The Storyteller.

Taranaki Daily News, 8 January 1916, Page 9

The Storyteller.

'■& GREATER GLORY.

(B) Winifred M. Vincent)

"Hes gone aff and left me-the iool av me ould age-and I'll niver see him agin, niver. Last night I drained the P|ga got out and rooted up the potaties himself set the begining av the week, and thu Messed morning he comes and sez: Mother,' sez he, 'l'm going down to be examined by the docther,' sez he. And phwat fort" sez I. "Ye being ai sthrong as an eliphant since ye was weaned," sez I. '"lt'a a soger I'm volunteering for,' a«z he, 'to go aff and have a shot at the Germans,' sez he, standing up tall and proud, so that me heart starts thumping inside av me bodice, the living image of his father that he wass." 'lt would indade give ye a turn, dear," her friend Mrs. O'Connor agreed, blowing her nose vigorously to keep back her tears, big, soft-hearted Irishwoman that she was. "But come, don't take on so loike a good sould. Sure he'll come back aafe whin the war doe 3 be over." But the other threw her apron over her head, and rocked herself violently to and fro. "Phwat could I do, but just put oiit his best suit and ckp on the irons the way he would have a decent collar on him; and.see to it that he had a clane shirt to his back, the same that he wouldn't be shamed whin the docther was punching av him, which, if ye'll belaive me, Mrs. O'Connor"—here she removed her apron from her head to gaze at her friend impressively—if ye'll belaive me, for it'a God's solemn trut, that's phwat them docthers does be doing to see if they be sound in the wind, and that, God be praised, Jimmy always was, for hasn't he played on the cornet since iver so long, and the ioos-harp and the penny whistle before he did be knowing his notes! And couldn't he coo-ee down the gully afther the cows, the same widout drawing av a breath for nigh foive minutes at a toime? Sure, he was sthrong in the wind he was." After a pause she continued. "He kissed me, and went whistling down the road, and I'll niver see him .again, niver." , be taking on so, don't, like a good sould," her visitor entreated. "Why, it's a colonel he'll come hack—a colonel, no less, and the whole counthry turning out to see him step aff the train wid his mother on his arm. Faith, it's a proud woman ye'll be, too proud for the loikes av the O'Connors! .There, dhry yer eyes—here, take my handkerchief, yer apron's as wet as a dish-clout. I don't loike going wid ye in such a state, but I should be on the ,road, for I've Nora's and Mary's muslins to do up so they can be looking dacent for mass on the first day av spring. Mrs. Magson sniffed and sobbed more violently than ever. The splendid vision of Jimmy returning home a colonel had indeed a momentary consoling effect. Yonng, manly Jimmy, in a scarlet coat and with scarlet stripes upon his trou- - ten, . and an officer's peaked cap, and a sword, and gloves, and Lord knows \ how many other emblems of dignity—oh! it was very comforting. But alas! Mrs. O'Connor's concluding remark quite whisked the wonderful vision from her mind. She mopped vigorously at her eyes with, the borrowed handkerchief, but as if that artiole were quite insufficient to cope with the storm of tears, the apron was again requisitioned into service. '•...' It dees, be a sin to my mind to be minding spring muslins whin there's so

much tears and tbrouble in the world," ■he bunt. out between her sobs, and rthen went on pathetically, lost in her grief once .more, "Oh, the anguish that does be eating the heart out av me whin I think, av the long, lonely days ahead wid, only mo thoughts for company. Me up in the grey dawn trailing behint. the. ould cows, and him far •way, and. niver. to hear the cheery whistle av him, nor see the bright eyes av him as he. comes swinging up the yard wid the milk cans. How I'm to get en widout him the Lord only ' knows! The cows to be seen to ivery morning and night, and me dhripping tears down into the bucket the way the Inspiotor will be saying I tampered wid the milk. Och, it's a cruel hard world on a poor widdy woman." In her turn her friend felt her ma-

ternal wrath kindling as she listened to the other's denunciation of her zeal in wishing to turn her girls out sweet and fresh in their spring dresses on »4he folowing Sunday, but then she realised in her understanding, Irish wisdom, that poor Mrs. Magson was at present /100 absorbed in the sorrow of losing her boy, to be quite responsible for her words. Affliction is apt to make us selfish. , So, , carefully hiding her wounded feelings, she said kindly, "It's sorry I am for ye," and added as an afterthought, and by way of returning good for evil, "If my Nora can be of any use to yet ontil ye can be getting help, ye« can have her and welcome. She's a ewate girl, although I'm her mother that sez it, and a handy wan wid the cows."

'lt's not Nora I'd be afther taking from ye, Mrs. O'Connor, dear," exclaimed the other, mollified. "Och, me poor head does de going round and round wid the grief. , Faith, no, I wouldn't take wan of yer dear girls from yez." Mrs. O'Connor'9 heart was again moved to pity, so much so indeed that she felt constrained to say with some asperity, "Whin a woman's only wan son it Barnes to me his place is to bide at home and let them that has no ties go aff." Alas, so plain a statement was again unlucky. "And why wouldn't my son go to the war? It was no coward I bred in me bones, but the son av his father Pat Magson who served the ould Queen —Hiven rest her and him —in India, twinty-four years, so he did; and come back Home to the Ould Counthry broken in his hilth, and married me a year after. And why wouldn't his son have a soger's blood in his veins. Answer me that, Mrs. O'Connor." But the wisdom of the question was too much for the nonplussed Mrs. O'Connor, and the irate lady went on vigorously, with rising colour in her thin cheeks: "It's not you, no, nor anny wman need be 'afther questioning why me son went aff to the war. I thank God Fm a sthrong woman yet, and can do far meself. I give me consint to Jimmy going aff, so I did, and 111 thank no wan to he crying God's pity pn him, nor calling me son the hard name, and thems me words to ye,- Mrs. O'Connor, and to all that does be minding me affairs." She toiled her head, and, picking up

east a few stitches viciously. Her visitor rose abruptly Slid her lips were trembling. "Ye does lie a mistaken woman, so ye are. I mint no harm, none at all, me whold been your naybour over twinty years, not to mintion being the first to como round when throuble come to yez. And. didn't I help yez nurse Magson when he lay in his last illness in this very house? Och, I'm ashamed I should condycind to rub up yer memory, ye being so ongrateful and "

But she got no further with her denunciation, for Mrs. Magson, throwing down her knitting, rose up hastily, and flung hard-working, protesting arms about her friend's nesk. "It's a broken woman I am, and ye wid a heart as big as me whole body, and a good kind friend to me," she sobbed. "Bear wid me, its lonely I am, and not ongrateful, really." Tears shone in Mrs. O'Connor's kind eyes. "I know, it's too quick I am to take offence. There, cheer up, I'll send Nora straight over whin I get back." "Just be waiting now whoile I make a sup av afternoon's tay. Yi've niver gone from my house widout a sup of tay, and this is no toiine to be making a beginning, and ye wid a four mile dhrive wid the wind blowing off the ranges enough to fraze the teeth in yer head."

Half-heartedly, Mrs. O'Connor sat down. "The girl's dhresses is waiting damped for the irons," she began appealingly.

"Faix, and 19 it them mild muslins ye are worrying about, still? Phwat's spring dhresses but just foolishness? They'll be looing just as well in their ould serges, and wid no wan but his riverince to admire them, and he as blind as an owld as ivery wan knows. Young Clinton's gone wid my Jimmy, and Coffey's Micky, and Dave Kavartagh, and Jacy Cotton, and Dinis Lavery beloike! Faix, there'll be niver a sould to admire them, so jist bide aisy and dhrink up yer lay." She stirred the tea vigorously round in the brown delph pot to get all the strength in the first cup, and poured' out the fragrant compound in the two pretty "afthernoons tay-cups," which were Jimmy's last present to her. But, Irish fashion, Mrs. O'Connor was again up in arms, and determined to listen to no mory "blarney" from "that selfish ould ill-tongue." The floating aroma from the tea was wafted to her nostrils, all in vain. The pretty pink teacups, which she had not yet admired, looked up at her begging to be taken notice of. No, this time she would be adamant. The insult which had been hurled at her was too great! "And indade," she said, with head held high, "and indade, Mrs. Magson, ye are the first woman that iver accused me av dhressing me girls to plase the men." "I niver heard .the Virgin would be listening harder to the prayers of thim that does he paycocked up in foine clothes, no, I niver," the other parried. Oh, but the scent of the Orange Pekoe was wonderful. Mrs. O'Connor's determination to remain annoyed began to wobble. It wobbled so hard that she was lost, and she swallowed, blindly at a mouthful of the alluring beverage. But Mrs. Magson saw the tears, and her conscience smote her yet again. "It's a nasty cross-grained ould woman I'm coming to be. Don't he taking anny notice av me, dear," she cried. "Must ye be going," as her visitor put down her #mpty cup and began drawing on her black cotton gloves. "Well, God presarve ye. It's a grand comfort ye've been to me, Mrs. O'Connor, dear. I'll be plased to have Nora, and it's a kind offer, as it is."

They walked out arm in arm, and then suddenly Mrs. Magson withdrew her arm. "Jist wait 0 minute," she cried, and rushed back into the house. She returned a'fter a few moments and thrust a brown paper parcel into the other's hand. "It's a few yards av pink ribbond will be looking foine on the girls' dhresses, and I'll not be needing it," she said a little nervously 'lt's not fitting an ould woman loike me should be wearing pink, and—and, anny ways, Jimmy's gone, an' it was him loved to see me in it."

She kissed her friend, whose ready tears were falling fast as she climbed up into the old buggy, gave the ancient horse a "Gettap," and, with many endearing expressions and farewells, was borne off over the stony yard, out through the gap in the macrocarpa hedge and away down the road. When the corner, was turned and Mrs. Magson could no longer see her quest, she trailed back to her lonely kitchen.

And behold, there is the chair just vacated by her visitor sat her son Jimmy. As she said afterwards, it "give her an awful quare turn," and she was unable to do or say anything, but collapse upon the sofa, and stare at him as if he were an apparition, or one returned from the dead indeed.

"Mother!" cried the young man, and ran to her and put his strong arms about her.

"Is it really ye? Oh, I thought niver to see ye again," she gasped. "It is really your son," the young man said gently, and aded sadly, "I almost proved an ungrateful beggar clearing off and leaving you alone." "No, no," she protested from the bottom of her mother heart; "but oh, Jimmy, I don't onderstand. How are ye back? I nived thought to see ye agin. Holy Virgin, is it draiming I am!"

"Ye are quite awake, dearie, and I'm not going away at all, but will stay and look after my old mother." "Ye came back to me thinking I'd be lonely. Oh, Jimmy! Indade ye were wrong. I've been kaping foinely all day wid Mrs. O'Conner here and all (God forgive me the lie," she muttered inwardly). And I'd niver be the wan to stop ye, Jimmy, niver." y

"I know," lie cried boyishly, "I know, you brave old mother with your wet eyes showing me tha tears you've shed. But it wasn't because I was going to fight, but just because you loved mo so. Well, cheer up, I'm home again, and yor are not going to lose me, after all." "But how are ye back, how?" She persisted. 'lt the war over? Did they wallop them Germans. Mother of God, but it's a happy woman I am. Oh," she clutched him in a sudden access of terror, "ye are going back to-morrow? Ye are home to say good-bye? Ye wanted to let me down aisy?" "No," he said shortly. "Now, mother, don't worry any more. Why, they threw me out!"

"Threw ye out?" she repeated haz> ily. "What do ye mane?" "The doctor didn't pass me," he said looking desperately away from her,

But she stared at him incredulously. Were the saints listening? An ignorant, upstart doctor had publicly slighted her son! "But ye are as sthrong as an iliphant, and wasn't I saying the same to Mrs. O'Connor this very day? Sure, he was mistaken. Did ye go to another wan ?" "No." "Phwat. Ye niver submitted to the lying scoundrel's word?" "Aren't you glad I'm back, mother?" "Yes, yes," she cried.

"Well, don't worry any more. Now come, I'll go off and bring up the cows, and vou lie down and have a rest. You are figged out." "But why shouldn't he pass ye?" she entreated.

"Why—er," he stammered, "Why, I think it was my wind, tubes you know!"

"There! I knew he was wrong, and ye a cornet player! It was a 'downd' he had on ye, Jimmy. Did Clinton get through? And, and Coffey, and Davy Kavanagh?"

"Yes." "Did they hear ye slighted by .that ignerent feller? Tell me that." Jimmy rose decidedly. "Not another word, mother. My duty lies here with you. I saw that plainly after I'd been examined, so I came straight home. I'll fight for you here if necessary; but, just at present, there are thousands offering for foreign service, and if I went, why it would be a poor sort of gloTy, anyhow." He had not wanted to place himself in the light of a martyr. Ah, well, women were queer creatures, mothers especially. And somehow he couldn't help laughing.; albeit, the laugh had a hollow 90\md—when she clutched his arm relievedly and said, "The docther didn't say what ye tould me at all then?"

The poor fellow felt suddenly that the tension of excitement he had been held at all day was about to snap, and he longed to get away by himself somewhere, and finally fight out the demon of envy which he knew he had not yet subdued. For across his vision still marched in endless procession, year after grey year of monotony, and he seemed still to hear, as he had done all day, the faint, far call of a btlglc, and the tramp, tramp of thousands of feet. He knew it, for his soldier father's blood 6tirring in his veins; but, alas, not for him was the blare of bugles and the crash and din of battle. He bent and kissed her, closing his ears manfully against the temptation of her words as she clung to him. "Go, Jimmy. Yer heart is set on it. Ye've a soger's blood in ye, and I'd niver be the wan to stop ye, dearie." "fy's a long, long., way to Tipperary," he whistled bravely, as he went swinging down the gully after the cows.