WAR STORIES.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LVII, Issue 224, 1 March 1915, Page 6

WAR STORIES.

OLD TIMOTHY. War is very pir.ziinj.; to tie: old. For them "e\cry battle of the warrior comeindeed witl'i confused noise." Old Timothy, in his garret, shivered when tin baker's boy, bursting with importance, brought the great news on the fateful morning of August 4. It made him cold with a sort of ominous dread. Xor did lie get any comfort from the woman who lived firstfloor down. She was weeping, for ✓the reservists had- been called out, and her husband had already left his work aiei started oil' in the grey dawn. "He'd never a moment to say a pro.) »> decent sort of good-bye to anyone,," .die

The children from the family in the basement were hanging about the stairs sorely dejected. Jlatty and .lack hil just heard that the- would be no conn try holiday for (!•"'. The news li.t 1 era-lied them. Their littlf bundles had b; i:i packed for days—and now it all :it. an end. .lack tried to be, niaulv. ''The Lilly says that there's no room in the trains. The -oldiers want (he trains—all of 'em. Wish I was a soldier," he murmured. Timothy strolled down the street i'.t search of comfort. People were stand - ins about ~«in groups, looking at the newspaper posters or watching commandeered horses being driven down the street. They were full of dread, ami bursting for gossip. Everybody had some information to impart, and none of it was comforting to hear.

Timothy gathered that the fiovernment was going to take all sorts of things from everyone, and that food was going to be wonderfully scare. That was a blow. "Look 'ere," said his informant, with a wave of the hand. "Look 'ere!"

Timothy did look, anil lie saw that the little grocer's shop at the bottom of tli<> street, the little homely shop where everyone could liny ha'portlm of tilings, war, closed. Outside was a ticket, "SoM out."

''Whatever shfill we do." lie moaned Ah, there were many poor souls reduced to a like misery those first days by the selfishness of tiie richer ones, who could hoard. Timothy had to hobble far .'or his bits of food that afternoon. After all, it was his England. All the fine soldiers in khaki who strode about were his. He was an Englishman and nevrr, never was England dearer to him and to everyone than it was 011 those beginning days of August. Timothy, mindful of that, carried a flag about which had been given to him at a Christmas supper. He joined bis feeble old voice in the cheering when the soldiers passed. But what could he do? That was a question roused in a poem in a half-penny paper somebody lent him. What could he do?

Day by day, as the shadow of death began to hover over the land, that question became louder and more insistent. People told him to get along and nor, worry. Yet every poster called to him "Your king and country needs von." Was it only old chaps like him that'were useless ?

That idea began to eat into his heart. ■On the Friday, as usual, he went to the post-office to draw the old-age pension. There were all sorts of strange new notices to the jmblio hanging about. One was quite alarming. It told aliens what they had to do. "Am 1 an alien?" he ventured to ask, as he took his money.

The official smiled. "No. you ain't an alien. You get along, and don't von worry. You look English enough." ' That was comforting, but there were •tiler notices. One implored people not to hoard gold. Timothy read that again and again, and people who watched him smiled, for, indeed, nobody looked mor e unlike to hoard gold. He made out that gold was badly wanted, and that it was very unkind and unpatriotic to keep it. lie noticed that paper money euuld be had, or silv-r or copper. Then he went home so full ct excitement that the necessary slumping with his Friday income quite escaped liiui. He did'not rest until he was ill his garret, with the door locked. Then he took a little parcel from nailer the pillow of the old bed. Very carefully and very slowlv lie unwnime'd it with trembling fingers. Tli.-v,. w re many wrappers, and at last he discovered his marriage lines, a letter from Ins son ill New Zealaii.i, and a gold sovereign. The tiny bit of gold ] av his palm as h j (. considered, ft was there mi the case of his death, or to be nse.l in any desperate strait—but his Kim. and country needed it. "They shall 'ave it right away, they shell," he said aloud. Then, as if afraid to hesitate, 1,, reached down his hat, and stumps] down the stirs once more. At the corner of the street there was a bsnk a dusty, grimy-looking bank, but a real one: a branch of a great banking company. Timothy hesitated outside. Then he pushed open the swing-doors and wr'ii shylv in. litis is ft.r the Kin£ and eonntrv please, sir." he said, as he pushed his precious, glittering coin towards a clerk. lie turned to go. never daring to link behind, when a. voice »aid:

"Thank- you very imicli: 'how will v„„ tale it. silver—cr C(<'ip>-r Timothy stared \vifl, amazement when it was very yvntly and clearly plained to him that it v.as the'rnM itself that was needed, not, its worth - and a neat little ha- of silver wis slipped into his pocket. Tie went back puzzled, but happv.fctminster Gazette.