THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 311, 10 February 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

THKIR LEU AC*

A Short Tale of Some Money that came to a Homely Couple rather late in Liie.

The heavy hands of the grandfather clock Had marked the passing of an hour, and the log on the hearth had burned down to a dull red since husband or wife had spoken. The man had drawn his chair close to the five, and, with hands loosely clasped, sat gazing long and abstractedly, now -at the glowing embers, now at the paJper which lay folded 011 his knee.

Once or twice he looked across tlie room to where his wife sat at the bay window. The winter afternoon was drawing to a close, and her head was bent over the sock she was darning in her eil'orts not to lose the last fleeting gleam of sunshine. At length he laid down his pipe, and there was a puzzled uneasiness in his jglance as' it rested on her. But the >mall head with its neat coil of grey hair remained bent, and after a moment's hesitation lie resumed 'ins gaze into the fire.

At length, carefully smoothing out the newspaper, lie said slowly: "Well, Ellen, this will of Henry's is certainly a surprise, and it's hard to believe it all at once."

"He paused and then continued: "He was always a queer fellow, was my cousin Henry, making money one day, losing it the next. No one ever heard of him since he went West to try his luck again. And now to think of his dying out there a rich man and leaving his fortune to us." "And you are certain it is—to us?" the woman asked, with her eves fixed on the sock.

"Why, yes—at least, that's what the paper her means by 'nearest of kin.' Henry ■never had any brothers or sisters', and mine are all dead. Besides us there's only my nephew Tom it could go to, and it will be his some day." There was 110 answer, and the needle sped quickly to and fro. The man watched it silently for some minutes, then he noticed with quick pain that the hand which held it looked thin and worn. "'Ellen," he said gently, "you shall have that dress now."

Then the woman looked up. She had a very sweet, gentle face, and in s'pite of the wrinkles it held more than one trace of jpast beauty and of past suffering." "Why, what dress, Ben?" she asked. "The one we saw in the shop window before we were married. I promised I'd buy it for you when I got rich; don't you remember it?"

There was a touch of disappointment in the question, and the woman was quick to detect it.

"Indeed, I do remember it, Ben," she said eagerly. "It was the loveliest pale blue with little daisies in it, and " "Green leaves," added the man.

"And it was so soft, and still is sounded silky. I have never seen another dress like it—and I have never wanted one so miich."

"Well, you have liad to wait a long time, but you will have it now," her husband said promptly; but she answered with a smile that was half regretful, half amused.

"Why, Ben, I was only a foolis'h young girl then. That blue silk must he old and worn out now, and faded, too. like my eyes. You said it matched them then."

"They're just the same now," the man persisted, but she retorted with a bright little laugh. "Ben, dear, are you trying to make fun of me? A pretty sight I'd be in a pale blue dress now, an old woman with grey hair and wrinkles. No, no, this is good enough," and a rough, little hand stroked the black merino softly. "It will be very nice for you, Ben," she said presently. "I've been thinking of all you can do now we're rich. There's that little plot adjoining our property to even off oiu' garden you've been wanting for many years, and you can get another horse to take the place of .Tack, as you were saying only yesterday how slow he had become."

"I'm, yes, poor fellow! But 1' think he'd feel queer and I'd feel queer if T wew> to drive any other horse now. And as to that bit of garden, we couldn't take our neighbor's ground just because we are llich, could we?"

"No," the woman said quietly, but she looked across at the figure beside the fire with a loving smile. The man was looking at the tired little hands plying the needle, when ne said:

"Ellen, you will not have to darn 0* mend any more now." The woman shoos her head.

•'That wouldn't do me," she said. "I 'have grown so used to work that I couldn't stop now."

"Well, let. us see what we are to do with our money," said the man cheerily. "I suppose you will have to work a little if you want to, but you said this morning that the furniture and dishes Were worn out and shabby."

The woman looked at the table which was' laid for the evening meal, and here here eyes rested on the Delf set which 'had been a wedding gift. It was battered. with edges out of the cups and plates, and the handle of the teapot held 111 place by tightly wound wire. It brought to her mind the sorrow of their life, the death of their only child, •whose baby fingers broke the handle. "I don't think I could give up the old set," she said unsteadily. "We could keep it to look at sometimes, even if ■we had new ones, couldn't we, dear?" ; The man did not answer. He was

looking at the mended ami Hip woman wondered if a child's frightened cry hud come echoing to him across the years as it 'had to her.

"Ben,'' she said hesitatingly, "when you used to read to me of countries and places far away you u s ed to say, 'Y\ hen ■we are rich we will see that for ourselves.' "

'•We. can pro now if—if we like," answered the other.

Then suddenly there was silence. The half-darned sock fell unheeded to the floor.

"Ben." she cried appealingly, "do you 'think if we were to go to Heaven rich my little one would know us? If our riches would change us so she would not know us, I think even there my heart would break."

A big, rough hand was laid tenderly on her own, and the man's voice was strangely husky as he said: '"Ellen, I don't think we need Henry's money, after all," and, ■tf'hen she turned to him quickly, he added: '"There's Tom." "Yes," she whispered, "and he is young, and the money will mean far more to liim than to ns. I think somehow we have enough."

And when the darning was resumed a moment later the face which bent over it wore a look of joy and peace and the familiar place looked more cheerful and 'homelike than ever to the two that even for a short time had contemplated the many things that riches could buy. —Pearson's Weekly.