A CHRISTMAS MEETING.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 435, 8 January 1890, Page 5

A CHRISTMAS MEETING.

[By Mrs. H. E. Walesey.]

New-strcet, Auckland. THIRD PRIZE.

¥ nature reserved and tactiurn, Fred Gilmour,uponlanding in a new country, and finding himself a stranger among strangers, resolved to keep his own counsel upon most matters pertaining to himself foremost amongst them being the fact of his having left his heart behind him in the safe custody of pretty Amy Musgrave. Now, whether this line of conduct was a wise one, let subsequent events determine.

Amy was one of six sisters, her mother dead, her father a small squire, not by any means a wealthy man, hia little rent-roll of fifteen hundred a year barely sufficient to enable him to mix on equal terms with the small coterie of country families amongst whom his lob was cast. When in his cups, and in a correspondingly amiable and optimatic frame of mind, Squire Musgrave was won’t to boast that he was the father of the six handsomest young fillies in the country, upon other occasions, however, principally on Sunday mornings, during the interval between a late breakfast and divine service, he would not scruple to upbraid Providence for having taxed him with the responsibility of half-a-dozen ‘ headstrong plagues,’ as he pleased to term them.

When young Fred Gilmour, the son of the estimable bub impecunious vicar of the parish, knocked one morning at the Squire’s study-door, and upon being invited to state his errand, asked the old man in plain, outspoken language for his daughter, Amy, the Squire’s sole answer had been to stare at the hapless young fellow in blank silence for the space of about two minutes, a stony stare, that would certainly have daunted any heart less stout than Fred's. Then standing up and pointing to the door, he said, ‘Do you mean to walk out, sir, or are you waiting for me to kick you out?’ Fred, with a gesture and look, more expressive than words, took up his hat and departed. He found Amy in the orchard, reading Swinburne, under an apple tree. ‘You’ll have to choose between me and your father, Amy,’ said he, with a dark and dangerous look marring his handsome face. Amy laughed. ‘Has the old fool insulted you ?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘Grossly.’ he replied, grinding his heel into the soft turf. ‘So much the better. I knew he would. 5 ‘ Amy !’ ‘ Fact. I’m awfully glad. You’ll see now. He’ll let us have everything our own wav.’ ‘ Nonsense !’ •* Bub I’m positive of it.’

Then Fred seated himself beside his sweetheart on the bench, and what followed only concerns themselves. But Amy was right. Next morhing she was summoned to her father’s study, and as she waltzed airily into the room he scowled upon her, and then went on with his writing. Amy threw herself into an easy chair, yawned, and took up the “ Field.” Presently, the author of her being flung aside his pen, leant back in his chair with his elbows on the arms of it, cleared his throat and then began, ‘ I suppose, Amy, you imagine it is my intention to order you back into the school-room for the next fortnight on a diet of weak tea and thick bread and butter. I may as well inform you at once that such is not my intention.’

Amy laughed. ‘I see nothing whatever to laugh at,’ said the squire, in a tone of stern rebuke. ‘ Don’t you, pa ; I do lots,’ she replied, saucily. ‘No—and what is more, I insist upon your listening with serious and respectful attention to what I am about to say to you. With respect to this young beggarman ’ 4 Papa !’ ‘I repeat, this young beggarman—l will permit you to see your folly out —not that —and I beg you not to misunderstand me on this point—not that I regard the match with anything short of the most unqualified disapproval, but that, knowing your stubborn temperament as well as I unfortunately do, I do not deem it expedient to thwart you, for within three month? you would infallibly do one or two things—either die of love sickness or elope with one of my groom?. Neither course would be desirable. Moreover, if you find, or rather imagine that you will find, your happiness in burying yourself alive in the backwoods making butter, I do nob see that ibis my business to prevent you doing so. Now, I will proceed to tell you what I have determined upon doing for you as soon as this young ’ ‘Beggarman,’ interpolated Amy. ‘ This young, ahem ! Gilmour,’ continued the Squire, unheeding the interruption, ‘ has made a habitable abode for you in ’ ‘ New Zealand,’ again ventured Amy. ‘Ay ! New Zealand —and by the way, where is this New Zealand? One often hears of it, but I have never come across anyone who could give me .any reliable information respecting it. Is it one of the Fijian Group ?’ ‘ Know no more than the dead, pa,’ Amy replied, lightly, ‘ and don’t care, as long as I can get there, and find Fred waiting for me directly I land.’ ‘ Humph ! however, what I wa3 about to say is this : That I will give you a sufficient sum, sav £l5O, with which to purchase an outfit (I would recommend cotton, print and winsev, for the purpose), and I will, in addition, pay your saloon fare to your port of destination, a matter, I suppose, of some 80 guineas or so. Beyond this I wash my hands of you. I think I have said all that is necessary for the present. You can go.’ A fortnight later Amy, under the wing of a severely discreet maiden aunt, got permission to go as far as Plymouth, to see her lover off. The couple parted on the deck of the Pleiades with oft-reiterated vows of love and constancy, supplemented by the understanding that as soon as Fred had carved out a home for himself Amy was forthwith to come out and share it with him.

4 The Christmas of ’7l, Amy, will find us re-united,’ whispered Fred into the ear of the weeping girl, and it will be a Christmas meeting, darling, that will repay us for the bitterness of this parting. Three months later finds Fred Gilmour at work upon the land in the North Island of New Zealand, of which lie has become the purchaser. Niue men out of ten would have been dismayed at the magnitude of the task before him—a self-imposed one, it is true —but none the less arduous for

that, for 200 acres of heavy bush, tackled single-handed, means work, if it means anything, and hard work at that; but ‘ love lightens labour,’ well was the old saying exemplified in this particular case. Tall as an Achilles, with the sinews of an Ajax, and a constitution which no amount of roughing from the coarsest fare, to sleepin a rain-soddened whare, seemed to affect —little wonder that our friend made l'apid headway. Bush-falling, logging, burningoff, fencing, were all pushed through dn rotation with unflagging energy, and indomitable perserverance, while old chums loafed round, with their hands thrust into their trousers pockets, and their pipes stuck- in their mouths, watching with illconcealed admiration the new chum s pluck and grit. But how little the world knows of the truth ! how little did these good people suspect the talisman that lent vigour to the oft-weary and aching arm, enabling unused hardships to be borne with patience and even cheerfulness. And least of all did Laura Andrews—whose father s land lay adjacent to Fred’s—suspect the existence of anything of the sort. What a pity it is, a thousand pities, that men as a rule —good men for the most part —are so devoid of discernment where a woman’s love is concerned. Whether it was owing to this masculine obtuseness, or to the tact of his being so absorbed in the contemplation of his own happy betrothal (for each mail brought long and loving letters from the absent and presumably constant Amy), I cannot say, but the humiliating tact remains to be told that Fred Gilmour had not crossed the threshold of her father s house a dozen times before Laura, winsome, lighthearted Laura, like Tennyson’s Elaine, had ‘lifted up her eyes and loved him with a love that was her doom.’ Now, who was to blame for this catastrophe? Certainly not Fred, who was devoted body and soul to his absent love. No, it must have been one of those hapless freaks of fate for which no one can be justly blamed, and which is best explained away by the old-fashioned couplet, Why did she love him—curious fool—be still! Is human love the growth of human will? But all were not so blind as Fred. Laura’s mother, with her practised eye of sixty years, read the signs of surrender as plainly as she might an open page. The heightened colour at every mention of the beloved one's name, the eagerness displayed to adorn the table with flowers and ferns whenever he was expected to grace it with his presence, the nervous irritation of manner if he chanced to be late in arriving, the awkward shyness of each look and gesture while he stood by, the ear jarring blunders in the song and piece if he chanced to approach the piano, the forced carelessness, even coldness, of the hand-shake at parting ; all these, and many more were patent to the maternal eye. Said Mr Andrews to his wife, speaking plainly, as was his custom, ‘ Don’t you think our Laura and this young Gilmour are becoming vastly good friends, mother?’ ‘Perhaps too good,’ replied his wife, significantly. ‘ Just what I’ve been thinking. The young fellow may be right enough, but seems to me, when you slip cable, it’s just as well to know your bearings.’ That same evening Fred called. He found the old couple gone to take tea at a neighbour’s, and Laura alone in the garden, sitting under a peach tree, reading a little book he had lent her. Fred then and there determined that he would make her his little confidente.

‘ I am glad I have found you at home this evening,’ he began, * and still better pleased to find you alone, for I have something to say to you—to tell you something I have long wished to tell you, for you and I have been good friends from the first, have we not ?" Laura, blushing crimson, assented. Fred resumed, ‘ I think you must sometimes be a little lonely here I mean, you have no sister or young lady friend of your own age living near you. Now, would you not be pleased if I were to tell you that I am shortly expecting a young lady friend of mine out here ?’ Laura raised her eyes. ‘ You mean your sister,’ she said, simply— ‘my brother says you get such long letters from her by every mail.’ ‘She is not my sister, Miss Andrews,’ said Fred, in a conscious tone. ‘ Not your sister !’ ‘No, she is something infinitely dearer to me than even a sister could possibly be.’ Then Laura understood it all, and the worst of it was her ingenuous tell-tale face showed all too plainly the meaning the news had for her, so plainly, indeed, that even Fred shrank, dismayed at the havoc his words had wrought. ‘ I was a fool, and something considerably worse than a fool, nob to have seen it before ’ he said to himself, as he mentally anathematised his stupidity. ‘My poor little innocent Laura. What sin has she ever committed that this trouble should have come upon her?’ Through the darkening gloom Laura sab on alone, quite still and motionless under the peach tree, until disturbed by her father’s voice calling to her, ‘ How white you look, child !’ he exclaimed, ‘have you seen a ghost ?’ But Laura had flown past him, to the safe shelter of her mother’s arms.

When Fred Gilmour, with Mrs Andrews for a duenna, boarded the Teuton, berthed alongside Queen-street wharf, they found Amy Musgrave, and in a moment the lovers were locked in each other’s arms. A stout, florid-looking, bald-headed man, with the unmistakable air of opulence about him, was loitering in Amy’s vicinity, and she promptly introduced him to Fred as Mr Hamerton, from Melbourne. When questioned later on by Fred, anent this individual, she jauntily informed him ‘that old “ money-bags,” as she was pleased to dub him, had come on board at Melbourne ; that he was such an awfully good-natured old fogie ; that she was told he was horribly rich, “ beastly rich,” she had heard him described as being ; that she had serious thoughts one night of chloroforming him and relieving him of his moneybags and scrip wherewith to dower herself ; that she believed he was an old widower or something horrid of that sort; that she was sure that the ridiculous old thing was madly in love with her, in fact the skipper had to tell him at last that she was in his charge, and going out to be married to a gentleman in New Zealand, and more to the same effect. Then Fred, his jealous doubts disbanded, took Amy in his arms, and deemed himself the happiest of mortals. ‘ What a fearfully out-of-the-way place you live in, my dear/ said Amy; as Laura led the way to the small spare bed-chamber allotted to her (for it was arranged that Amy was to Christmas with the Andrews, and be married from their house). 4 1 really began to think/ she rattled on, 4 that Fred had beguiled me into the wilds of Central Africa,"and expected every moment to see a gorilla jump Out of the forest.’- ■ ■"

‘You mean the “ bush/” said Laura demurely—she had been born in the settlement and had nofc'an idea beyond it. 4 Ah, “ bush ” you call it. That’s \Vhat vve call our currant trees at homo, things about 4ft high, but we should not think of

calling an elm or oak a “ bush ” in the ridiculous way Fred does. Now tell me—for I declare I feel as much at sea as a female missionary landed on a savage island—tell me, you little ingdnue, am I supposed to dress for dinner ?’ - ‘ You are dressed,’ rejoined Laura simply, glancing at the exquisite combination of cashmere and plush in which Miss Musgrave’s graceful form was clad. Amy s voice rang out a merry peal of laughter. * Why, this is my costume, de voyage, you absurd child; However, if you think it" will do I’ll not change it. I confess I am tired to death—besides, I may as well get used to the habits of the natives if I’m going to live amongst you.’ Amy was on the point of saying ‘ barbarians,’ but luckily pulled up in time. ‘ Lead the way to thedrawing-ror>m, dear child,’ Amy concluded, bestowing a parting glance at herself in the small lookingglass. Laura winced at the word ‘drawing-room. ’ True, they had a neat, tasteful little sittingroom, itsfloor covered with Chinese matting, its windows draped with snowy curtains, some flowers, books and music on the table, still in English eyes, a very humble little apartment, and as Laura ushered her visitor into it, she became of a sudden, painfully conscious of its deficiencies, feeling moreover, a little chilled at the quizzical manner in which Amy took stock of herself and her home.

For a few moments Amy chanced to be alone in the room, while Laura hastened to assist her mother in preparing the dinner So she rose, and looked about her —disconsolately enough, if the truth must be told. ‘And so,’ she soliloquised, ‘this is the sort of home I am to have, this is the sort of people amongst whom my life is to be lived out, beings who are not even in the habit of dressing for dinner. Great Heavens! what will the banquet itself be like, I wonder. It positively wouldn’t surprise me if it consisted of pea soup, corned beef and rice pudding. Nothing more will ever surprise me in this world, that’s one advantage. Even Fred himself—dearold handsomeFredhasdegenerated shockingly—l positively thought it was some good-looking bush-ranger washed clean and dressed in hisbest, coming on board to greet me. Providentially I am an excellent actress, so was enabled to conceal from him my feelings of dismay at his altered appearance. Dear fellow ! I would not hurt his feelings for the world ! Just then Fred quietly entered the room. He slipped his arm round Amy’s waist, and drew her beside him on the sofa.

‘ Darling,’ he whispered, a word with you while I have the chance. You will not say —I don’t mean that, of course,’ he went on hurriedly and confusedly. ‘ I know you are too "thoroughly a lady to say anything to give offence; but what I mean is you will not look your surprise at any little deficiencies you may detect at table, or at any other time - will you, dearest? Believe me, the Andrews are the kindest-hearted people in the world, but extremely sensitive. I would not—l declare to you I would not for a fortune have their feelings hurt !’ Amy murmured some short of equivocal promise to the desired effect. ‘But tell me—tell me faithfully, Fred,’ she went on, ‘ have I seen the worst ? There is nothing worse before me ?’ Before be had time to frame a reply, Mrs Andrews, hot and red-faced from fcer exertions over a colonial oven, entered the room saying, ‘Now, my dear, come along!’ I expect you’re as hungry as a hawk. Dinner’s all ready. Laura’s just dishing up some new potatoes. I’ve got nothing,for you but a leg of mutton and a currant dumpling.’ Following her hostess’s lead, through a dark passage into the kitchen, Amy shivered, and Fred, following closely, observed it.

The kitchen, unfortunately, was about the least prepossessing room in the establishment. It was low-roofed and gloomy ; the floor was clean, but bare ; a roughlyconstructed dresser adorned one extremity of it. The table-cloth was white, certainly —snowy white, but horribly coarse ; while of silver and crystal there was literally none, if we except the presence of a tarnished cruet-stand. Serveittes were conspicious, solely by their absence. Still it was a fair sample of a bush farm dinner-table, and as the roast mutton, exhaled an appetising odour, Amy, bracing herself for the occasion, determined to please Fred by endeavouring to do justice to it. Alas ! for her good resolutions, for at the commencement of the second course, while Mrs Andrews was helping (‘assisting’ she called it) the pudding. Amy’s overwrought feelings broke down and with an hysterical sob, she burst into tears, and hastily rising, incontinently fled the scene. To say that Fred felt distressed, and showed it, is to give but a very inadequate idea of the state of his feelings. He bit his lips with mortification, while poor Mrs Andrews laid down her fork and spoon, looking silently to the unlucky young fellow for an explanation. Mr Andrews, a matter-of-fact man, who had little toleration for what he called girls’ ‘ high strikes,’ calmly proceeded with his dinner, while Laura noiselessly glided out of the room to render what relief she could to the fair cause of all this upset.

Christmas morning was one of brilliant sunshine, and was to be a red-letter day with Fred, for Amy had promised him to visit her future home. Frea had got his garden into nice order, and his young fruit trees were looking well, while Mrs Andrews had been indefatigable in her efforts indoors to have everything in order. Certainly the furniture was of the simplest, some of it made by Fred’s own hands, and he had placed in mottled kauri frames some of the pictures out of the ‘Graphic/ sent him from home, and these adorned the walls. ‘ Now, Amy darling/ said Fred joyfully, as the two strolled along arm in arm, ‘ once thro’ these slip-panels, and we will be in our own 30 acre clearing.’ 4 What an ugly, queer-looking field it is, was Amy’s rejoinder, ‘ We don’t call them fields, dearest, but “clearings.”’ ‘ But what on earth, are all those hideous black things sticking up out of the ground/ she asked, ‘ I’m sure I never saw fields and meadows like that at Home.’

4 We call those “ stumps ” ’ he said, but feeling a little disappointed, for he had been complimented by his neighbours on the condition of his ‘cocksfoot,’ and had fondly hoped that Amy too would have expressed approval of it. 4 Where are all the buttercups and daisies,’, she asked presently, then Fred thought it was time for him to give her information of a definite sort ; so coming to a full halt, he took both her hands in his, 4 Amy/ he said, 4 you must have formed a very hazy notion of what a bush farm is like !’ then he paused. , . 1 Gracious, Fred.she exclaimed, ‘how j'Ou frightened me talking in such a tone.. I really expected you were going to say there were some black men hiding in that wood over there. Indeed, now that I think of it, I feel certain it is not safe to be here, without a gun or something. For Heaven’s sake let us go back, I will take all the rest for granted.’

Fred sighed, and it wa9 a sigh of downright disappointment. Then he stooped and kissed the frightened little face, saying, 4 You are not alone here, you are safe with me. ’

‘ Oh, that’a all very well saying: so,’ she retorted, ‘ but I should have thought if you had been really anxious for my safety you would have brought a loaded revolver with you.’ Fred laughed—a harsh, discordant laugh —‘ I think, Amy, you are a little nervous to-day.’ ‘ Nervous !’ She repeated. ‘I should rather think I am nervous—frightened out of my senses, would more accurately describe my feelings. Nervous, indeed ! that’s a good joke ! I should think lam nervous,’ she concluded, beginning to pout. ‘ Whose little cottage is that?’ she inquired presently, indicating the direction of her new house, * some labourer’s, I suppose. Fred steadied his voice to answer, ‘ That is our future home, Amy yours and mine.’

Amy smiled up roguishly at him. ‘ Either you are joking, Fred,’ she said, ‘or you have bidden adieu to your senses.’ ‘ How so ?’ he asked, shortly, as taking a key out of his pocket he unlocked the door.

Amy entered—very gingerly—as one might enter a cow-stable, and in that space of a second of time she made up her mind. Fred, attributing her silence to maidenly modesty laughed, saying, ‘ I never gave it a thought, Amy, or Mrs Andrews might have come along with us to-day. 4 1 don’t think we need trouble our heads about les covenances in this desert,’she replied, * for I verily believe it is the identical spot discovered by Robinson Crusoe. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit, to see the ghost of his man Friday, stalking about that precious “ clearing ” as you call it. No Fred, if you have any pity for me “ lead me safely home ” as the hymn goes, and spare me further details.’ The following morning Amy announced her intention of running up to town for a few days’ shopping, and begged Mrs Andrews to accompany her. When Fred remonstrated, she silenced him by promising, on her return, to tix the wedding day. While in town Amy was seated one morning, book in hand, under a tree in the Albert Park, when looking up, she descried a familiar figure, ascending the winding path. A minute later and Mr Hamerton had recognised her. Miss Musgrave ! This is indeed a delightful surprise. Amy smiled a charming welcome, making room on the bench beside her. 4 Is Mr Gilmour also in town ?’

This was a delicate question to answer, but Amy was equal to the occasion. She did not reply at once, then she buried her face in her handkerchief. Mr Hamerton rirst soothed and then gently questioned her. As the reader has doubtless surmised, Amy had quitted the backwoods, never to return to them, and this resolve she presently intimated with becoming modesty. 4 But, my dear young lady,’ exclaimed Mr Hamerton, ‘pardon me if I ask you what are your future plans ?’ 4 1 suppose I must try and earn my living,’ she answered, 4 for I dare not return to my father, even if I had the means of doing so. I will not marry Mr Gilmour and I cannot starve. There is no other course open to me.’ 4 There is yet one other course Miss Musgrave—Amy—my dearest girl, pardon me, if you can—but I cannot longer retain my feelings—l loved you from the first moment I saw you on board ship. I feel I am utterly presumptuous in asking for the hand of a beautiful young girl like you, but I believe that I could make your life happy. At least give me some assurance, however meagre, that my suit ie not utterly hopeless !’

Amy did not reply for a few moments, then she lifted her eyes, and said, simply, 4 1 like you very much, Mr Hamerton. You will not think me fickle —heartless —if I accept your offer.’ Let us drop the curtain on this gruesome scene. Never did a pious meek-faced mother sell her child for gold more deliberately than did this reckless young creature barter herself, body and soul, to this man. When informed of the true state of affairs, Mrs Andrews’ indignation knew no bounds. 4 1 will not countenance your conduct,’ said she. ' by remaining another day in town. Either repent before it is too late, and return with me—or I go with out you.’ This difficulty was met by Mr Hamerton bringing an invitation to Amy from a married niece of his, resident in Remuera, and from whose house her marriage took place a fortnight later. 4 Men die, and worms devour them—but not for love.’ Fred Gilmour soon rallied from the shock and disappointment, which it was but natural Amy’s behaviour should occasion him, and in less than a twevemonth a quiet wedding took place, at which the bride looked radiantly happy, and the bridgroom well contented with the lot the fates had awarded him.

Ten years later, a Melbourne society paper chanced to reach them, in which allusion was made to Mrs Hamerton, the beautiful, wealthy, childless, young widow. Laura pointed it out to her husband, mischievously saying, 4 Don’t you think, Fred, you acted a little hastily. You see, now. if you’d only waited, things might have come right in the end.’ Fred set down the youngster on his It nee the better to peruse the item indicated. Then he laughed, and said, 4 No, Laura, I would not exchange my wife, for fifty Amys.’ And Laura, meeting his steadfast loving gaze, believed him