Literature.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XLVI, Issue 179, 2 August 1904, Page 4

Literature.

« you," Said Babs seriously, j ■man t* Whom the five-year-old tttl smiled encouragingly, *j?*W* youj" i» »aid, equally ser"l will give you a kiss—if you UktV" said Babs, with just the suspicion of a smile creeping over lMteiiaby.facev The kiss was at once accepted and given—several times over, "You finded roe," said Babs, "When I was lost. And mummy always tells me to "be polite." Gerald Cballoner had bard work to keep a smile from coining upon his handsome face, but the little maid ww bo solemn, and serious that he left, be dared not let her see how amused her dear self-confidence made "So you are home now, Babs, and not lost any longer," he said, "and ■tow we must say 'Goodbye.' " "Qoodrby*," said Babs, "and thank you. Mummy always tells me to say 'thank you.' " . -"Xou dear little mite," cried C'hal-Uwa-:*e»dißg down to kiss the little upturned , taby face once again '' 1 .Bolder if I shall ever see you again. .You reminW me so strangely of one 1 used ti> know.' I '. But Babs did not hear. She had fctfup the garden path of the cottage, and was lost to sigfit. Challoner closed the wicket gate, and went on his Way, musing and trying his best to remember. It bad been a strange meeting that of Babs ahd'Gerald Challoner. He, on a walking tour, alone, and with knapsack on shoulder, had found Babs sitting by the wayside, with big tears in her baby eyes, and being tenderhearted, had essayed to comfort her. All f she could say was that she was lost. But a very brief walk, during partrof- which Gerald carried Babs in ids'arms, contrived to tiring the little maid into recognisable regions, and she soon found home. "Home" was a tiny cottage, with a quaint, old-fashioned garden in front, and a wicket gate—the gate through which Ba/bs had run so quickwhen the full summer came, the promise of sweet and scented •ummer roses clambering all about the old-world porch. It was nearly ' ■ thislt on ttiis June afternoon, but Cbailoner had both time and opportunity—he made them—to observe the ■uatatnesa of the, cottage, the white , eurtaina at the windows, and the Witness of the: tiny garden. It is strange sometimes how one's whole life can be affected by a min-

ute's hesitation. Gerald Challoner > lßEltaited. quite that space of time •utside Vine Cottage, in the centre el the village of VVinterton ; and all his future life was altered by that Sixty seconds of hesitation. Instead •I ; <£ldhg'oa:to tho town' of Stanjwort If where hj» had intended to put yp tor the night—it was barely two ■riles further on—he decided, in that ■MAWie thank:. il he cold'find deceit accommodation in. the place, in lfiotertoD, Cffon such trifles of decitiea RomeUmes do our destines lie ! ©aHJ<jne?s , WaJktog' on a Uttle way, Cftiou uppn Idon," which that he desired. A •»«y>oo«, * bright and plump landtody, a fire which seemed to suggest •x-cawrtinj, lavender-scented sheets, "ttat was- most welcome, served-,la'an oak-panelled room th*t miyht have been existent since 1 Hie'diyß of .Cromwell.' /'Better," he thought, vuian the Royal Hotel, beloved of commercial travellers, at Btanworth ; !'i And he felt sincerely Obliged to Bate for having detained jiim oa his journey. Before •eeicuag the lavender-swnted sheets,, fc»" went into the emokingfooa ot the ''Qreen Lion," where ha

4fte«dilT made himself much at home. Vim'' worthies of the little riling. " W»tt intWtilig and drigking in the wariw W'# biazinjr'fire, and, though tt'inWi little Shy at the intrude* of a stronger into their select Tillage circle, when Uiey discovered tkat he could tell a yarn and was mot averse to being friendly, he was iKartily made, welcome. He frankly avowed, even in the portly presence of the landlord, hi* intention to have gome on to Stanworth ; and after certain discussions •( purely local interest, in which he . was compelled, perforce, to join, he cbntrivetl to lead the conversation to •ther matters. "It is curioTra;' gentlemen," he said. at last, "but a strange incident has wade me a visitor hero to-night. 1 chanced to. meet with a little maid at ■ve, who lives at Vine Cottage, close ;at hand, if I remember right ; and dusk coming on she had wandered rather farther than she knew, and was lost." No one apoke for a few moments. Then the burly landlord took his pipe from his mouth, "That's Mrs Summer'l little piaid,' ! he said. ■ '''She was so tired that I oarried l»er home to ttao gate of the cottage/' went on Challoner, "and then the knew she was at homo o«ce more." Ag*i»-that strange silence fell upon the room* This time Gerald tjhalloner noticed it. --' "Can anyone tell me," he said, I'who her mother is ? Is she " "Better not ask," interrupted o voice from the far end of the room. It waa that of the village schoolmaster and organist. "Nobody knows,-*' he went on, oracularly, "and so far as we're concerned nobody'wants to know." "But.H should like to know," said Challoner, quietly ; ''if any of you trill tell'me." But nobody vouvhsaf•d him a reply, except the burly landlord. "She eame here a twelvemonth •(o, .tooVTOne Cottage, and nobody Imewi where she came from or who she to?*' '■"K* vicar don't call on her," Boid tjto organist •''Nor do his wife," chimed in anftihars fc'efce'* got no frienHs," said the *No* in. tSISs room," thought Gerald Chalioftbr to himself, and lie coulfl not help feeling a strange sort #f pity for'the mother of Babs. "But her husband.?" he queried. ''Ah V s said the organist. And the simple exclamation conveyed volumes. '.'She's a widow woman," wid the landlord, in expiation. "Per Saps," said tne o^M" 3l ' "■" kiadlSi fTo «• oonttauedj