which he had shown me, attached to a chain; we buried them with him, poor fellow. ‘ On Christmas Day, just before we buried him, a trooper arrived with letters from Otago, and there was one for George Roberts, Surgeon, containing £SOO, and a demand from his father to go home at once. Poor fellow, it was just a day too late. ‘ A service was read over him, and his funeral was a most pathetic one. He was buried in the old Maori cemetery on the sandhills, near the kaik. He was the very first man to be buried there .

‘ln his hut we found a package addressed to me, containing letters for his father and Nancy, and a short note for me telling me of his intention. ‘ A noble ending to a noble life ! ’ he wrote. ‘ I am selling my immortal soul because I was denied a pannikin of grog. I am sick of a life that is altogether distasteful to me. Good-bye, old fellow.’ ‘ That was all, and it nearly broke my heart, I cared for him so. I sent the letters on with the trooper, and young Watson also returned the poor Dr’s letters to Mr Watkins, the missionary, to whose care they had been sent, From there we knew they would be sent to Ireland. ‘ Just the next Christmas —for mails did not travel in those days as they do now —I had letters from Miss Morgan and Mrs Phil Morgan— Dr Roberts’ sister Eileen. Kind letters they were, thanking me for what they were pleased to call my kindness to the Dr., from whom they had heard of me. My heart bled for that poor Miss Morgan, -who, I heard, died not long afterwards, of consumption they said, but those who knew her best understood that consumption was only a name for a broken heart.’ Grandfather paused, and we thanked him for the long story he had told us, which saddened us in spite of the fact that it was Christmas time. Fred remarked that he didn’t think much of love, and that Jack would be for ever spouting Lindsay Gordon now.