BY PARCELS POST.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 33, 19 January 1884, Page 7

BY PARCELS POST.

It is growing dusk on a December afternoon. All day long a slight fog hag hung over the metropolis, and this is rapidly changing to a heavy drizzle. It is just the sort of day that may be described as " gloomy "—just the sort of weather to encourage a tit of the blues ; and the outlook at Paddington Station is decidedly melancholy. So at least one of the footpast engers seems to think as he stands for a moment at the door of the principal waitingroom. He is a tall, spare old man, with a stern, gloomy face, and an expression of di&content which seems to be habitual. Just for a moment he btands looking out, then, with a shrug of his lean shoulders, he turns into the Waiting-room, and throwing himself into a chair, opens the inevitable newspaper, and settles himself with the air of an Englishman who does nob wi*h to be disturbed. .; But alas ! for him, if he wishes for quiet. On the couch near the n'fe three young ladies are seated, chatting busily,' and, it must be confessed, a little noisily al?o. They have had the wa'ting-rooin all to themseive^, and are unaware of ihe "entrance of a stranger. ; , "So there are to be grand doings, at Southholm now Hr.rry .Lenox conies of age at Christmas. Of course, you are going,

Millicent) it will be qui'e an event for you." - ,»''■. It is the eldpst of the throo who speaks, a tall showy gin, Ada Cailtuu by name. " It will be quite an event," the girl she calls Millieent answers, with evident embarrassment, " bub I km not going." "No*, groin*?. i But. why, Millie?" says the thiid, a d irk-eyeJ, ijively young lady her companions oall Ulnriv. (> For tlie best of all reasons," says Millie, with a laugh that seems rather forced-:-" I am not asked." "But, Millie," persists Ada, "we heard from good authority that you were engaged to Hairy Lenox." " And," puts in the lively Clarie, " I must say I think it very mean of you, dear, to keep it S'ich a secret all this long while. I am sure when dear, darling Paul " But Millie lias evidently heard* of the " dear darling Paul" before, and, wishing, to be spared the whole History of that immaculate individual's proposal and subsequent acceptance, which is Claries favourite topic, she interposes — tl lam certainly not engaged to Harry Lenox " j " Well, dear, I was told for certain that he had proposed to you." "And you must have accepted him," cries Clarie, "Why, he is the catch of the county, and, considering your position— no offence, darling — 1 think it would be a famous chance lor you." Millie sees that nothing less than a full explanation will satisfy her companions and *cop exaggerated report, so, with evident effort, she replies :—: — " It is true that Harry Lenox proposed to me, and— and wehopedto have been engaged; but you know that Harry's uncle, to whom Harry owes everything, has a greatdislike to all girls, penniless ones in particular, and, though he has never seen me, he made up his mind that I only cared for the position Harry could give me, and not for Harry himself. I believe he called me an 4 enterprising young adventuress,' and other hard names, when Harry broached the subject te him. At any rate, he flatly refused his consent." " But, surely Harry did not give you up so easily ?" " No, no," answers Millift, with crimson cheeks ; "he tried hard to persuade me to be engaged to him, and it was a great temptation, for indeed I do love him very dearly ; but I could not — it would not have been right, for Harry owes everything to his uncle, and I would not injure his prospects in any way. Besides," she adds, proudly, " I would not enter a family that looked down on me." " How comes it that Mr Lenox has such an antipathy to our sex ?" laughs Ada. " What a cantankerous old gentleman he must be !" "He has been very good to Harry," answers Millie, earnestly ; " I can never forget that. He even saved his life once, when he was a lad, at the risk of his own. And as for his antipathy, I believe lie has some cause for that. He was engaged some years ago to a young girl, whom he loved very fondly, and some few weeks before what was to have been their weddingday he overheard a conversation in which she declared to a friend that she was only marrying him for his money, and that she thought him a perfect ogre." "And he gave her up, I suppose, and serve her right. But, dear, it is too bad of him to come between your happiness like this. I suppose he takes his revenge wholesale." "It has destroyed his faith in all women," says Millie, sadly. "Poor old gentleman, how unhappy he must be ! It would be downright wicked to make Harry treat him badly, he is so entirely wrapped up in him." " Well, you are an angel, Millie. Good gracious ! what is that ?" It is only the old gentleman, who, perhaps, weary ,of a conversation which cannot possibly be interesting to him, is making for the door. It is rather startling for the girls, who have had no idea of a listener, and they look slightly uncomfortable. " He must have heard every Avord," cries Glarie. "Horrid old thing, why didn't he cough?" "Oh !" says Millie, "see, he has left a parcel behind him !" And, w ith a hasty apology to her companions, she hastens to the platform. A train is Just starting, and, after a hurried glame into the different compartmen(?, M Hie descvie- the object of her search, his lung, Jean „ visage staring gloomi y out into me ga hering darkne3s. He bakes the '-arcel without thanks, but with a kern look into the girl's face; and, with a pleisan - smile nnd a graceful inclination of her prjtty head, Millie runs off and quickly joius her comp inions. "Little mother, you have the book upside down." Millicent routes herself from her reverie, and, smiles pleasantly into her little sister's wondering eyes. "I am afraid c little mother's ' wits were wooll gathering," she answers, stroking the little one's curly head. "But come, dear, we must gei on with this spelling " So bright she is, she quite deceives her father, who says in a relieved manner to his wife, " I am glad our Millicent is not taking this business to heart — I was afraid she would.' Mrs JDacre answers with a half-smile and a shake of her head. She has gauged the depths of her little daughter's brave, patient nature, and knows what a full heart the girl carries beneath her quiet exterior. •' A letter for you, Miss Millie," says old I Hannah, opening the school-room door. '"For me!" surprisedly — then, as she notes the strange hani writing, and the familiar monogram, with flushed cheeks she hastens with it to the dining-room, and soon a family council are sitting in solemn conclave on the important missive. ' It is a politely-worded invitation from the master of S'outhholm, requesting the pleasure of Miss Millicent Dacce's company on Christmas Eve. It* al?o intimates that the carriage will call for Miss Dacre at half -past nine. " Well, it leaves you no choice of refusal," laughs Mr Dacre. " Rather a cool missive, eh? 1 ' " Papa, it must be a hoax," cries Millie, distressfully. "It cannot be for me." "It is certainly the handwriting of Mr Lenox. I have seen it frequently in our business relations together. See, I have a letter from him here." And the handwritings compared prove to be exactly pimilar. " There is a ; parcel come for you, Miss Millicent," says Hannah's voice once more — this time with a suppressed giggle in it — " by parcels' post." 1 A bulky package it prbves to be, in which, when opened, Millie finds a lovely dress of cream satin, simply but exquisitely made, with dainty slippers, and all the requisites for a complete ball costume. "It cannot be for me," cries poor bewildered Millicent. " There mud .he some mistake." -' . • ' ' But the label, when, consulted, clearly proves that the package is intended for Miss Millie Dacre, and no othei. The/postmark is London, so gives no clue to the mystery. , - > „-; '•* ' • , ' "My darling,, them Js/ more in this than,' meets the eye," Bays**Mr r Dacre",, loudly, as he takes the girl's " Dp not? distress The.ploij\ t '■ \. - r*,y *,-<,£* s&'s ;<•>-,* yy-

'whatever- >iifc,' id, .wilKrl* w" k > prove a pleasant one. j; Let us yjaVe/'aomw^ea, and then, mamma will helpfywi toJ/don these marvel-" ions garments, -aftU^ntyself; witl go with you to the hall to see that all is right.* Our little Millie will look, like a queen tonight."-, i i ,.; I „, It is Christmas ".Eve!*? Southolm is 1 all ablaze with light-: and ,0,8. Millie stands for a 1 brief space alone in' the great hall, her ' heart almost fails her. \\\' Only for a moment ; th^e next, a hand is placed on her shoulder, a'pd a kind though stran:e voice bids her welcome. It is her old gentleman of the day before. 11 My dear, • I -m&W introduce myself, though we have met before. I see you remember. -,You, are- Miss Millie Dacre, and I am Mr L'enhox-^Harry's uncle. The ogre," he adds,, ,with a s smile. "Do I look so very dreadful? " '. ' ' x His smile is wonderfully reassuring — quite altering tihe charkoter of his face, which seems usually gloomy and unprepossessing. "Now, my dear," he adds, "will you come with me to my study? I will not detain you long. I have a few words to say to you, and we shall be uninterrupted there." Almost in a dream, Millie follows him. V There, he goes on, when, divested of her wraps, he has made her comfortable in • an arm-chair near the fire, and has token another opposite — "now we can have our little chat. Bute will the fire spoil your dress ? "—glancing approvingly at the pretty girtah figure";* "Oh! Mr Lenox," cries Millie, impulsively, starting to her feet. " Did you — was it you who sent me all thepe pretty things ? I know it was, though," she adds, as the old man' does not speak. " How good— how kind of you. How can I thank you I" ; i i '•There, there," says the old man, testily," that will do. Just like a girl — thinking first of gewgaws and finery. Listen to what I have to say." Then he goes on to tellfher how he had overheard her conversation with her friends in the waiting-room at Paddington, and how, convinced, by Millie's earnest words and simple manner, of the truth of her affection for his nephew (poor Millie's cheeks burned as she listened), and also charmed with her courtesy to himself, he had, on the spur of the moment, made up his mind to reconsider his decision rr with the result she had seen. Much moio he tells her, to the same purpose, and finishes by saying — " I am an old man, you know, my dear, and the old have as much right to their oddities as the young their fancies. So, my dear, if you can forgive me tor the liberty I have taken, and let bygones be bygones, we will do our best to make you happy. What do you say ?" But Millie can only answer with her tears, "Bless me, bless me,'" cries the old gentleman, much disconcerted, "I must call Harry. Lucky young dog. What a surprise it will be for him !" A minute later Millie is clasped| in the strong young arms of her astonished lover ; and Mr Lenox, quite overcome by the tumult, he has raised in his own quiet study, takes refuge behind;a big bureau, and blows his nose violently. • « . ■ . The happiness that Christmas Eve need not be described. The imagination of the youthful reader, and the experience of the more mature, will readily supply the details. Happy though that evening was, it was surpassed by one that followed in a few months, when Millie anil Harry were united for life, simultaneously with the marriage of Clarie and her " dear darling Paul." ' -6

A man in Auckland who lias a consignment of 2000 barrels of Portland cement coming- to him, writes to the " Herald " anenta leaky cistern made from Mahurangi lime. Too thin. Mr J. Fiuuklin is now the supervisor of the railway bridge contract. Sir George Grey has never seen Melbourne or Sydney.