THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 61, 19 October 1907, Page 4

THE STORYTELLER.

THE FIDDLER. "Do you know you are tre-pa-ising':" Miss Vivian demanded. The intruder rose and lifted his straw hat. "I beg your pardon. Yes, 1 did know it, but the shade looked so invit* ing; it's awfully hot and dusty out there." lie indicated the high road by a backward movement of his head. His clothing was stained all manner of picturesque colors, but his voice was low and educated.

Marjorie Vivian regarded him with frank interest for a moment, then her eyea fell ou the fiddle-ease lying among the fern. 'ls that your profession?" she asked, pointing to it disdainfullv. "More or less."

"I should never have thought— you seem " To her annovauee and bewilderment, llis* VivLui broke riV stammering. His steady gaze was >o disconcerting, and now he was niuijiug openly at her discomfiture!

**Please go <m/' he slid. "What do seem!"

"Too well edurjitcd for ?ikh a life «he retorted.

**What, don't 1 the part. then*' It wa-> irritating how he com: eyes to meet his.

"No. At lea-it, I don't l::i r\ : but should have thou-jht vou wer.- a " .Human" "

'"Thank you,* hj? observed rm ly.hut the steady eyes momentarily tw : nk;ed. Miss Vivian lifted her chin bv (wj inches.

"This is my father's wood."' she remarked pointedly. A slanting rav of -unlight turned the curl about her right eye into a ring of gold, and mocked the angry gleam in her blue eyes. The fiddler** expression was indicative of unqualified approval. "It's a particularly nice wood. He's a fortunate man/' was his polite comment. **l think we must have the fences raised" Miss Vivian said musingly. "Xot on my account," urged the fiddler. *You see, 1 shall W leaving Mazebrook to-morrow, anil it's unlikely I shall defy the law again." i Miss Vivian contemplated him for a few moments in silence. I

"Are you playing anywhcn- io nijrlit she asked suddenly.

"I've no engagement. Will you gir me One!"

She appeared to consider. "We have some friends dining with us to-night—in fact, it's niv birthday party," she confessed. "And I should rather like—that is, it would be great fun if you began to play in the garden while we were at dinner, and perhaps afterwards we might danee in the hill. It would be quite like the stories of the wandering minstrels, wouldn't it ?" "It would; and at the end, when I'm preparing to take my departure, I should whip off my disguise and turn out to be a long-lost friend. The strolling minstrel always managed to do something uncalled for, if you remember."

Miss Vivian looked at him and laughed outright. "I'm not sure I ought to have asked yon," «he said, and her eyes danced. "You may turn out to lie a fraud.'*

It's too late for scruples," the fiddler declared emphatically. "You have engaged me, and I'm coming. What time shall I turn up! And am Ito announce my arrival by ringing, or shall I strike up soft music 'without'!" "Oh, don't ring—that'would spoil iS all—and come about half-past eight. There's a side path which leads from the drive round to the lawn; you will tee a big syringa bush, and you might stand behind it; it's just outside the dining-room window. Shall you remember V'

'TH remember. 11l find that syringa bush or perkh in the attempt/' he asseverated.

Miss Vivian gathered her Soft white skirts in one hand and turned to go, only to come back again with a deprecating glance and a faint blush. "I forgot to ask your term?," *he said.

"They are—elastic," replied the fiddler fc trifle curtly, and with that enigmatic answer Miss Vivian was obliged to be content.

She retTacrd her steps with a smile on her lips and a light in her eyes which they had lacked when she had enterei the wood.

Of the fact that the fiddler was wellbred her senses assured her: that he was indeed a gentleman her instinct aflinned. But, such being the case, how came he to be thus masquerading? An unwelcome thought that lie might have lieeu guilty of some dishonorable action obtruded itself, but she dismissed i*. promptly. And, after all. no harm had been done by asking him to employ hi* talents for the delectation of her

Conversation was in full swing round the dinner-table when, at the magic hour of eight-thirty, the strains of a violin rang out from the ljiwn. "Bless my soul, what's thatT ejacuUM the Squire. "Some tramp fellow on the lawn, apparently," replied Philip Mayne. -He's not a tramp," Marjorie declared, up in arms at once for lier protege. "Dad, I met him in our wood this morning, and told him he might play lien 1 11 ■ night."

-As a reward for trespassing :" 'iu-r----itd her parent, lifting his brows. Trespassers were anathema to Mr Vivian, but his daughter's vagaries never met with harsh judgment. Marjori-, who knew she was the apple of her father's eye, took scandalous advantage of the fact. "No; but 1 thought it would be nice. We might have him in the hall afterWards and dance." "Ify dear child, your programme is Somewhat Arcadian, isn't it! 1 dunt relish the idea of having a member oi the Great Unwashed within our walls." "But I tell you he is not a tramp., dad," Jlarjorie reiterated. Her cheeks had deepened jjx color, and her eyes flashed defiance upon the smiling faces round the table. • "Whatever he is, he can play." Mayne put it, and his words had the etfeet of the others cease talking to listen. The fiddler was playing Chopin's twelfth nocturne, and the manifold cravings of the human heart seemed caught DP and merged in one insistent crv. Silence descended upon the dinnertable where every individual had temporarily lost his self-conseiou-ness. The Sjuire's thoughts had flown to a certain grave in the little thyme scented churchrard where Marjorie's mother efcpt, laid the young folk dreamed the Usual dreams of youth—fame, love—the ages-old dreams which are for ever liegytfr created anew. Marjorie's alone took no taugib.e shape. It seemed to her that she was looking into a pair of dark eyes whose mute eloquence was revealing matters deep and unutterable, hitherto unblessed at .undreamed of. Tirin" of things mystical,the fiddle suddenly changed its theme, leaping abinptlv into the prelude to a polka, it laughed, tempted, compelled. 1 lulip Jlayne sprang to his feet. . jove, Marjorie, that was a ripping irntion of vours about dancing, he ex£d. "Oh. I beg your pardon, Mr Vivian, I fotf,">t you had vetoed it. The Squire shrugged his shoulders. "Marjorie invariably pets heroin ■wav," he remarked rueful!?- But. a I. the same, I think I'll take a look s ,t the fellow first." «t.>mx>d He rose from the table, J PI* 1 through the open window, and made tor the syringa bush. The musician's eyes were iixed dr am ilv on the evening sky; he seemed absorbed in the strains hi* fiddle was „utpouring, but the notes ceased aonip.l) S the Squire's portly cro-s-d Inline of vision. He started tin ■ from sleep, and raised his bat The Squire, who was said jnean judge of men, ran his the well-groomed figure in the . beaten garments, noted the linen, the well-kept hands. T in. h glanced keenly at the n«an> h e anl met the steady g..*- "hid. had ta-.ni ated Marjorie. .. . .... "I am really quite respectable, mm «.r«l the fiddler rM'junnirlj. an. there was an unmistakabh honor in his eye. , ] The Squire'-* conntenane. i.l.im spite of himself. "My daughter is anxioiis f. flance mnsie. he -aid. Wil . fiddler followed him into the li»-' and selected a sent iii the .shadow n the staircase, I're-entlv J violin and bui'-t into the 10-.-llom atmosphere swmcd charged v,it iome, intangible force, and in a i.-a nm tttes the hall was lull ot twuUr fi, ores. The throb ot the n.u-i ■ v- >n Mstahle.—it swept the daii'-ei-B wave sweeps the seaweed ™ i . The Squire and Mrs tarcy. M i r' godmother, who had sett,ed Itslgnedlv to wateh the scene, p • ■ found their feet l«ecomin|S una ;■-"»»<''• Testless and their bodies " tune in unseemly fashion. ■ udden . _ Carey laid her hand on the Isquir. |pn. r "James," abc said eolenmlv, 'I m I

| but if you don't take me away at once 1 -Iwll lit* asking you to dunce with me " i Mr Vivian looked at her sheepishly. "I was just going to suggest our having a turn*:'' he stammered, his left loot boating time madly. "•James! Dance at our age!" li6ali*iug the enormity of his suggestion, the Squire rose and meekly ofered his anu.

''Take me out of temptation, then," he urged. Ah, Dora, how it brings back the old times! Do you remember that evening at L'anterburv when vou met Dick!"

'*Do I remember?" echoed Mrs Carey softly.

They passed into the garden, with quickened memories clustering around them.

The tiddler sat very still in his corner after the galop was finished. Probably it was a coincidence that he appeared to watch Mias Viviau and Philip Mayne rather closely: I heir doings could not be supposed to hold any interest for him.

JJut after a very brief interval lie be* gau a waltz which brought the dancers hurrying in fr.jiu the garden even as the piper lured the children. It w..s .in old waltz written on a song—Marine had heard h*T godmother sing it .wars ag.t: "All! it was gay ninhl and day. Vy.r i:ud <! Millweather. n.! i! • '.id |. S:V. 'i\. • tb- \v«.r!d t'-iretli.-r. . Tli.- violin'- ?oi!t— ijuivered: it was li'v the v•]:e <ji a man >nigmg with a -••I; in hi- ihr"at. For no reason what- J • s viT it brought the tear.- welling hotly nit > MarjorieV eye-. For no ~iva-on nhn l "\vi' it !ir*d Philip -Mayne with the p.i-Mon of youth, with tiie longing to know tint he might call Marjorie his. "Its awfully hot in here: shall we

.-ton?" he demanded abruptly. "And there's something I want to say to you." But Marjorie. who knew what that

something was. was possessed by a swift, nameless fear. ''Xo, I'm not a bit tired," she cried. She could not see the fiddler's face as

-he spun round, he was sitting so much in the shadow, but she seemed to hear his voice quite plainly—a quiet voice to which an answering one deep in her soul had vibrated. And he was surely calling to her now. calling. . , "I begged her to -top/' she heard Mayne saying, through what sounded like the noise of rushing waters, and Mrs Carey replying: "Of course, it was only the heat and excitement. There—she's coming round." Miss Viviau ojvned her eyes to find herself lying on the sofa in the study.

"Did I faint* llow awfully stupid of inc." she said apologetically. "Please everybody begin dancing again, or I shall be miserable." For the rest of the evening she ''sat out," a (lame of crimson burning in her checks, her tongue running as lightly as ever.

But when the last of her guests had gone she crept back to the study, anil waited, listening breathlessly to her father's voice speaking to someone in the lull. Th" door opened, and thtSquire came in. ".Marioric. your tramp wants to wish you good-night, hut I'll tell him you don't feel well enough to sec him, ehV "But I'm all right now, daddy, and I should like to thank him—he played so lieautifulhv'

"Yes. but he absolutely declines to be [iaid; i can't make the fellow out. Don't io standing about now out there," said the Squire admoni>hingly, as he prepared to mix himself a long-deferred whisky ind soda. Marjorie nodded reassuringly rod dosed tlie door, fn the hall stood the fiddler. "Are you feeling all right now?*' hi asked.

''Quite, tliank you. I—l wanted to thank you very much for your playing. You —you won't let u-: "

He put up his hand sharply. "No; it was a pleasure. I wonder if you would meet me in your wood again to-morrow morning. Miss Vivian 2' 5 It was impertinent, it was an unheard of liberty, how dared he suggest such a thing! She looked at him, and the scathing light in her eyes was suddenly quenched. "Yes," she said meekly.

ITe was sitting it the same place. Outwardly everything looked the same, so if there was any change it must be in herself, but it was not the moment for close analysis She did not take him unawares this time; he was on his feet long before she reached him, watching her eagerly as a shipwrecked sailor watches the distant sail. "It was good of you to come/' he said. "Th' fact is I wauled to tell you the truth—i-g-rti*"! I'm afraid: but I can't help it. and 1 yiromi- 1 1° keep >"' )U l"n.u- Won't you -it do- n? f can recommend that stump."

Mi-s Vivian complied silently, and the fiddler leaned against a convenient tree and looked down at her. "My father was Sir Charle- Bcrtrem.'-' ho began abruptly, 'it's possible you

may remember his losing all his money in a bank smash auyivey. it wa- in ;\II lite papers. Ill l ' shuck of it killed liini. and my brother and I were left stranded. Ned is a bucMinjr author, and 1 was ill the service. Of coiir-e i had t;i eluicl: it up when the smash came—the Army is no trade for a pauper: but I was in luck, lor 1 •!<)t tiie ulier of a hilh-t in a nondescript South African regiment. 1 was on tlie point of rln-itiL' «'ith it when Ned wrnte siynig that he bad (•audit an awful cold and the doctor used to think him pretty seedy. He's always been a delicate sort ot fell.uv. verv different from me. and I hurried up to town. I saw the doctor, who said In* was afraid of consumption, and that Xed must live an open-air lile or go for a sea vovage. The latter idea was almut as feasible as a voyage to the ni".»n. and I had I" ca-i alvul for th" ln-t alternative. I'd no inlhience to get him into one of those sanatorium places, and. U-sides, all those tilings take time, which was what 1 couldu t a!T'ud to waste. Well. [ refused the South African biliet—luckily, 1 hadn't let "ii about it t" Nod—and I arranged t.i take him for a sort of easy walking tour thai mi..uM la>t the wli.de summer. Like tint lie would see plenty of fre_-h thing-* and people, and yet would be living out of deors. Between Its 1 thought we might eke out the shekels, for he could ■'et on with his scribbling and I could trv niv lii'k with the ti.idie. lie alway- been more or mu-ic mad. and taken the lion's -hare in all the singsongs in the regiment, ami so tar the plan has nn-w.red admirably. We\e been on the r..ad -inee April, ami looking a dilferent being. 1 hat s all. but I—l wanted yon to know. Mi— Vivian wa- not biking at liini. "Veil vi.nM have liked to go to A! ri.-a':" wa- all.she -aid. ••['ni ke"ti on -oliliering; it's my trade." ho an-.*eied lightly. "I'ut the .me thing that makes life worth living u "enerallv the one you've got t" do without —at least, that's been niv experience. Anil I'm tolerably philosophical as a rule: anyway, 1 was until •Tntil vesterday," concluded the fidd-

Vivian's little air, and jtraees red to have de-erted her; at the ' * ii». wi* *iware «>t nothing hut moment, -lie Vti-* ciwau , . , n the -pirit behind his eye> whieli «a talking to her-. •■Tell me one thin". Are you enpaped to that vounjj fellow you were daneins with hist I know I've no lipht to a-k. lrtit " , ■•>'_n": hut lie want- me to inan> him." , ' -And vott: - ' His tone was shall'. -J w 1-n't sure until —yc^t< r<lay. _ -Why yesterday :" he demanded mex"''Miss Vivian had risen: "tier hand, were k - f.ri ,-]o-e a"am-t her breast—the ' aUiTude_of one who guards some pre vioiis thing. , ..r i ( .»n* frS ieU YOU. ?*he -al'l. -I think I can jliie.->," said ' the fid'ller | - -oftlv. and -trang' lv eiioiigii t «ie:i Uaiu->. ' W you to wait for 1 ~,e-' he v.ent on. "I'ut it wouldut 1« • jiliviiiLT the pame." _ I in imp of mi-eliie! daneed =iiddml> -t i„ Vi- Vivian's eyes. -Then I must 1 wait without hein? a-ke.l. whieli is hum. n t i„. f.ddler'.l.'-I'ev.itcly: tmt 01 l.er tinirei's tightened. " -What does it matter, if all one asks Is _so v.ait: ' Mi" Viimn repl.ed. Jt \vas then that H,e liddler Inn" tt.e 1.1 sl _ t s ), re d of winvention to the winds ; ! "i M.d took her in hi» arms, i-1 " —Toniium (. ouper.