THE STORY OF A SACRIFICE.

Waikato Argus, Volume V, Issue 366, 12 November 1898, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE STORY OF A SACRIFICE.

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For a time after young Charled Birch, of 'The Lands,' married pretty little Amy Boston, orphan and typewriter, the pair got aloDg well enough on Charlie's salary ot £l5O per an,num. Then all at once a monster by the name of < Public Service Board ' appeared on the scene and declared that Charlie was a superfluity, a luxury, in fact, that—along with many others—the State could dispense with. So he was retrenched, and dismay filled the little nest in the Sydney suburb, where, for a while, the two young birds had been so happy. A civil servant suddeuly thrown on the cold world is as full of energy and resource as a day old kitten; also, to make things about as bad as they could be, Amy had lost her former connection, and it was impossible to 'get on to an instrument,' even had she been willing to work for her keep alone. Indeed, she offered to do so, but without avail.

Nor would anyone for a moment entertain her husband's application for employment. Nobody wanted Government' retrenchees.' So first his watch went to the pawnshop, then Amy's ; then bit by bit the furniture—gathered with so much care and pleasure of joint bargaining ; then all the pretty little nicknacks off walls and tables, until the cottage was almost totally bare of every article that could be pledged. So bad, indeed, were matters with them that on Christmas Eve Charlie had to pledge what ramained of their bedding to procure something for the next day's dinner—even then consisting only of a small loaf and some tough slices of corned beef purchased at 'Paddy's Market,' and carried home in brown paper, the taste oil which produced wry faces as they ate, Charlie seated on the solitary chair that remained, with Amy on his knees, and her arm around his neck, whilst the pair punctuated the progress of the frugal meal with kisses. They were very young; and, although poverty, sudden and dire, had rushed upon them through all the doors at once, love had not flown out of the window.' 'This can't last much longer, little woman,' remarked Charlie at last. 'No use my looking for work here any more. I'm walking on the uppers of my btfots now; my clothe? are done ; our capital is just five bob ; and when that's spent it'll be all u.p. Also the rent's due, and next week out we'll have to go. I really think I'd better do what so many of the other chaps have done —go up the bush. It can't be worse there than it is in Sydney. If I could only see you settled at somothing, I'd start at once—bad as it would be to part.' • I'll come, too, dear,' said Amy, as she nestled her now thin worn cheek against her husband's. ' Better anything than thi3 !' and she looked around the desolate home with a shudder. ' Surely,' she continued, ' we might get something to do on some station or other. There was Lizzie Rhodes, who went away as a nursery governess ; she seemed to like the country and the place.' ' Married the squatter, though, didn't she? asked Charlie, with rather a grim laugh. ' That's where you'd be handicapped if we were together. 'No, Amy, I'm afraid we'll have to part, though it will almost break my heart —even should the opportunity come.' 'Then, please God it may not come!' exclaimed Amy. ' I'd sooner we should slowly starve together.' ' Well, dear,' replied her husband bitterly, 'it wouldn't take much more of this Christmas fare to lay us out.'

They got over Boxing Day somehow or other, aud next morning, just as they were thinking seriously of packing up the few clothes that remained to thens, and tramping into the country, a telegram arrived from a registry office informing Amy that her services as a typewriter were temporarily required by a large wholesale firm during the holidays, and perhaps for longer. Then because luck and chance often bunt in pairs, Charlie, meet ing an old friend, steward of a coasting steamer then in port, and under the unwonted influence of a couple of whiskies and a cigar, unbosoming himself, found sympathy and the offer of a billet. ' Not up to much, of course,' said the ' Chief,' ' only third. Still, it's four quid a month and perks. Callibsix. Work's hard at times, and nasty —sick people — dirty people—'you know, and all that sort of thing. I've been through the'mill, and it ain't nice. Still well, there y'are.' And Charlie accepted thankfully, and promised to be aboard the Patavpj»ritari at noon the next day. At home there happened the first quarrel these two had experienced in the course of their short married life. Amy was in despair. She was earning 15s a week, and vowed that it was enough for the two of them. In vain Charlie pointed out that he first week's pay would only just clear the back rent; also that the treasury contained just Is Cd. For a long time she could not be to see the cruel wisdom of separation. ' We shall never see each other again,' she cried with prophetic

voice. «Oh I Charlie, how can you leave mej? Back in a month ! No, nor in many months ! I feel the certainly of it within me. If you go now you lose me for ever! Oh ! Charlie, to part so soon ! And the cruel sea. Better to stay with me and let me work for both of us, and starve on a crust.' Thus, poor Amy, lifting her tear-stained face,, framed in its long flaxen locks, appealingly to Charlie—scarcely less moved than his little wife. But at last he made her see the imperative necessitv of acceding to his plan, and, as' he kissed her tears away, reconciled her in some sort to what he represented as certain to be only a short absence, And so they parted.

' Miss Colston, if you can't find anything better to do than sit and read the paper, you might help me with this mending. And there's some washing to be put out from yesterday. Gracious goodness! what a noise those children are making ! I'm really afraid, Miss Colsten, that you have no authority at all over them.'

Mrs Hirst was a nagger of the most finished type; and all day long, and far into the night, this was the sort of thing Amy had to put up with. The typewriting had only lasted a week or so. Then, an opportunity offering, she had taken this bdlet as nursery governess on a far out station at a salary of £25 per annum, and had been sorry ever since that she had not stayed on and starved in Sydney, By the advice of the people at the rogistry office she had dropped the 'Mrs,' and assumed her maiden name before going to Yacca, where she had now been six months, without hearing a word from Charlie, all unwitting that behind the dirty shelves of the registry office lay a letter from him—longoverlooked and forgotten by the people there—that should have been forwarded months ago. And regularly in the papers she could see chronicled the Patawaritari's arrivals and departures. Thus, as time passed, she, with bitter sorrow and despair, began to deem. herself deserted ; and .of ter amidst the squalling of the six raging brats for whom she was responsible, her sad thoughts would wander away to that brief honeymoon, and the silent tears flow down her pale cheeks until detected by the observant watchful eyes that surrounded her, and reported her every movement to ' Mamma.

Yacca was only a small place with about 20,000 sheep, and the Hirsts themselves were rough, uncultivated people, near and grasp ing, and who, in return for their miserable salary seemed to think they had bought Amy soul and body—at least the female Hirst did. Beyond a grunt her husband seldom spoke, but from the expression of his face he seemed rather pleased than otherwise when he heard his wife giving Amy ' the rounds of the kitchen'—those ' rounds ' that never ceased.

Meantime, Charlie's lines had also fallen in anything but pleasant places. Deadly sick of his billet, in addition to being almost constantly sea sick himself, he had left the steamer at Auckland, and taking to the bush, eked out a wretched living, at times working for settlers, at others gum digging. Since that one letter telling his wife what he had done, he had not written once, not from any waning of the affection he bore her, but because a sense of the utter uselessmess and failure of himself had gripped his heart with the cold grip of despair that at times comes to the vagrant man wandering homeless, destitute, warring with face. So two years went by, and Amy was still at Yacca, resigned, now, after a fashion, and because of having developed a sort of nag-proof skin upon which vituperation fell more lightly than of old.

Yacca fronted the main road, and old John Sterling, ' Sterling, of Carrabindi,' one of the wealthiest squatters in the district, was wont to pretty regularly spell there for an hour or two on his way to and from the two townships. And he had noticed the pale, pretty young woman, and more than once had seen her flinch under the sharp tongue of Mrs Hirst, which penetrated wooden partitions like an auger would do. He was a rough, sturdy, grey-haired bachelor, the wrong side uf fifty ; a strong, just man, with an almost Australasian reputation for energy and skill, and before whom the Hirsts bowed down in humble adulation. As first pity for their slave crept into his heart that no woman, .hitherto, had seemed able to touch. Then came the kindred passion, and the old squatter arose one morning to the knowledge that unless he could wiu Amy Colston for his wife, no broad acres, nor his half-a-million of stock, nor anything that was his and in whose possession he had till now taken pleasure would ever give him a minute's gratification again. For some time he fought against the knowledge fiercely and stubbornly, then, ordering his buggy, he drove to Yacca, doing the thirty miles under the three hours. Further than a few civil words he had never spoken to Amy, but he mealit to speak now, and very much to the purpose. And, after lunch, turning to Mrs Hirst, he said : ' I'm going into the garden. Please send Miss Colston to me there and keep

the children away, I want to talk business.' And Mrs Hirst, although marvelling greatly, obeyed him as implicitly as she would have done had he told her, to send Amy packing at ten minutes' notice.

The pair were absent half-an-hour amidst the trees at the bottom of the garden—half-an-hour of inquisitive agony for Mrs Hirst ; only intensified when at the end of that time Amy and John Sterling returned—the girl a little paler than usual, the old squatter more erect than ever and with an alert, glad look that made him appear almost youthful, whilst under the deep wholesome tan of his face the red blood glowed again. ' Cubby,' said the squatter to his black boy. ' Put in the horses. Look sharp, now !' Then to Mrs Hirst, standing agape, her face one great note of interrogation, ' I'm going to show Miss Colston our township, ma'am. She tells me she has never been there since the night she first arrived. The drive'll do her good. Not been looking over well lately, I've noticed.' And so he rattled on, never pausing to give chance of questions until Amy resrppeared, dressed. Then, handing her into the buggy, he drove rapidly away, leaving Mrs Hirst in such a medley of astonishment, anger, and dismay, that, quite unconsciously, there escaped from her lips her husband's solitary but invarible objurgation in all moments of surprise or irritation'': ' Well, damn my wig.' When, as she was bidden, the much wondering Amy had joined the squatter in the garden, he had, as was usual with him, gone straight to the point and at once asked her to be his wife.' ' I dont suppose for a minute,' he said, ' that you can bring yourself to care about an old fellow like me, Never mind that; I'll do the caring part, and I'll take you out of this hole and away from that nagging vixen yonder, and I'll make your life happy and pleasant for you, That, at least, I can do ; and maybe in time you will learn to—no, not to love, perhaps, but feel at least a little kindly towards me. There, now, don't look so frightened. I know I'm rude and blunt; always have been, and courting comeß awkward at forty-five. Well, what's it to be! Yes. I'll take my answer right away —sudden death. It's best so.' And Amy recovering from her first feeling of amazement, pulled herself together, and looking up into the rugged strong features strangely softened now, and meeting the wistful gaze of a pair of yet expressive and undimmed eyes, felt such a sense of peace and protection steal over her as for many a weary day she had been a stranger to. And something of all this he must have seen in her face, for without another word he bent over and kissed her on the brow, and tucking her arm in his, remarked coolly, ' Come along; we'll go and be married at once ;' and marched up the garden to demoralise Mrs Hirst.

Amy found Carrabindi indeed a haven of rest that would have been perfect but for the haunting memory of the sin she had committed, and the seriousness of which she never for a moment endeavoured to conceal from herself. Many a time during that drive to the township, at the end of which she had awakened from what was almost a sort of a dream, to find herself going through the ceremony of a second marriage, she had been upon the point of confessing all to the quietly exultant man who sat lieside her. But in spite of eve ry endeavour, the horrible life at Yacca kept rising up before her, and the very idea of returning to it aroused hot rebellion in her breast and sealed her lips. And now, as Mrs Sterling, of Carrabindi, surrounded with every luxury, her slightest wish law, her anxious husband always on the watch to minister to an unexpressed want, the ghost of Charlie and the memory of those brief but happy first weeks of wedded life were ever present with her. Still she was grateful to the man who had besides rescuing her from the unspeakable squalor and misery of Yacca,' more than kept his promises to her in other respects. And she strove to show her gratitude—love she had none to give—by all the poor means in her power. And as time passed Juhn Sterling recognised that it would be useless to kope for anything more, and although the knowledge gave him many a heartache, he sedulously concealed all sign of suffering from his wife. Recognised too, the fact that there was some mystery in the past life that, in spite of all his care and tenderness, rendered the present bitter to her. But he never sought her secret, preferring to trust patiently to time and his own great love to heal tha wound and work the miracle he or she so ardently desired. But the fates intervened.

Carribindi, on their list of stations, was marked ' very good ' amongst the travellers of the district, and they patronised it accordingly. As a rule the storekeeper or the overseer attended to these nomads. But a stray one sometimes strayed through the garden gate and around to the front of the house.

Thus, Amy, walking one evening amidst her shrubs and flowers, suddenly found herself face to face with a brown-faced, travel-stained

man who, holding .some ration bags in his hand, was staring around as if in search of somebody. ' I beg your pardon, ma'am,' he said, rising his battered hat, ' but could you tell ■' and then he stopped as if shot, and in a trembling voice exclaimed ' Amy !' and took a step towards her, as she stood, pale to the lips, from which she issued almost the same moment as he spoke, the word ' Charlie !'

For a while the two stared at each other, so motionless that anyone passing might have taken them for statues. Then Charlie Birch squarer of build, less open of eye, and with a more set expression than of old, handsome too, she thought even at that supreme moment — made as to approach closer. But she put out her hands with a thrusting motion, exclaiming in a choked voice : 'No ! no ! Oh 1 why did you come ? After all these years I thought you were dead and had forgotten me altogether. My God! what is to' become of us 1 My husband may be here at any moment.

• Husband !' exclaimed Charlie, ' then you're married again ! To whom 1 The squatter here—-Ster-ling isn't it V But Amy could only nod in miserable hopeless assent as the repressed sobs burst forth, shak ing her slight form convulsively. ' There ! there!' said Charlie, in a voice husky with emotion, ' don't for heaven's sake, Amy, take on so. It was mostly my fault. Now, look here, I'll clear out. It's the best thing I can do it seems to me. Clear out and keep out of your life, poor little woman. God knows my thoughts have never been away from you ; and I've tried now and then to hear some news, or find out where you were. But I've never done an atom of good for myself since we parted. And now,' he concluded grimly, 'it seems there's one too many of us. Good-bye dear. Don't be afraid of my turning up again.' And he strode off through the garden, whilst Amy, after one helpless cry of' Charlie ! Charlie ! Come back !' fell fainting across the flower beds. She recovered conciousness to find her husband bending over her as sh« lay on the sofa. ' I found you lying ill in the garden, dear,' he replied in answer to her look, • and carried you inside.' And she was to« much taken up with her cwn sad thoughts to notice how pale and drawn his cheeks were, and with what difficulty his words seemed to come.

Later the same evening .he suddenly looked up from his book and said . 'lf anything were to happen to me Amy, the station had better be sold. But there, I've left all to you, and you can do as you please with it.'

'Thank you, John,' replied his wife as she sat on a low chair near him, wifh a pathetic little smile that wrung his heart, ' but I hope and trust you'll outlive me many years. What put such an idea into your head ?'

But her husband made no answer. Only, rising, he kissed her, and muttered something about a fine moon and kangaroos in the horse-paddock, went into his private office across the garden, whence she presently heard him emerge, and then thought that, as was frequently his custom, he had taken his rifle and gone out to try and get a shot at a kangaroo. And still Amy was sitting there thinking, thinking until her brain whirled, seeing no way out of the hideous mess he had made of her life, and with all her love for Charlie, the love that she had almost deceived herself into imagining extinct, springing up with thousand-fold force since she had seen him once more, sat there throughout the close, warm summer night until, in the early dawn, they brought John Sterling home, wounded to death.

They told her that it was an accident, his rifle had caught in a wire fence. But just at the last regaining consciousness, he had whispered in her ear—' Don't grieve for me, dear ; it's best so. You'll find him again : he hasn't gone far. Only when you're happy together with him, think of me now and then.' And all her life the shadow of an awful doubt rested on Amy's mind, no hint of which she ever whispered to Charlie, but which often caused people to remark how very sad that pretty Mrs Birch seemed at times, when she thought no one was lookin" at her.—Pastoralists' Review.