LITERATURE.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XXXXV, Issue 245, 14 November 1903, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A BOY AND GIRL STORY. Just beyond the venerable oM fort, on the path that.skirts the side of the hill, the boy of twelve came face to face with the girl of ten. The ingenuousness of youth was still upon them both. And so, as the path was narrow, in the mevitan'c pause, they looked at each other, then both laughed outright. Then the girl said, solemnly : "Excuse me ; I didn't mean to laugh at you." „ And the boy, not knowing what else to say, replied : •Excuse me ; I didn't mean to laugh at you." Whereupon they both laughed again. •'[ don't remember to have seen you before," said the girl, " and we have been here a whole week. Mamma and I are staying at 'The Chateau.' Are you staying there ?" "No," said the boy. "Father and I ure visiting 'The Citadel.' We only came yesterday. How long are vou going to be here ?" "i" don't know. Mamma didn't say —and how long are you?" "I don't know. Father didn't say." For some reason they both laughed ngain. To childhood such repetition is delightful. Mutually, as if by common consent, they sat down together on a convenient rock, and looked down in momentary silence on the huge sweep of the old St. Lawrence as it majestically slipped by. "I'm glad I met you," said the girl. "1 was afraid I might be lonesome at times. I haven't any papa." "And I haven't any mother," said the boy, simply. "That is to say, I haven't any here." "Of course," said the girl. "That's what 1 meant. Doesn't your papa get lonesome, too?" "Yes," said the boy. " Sometimes he says it's an awful grind." Just then the girl looked up over the hill. "(f.'h !" she exclaimed, "here comes mamma now !" .

Ths boys eyes turned in the other direction, ,

"Ho !" he OTied-; '-'and here pomps my father." • • • t It was twenty-four hours later. The boy and girl sat on the self-same rock.

"I'm awfully glad we met," said the gill, clasping her aristocratic little hands. "And so is mamma. She told ine so. We have had such a good time, haven't we 1" "Why, yes, we have," said the boy, with a note »( hgsif.ati'on. " f would like to have a good jfamp of football, though." It would not have done for him to admit that he was having too good a timo with a mere girl. "I told.my father," he said, "what your mother said about being lonesome, and he. laughed."

"There!" said the girl. "Boys never can keep secrets, anyway. Do you think that was right ?" "Why not ?" said the boy. "You didn't tell it as a secret- Besides, my father is the best man In the world, anyway. I can trust him. He's all right I you're not mad, are you ?" he asked.

"N—no, I guess not," said the girf.

"Bticausp," continued the boy, "if you are, that is, if you don't like it, I was going to say that you might tell your mother what my father said-that he was awfully lonesome himself. That would make "thinjrs even, you know:"

This time the girl smiled. "That's jolly !" she cried. Then she said, softfy : "I did tell her," • • • •

It was two days later. The two friends—for the period of mere acquaintanceship had hardly begun before )t had merged into the firmer bond—once mpre tired with their long walk, sat together. 0 n the rock. Away in the distance, silhouetted against the clear Canadian sky, aat two figures of a larger growth-but that, of course, is another story. The boy picked up pebble after pebble, and threw them successively toward the river.

"You can't throw as far as your papa," said the girl."

"No," said the boy, "but I will when I get to be as big as he is. Yesterday he threw one right out into the water."

' y ° ur Papa is awfully nice," said the girl. '.'He gave me some boxbons yesterday, but mamma took them away from me. She satd they might mgke me ill, but I think she wanted them for herself."

"Why, is your mamma as selfish as that ?" asked the boy. At this sudden and unexpected accusation his companion's eyes flashed in anger. "Certainly not !" she exclaimed, half passionately. "She's the best mamma in the world. That isn't selfishness, That's-knowing what is best.*'' .

"I didn't mpah anything," said the boy, reponlantiy, ' r 'Youp mamma is awfully pretty," he added',' "|jy syay of reconciliation. "Father says she is, and he knows.' He says he's a a good judge," "You don't mean like those judges they have at the horse-show in New York, do you?:", asked the girl. "Mamma showed me a group of them iji the ring, and said they were judges," "No, of course, not," replied the boy. "Not quite like that, My father knows when a lady is a lady and when she isn't. He knows, because he says he knows. That's what being a good judge fs, no matter if it Is horses, or ladies, or—monlleys !" Then they laughed spontaneously, peal after peal; It seemed as if they would never stop, but they finally quieted down again, and then the girl turned to the boy, a. half-serious expression on her charming little face.

"Tell me," she said, "honestly and truly now—is your papa a really good man ?"' "Of course," said her friend, half indignant at the implied doubt.

"Does he ever swear ?" "Not often —he doesn't believe in it, you know—but he says it's a gentleman's privilege when things go very far wrong l ." "Does he go to church ?" "Sometimes—when grandma asks him—but generally he plays golf."

"Has he got a real good temper— I mean (Joes he ever stay cross long at a time ?"

"Oh, no. Sometimes hg is angry, but he gets right over it, and ' i guess when he gets mad there is always a pretty good reason,'' "How old is your papa?" "Thirty-nine." "And-"

"Say !" the boy broke in, suddenly awure of something unusual. "What are you trying to do, anyway ? Seems to l liie, you are asking a lot of questions."

"I am," said the girl, solemnly. "But it's all right. Don't be afraid. Can you keep a secret ?" she enquired.

"Why, yes, of course. What is it?"

The girl looked more solemn than ever.

"Mamma told me to ask yon," she said.

Her friend was silent. His slower mind worked dimly for a solution of the problem. He felt vaguely the wjo-sidedness of the category. "That isn't fair," he said, at last. My tether didn't tell me to ask you any questions." "Well, what if he didn't ? He •"'Yip j byi fa woiiMa't/t

"Well, you see, your father is a man, and my mother is a woman." "'That's so. I never thought of that. Wouki it be all right "—he hesitated, as if in- doubt—"tor me to ask you what you asked ma ?" "Why, of course. You just begin, and I'll tell you." "Well, then, how oki is your mother ?" > "Do you know, it's awful funny about thai. Promise not to tail." "All right—that is, no one but my father. You won't mind my telling him, wiil you ?" "Oh, no. I mean anyone—outside —you know. Mamma might not like it. Well, last year mamma was thir-ty-lour, and this year she's only thirty-three. Isn't that peculiar?" '■Yes, it is. Now 'tell me. Does she swear ?" "Of course not. The idea !" "And -has she got a good temper, or does she stay cross long?" "No ; she doesn't stay cross long. But sometimes she scolds the ser-vants-wr.cn they need it, and sometimes siie is sad and cries to herself ; but, that never lasts long." •'Doe« she go to church?""Oh, yc-.s, almost every Sunday. But sometimes " A pauso.

"Weil-what ?" "Well—sometimes she plays golf too.' - '

lhey laughed, though why they did not know. Then the boy said : "I guess that's all. You won't mind, will you, if I tell—him ?" "Of course not," said the girl tossing her curls in the air. "It's only fair, because, you know, I'm going to tell—her ! • • • •

It was a week later. The two little companions sat once more on the old rock that had been browned by centuries, silent, as when, in years gone by, the British soldiers had leaped upon it on their way to victory.

They, too, were silent. A great change had come over them. It v/as evident, however, tl-.ut something was on the boy's mind. Ho moved uneasily. Then he took out his knife and began to sharpen it fiercely on the rock. Finally, he itopped, and said :

'l'v-i got something to tell you

"Whutii it—something good?" She put her arm around his neck, with ho trace of self-consciousness, w if it were wt§ vaqs\ natural thing in tl.e world—as, indeed,' it was— or.d sai.l : "Come ! I can't wait."

"Well, then, maybe you'll be glad to know you're going to be n_y sister. Father found it out last nigiit." Ami then. she laughed a pwxl of merry, childish laughter. After all, he win only a boy.

"Why, I knew that ever sd long ag<) !" she said.—Tom Masson, in