JOE ROBERTSON’S FOLLY.

Wairarapa Standard, Volume I, Issue 25, 24 June 1867, Page 3

JOE ROBERTSON’S FOLLY.

“Well, Kith', and I’vo done it, I said I would, and I have done it, and I'll do it ns loner as 1 live, or till your father comes hack out of his grave.” “ I’ve often been going to ask, Joe, is there any doaht about father's being 1 dead ? 1 often feel as if! should not ho utterly surprised if father were to eon o hack.” “ Bless vonr.heart Kith-; what makes von think that? I wish mors than anything I can wish that it might be so, for then “What Jon?” “ I’d ask your father to give me his daughter as my with.” “Oh Joe. Do you mean it ? Do you love me so ? Like that,, I mean.” “ 1 do Kit tv. 1 loved your mother like a bov, and I love her daughter like a man.” “ But, Joe, if we love each o'her, why

can’t Ibe your wife? Aon used to call j me so years ago, and I always felt that i I should die if we were to part: hut lately I 1 though',you didn't care about me sol much as you used.” “ A iiy, Kitty, you’re seventeen and I’m thirty-four; seventeen years, that’s a great dhlvrence, I'm an old man to time. If! were to. marry thee, folks would say I’d taken a,[vantage of what I’d done for time. Ao lass, I love thee fetter than life, but thy good name and future won’t let me take thee.” “ Well, Joe dear, they won’t keep me from loving yon, though they may keep ns ar.art tin- a time.”

“Ao lass, wc wn’t part this side of the grave. There don't ’ee cry, Kitty; we'll bo all the better for this talk—l’ve been loaning for it for months.”

“ And I, too, Joe, dear,” and with a kiss they parted. Jot went to the door to look at the state of tiie weather, when he was surprised by Growler rushing out and tearing down the garden-path to the road, harking loudly. He soon saw the cause. A man was coming heavily along in the snow, and soon came up to the door. “ Can you tell me how far lam from thi •' fun ?’ ” “ ATattev of two miles.”

Ah ? I’m as tired as a dog.. The drifted snow is tv;o feet deep in the Toads.” “Ifyou don’t mind, you can stop here tiil the morning.” “ D’ve mean it ? ”

“Certainly. Come in.” “ The stranger came in. A tall, weather-beaten man, with a bushy beard and moustache that covered halt his face.”

" Can vou give me something to eat and drink ? I’m perished.” l - Kirfv, lass, art gone to bed ? ” <■' .\o, J0,:.” “ Then come and get something to eat -and drink for a gentleman here.” Kitty came, and after laying the cloth busied herself cooking some eggs and bacon, while the stranger sat watching her in silence, stroking the dog’s head, which lay upon his knees. <£ how, sir, will you come to the table?” ££ Thank you.”

Kitty turned at the first sound of his voice, and looked at him, and in a moment was in his arms, sobbing and crying, ££ Oh lather! father! you have come hack I —you have come back after all these voai'r-.”

“ Yes, Kate, I have. As for Joe here, be did not know me, though old Growler • did. \es, Kate, I’m your father sate ■f no mb.”

-Mfirgie was called down, as well as the old woman, and when supper was cleared awav he told his storv.

“ You see, Joe, I went down to get a drop, for I’d got to that pitch since poor Kitty had gone that I wasn't quite myself without it. And that was not the worst of it, Joe, for I used to go out of a night with some of’em, trapping, and =smu-;ncr, and netting, and the rest of it.”

“ I knew it Jim ; I never went out rt night without a fear that I’d run across yon, arid have to take Kitty’s husband.” ■“Ko fear Joe. I liked the sport as much ns any of your gentlemen born—more perhaps for it’s a hne tiling- that cautious stealing through the wood of a night, with your senses wide awake to get the game and warn you of the keepers. Uu my sou!, Joe, I liked it

Letter than any tiring I ever did; hut, much as I liked it, I made them agree never to want me on your grounds. i\o, and I never went near your place at all. “ Well, I went down to the beer-house, and there I met Soappy, and he began to talk to me about a big- affair that was coming oT near the town. There was to he sis of us, with guns, to do a good stroke, and show tight if need be. Well, I didn't like it, and I told him so. I dida t want any man’s Wood on my hands. Gams and sticks was all well enou.h. hut no guns. He tried hard to get me to go, but I wouldn’t: so then he told me he thought I was sneaking out.

“ i bo,’ I said, 4 not sneaking; hut I won’t to with guns.’

“ H * tolil me again I was sneaking out au!, going to split on tLe g - ang. * But,’ says Le, ‘ I’ve a kit of news for you. 10a remember last Sunday in the gravel-pit {’ *• • Where we had the right with those three keeperssaid I. “‘ T. c?,’says he; and you remembar the man you bit on the bead ?’ “ • I didn’t hit any one on the head.’ “ ‘ You did, and we can all swear it. TV ell, he’s dead.’ “ 1 What! Williams ?’

\ e -; and if you don’t, go with the rest, I'll be before yon, and we’ll peach and swear yon hit him. So, take your choice. It’s fourteen years for you at the least, Jim, my Jad.’ “ I didn’t know what to do. Soappy would have done it, I knew, so I drank some more beer, and when lie went I determined to cut and run for it, and leave the kids to you, as you’d promised to take core of them, and! went right off at once, for I thought they would be safer and better with you than they would be if I got fourteen years. “ So to cross the scent I threw my hat and smock into the gravel-pit. pond, and off I went. Perhaps I oughtn’t to have done i‘, but I was that frightened and

half-drunk that I didn’t know what else to do.

“ I went to London, and got a berth to Australia in charge of some horses, and meant to write all about it to you, Joe, but a chap I met with out there told me not to, for fear the police might get hold of m'e and send me home, and so I staved out-there.

“ Well, last year who should I meet out there hut "Williams himself. Said I

“ ‘ I thought you was dead through' that knock.’

“ ‘ Dead ! not a hit of it. I was had, and pretty near it.’ “ ‘ And will you tell me,’ said I, when I’d told him about my being there on account of his death,‘who hit you the crack T

“ ‘ Soappy himself,’ says he. “ I asked him after you gals and Joe, and he told me you were all right, and you’d grown a fine young woman, Kitty. So I determined to come and see for myself, and here I am, you see. “So now, Kitty, I’m ready to take you hack as soon as you like. As for Joe here, I’m reckoning to pay him for all his trouble, and take you off his hands. So say, Joe, how much these girls have cost you, do you think ? Don’t be modest, man. Ask for what yon think will pay for their keep and lodging, and all the trouble you’ve been at. You need not be particular to a pound or two. I’m rich enough.” “Yes, I know it, Jim. Your’re rich enough, but ” “ What! stingy, eh ? Look here, here’s mv cheque-book. Sav, what shall it be? ”

“ Kot a penny!—not a farthing! ” • £ j\ T o money? Why man, we don’t act that way the other side. We’re rather keener after money than you seem to be. You’re afraid to name too much. Don’t be. I’m rich.”

££ I know it, I tell you but, Will you give me what I want much more than money ? ” “ More than raonev! What’s that 1 ”

££ Joe means to say, father, that you told him to take care of us till you come back, and lie did it; and now be wants to know if you’re rich enough to give him what you came back for.” ££ That’s yon, Kitty.” <£ Yes; me, lather.”

££ Is it, Joe ? ” ££ Yes. I don’t want your money. I do want Kitty. We’ve lived together till I can’t part with her and live, and it you take her away from me I shall wish _you in your grave every day of my

Well you shall have her on one condition.” ££ On any.” ££ And that is, that you both go hack with me to my new country.” ,£ I’d go anywhere on earth.” ££ And I’d go with him, father ” “Well, my dear, as I’m going to London to-morrow, I can only say to Joe what I said to him this day seven years ago, ‘ Take care of the girls till I come back.”

“And you won’t he gone quite so long this time, father ? ”

“ IWc quite, Kitty. I’ll come hack on Tuesdajg and bring the license for the wedding next Sunday.” Sunday came and went; and, after a few weeks, during which the rich Melbourne horse-dealer, after buying some of tire squire’s best cattle, shot by day over the ground on which Jim the carter had poached by night, a happy group left the village for the new land; and Joe, with his pretty young wife on his arm, was consoled for much previous abuse, on parting with his mother, to hear her say, “Thee beesn’t such a fool after all, Joe.” CONCLUDED.