The Storyteller.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XLVII, Issue 7922, 11 September 1905, Page 4

The Storyteller.

"MOLLY." The New Zealand summer sun blaz--4d dowp on the dusty road along which the lumbering wood-drays ■sde their way from Hi' bills, aeioss the fifteen mites of plain, to tfc* httle township sleeping in the WMinne on the sweep of the blue' FWiflo. I* W*s rery hoi 0* the hillside, . mi Jack Creul rode slowly, his hat flrgwn down orer Mb sußbnrnt face, raadhiß back turned to the plain below. At the top of its .hill the road nn level (or about a mite, and Creed spurred his lathered horse to IH easy canter. In front of him a amall dark blur showed on the white toad, and as he approached the blur . took form and shape.. Creed regarded the figure curiously—it was that (It a little girl in * short town : frock trudging on beiore him. He . drew level wnh her, and then pulled ap sharply. "Moliy !" he exclaimed. "Why, What on earth are you doing here.'

The little girl looked up. Her lace W wry; rtS, till her widii-briiii-Bed bat hung rakishly oa one side «t her head, tki eyes dropped befen bis questioning glance, and her lase, if possjjle, grew redder. "I'm juvt—just walking." siie replied. "Yes,, tut walking where.' At any rate, you won't mind if I walk wim you part of the way ?" he asked. Molly looked up into his face and united!

"Oli, no, Mr Creed ; I'd like it."' Presently Creed proposed a moment's [est. .

"Now, Molly," he began, as they ■atonlbe grass and laud :!.e |d.iin Ulcw, "we've always been trien.ls, bavin iwe Good friends ?" Molly nodded. "Well, doesn't it strike you as ra-' tket a mean thing not to trust a friend ? l'vs guessed that'you re run■ing away from home, andwos't tell ■w where you are going."

Molly sat bolt upright. "Somebody's told you," she said. Sbe mad« a movement as (Dough to. rise (rem the grass, tmt Creed laid t strong band over tbe little scared one.

"Aren't you going to trust me yet, Mol'y 7 Then 1 don't think your friendship is worth much !" Molly pressed her lips together and avoided bis eye. "It's no osa trying to make me go tack," she tatd, defiantly. "No one wants me. Mother wpa't miss me—she doesn't love mc any more Bow, since—since daddy died." A picture rose up before Creed of the widowed woman, absorbed and brooding over ber own grief. Suddenly be understood. "And so as your mother has had to (O through great trouble you want to make ber suffer more he asksd. "1 don't retorted Molly, violently.

I "She doesn't can. —I'm uiily i hotliIT." Looking up, sl;e eaugjit Creed's eyes filed upon her pocket and the obtrusive legs. "l-li, u.At—that s Amanda !" she explained hurriedly. "I thought slip might do for—for some tic s' ll! » t0 P' a >' 'with when I'm a governess." She paused iiid then, putting both hands over uer lace, she said slowly ; "That's [not true ! I'm the little girl thai ! wanted her, and I don't care if you do laugh." Two oig tear rolled down between her fingers, and then Creed- leant over, took the forlorn little figure in, his arms, and held her clo.se "Hush, Molly," hj« said gently, "you must go hoiue again." •I tan'!, I can't. ! ' sue sotM.il. "Mother do«n t love me. Mother

won't care." Creed laid his tanned cheek gently against liti lear-slaintd one. "Listen, little woman,"' lie whispered. "lj know you're in tiouble, and I want to help you. Your mother does love yoi, Molly. She loves you very dearly, but she has been through great trouble, and it is hard yet lor her to think of anything else." "I know jiie doesn't care—she will not be glad to see me. I can't go ■back—l can't — !" "But won't you go back and try? Do you remember when the mare fell With you at the fence in the lower paddock and you broke your arm ? I You never made a sound when the dector set it, did you ? That . was pluck—real pluck ; but if you go back to your mother now, tell her Bvctything, and ask her to let you help her in her sorrow, it will tie a liner, braver thing than you've ever done in your life, Molly. You don't want to be the worst sort of shirker, a moral coward, do you, little woman ?"

Molly wriggled herself out ol his arms and regarded him with tearreddenttl eyes. "Haven't you ever been a moral coward ?" she asked. Creed looked out over the plain for a few minutes in silence. "Haven't you ?" she repeated. "More times than I can count, Molly," tie answered softly.. "And alter to-night I shall be a greater one than ever." Molly moved closer to him and looked up into his face. "You're in trouble, too," she said I sadly ; "but I .s'pose I can't help I you. Little girls never seem anv use in the world, somehow."

Creed turned and taught her up in his arms again. "Oh, Molly !" he said with sudden iassicn, "I want help badly." "Won't you tell nie about it, anyhow v You sjid just now thai we v;ere friends. l and that friends ought to trust each oth»;-."

Creed half smikd, and then his face grew dark again. "You couldn't understand, dear, if I could tell you—ljut perliajtn my trouble like yours, because I, too, was so lonely and wanted sonic ' nc to lo\e inc."

"And have you »ot someone's love now

V I have got something which passes for love sometimes, little jijrl." "And is the someone who loves >ou nice ''' Creed was silent for a moment.

"1 don't know that you'd think I'er exactly nice, Molly." "But she loves you very dearly ?" Creed lauglu-d unpleasantly. "1 fancy that she has loved many othrr.s beiore as dearly and—forgotten."

"Then she won't love you for always T' "No. Molly, 1 den't believe she will." "And you're going to be a moral coward for her ?" than I've ever bevn before." "Then I don't think she's worth it," said Molly, frankly. Creed 'lcoktd Vtown at her again, and smiled softly. "I believe you're right, little girl," lie said. "She's not worth any man's life and honour ; hut if J t!ir-<w mine

'away there's not one soul to care, what dot-s it matter, after all 7" "I eare," said Moll:y, .siioully., "And I won't forget, like she would, Are you going, to see her now Creed nodded. ''Anil it you never saw her again you wouldn't) be such a moral black- ] guard 7" Creed smiled. "Not quite sueli a rank outsider, Molly." ( "I don't want you to be a moral •blackguard and a| rank outsider," said Molly, miserably. ; I Something in the pitiful abandon- | ment of the child's grief as the lit- : tie body shook with sobs In his I arms struck at Creed's heart Willi a queer, sharp pain. ' "Molly," he whispered, "would it jliclp you if we made a compactto try to turn straight, and not be towards and rank outsider's In the I future ?" I Molly's sobs lessened. "Would you promise 7" she asked. "Yes," answered the man, slowly. "I mayn't succeed, but I'll try." Molly raised a face which mingled dust and tears had failed to make anything but sweet, and smiled at him. "Now—please take me home," she iaid. , « ♦ . «

Ten years later Creed and Molly stood together leaning on the dockrail of an outward-bound New Zealand liner, watching the white water passing astern in tlic gathering darkness, as the steamer throUbcd down Channel. "Fancy your knowing me after tin yearg !" said Molly. "Why, I, wasn't even grown up when you left New Zcalatid ! I',ve been staying with my uncle for the past eighteen months, you know, and now I'm going home again—home to dear mother. But what's taking you out to New Zealand once more Creed said slowly, "do you .remember one day on the hillside ten years ago, Molly ? You saved mc from making the greatest mistake of my life. I've done my 'best to keep that compact, dear" | "Then we've helped each other," answered Molly. She tried lo speak lightly, but her voice shook a little, 'tor you made mc understand my mother's love. When she took mc in Iter arms that day and just sotfcd and kissed me,l " the girl's voice broke. Oh, it's so fowlish !" she said uying to laugh. '"But—l—l atwavs want to cry when I think of that'." Creed s hand suddenly closed over hers in the darkness and gripped it hard.

Molly," he said, "do you remember saying that you didn't want me to he amoral coward and a rank outsider > Will you come and help 'ie to run straight f or ever Coul'l *<"">■ 'o'ove me just a little ?" Not a little," she answered snff-

The Ms steamer throbbed on down Channel into the night, and once , „, a man am ' a woman passed .ORcther ihroiigh the gates of happiand ca inc into their kingdom.