TALES OF TO-DAY. A SERIES OF SHORT STORIES, BY GEORGE R. SIMS, Author of 'Rogues and Vagabonds, 'Three Brass Balls,' 'How the Poor Live,' "The Lights o' London,' &c, &c. AN EMIGRANT'S STORY (Will Orpington Continued.)

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 356, 3 April 1889, Page 6

TALES OF TO-DAY. A SERIES OF SHORT STORIES, BY GEORGE R. SIMS, Author of 'Rogues and Vagabonds, ' Thr ee Brass Balls,' 'How the Poor Live,' "The Lights o' London,' &c, &c. AN EMIGRANT'S STORY (Will Orpington Continued.)

John Orpington recovered but slowly from the illness which had been brought on by fcho shock of finding that his son who since his return from the colonies had caused him so much an xiebj', had been arrested for murder. As soon as he was able to bear the strain of a long interview the convalescent learned from his real son the true facts of the case. You know how I got on, dad, after I arrived, at the farm. I didn't write you often, not so often a? I should have done, I know, but out there letter- writing was abouo the last thing we thought of. Still I let 3 r ou know that I was well and comfortable, and when I could I sent a little money home- ' You did, Will. You were a good son,' said bis father, clasping the young man's hand affectionately. Soon after 1 arrived, and had shown Mr Wilson, the farmer who gave me my first j job, that 1 was willing to work, he began to take an interest in me, and so did his wife. They were very nice people ; not what would be called rich folks, but com- , fortable ofi", and they were reckoned very good to their hands. When I first went I had to look after horses and do odd jobs about the place, but one day 1 happened to be in the room when the farmer was swearing because he couldn't get some fisrures right that he'd gotdown on paper. They were his accounts, and he always had a bad time with them. I asked him to let me look at the figures ; perhaps I could make them come right. Mr Wilsou stared at me, and hij wife, who was sitting opposite to him,- looked up rofm her yrork and laughed. 'Let me look, if you please, sir, 515 1 said. 'I think if you'll tell me what it is that bothers you I may be able to put it right.' ' Do you understand arithmetic ?' ' Oh, yes, I took a prize in arithmetic afy my school. ' ' Did you, my lad ?' said the farmer. ' Well, if you'll', make these darned figures make sense of themselves, you shall take a prize here. ' I went over all the items and checked the figure*, and it wasn't long before I found out where Mr Wilson had grot wrong. ** was a simple sum in arithmetic that J ! ) - id done, but it made a gi'eat impression on the farmer and his wife, and after that I had all his accounts to check, and finding I could write a good readable hand he used to give me all his letters to write, and I was a pood deal in the house, and was well treated, though they didn't give me much more money, as they were rather near sort of people. . \ However, I was quite contented, for I liked the life, and nob having so much outdoor work to do 1 managed to find time to read a good bit and to improve myself in many things. The men about the place were all decent fellows, but too old for me to associate with, so I hadn't many companions, and there wasn't much amusement in a place like that, so that all my spare time I spent in reading and studying. You know, dad, I was always fond of books, and I never forgot that we'd been what's called gentlefolk once. * You were right, my boy, to remember it. Folks can come down in the world and still have a bit of pride about them. 5 After I'd been with the Wilsons about five years there were some new people came into the neighbourhood. They we/c a family named Sandys from Ontario, and it was said they'd lost a fortune in some big speculation, and now they were going to settle dorm here at the fanning 1 with some money that had been found for them by a relative. They took a farm that was in the market called 'Sprigg's Farm,' a «raall place about two miles from us, and we soon got to know something of them, as Mr Wilson, my master, and Mr Sandys got acquainted and became great friends, visiting at each other's houses and riding about the country a good deal together. Mrs Sandys was a great invalid, so the house was looked after by the daughter, Belle. She was a very pretty girl, and only fifteen, but very tall, and that made her look a lot older. Her father called her 'Fairy,' and she was a household fairy to him, there's no doubt about that, for' she was his right hand. The first time she came bo our place with her father I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was the nicest girl I'd ever seen, and there wasn',t any that came within miles of her in our part. While the farmers were talking, I took her all over our place and showed her the cattle and the horses, and she asked me a lob of questions about the country round about and the people, and we got quite friendly. Then we got talking about England, as she'd heard I was English, and she was awfully interested in London. She said she'd heard and read such a lot about it, and always wanted to see it. They were to have gone to Europe the year that the smash came, she told me. After that, of course everything was altered for them, and they had to give up their beautiful home, and come right away and settle down in a new place. I could see that they'd been through a bad time, and poor Belle's face was very sad when she spoke about her father's mi«fortune. As she talked so friendly to me about her troubles, I thought there could be no harm in telling her mine. We got so interested in each other's stories that we stopped talking for an h<mr, and forgot all about the old folks inside ; and when Mr Wilson came out and began to shout to us, and to say he thought °we ■were lost, I couldn't believe that we'd been away more than ten minutes. After that we were very friendly, and j whenever Belle came over she "always asked for me, if I was away on the land ; and she brought me a horse her father had bought her to ride, and asked me to break it in a bib more for her, as it was a little more than she could manage as it was. You may be sure I was glad to do her a service, and I soon- had that horse right ; and when I took it home and she'd tried it and found the difference in it, she paid me no end of compliments. Mr Sandys would have me come in ami take tea -with the family, and there I saw Mrs Sandys for the first time. She was a very beautiful woman and a lady. You didn't want to look at her twice to see that ; but she was so weak she had to sit up in a chair' propped up with pillows. It was beautiful to see how Belle waited on her hand and foot, and how gentle and loving she was. No wonder they called her 'Fairy.' No wonder her father was proud of t her. The house was a picture. I should like you to have seen,

dad, how pretby the rooms were, and Belle had arranged everything. She'd just made a little palace of that old farm with her fairy fingers. I was ready to bet when I saw it that there wasn't a place like ib for a hundred mileg round, and I said so. That pleased the farmer and his wife, and I think it pleased Belle too, for she blushed and said that 1 wasn't to put. on my London manners, and begin paying .^compliments instead of having my tea. When the farmer knew that I was from London he looked up and said : 'Is that so, Orpington — are you horn London V ' Yes, sir,' I said. « I lived there till I came out here two years asro.' ' Oh,' lie said, ' if you come from London, perhaps you know a young fellow named Hewitt there.' I laughed at that. 1 London's a big- place, sir,' I said, ' and I daresay there are thousands of Hewitts in it. I don't know anybody of that name. Why do you ask ?' 1 Oh, only because we've got a young fellow corning bo us here who's a Londoner, and his name's, Hewitt. I thought you might know something about him.' Then he explained that he'd had an offer through a friend of his in Montreal to take a young English lad and let him learn the farming at his place. He was to have a premium, and the lad's friends would pay for his lodging and boaid, so ho thought it would be rather a good thing. I didn't quite know why ib was then, but I didn't like the idea of a young English fellow coming to stay thete and be near Belle every day. But. of course, 1 couldn't say that to them, so 1 talked about sometiling else, and wished Master Hewitt at Jericho. It was two months after that before I heard ot Master Hewitt again. Belle rode over to our place with a message to Mr Wilson from her father, and she told me that Hewitt had arrived. ' What's he like ?' I paid, hoping that she would soy that he was a horrid sort of a fellow. •Well, Will,' she said, 'it's the oddest thing, bub he's like you ; so like you that you might almost be bi*obhers, and I should think he was about the same age.' That made me very uncomfortable, you know, dad, because, as I dare say you have guessed, by this time I was very much in love with Belle, and I'd made up my mind that as soon as I was old enough and I saw a chance of doing something for myself I'd ask her to be my sweetheart. You see this was the nasty part of it. If Belle liked me and thought I wa* nice-look-ing, and this Hewitt fellow resembled me as much as she said he did, then she must like him and think him nice - looking boo. And he'd be always with her, and I should be always away from her, and that would give him a very unfair advantage over me. I didn't eat my supper that night with so much appetite as usual ; and when I went to bed I didn't go to sleep, which was a most unusual thing for me. I kept on thinking about this Hewitt fellow, and I though b ib was very impudent on his part to be like me. I made up my mind I'd go to Spring's farm at the first opportunity, and take the measure of the young gentleman and see if he was the sort of fellow who was likely to cut me out. When I did get to sleep at last, Master Hewitt was evidently still in my mind, for I had a most terrible dream. Knowing what I do now. looking at that dream by the light cf what happened afterwards, every incident of it corner back to me as vividly as thouerh I had just awoke from it. In my dream Belle and I were walking together by the river. I svas telling her how much I loved her, and asking hor to be my sweetheart. She blushed at first, and hung her dear little head down, b\*b she didn't take her hand away. I'd got tight hold of thab, and wasn't going to let it go. ' Belle, dear,' I said (in my dream, you know, dad) ' Belle, dear, you don't know how I love you, how I've loved you ever since the first day you came over to our farm. I'm nothing here, but I've been studying and working hard, and I'm bound to sret on. If you'll only say that some day you'll be my little wife, it'll give me ail the hope and all the courage I want, and I'll work and work till I've won a position and made a home worthy of you. Belle, dear Belle, you do love me, don't you ?' Belle lifted her bead, and I could see her beautiful blue eyes. There was * bright little tear in each of them. ' Will,' she said, ' I'm not going to tell you a story. Ido love you, very very much indeed.' _^_ t "X, t ' And you'll be my sweethearts* YoVll let us be engaged bo each' other, deai,- and you'll never marry anybody but me ?' ' No, Will, I'll never marry anybody bufc you." With a cry of joy I put my arm round I her, and was about bo draw her to me and ' pre&s my lips to hers, when she sprang [ back with a cry of alarm. Somebhing had come bebween up. T looked, and it was myself I saw — myself, yeb nob me, for ib was bebween myself and Belle. I knew in a minute who it was — it was Hewitt. I His face was white with rage, and he held his fist clenched above my head. ' You shall never have Belle for your wife,' he cried : • you shall never have any woman for your wife, for I mean to kill you.' Befoi-e 1 could move or utter a word he drew a knife from his belt, and lifting it brought it down again with fearful force, burying it to the hilt in. mj, heart. As the sharp steel struck into my flesh I uttered a shriek and flung my arms up and and woke up to find myself lying on my back and moaning. Ib was only a nightmare, but it was so real, so vivid,- that for some moments I lay there unable to move. I was almo°t paralysed with terror. At laeb my power of will came back again, and wilh an effort; I sprang out of bed, and finding the matches, struck one and lighted the candle that stood by my bedside. 1 couldn't summon up the courage to blow it out again, even after the first impression of the nightmare had passed away. I was thoroughly unnerved. I had never been a coward, and up till then I had never known what actual fear was, but 1 give you my word, dad, that the dream had made such an impression on me that had anyone entered bhe room suddenly I should have screamed ! When I went down in the morning the farmer was bhe first to notice that I looked queer. He asked me if I wasn't well. I said it was nothing : that I thought I'd a bilious attack. I was heavy over my work and listless all the morning ; after dinner, which I couldn't touch, the farmer told me bhe best thing I could do tv ..is to take the afternoon and go for a good long ride into the country. ' I was very glad of the permission. 'so I saddled the horse I generally rode and went; straight off fco Sprigg's Farm. I knew I should have no peace until I had seen this mysterious Hewitt, who, according to Belle, was so like me that he might have been my brother. •Three months after that, dad, Mark Hewitt and I were the greatest ' pals ' in the, neighbourhood. I had found him a nice sagreeable5 agreeable fellow, like me in appearance, certainly — so like me, that when we looked

ab each other as Belle introduced' us we both bursb out laughing 1 . Bub Lo my unutterable joy Belle told me she didn t like him, and I fancied he wasn't the sort of fellow that would go falling in love with anybody but himself. Directly my mind was easy on that score I felt quite a relief. The idea that Belle didn't like him made me take to him at once. You may laugh, dad, and think that I was beginning to be jealous nice and early, but that was the feeling I had, and I couldn't.help it. You see, being all alone and in a new world, and having to shift for yourself, makes you ' grown up ' pretty early, and I fancied myself a young man, though I suppose every body looked upon mo as only a' boy. You may be suro when Belle bold me that there was something about Hewitt that she didn't like, I wasn't going to tell her she was a goose. I was too glad to have her bhab way of thinking, Dub J didn'b share her prejudice. Hewitt and I 'cottoned to each other,' as the saying is, from tho first, and in a month or two we became constant companions in our leisure time. Hewitt told me his story and I told him mine, and, of course, I told him all about you and the girls. When I got a letter from homo 1 used to read it to him, and he got to know them all quite well through me. He soon found out that I was in love with Belle, and he promised me he wouldn't breathe a word to anybody about it. That was my secret, and I think I rather liked it being a secret, fancying it more romantic. Hewitt was as frank with me as I had been with him, and ■told me all about himself. His father and mother were dead ; they wei'O gentlefolks, but had been poor, and he had been taken by his uncle, who had promised to give him a start in life. ' And a nice start he's given me,' said Hewitt, 'sending me out to this God-forsaken plare, and telling me it's my only chance, find that's all he can do for me, as he's a married man with a large family himself. It's a nice look-out for me. Oh, Lord, I wish I'd been going to be lieh — I shall never make a farmer.' He was quite right there — he never \\ ould, for ho didn't take to it at all, and if it hadn't been for the premium and tho yearly money paid for his keep 1 expect Mr Sandys would have got rid of him pretty quick. He was always talking about what a jolly life he'd have when he crew up if ho only had money, and once he said to me that he didn't think there was much he'd scick at to make it. I thought he was only bragging - talking wild like young fellows will sometime. I was so grateful to him for not falling in love with Belle that I didn't like to think he was really a bad-hearted feliow. Besides, he was very useful to me and helped me with Belle. He used to invite me to come over sometimes of an evening, and that gave me an excuse for being at Sprigg's farm. And when he and I and Belle went oo b for a walk about the place together, he'd go oft and leave us alone, which I thouerhb it very nice and gentlemanly of him. After he'd been at Sorigg's farm about three years he wrote home and got some money from his uncle. I suppose he told him he could do some good with it and he wouldn't ask for any more ; and then he went away and I didn't see anything of him for some time. He wrote me once or twice from the town he'd gone to, and said he was cloinr; ' middling,' but I gathered from his letters that he'd gob in with a bad set, and was rather down on his luck. All this time I was working and keeping in Farmer Wilson's good books, and though I got a bit more money it wasn't much, but I'd made myself master of the business, and I believed that when I was a bit older I should be able to get" in to something better, and in due time, perhaps, launch out on my own account and be independent. I had wonderful dreams, I can tell yon, dad, of what I was going to do, and I told Belle, and she was as enthusiastic as I wa<; It was settled that we were sweethearts, though we didn't tell anybody el=:e. I was to make a luekv hit, and Aye were to be married and have a beautiful place of our own, and then we were going to send for you and the girls to come out to us. That's how things went on till about a year ago. At that time I'd done several good strokes of business for the farmer, and one day he told me that he was thinking of taking another farm and that he'd put me in lo manage it, and give me a share. It was just after the farmer had told me this thab Hewitt turned up again. He came back again looking rather seedy and out of elbuw, and cob taken on as a clerk at a store in a little town a few miles from n<*, just near enough for me to see something of him, as I often had to go over to the town on business. He didn'b say much about what hod been doing,' only that he'd had rather bad luck. I was glad to have him back again, for I wanted somebody I could make a confidant of, and, of course, I told him what my expectations were, and how Belle and I had made up out minds to get married as soon as I'd got a position that would let me go to her people and ask them to let me be their son-in-law. Then came the trcinderful news. I'd been away for two days on the farmer'" business, and »vhen I got back there was your letter waiting for me, telling me that you'd come into a fortune, and that I was to come back, and that we should be gentlefolks again and have everything that we could want. ' I couldn't believe it ab first. But as soon as I had reali&ed what it meant, and bhab you wan bed me bo come back to England, I went off straight up to Sprigg's farm and told Belle, and then I saw her father and mother and told them, and then I summoned up any courage and asked them if Belle and I might be engaged to be mat - rie'J. I expected it would be a bib of a, surprise to bhem, bub, bless you, ib wasn'b ab all. Mr Sandys laughed, and said he'd seen what was in bhe wind all along, and asked me if I bhoughb he was blind. Poor Belle blushed w.hcn her father said he'd known we were in love with each obher all along, bub her mother told her there was nothing to be ashamed of, for I was a steady hard-working young man, and if they hadn't thought highly of me they shouldn't have allowed me to come there so often. When they heard that i had to go back to England, and that you wanted me to stop there, they hesitated a little. They didn't like the idea of Belle having to live so far away from them, and Belle said 1 it would grieve her too to have to leave her mother. So we talked ib over, and then the farmer let out that he had an idea of giving up his farm, for which he had a good offer, and coming to England, where his wife had relatives, and thab perhaps things might be arranged so that after all it wouldn't be such a big break up. But it was agreed that Belle and I should be engaged, and when I got home I was to tell you all about ib, and write and let them know what you said, and perhaps by that time Mr Sandys would be able to come-to Europe with his family. If not I should havo to go back and get mairie^ there. r After that I sent yon a cable, saying bhat I could start for home, and begin to make

. . . — ? — my preparations, which didn't take me long. The draft you sent me in the letter was more than enough to bring me- home, so X had only to draw my savings out of the bank. They were a good round sum,, for yon see I'd been- putting every penny by'io do something with when bhe chance came: Ono of the iirst persons- who -heard itho news of my having come into a fortune was Mark Hewitt. The day. after he heard it;' he came over to the ia'rm. He congratulated me on my good luck and asked-me all about ib. Of course I told him everything. 'By Jove, Will,' ho said, 'you're a lucky, tellow. You'll live like a r gentleman now for the rest of your days, and have your pockets always stuffed full of gold and bank notes, and there won't be anything you can'b have. By Jove, what a time I'd have of ib if I had your chance.' We eat smoking and talking, and all of a sudden he said, ' Will, if I ask you to do mo a favour will you be oJTended ?' ' Certainly not,' I said. ' • Then look here, old chap ; pay my pnseage to England and let me come with you. Y6u'll be lonely travelling by yourself, and I want to gel to London badly. If I can soe my uncle he'll give me another start in bhe old country, I know, and I'm sick of the dog's life I'm leading now. 1 11 pay you back every penny you advance me as soon as I've seen my uncle.' What was Ito say ? It would have been meun to refuse, especially as I had plenty of money to spare out of my savings, and you'd sent me far more than I wanted. So I consented, and it was agreed that Mark Hewitt and I wero tp sail by the same ship. A week utter that I said good-bye to Belle, promising her that she should soon hear from me, and telling her the parting wouldn't be for long, and Mark Hewitt and I set out for Quebec, from which place we were to sail for Liverpool. We didn't leave together, but we met on the road at a place some fifty miles from my starting- point. Hewitt ltad begged me not to say to a soul that he was leaving, or that he was to be my travelling companion. He explained that it ib trot known he might be prevented, and 1 foolishly gave him the promise and kept it. Instead of oroing direct to Quebec, having a day or two to spare, Hewitt persuaded me to make a detour in order that he might call on some friends of his who lived in a small town. We sent all the luggago on ahead direct to the ship. Hewitt hadn't much, and so ib was all sent on in my name. We arrived at the town, and thore Mark, after making a few inquiries, found that his friends had moved a lew miles out. Ib was not very far, and we agreed to walk. To my sui prise Howitt knew every inch of bhe giound, and I soon gathered that he had spent a short time in the place on his wav out from England. Part of our way lay through a wood, and as it wsib very thick and very lonely I was afraid we should lose our way and nob get back again in time for the ni^ht train. Hewitt assured me he knew the path, and we went on. When we had been in the wood about ten minutes the path became io narrow that we could only walk one* in fiont of the other. Hewitt wont first. Suddenly he turned round. I caught the look on his face and started back ; but before I could ciy out or defend myself I felt a* sharp pain in my breast, and knew that I had been shot. I thought I heard a sound as of something moving in the wood, but in a moment I fell to the ground. As I fell I struck my head violently igain&b the trunk of a tree, and in a moment all was darkness, for my senses left me. When I came to myself I was in a strange place. It was a little whitewashed room, ; and I was in bed. I tried to raise myself and speak, but 1 was unable bo do so. I could see a strange face beside me — the face of a man — and then all was darkness again. When I recovered my senses a little, I discovered that I had had brain lever, and that I had been ill for many week". Even whan I tecoveted sufficiently to see people and understand a little I could remember nothing, and could give no account of myself. It was three months before my senses fully returned and 1 discovered what had happened. At one time the doctors believed that I would never recover my reason again, as the injury to the head had temporarily aflipcbed bhe brain. I had been found lying appaiently dead in a wood with a pistol clutched in my hand. It was supposed that I had attempted to commit suicide. I was carried to a cot&age hard by, and the people kept me there and sent for a doctor, and then it was found that I was too ill to be moved. As soon as I could lernember all the circumstances I told the doctor, and the police were sent for. As I had been robbed of my papers as well as the money I had about me, ib was supposed that Hewitt had left for England, believing that I was dead, And that he would make use of his likeness to me to palm himself on my father as his lonsrabsenb son. His knowledge of my past history and of my relatives, gained in connection with me during many years, and my having i*ead him all my letters from home, would help him in his attempt to impose on them. Ib was explained bo me that in the place in -which Iwas found I might have lain for months undiscovered but for accident, as it was in a part of the wood through vvhich there was no thoi'oucfhf.ire, and in which a man who had hunsr himself to a tree had remained hanging until he wa« a This was a legend of the place and had probably been known to Hewitt, who had calculated hi& chances from the beginning. ISTo one knew of my journey to the place, as ib was right out of my route, there was nothing about me to prove my identity if found, so far as Hewitt knew, as he had taken all my papers from my pocket after I fell, and he concluded that if ever I was found I should be buried as an unknown suicide. There would be no inquiry for Will Orpington, as Will Orpington 'personated by Hewitt would have arrived safely in London and be with his family. As soon as the police heaid my story they were anxious to telegraph to England at onde, but I begged them nob to. • 1 wanted to come over myself and see what Hewitt had done. Ib would only make a difference of a few weeks, and so it was arranged. I left by the first vessel after I was convalescent,and immediately I arrived here T found that a Will Orpington was known, and ho was discovered by the police to be living at an hotel in London. As soon as ,we were sure of him he w-ns arrested at the hotel on a charge of murder. I immediately left to see you, and to my hoiror found that you had been to the hotel, heard of the arrest of your supposed son, and had bepn L seized with a fib, ISTow you know the whole story, dad. Since you have been ill, Hewitt has been sent back to Canada bo take his trial, and I have to appear against him there. I musb go bv the next ship ; but I shall soon be back, and I hope, dad, Avhon I return I shall bring Belle with me. Lizzie and Polly are in love M'ith, her already from what I have told, them, and I.'m.sure you'll think her the best litile^' daughter-in-law in" bhe world. i . < ' f 1.."-"'- ' '. And so John Orpingbon did.- To-Vlay he 1 ' is as -well and strong, as ever, f and ho is delighted with his son, and proud of j hi,si )

son's wife. There isnp fear of their.squandering the fortune that came to ,the ' Orpingtons 1 'after years o£ poverty:' : 'Will's earl/ experiences as a' youn^-'eixtiferanb ' bajight him the Valrie'cf. 'moh'ey^ah'^he has a good little • domei* fcicated wife to make •him contented- at home; and to 'assist him in proving; that' ,the f -.'greatesb happiness health can brih'gf ie the power it ' gives- i'fcs " possessor to do good to his ltfss' fortunate fellow-creatures. - ; ''y u >' . Belle's father and^motlier^catne over s'obn after their daughter left for England, and are now settled in the old country. They; always spend their Ctiris"tmas ab John, Orpington's house, ! 'and when the Wb ! families meet they' rarely fail to talk of Will's marvellous escape from death, and of the diabolical plot which , nearly resulted in Mr Orpington acceptiug as his' heir the, scamp who had 'tried to murder his son in, order to personate him arid enjoy His inheritance. ' ' ' '

Nbxt Week. CLARA MARKHAM.'