CHAPTER III.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 237, 14 January 1888, Page 2

CHAPTER 111.

,"The company was in camp at Afcahuhu when us fellows.of the flying column re- * joined it, and was waiting theT arrival of a steamer at Auckland £p bring' it on to Napier, where some disturbances were expected. lat once seized the chance afforded : by onr stay in camp, and.went into the, : village to iook up Mrs Gray and see how she fared. Finding my woy to the little weatherboard cottage, I was at once struck by the air of desolation that pervaded the ' * place. The little garden; was a£ wuedk.^ the ' few fruit trees had a battered and damaged look, the fence Nyas broken, and pigs -were - rooting at the potato* patch and the dirty windows were shrouded by dingy blinds and moist-looking, fpul t -smelling rags. - Poverty, neglect and misery seemed to have marked - the place as their 6\vn. Rearing I know'nofr what, I tapped at the door; and after some '. considerable •>,delay •*; an old' woman, a f stranger, answered my,knock. ,< To-Ker I: -\ was about to explain the nature ofc«my ; errand, when she breathed a sort of guttural ' hush ', into my face, and with the < hush came the ai'pma of something-very like' ration rum.- Then the old wotiian. beckoned J iiie on one side, and asked me my, business. , I explained''that I was G ray V friend,; "and./; had come'there-to fiha out'hoiv niswidoV ' ,and child wero,ciroumBtanced,«with the view'- - ;pf affording\them any assistance in my,"t powers ti t . V The old woman looked wistfully in my ti, ' face for a moment, -then l asked-, ''You were "'' Bob Gray's comrade V >> >>- i-<- - • "--«"■& u< Yes,' Implied., ,? 'FThen the ,pld. wpman^ xclasping,.and! u't.; , Wringing lfer s handstand, giving, vent^ to a^ ,} flood of teelrs tsom*e u of 6h4hi were? Jdue to the v, i j ruin of; which ifehte kmelt, bu t'most] I'think, "" « -.tft '^onaine feeline:),'^burst wfdrth/> '-'-Tod* r^ late—too late—you^ve.come too late, young s man. Nelly Gray- is—dying^n^ide that—.c^ '« -~;*<A tnd: ev6n Jwhile'she 1 a?ejd^or,9ne^'tpJ|thAfdoor,f^^wKo^abok^d«i3h7et"^J tdreadfu^vnew^ J xSb,e.,boije>{} r .^q^«e9iWh©^i+Ji to 4p*eak ; we* followed her" in 3ilence, and in!&ie Q^ter.xoomj.^yhefe'Xremained whilstig. yth^el yr^m^n >'wMfc,iaJ»Jitne».idark^oibMb'er/ 5- , ssej4ed^n^}e,v^s $ej4ed^n^}e,v^ %e€pinff»as ii if it^nittle%eart.wpuld,briax.t rtl .v. land as.theJbiiiia^Mae'd* m&mWm ok^ at tne/^^vvlj^klltllie^ M«W##^ ,fac<| oLUwklit|ile;,oj(e thi^as j^^fA^B- S^'i 'girlt Mabel. I took the^cnild'in iftVjarms.-,.;? nUttHtfrfeflflto trf4y%Mfeilfpg^ arms round my ,neck] 'aric^V^i^^ l! comforted, I vowed that Jts future should

foe my care— that I would be to it a father and guardian. "And then, from the drink-loosened tongues pf the garrulous old women, I Tieard the whole dreadful story. Both of Mrs Gray's parents had died within a few weeks of each other, shortly after -the troop 3 had left Gtahuhu, and then Mrs Gray's health had begun to fail, and sickness had brought poverty, and poverty had helped disease, until she had become helpless nnd dependent upon the charity of neighbours, who had very little to spare, and the shock of her husband's death had completed the mischief. After this she pined away rapidly, and— l knew the rest anyself. "I gave the two old women the few ■shillings I had about me, and returned to camp to obtain two or three days' leave, and also to draw a small sum 1 had in the Regimental Savings Bank. " By dint of very full explanations I obtained both the leave and the money without the usual delays, and returning at once to the village made the necessary ar>ran»ements, and the next day the romains of Mrs Gray were laid by the side of those •of her father and mother in the village ■churchyard, Mabel {carried in my arms) and I being the only mourners ; and still .carrying the child, I returned to camp. "'When I reached the camp the company ihad just been dismissed from afternoon parade, and as I approached the boys gathered round me with looks of mingled .amusement and regret. They knew what my errand had been, and they knew whose child I carried ; but I suppose there must have been something ludicrous about the look of a soldier with an infant in his arms. Some of them smiled, not to say grinned, broadly, and in a few minutes more I found myself the centre of a circle, and my further progress barred ; and then I spoke. .'"Number Tour,'. I said, 'you know that this is Bob Gray's child. Bob Gray was my comrade, and my pay shall provide for Mabel's wants. And as I spoke Mabel, lifting her head from my breast, looked cround the little crowd of soldiers, and •extending her arms crowed and laughed gleefully. " • No, no ! it's too much for one,' said a number of the fellows, in quick dissent to my proposal. Then a little fellow, Tom Lenard by name, stepping forward and said : ' Boys, when Bob Gray was alive he was the Pride of Number Four ; now his child shall be the pet of Number Four. We'll raise a penny subscription, and Mabel shall be the company's care.' " And a roar like a battle-shout answered liim. " And so it was arranged ; the men of the company, something over 150 strong, contributed one penny per week towards the support of the little Mabel : and Mrs Poddie Brown, a kindly little widow woman, ■who by reason of her three stalwart sons serving in the regiment was entitled to rations and quarters at the public charge, undertook the care of the child. And it was understood that where I went there she should go too; that is to say, that the collective interest of the company in her would cease when I left the regiment, and that she would then become my sole charge. <* And little Mabel grew and throve j amazingly, and learnt long before she could XQ&& — before, in fact, she could speak very distinctly— to distinguish, first, the men of her own company, and, next, the men of the regiment from those of other regiments baying the same uniform and facings. She ' was dressed in a little vivandiere. costume with the buff facings of the regiment on collars and cu(Fb, and she wore a dainty little foragecap with the crest and motto of the regiment inscribed on it. And, by-and-by, when she began to spell, the ladies of the regiment embroidered for her a miniature stand of regimental colours, and she quickly learnt from her many willing teachers the* meaning of every symbol and the story of every name she found on the flag. Of how, at Tournay, the Regiment had stolen a city and a marching tune at the same time from the French by a clever ruse of the bandmaster and one of the lieutenants ; of how, at Corunna, when the ■escort of the colours as well as the ensigns who carried them had been shot down and the flags themselves lay unheeded, bathed in the blood of their dead bearers, when the regiment was ordered to retire, a drummer, the first to notice their absence, had darted from the ranks, and running back had recovered and brought back to safety the mia3ing flags, as he did so falling riddled with bullets ; of how the boys of the 3rd battalion, fresh from their English villages, had fought at Waterloo ; and of how the j light company had been blown into the air j by the explosion of the enemy's mine at the storming of Bhurtpore ; and much more to the same effect. She knew the meaning hidden in every bit of piping, every fragment of lace, in every brass button or ornament. " And by-and -by she learnt to whistle, and people about the barracks would hear the * reveille ' or the ' retreat ' at midday, and, turning a corner, would come upon the aweet young face with its Jips pursed up for the delivery of the flute-like sound ; or from the corner of the barrack room, would hear a bar of ' Caira,' the regimental quickstep ; the rugged notes of the revolutionary air, softened by the sweet young voice of the whistling imp, sounding sweet and clear on the morning air— sounding in fact like music, which wasn't what it sounded when played by a brass band. "And thus she grew from year to year ; the idol of the company ; ever full of whimsical eccentricity, but also ever full of bright intelligence and gentle sweetness of character, until the time came when my term of service having expired, and the regiment being ordered home, Mabel and I had to part from our friends and comrades of Number Four. " This was in '70, and when Mabel and I stood on the wharf to take our last look at the old regiment, and to exchange the last hand pressure with the comrades of many chequered years, there were few dry eyes in Number Four, when the little figure in the vivandiert dress (she was then eight years old, and she wore the facings of the regiment for the last time that day) walked down the ranks to bid each and every one of them a last farewell. And when the ship at length cast off, and with a final cheer they were fairly away, and, steaming on their homeward route, Mabel fairly broke down, and wept long and bitterly. And every time she turned and caught sight of me in* my new and awkwardly worn mufti, she would break out afresh and would not be comforted. " I determined to settle in Sydney, but resolved first to try and find Gray's people, and if they wished, to give Mabel up to them* Ihad had in my possession from nearly the commencement of our acquaintance, the address of bis father, and to this address I now repaired by rail. , *JBob had described -the neighbourhood tc^me as being unfonced, uncultivated, and, save by a few shepherds- and the remains of a tribe of blacks/uninhabited. I found fldur-UMng townships,' farms, and a prosperous yeomanry settled on the land — found that all trace of the early pioneere and the sheep-farms hod- disappeared } that Bob's parents had been 1 dead several years, and that sisters were married to farmer* aud did Jiot caro to interest themselves about ' HsohiUL'i'/ ; .■»«/- ' - «■ ■ '* ' ' " X returned to Sydney, glad thai Mabel

was allowed to remain with me, and devoted myself to her, and, for her sake, to business. I haye k as you are aware, succeeded fairly well, and whilst I have been plodding along, hoarding and scraping, Mabel has grown from childhood into girlhood and womanhood, and in every stage has developed fresh beauties of mind and body ; has developed, indeed, in some respects, talents, of /> no ordinary kind. You have had ample f opportunities of judging both the quality and the training of her voice, and you are aware of her enthusiastic lovo— adoration I might call it— for highclass music ; but you have nob known hitherto that her ambition to give her genius - for ahe has geniua — to the public Vos almost too strong for me to control ; that in fact I should have had to yield to her wish and allow her to adopt the lyric | stage as her profession, had I not received assistance from a quite unexpected quar« tor." • ' How so V asked J ack Mason. "In this mannev," said I. "My old friend Malcolm Telford, who a few years ago took up country on the Cloncurry, sent his son Angus down from the station about eighteen months ago with a mob of fat cattle for the market, and after the delivery and sale of the cattle Angus remained fooling about town, and was a good deal at this place. He was a young, good-looking, and decidedly a taking sort of fellow. Business affairs occupied a good deal of my attention just at that time, and, moreover, I am afraid we old fellows get to be dull and unobservant in these little matters. Mabel's life, too, was rather a lonely one about this time ; and, as a matter of course, Angus and Mabel fell in love with each other ; equally as a matter of course Angus proposed to her and was accepted, and she thought no more of the stage as a profession. " And .then came all this excitement and "hubbub abbut the Soudan and the Contingent ; and Angus, who is an arrant Jingo, would insist upon going there, and Mabel, like the true soldier's child that she is, would not say him nay, although her heart was breaking at the thought of parting from htm. " And the upshot of the affair was that, after I had been coaxed into consenting to the arrangement, Angus and Mabel were married on the 2nd of March last—the day before the Contingent sailed. Now you have the explanation of Mabel's pale cheeks and sunken eyes. When,, however, the Contingent returned, Mabel, was reunited to her hu?band, and then her married ttfe began with every prospect of happiness." " And where are you left ?" asks my old crony. To which I reply : " Happy in the thought that • all's well that ends well '— that I havo fulfilled my trust, and secured the happiness of the 'Pet of Number Four/"