PART II.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 327, 22 December 1888, Page 5

PART 11.

Mrs Merryfield returned, to the kitchen where her eldest daughter Maggie was still busy preparing mincemeat for hot mince pies for the following day. Maggie was a young woman of two or three and twenty ; and, without being strictly pretty, she had a comely face, with earnest, well-open eyes that were the mirror of an honest upright nature ; a mouth with firm, pleasant lips, and a smile that did not come very often, but when it did it was a pleasure to see it, for it came from within and meant something. The youngest daughter, Alice, was in bed ; and the second girl, Fanny, had gone out with some acquaintances to see Queen - street and its thousands of strollers. Maggie turned to look at her mother with a bright smile. She always had a pleasant look or a cheerful word for every one that seemed to need it. ' You look tired, mother, dear. Does Mr Dormer want anything ? If so, let me take it to him, while you go to bed.' 1 He does not want anything, poor man. He seems down spirited. It's a pity to see him so*, and at this season, too ' and Mrs Merryfield sighed, the result of sympathy and fatigue. 'But Christmas isso differentin Auckland to what it is at Home, mother. This is our second Christmas here, and, really, everything is very upsetting. My ideas are all fcopsy-fcurvy. Christmas in Auckland is like Mrs Harris— it has no existence except ' in speech. It is simply a holiday, one oub of many, to be spent not in our homes, but out of doors ; a picnic in a broiling sun, with crowds of strangers, whole cargoes of them. 1 Where are the cheery homes, the blazing fires, the cousins and the uncles and the aunts and the brothers and the sisters, married and unmarried ? And the quarrels made up and the coldnesses melting away under the loving genial warmth of this our dearest, kindest, holiest festival ? Don't talk to me of Christmas, mother dear. It is a thing of the past — a memory — gone, left behind with the English shores.' ' Why, Maggie, you discontented !' exclaimed her mother, with eyes, face, and hands all expressing astonishment. ' Discontented ? Am I?' asked Maggie, almost bewildered at the accusation ; and she stopped short in her work. ' Oh, mother, what a wretch I am !' and she ran over to her mother and flung her arms round her neck, heedless of sticky fingers. 'Mother, dear, only just a few little regrets ; but they are aone — gone. It would indeed be strange if / were discontented. I, who have so much to make me happy. The dearest mother,' — hug, hug, and kiss, kiss, with happy laughter from both, ' and — and, someone else, too, mother, so jfood, and honest, and true,' and then there were more mutual embraces. After a short pause Maggie continued :—: — j 'But, mother, 1 cannot help seeing, or it aeems to bring more serious thoughts, more kindly aud considerate feeling, more love to so many of our young people in this beautiful place, which is so far from and so unlike our dear old, frosty, muddy, froggy England. I may be harsh, I have no right to judge ; but it seems so to me, and — ' • You are thinking of our pretty little Fanny ?' k Yes, mother ; of Fanny and her companions, and it makes ' Just at that moment a firm knock was heard at the door, and in answer to their ' come in ' it opened, and there entered a handsome, sturdy, jolly -faced young man, a few years older than Maggie. He took one quick glance round the room, just to see who was there (for propriety's sake) and then darted across to Maggie ; caught her in his arms, and gave her two or tbreekisses, which echoed with no hesitating sound through the cheerful kitchen. Next he bestowed a filial salute on Mrs Merryfield ; and then he sat down and laughed a hearty, cheery laugh ; the sort of laugh that does one good to hear. ' My dear Harry,' said Maggie smiling and blushing, and arranging her disordered hair with her arm, her fingers being too sticky for the task, ' surely something good has happened.' ' That's just it. Something good has happened,' he answered, rising and going over to where she stood. He put his arm round her waist, and kissed her again and again (indeed she looked very tempting). ' Old Higgins has raised my screw a whole pound a week. Three pounds a week, Mags ! Think of that, my blessed girl, and just tell me what it means. Three pounds a week I' and he caught her round the waist and -whirled her round the room in a nondescript sort of a dance. When ehe was released she ran to her mother, breathless and laughing, and hid her face on her mother's neck. 'Indeed,' began Mrs Merryfield, not knowing whether to give the preference to laughter or tears, 'this, is good news,' and fchen she began patting her daughter, as though she were hushing her off to sleep. 'The kindly spirit of Father Christ-mas must have entered into the old man's heart, I- think,' continued Harry, with his eyes onMaggie.* 'Some of- the dear old j season-has 'him;. 'and* given 'him \ ne^sympathles ; -for truly believe , until"

to-day the' generous thought had- not entered his mind. This, is what he said, Maggie, • So you're going to get married ?* More fool you ! All women are extravagent misses, or worse. 1 suppose you'll get into debt. If you do, you'll clear, that's certain. 1 don't say I mightn't have, a worse foreman ; and I hate new faces j you know I hate new faces ; and* I suppose that's why you've done it. Holcl^ your tongue. Hather than have a* ne"w, face poking about, I'll add' a pound a week to your salary. I dare say you'll go to the devil with it. But no debt, or you'll go as sure as my name is Higgins. There, get along with you.' ' His bark is worse than his bite,' observed Mrs Merryfield. 'Much,' said Harry, cordially. 'He hates to be thought guilty of a kindness.' 'Oh, Harry,' cried Maggie, 'this makes me so ashamed. Only now, just before you came in, [ said that the hearts of the people in Auckland were untouched by this holy season. How many I may have wronged ! you, my own dear love, first of all, and many others. I said it carelessly, wickedly. Say you forgive me, Harry. Jb'orgive me for the slander of all the truo loving hearts in Auckland that are striving to bring blessing and comfort to others. '