The Storyteller.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XLVII, Issue 7878, 21 July 1905, Page 4

The Storyteller.

MA'S PET BOY. i.ihby Anderson hung Hip dishcloth on its accustomed nail, and stood j th.Tc surveying it. 11 was plain, tri m the way sbc looked, that she |»ad deterihihed to speak. * "Ma," she asked ol the woaian who was .sitting before the little colonial oven, "what were those papers Dave put in his pocket as I cainc in V "Some things he was showin' "Ma," she said nervously, "you did not sign anything, dttl you ?" "I dhln'l sign your name to anytiring," and the needles clashed cmcc more. She knew Iter mother too well to press further^ "I couldn't just understand Dave coming here this time ol year," she ventured ; "and 1 thought lie acted

queer. ■ The old woman was folding tier knitting. "I'm going to bed, and you'd better come along, too," was her reply. A week went by. and although Libbv bad twice forgotten to feed the chickens, and had several times let the kettle burn dry, she was beginning to feel more settled in her mind. She did up the work one morning and went to town. Her first call was at the solicitor's, and tTtere she heard the worst. Ma bad assigned her hontc to Dave. She did not make any fuss ; she Was too old-fashioned for hysterics. it was not until the old place came in sight that she broke down. "It's not fair," she cried out, "When I've stayed here and worked —it's not fair !" And for the first time in many years she was crying, passionately crying. It was a feeling of outraged juslice that made her speak, for she ras just a woman—the daughter of Pa. "Ma," she said, "do you think Pa Would lik* to think of your assißninp the place to Dave, when I've staved here and kept it up the best I to'uld for twenty years ?" The old woman put down her knitting. "La, now. Libby ?" sbe said, not unkindly, "don't take on. You'll ne vef want for nothing !" Libby stood looking at her. "I don't think you realise what you've done," she said ; and turned to the bedroom to take oil her hal ami jacket. It was not milil the next month tin* blustering month of Match, that all was made clear. It was earh hi the afternoon when I.i Miv luokiii from the window and saw a inai coming in at the big gale. "That fricn.l of Dave's from tfK city is coining, Ma," she tuiil. "Gracious !" exclaimed Mrs Anderson, "and such a day as 'tis !" The stranger warmed his hands am disbursed a number nf pleasantries. "Well, Mr Anderson," lie said finally, "your son wants tnc to maki a little proposition to you." Mrs Anderson looked pleasantly c* pectant. "Dave's always utakiti' proposi lions," she chuckled. "He's being a good deal worrim about this winter—afraid you wcr< not just comfortable out litre—yoi two, all alone."

! Date's always Miinkin' ot his hrr's comfort," she asserted, ami ling triumphantly over at Lil/hy. Well," he resumed, turning his k to the older woman, "it worDavc lo think of your being out i alone now that you're getting ir in years, so he rented a nice If place in town, and he feels 5 it would be better all roum! rou'd go in ant) take it." [( thai ain't for all the world Dare l-nlwavs sonic new idea lis bead. Bat tell him, Mr Mur- , not to be bothered. We don't it to move ,to town—do we, Lil>Not if wc can help it," she reDave's been away from the place lone that he don't just see bow Ma explained. 'Li-foby and mc iWn't'fed at home no place rise' It's too bad yon (eel that way," went on persuasively, "for Dave i so sure you'd like the idea that I gone ahead and made all arrements, and I'm atraid there jbt -be a little trouble in unmaktbew." e turned to Libby. How soon do you think you could re By the first of May ?' I suppose so," she answered in a I voice. pril came, and for the fiftieth e the old woman watched the te give way to the green on tire s th*t curved in and out around old home. s iong as she could, Libby let her e her dream. Her heart was not hard towards Ma now. Ma had understood. And Libby was glad could have those few spring days are she was torn from the old le. Ma," she began one morning, "I ik I will have to be packing up t week." Packing up what ?" Why, don't you remember. Ma, re going to town the first ot ft' 1 Oh, la, LitJby ' I've give thai up 5 ago ! I'm going to die on the place." But you know. Ma, the arrangeits have all been made. Ijn lid we'll have to go." be turned to her crossly. There's no use to argue wi' me, by Anderson. I ain't going But what about Dave You can jest write Dave, and sav mother don't want to leave tl«ce. Dave don't have notlmf furr to say." he looked off at the mcadowland if it were all settled. LilAy ild have to tell her. Ma," she said, "it's no use to te to Dave." Why not ?" she demanded in a i-frightcncri, half-aggressive voice. He's sold the place, Ma.'' What's that you say ■; Nomcig about Dave scllin' my place" i you done vimy, I.ibby ?" You know you deeded it (o tiim. It was after you d«l that Ami it, ami we'll have to move earing no answer, she turned lid, and it was then she coveted e's gift of saying things smoeihTbe old woman was crouched m ber chair, and fier face was

<jUiverinjr, air.! sunk™ and I gray. ! "I didn't think hc'tl do thatshe | filtered. "\ever wind, Ma," l.ility said awkward)?. "Poor Ma !" It was the nearest to a caress thai had passu! beiwven them since Litibr was a little girl. | "Libby," she said, "you mustn't l/e thinking hard of Dave. He must have thought it foi the best." Libby was used to taring iot Ma, ami she net-ded care now. , "Yes, Ma," she answered, "I'm | sure he must." i ll was not until the morning oi j the iouith day that the silence i>e- | twecn them was broken. Libby gut ■ \i|> to take down the cluck when she j heard a strange noise behind her, ; and, turning, she saw that Ma's lie,id was low down in her hands, and she was rocking passionately hack and forward, and crying as though her old lieari would break. She put down the clock, and again she wished for a little of Dave's ! silkiiiess of speech. Bui sh&did ii"l have it, and the besi she could do was to pull Ma's chair out from the barren room into the sunshine of the porch. The liills, she thought, would still liok like home. Ma did not get up at all next i day. Perhaps she was ill, or perhaps it was only that she did not want to go oui in the sitting-room to see how unlike home it looked.' But Ihp next day she did not gel up citlier. arrd then Libby went to town for the doctor. He said tin- excitement had weakened her, and did not socui very certain she would ever get up again. That night Libby < wrote a letter to Dave, asking him again to let his mother die on the i old pfere. A week passed, and no answer had conic, and still Ma had not left her bed. The packing was I all done, it was the first oi May, and she Was just waiting—she did not know what for. Her whole soul rose up against moving Ma from the old place now, ■ When bet days were so surely num- ! be red ; and so she sent a telegram to Dave, telling him his mother was i ill. and asking leave to slay a little ; longer. There came a reply from I his partner saying tliat Dave Was 1 away, and would not be home for two weeks. That night the old woman raise! herself and sobbed out the truth. ! "It's Dave that's killrn 1 me ! It's - to think Dave sold tlie place, an.l turned me out to die !" Tlten the way opened before • Libby, and she saw her path. I Tlie disinherited child wrote a Iclt ter that night, and to it she signed her broliiei's name. Out in the . world that nright have applied to itI an ugly word, but Libby was only raring for Ma. Sbe was <i long time I about it, for it was hard to put i things in Dave's round, bold han.l, and it was bard to say them in hi.-, : silky way. Tlie doctor said next morning thai - it was a matter of but a few da>:> at most, (or Ma was much worse. I "It ain't that I'm going !o die,' she said, when Lil/by came in an! . found her crying, bin 1 \vas»ilinkin P of Dave. I ktep iliinkin' and thinfcm' of him when lie Was a little l.'y. • and how he used to run about tinplace, and how pretty he used to " look ; and then, just as 1 begin to take a little comfort in reiuem'..eriii' 1 some of tlie smart things he said, I! I have to think of What he lias 1 done, and.it does seem like he niigh; have Wailed till—" But the words

Were too bitter to lie spoken, and, with a hard, scraping sound in her throat, she turned her face to the Wall. I.iilly put her hand on something in tier pocket, and thought of last night's work with tliaukfultiess. About It o'clock she entered the room with the sheets of a letter in her hand. "Ma," site said, tremulously, ' here is a letter just come from Dave." "1 knew it'd come—l knew it And the old \cise filled the loom with its triumphant Then there crept into her faee an anxious look. "What docs lie say "He's sorry about selling the place Ma. He really thought you'd like i. belter in town. Hut lie fixed it up for us to stay. He says you'll nt vet have to leave the place." "1 knowed it—l knowed it well enough > You don't know Dave like I do. But read me the letter. She read it. and the old woman listened with tears—::lad tears nowfalling over her withered checks. "You can just unpack vour ■things, ami get the place straightened o site cried when it Was linishc.l. "The idea of your packin' up, and think wc was goin' to move to town ' A nice mess jou've made of it ! Jest as if Dave would hear of us leavin 1 the place. I always knowed you never 'predated Dave." Before moring broke Ma was dead. Happy, because she had back her old faith in Dave—the blind, beautiful faith of the mother in the son. And Lftjby—the homeless, and unloved LiWby—wax happy, too, for she had fimshed well her work of carinc for Ma.