Tales and Sketches.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 4, Issue 1003, 18 February 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)

Tales and Sketches.

MRS] PENNY'S MISTAKES/ A STORY, ilust on tho brWofa gently-sloping hill; commanding,a, rich and varied view, on ono Bid* of the, hill cut into the solid hill, stood >» wniholt Church, Crowning the opposite bank with an ivy-clad, grey stone wall, behind which two solemn, slumbrous yews kept sleepy watch on their theological brothers m the churchyard, and behind the yews, also solidly built of the groy stone with its mullioued windows, was Elmholt House, tho residence of no less a personage than Mrs, Penny, who now sits with a sort of blue woolen autimacasser over her plentiful frowsy iron-grey ringlets, deeply immersed in a political pamphlet. The room is barely and somewhat incongruously furnished. An oldfashioned grand piano, of which the legs and rathor rich carvings had at one time been gilt, occupies one corner of the room; in another stands a harp, whose better days belonged to the years when George 111, was King, and other articles of furniture bear the same impress of faded gentility. Mixed with these' are homely, uncushioned Windsor chairs, a plain deal table, scantily covered by a threadbare common cloth, and other furniture not quite too far gone to be rejected from the kitchen of a house whero the exchequer is very limited. Mrs, Penny's studies were interrupted by a loud but not unkindly voice outside: , "Putit down, I tell 'ec. I won't ha'e thee do it." .. With a snort, Mrs. Penny tossed down her politics and strode out with masculine tread.; " Let the boy alone, Penny," said she; "I: won't have you interfere with him." " I tell 'ee," said Mr. Penny, for it was he "he shan't fling stones at the jenny-wrens They be Godamoighty's birds." . Mr. Penny was a balodooking old man, rather florid, with wiry-grey beard and moustache, and somewhat bowed in figure. He wore gaiters, corduroy breeches, and a drab coat with brass buttons, which looked as thongh it had formed part of some discarded livery, Tho boy who was the subject of the threatened altercation stood irresolute, with tho stone in his hand aud.his oyeon the bush where the jenny-wren had disappeared. Just in the nick of time a blackbird started out, and, that the.stone might not be wasted, ho hurled it at the golden-billed lover of cherries, and then ran. off laughing. "Ay, ay,"said Mr. Penny. "Dang the blackbirds. Hull at they if thee likes," _ Mrs, Penny pushed her blue antimacasser a little more on one side, hitched up her dress in nautical fashion, and retired to pursue the interrupted consideration of woman's rights. She to a lady of good birth, respectable education, and fairly well endowed with «" those "good gifts". of which Sir Hugh Evans had so high an appreciation, She had been an orphan before she was out of her teens, and having always very strong opinions as to woman's ability to do. anything that men; could do-and do it better, too-with a marked partiality for a country life and for independence, it was not long after she ben came her own mistress that she took into her - ;own hands the farm on which Elmholt House >jtood, and began to manage, it on strictly original principles, although she condescended to dip into Virgil .and Columella for a hint sometimes. , The neighbors occasionally mado merry at her expense when she comiriittcd a more' ogrogious mistake than usual, but she bore: such jests as reached her ear with imper- : turbable good-humor, for, without having any of his morbid sensitiveness, sh'o rivalled poor Haydon in a sublime contempt for criticism, There was an element of practicality in her. nature, however, which led her at times to contemplate the necessity of considering her ways, Penny occupied the nominal position of .steward on the farm, but Miss Gurteen was too much of an autocrat to admit of his posidid not prohibit it. He had, on one occasion, urged the necessity of having more sheep on tion being more than normal. His advice she felt by no means bound to follow, though she the farm, and as the suggestion seemed to her reasonable, she purchased a small but beautiful flock on what she thought to bo favorable terms. * "Well, Penny, what do you think of the sheep 1" she asked, after he had returned from inspecting them. _ Penny, whose face was unusually red and rigid in the lines of it, opened his lips to reply, and a loud laugh, which he had been at much pains to suppress, took tho opportunity to escape. "Have yon lost your senses, man,"said Miss Gurteen, angrily, "that you behave in that way before me?' '. "I beg pardon, miss," lie said, recovering his gravity, with ah effort that nearly choked him, "Ic'ouldn'thelpit." ' "Penny, you are;a great baby," said his mistress; "that's what yOuare, And now about the sheep—" "Why, lor'bicss you, miss-" Ho stopped suddenly, grew purple in the face, resolutely compressed his lips, turned his head, and burst into an uncontrollable fi .of laughter.' ■ • i•■ : Miss Gurteen looked on with amazement, When the paroxysm was over, Bhe said, severely: . "Penny, you've been taking tod much oider," "I havn't had a drop o' zidcr sin'—ever so . long," said, he, substituting an indefinite phrase, as it flashed upon him that he had just refreshed himself with a cup, "But they .sheep—they be all rams!'' Some time after this, Miss Gurteen, who had been meditating much, said: "Penny, I've been thinking about those sheep, I shall always be making mistakes," f'Like enough, miss," said he, with all the gravity he could command. "I can only see one way to keep clear of them," she went on; " I shall have to marry you,"

Penny grinned from ear to car. "Oh, man,"she said, petulantly, "don't grin like that. It makes ine sick, What do you say to it?" , "Well, miss,"said he, "if youbewillin' I be."

And with that brief wooing Miss Gurteen became Mrs. Penny. The relations between thopair were scarcely altered, She remained autocrat still, and he, good easy man, was still steward, with but little increased responsibility. Ho was plaeid and obedient, and their life was happy enough, In the course .of time a son and heir was born - the young'malignant whom we found.casting stones,a| the jenny-wrens, then about 14 years oj'iige-a plump, well-grown, affectionate b0y,,;,-, %Mrs. Penny had, from his birth,.destined lmfor-"itho -church, the living of Elmholt bj&in her gift, and the lad, with a placidity w« would have done no discredit to his faW,, acquiesced in the destiny, Not that ho felt any special vocation for that sacred office, of which he would even (the young scapegrace I) with considerable humor make fun when he made his way into the kitchen, and extemporised a pulpit with a couple of chairs, anuVa. surplus with a'tablecloth, to the infinite merriment of the servants.. The proclivity of the boy for finding companionship jn tiio kitchen was Mrs. Penny's greatest trouble. She had been at infinite pains to make him understand that he was a gentleman, .and; must avoid " low company " such as that afforded by the servants and—his father, That" Penny" should prefer to

sit in the kitohon, Bmoking his' pipe and 'oliatthig with the' Idborera after his day's work was natural and right j he belonged to " that class of people;" out her'son was expected to keep state with her in the parlor, or In adignified prbrhena'deup'and dbwnthe' filbert walk. 'Gus opposed to this arrangement a passive resistance. When caught and ,niarcked.:off with-Mrs. Eonny's.hand in.his. collar, he made no complaint, took bis book or his pencil, listened to his leoture, and rendered 'obedience so long as the maternal oyo was on him, but the moment he was released from that stern gaze; he slipped back with unimpaired' cheerfulness, and with as much perseverance'as a moth pursues its own shadow oh the ceiling, evidently regarding the parlor existence as merely parenthetical, "He will grow out of it," said Mrs. Penny, when alio cautioned her steward not to encourage him in the practice. But he did not grow, out of it. Even after his experiences at a genteel hoarding school, lie would come back to shudder aWay from the dull decorunrof the gentlefolks' quarter of his home to the cosiness, warmth, freedom, and fun Of the common folks.' Gradually, too, therogeew up in his mind a painful sense of his father's position. It did not come to hiin early, for, from his babyhood, his father had beonalwaysaquiet,good-humored cipher, and the perception of strangeness in conditions rendered so familiar to us comes Blowly and comes late; In him it came surely, and while he grew more studiously polite with his mother, he; grew more affectionate with his father. He loved to walk round the fields with him; pick up from him scraps of natural history and folk-lore; listen to his broad but innocent jokes;hiskindly gossip of village affairs. ;■••..':•

" College will knock that all out of him," said Mrs, Penny when she was, with something of reticent pride, giving a hint of her trouble to the rector,'but college did nothing of the kind;' .....■;

'Gus passed through his university career respectably, though without attaining any distinction, but he came back to Elmholt with a fixed determination, which he was quite prepared to maintain, that he would not be a parson. ; ■ - " "Eh, lad," said his father to hiin onco, soon after 'he. left college, " I ain't fit company for the likes o' thee. You go and talk to your mother."

" Ah, you sly old gentleman," auswered 'Gus, talking his arm as he did so. " What mischief are you thinking of that you want to bo quit of me ? I have just had a vcrylong talk with motherland now I am coming to havea long talk with you." ■ ' The old gentleman was inwardly delighted. He was immensely proud of this tall, fine, handsome, happy son, such a'fine scholar and such a fine gentleman, and yet so companionable. His pride notwithstanding, theoldumnsaid: "Eh, lad, th'ourt pleasant to me as harvest to a hay-suck" (a hedge-sparrow); "but don't 'ee go for to vox your mother, fler'U be like a dry drock " (water-course) " wi'outen thee yet." "What a self-willed old boy it is," said 'Gus, smiling, "No; I am coming with you, and with nobody else, for I have something very particular to say to you." "Well, lad, well. It makes bright day to me to have thee; but thee mustn't vex ; thee mother."

"That's just what I'm afraid I shall have to do," replied 'Gua gravely, "and that is what I wanted to. tell you, You know mother has always intended me to be rector of Elmholt?" , "Yes, zartin," . . . , " Well, I never shall be. lam not going into the Church."

The old man stopped abruptly, and looked with awe-struck dismay in his son's face as he ejaculated, "Scissors!" There was a whole world of wonderment and horror in the exclamation,

"No," said the young man, " I cannot do it. I have never thought seriously about tlie matter till quite lately; but, as the time came near when I should have to take orders, I was obliged to look it in the face, aud I am sure lam not fitted for such a position. I could uot take up that work as a trade or a mere profession, I don't feel called upon to censure those who do; but such a course would be utterly hateful to me, I could never respect myself, nor could I look for respect from'others, I shall be very sorry to vex mother, If it were a matter of inclination only, knowing how her heart is set on it, I think—but one never knows -I think I should have given way and said nothing about my feelings; but, as a clergyman, I should be a conscious humbug and a hypocrite, and I won't be that for anybody. I wouldn't try to be it even for you." . "What you say is right good, lad," said the old man with Unwonted decision, " It's crubbiu': (food) to me to bear thee say it. But it'll vex your mother more'n anything sin 1 I've known she. Her'll bo wild about it. Don't thee tell it right out, but break it to she bit by bit like." The conversation was earnest and prolonged, but it travelled, as is the wont of familiar talk, very much in a circle, and did not go beyond what has been indicated, though father and son varied the form of expression from time to time. Meanwhile Mrs.. Penny had been engaged in a most interesting tetc-a-tete. Aii old schoolfellow of hers—now W widow in comfortable circumstances, with a married son and two unmarried daughters—had made a call at Elmholt Farm, and Mrs. Penny, who had lately meditated much on her son's settlement in life, with characteristic frankness and directness had proposed a match between him and Mrs., Burrowes' daughter. The proposal met with a gracious reception, for 'Gus was a decidedly eligible young man. The living of Elmholt was more than comfortable, and Mrs. Penny, though not stingy, was frugal, andhad always lived below her income j so that, he would inherit from her no inconsiderable property. He was a healthy, good-looking, almost handsome young fellow, frank and modest, high-spirited, and without a particle of vice. Any mother might be well pleased to find such a son-in-law, and Mrs, Burrowes, who could almost answer for her (laughter, saw no obstacle in the way of the match, unless it lay in tho young man's inclinations.

"As to that," said Mrs, Penny, "we are quite safe, Augustus" (she never condescended to the abbreviation) "has really seen no one, and he has no foolish romantic notions, A more charming girl than Marion I know he could not fjnd, and I know we have only to bring the young folks together, as you and I will manage it, to have everything settled happily—and soon," Mrs. Penny and Mrs. Burrowes went to work with gusto, and when Farmer Penny and his son returned from their walk they were still at it.

But there was an obstacle to the fulfilment of tho scheme even more serious than the anti-clerical determination of the young nian; and of this even Farmer Penny knewnothing, There had lately come to the farm, as a sort, of upper servant, a niece of the good farmer, a bright-eyed, neat-handed and really bewitching young woman, If Mrs. Penny had made a love match with her steward, she might, have suspected mischief here. But hers.had been merely a matter of convenience of the most prosaic kind, and tho possibility of 'Gus falling in love with his father's niece Alice had never flashed upon her, even as a remote contingency. Nor, in truth, had it upon the honest old farmer, though, living much in the kitchen regions, lie had seen them'together far moro often than the autocrat had done, and had listened to,and laughed, at,their, bright wit combats which she had never heard, ' " " '

I;; And the denouement was destined to eomo ujjbh' them '&\ \yery\suddenly, for 'Gus, rightly arguing thafr.his mother would nover give her consent to such a match, and that his father, from whom, certainly, he anticipated disapproval, would unquestionably be.Be^erelyhandled .if? ho were made privy to'the'scheme,'kept Iris' :O.WJi;c.Ounsel,.till,he.:ahQuld :be, able to.,say,. "We are one till death do us part) what use are reprbaolies?' 1 ! (..•'' yl .'. So just'heioW'AliiSe'took 'her'holiday to visit her friends at Thornbury, 'Gus elected to spend a week or two with an old college friend at Bristol, and'one morning a quiet little wedding party' Stepped into the quiet little, old-fashioned churcn of St; Johnthe Baptist, and Augustus Penny of Elmholt and Alice 1 Covington of Thornbury, glowing with radiant happiness, stepped put of it man and wife. ■" ~ :" •"■"■'•' : ; '"' ' ■ ;

Oh his wayto the'ehurch 'Gus had posted a; long letter to his mother, explaining his invincible, repugnance 1 to the career'she had destined for him; his determination to bo a farmer, the rare qualities of the wife he had chosen, and her eminent fitness to adorn that sphere Of life j his warm affection for his mother and father; and the hope which he and Alice indulged that it would be their happiness'to minister to 1 the comfort of both in'their declining years, It was a good, honest, sensible letter, but it made Mrs, 'Pennyfurious.'' ~:: '' ■•;'■• ■' ' '■■' She' tore her hairj stamped, screamed, flung herself'oh the floor,'went into violent hysterics;: and : then lay for. half a day on the sofa, sobbing and moaning. Utterly unreasonable it was, as everyone must see; but not unnatural: i The' cherished purpose of fiye-and-twenty years had been just as it seemed on the evd of : accomplishment, irrevocably dashed into'ruins, and the poor lady's desolation of soul'was complete, Her boy,' her hope, her one love'; : passionately loved under that queer, eccentric, autocratio, half-comic exterior, was dead to her, and the cloud which' had : taken him away blotted out all the brightness of life. : Presently, like David of old,'she arose'froin the'earth, and washedand anointed'herself, and ehauged her apparel; and caused bread to be set before her, and she did eat, There mis nothing now to weep for, to toil for, to joy for any longer.'' : ' '." ::

When her husband approached her, some-whatwe-struck, with homely words of comfort, she repelled him with tierce scorn, and imperatively forbade all reference to the'subject in the household. No stranger-had intermeddled with her joy; her bitterness was all. her own. She went about her household and faun affairs as usual, but more silently, with pale face, compressed lips, and a fierce fire in the'clear gray'eyes' of hers, '' Then l upou a day, the,old gates swung back, and she saw the young man coining up to the house with his bride, whose face was rather pale and anxious, on his arm. She went out and stood on the top step of the doorway to receive them, her tall form drawn to itsfull height; her gray hair blown hither and thither by the wind, and her face burning as'with white heat. "Mother," said'Uus; 'as he stretched out his arms to her,

"No mother of yours, ungrateful boy I" shrieked she. "All that is passed and buried, : You have scorned my love; you have trampled on my heart. And now go and take your beggar-bride, aud work out your own low tastes, and ditch and delve and starve! Never more shall you enter these doors; you are no child of mine I" "Nay; but mother," he exclaimed, aghast at her angry vehemence, " hear me," "It is too late; I will never listen to your voico again, It has no music for. me now; nor will have till I die. You have made me of less than no account, and I blot you liko an evil dream from my memory. As she spoke she struck the door post with such force that the blood trickled from the bruised and wounded' hand j but without heeding it, she went on: " The sight of you burns and scorches me, What [was love is in me is a raging fire. If I could have coined my heart for you to give you joy I would have done it; and you have made of my lovo only the plaything of an idle hour, to be cast aside for the first light fancy that crossed it, And now go your own way, Go with my—no, I will not curse you I but go without my blessing, and never look upon my face again," "Waita minute, Amelia," said the slow sonorous voice of old Penny, who had stood silent, with bowed head, during this fierce outburst, His head was erect now, and 'Gus, as he looked at him, could but think he had never seen his father so much a man before,

" Penny, bow dare you ?" exclaimed his wife, almost breathless with amazement, It was unprecedented for him to address her by her Christian name.

"Wo dare do much," said the old man, "as we nivver thought wo could ha' done till the time for it come, I know, Amelia, you have alius tuk me for a ;quiet, goodnatured fool! and so lam most ways, most ways; but I ain't such a fool as not to know that this house and this farm and all the rest of it >is mine. Yes, mine j every rood and every shillin' of it, You didn't have no settlements when we married, anj it all became mine, I. didn't want it, and I • didn't care about it; and I shouldn' never ha' said nuthin' about it s long .as all had gone quiet, But I won't see the boy wronged. The house is mine, and's long as it's mine he's welcome to it, aud all that's in it; hearty, yes, hearty." -.■■■■,■.■■... It was another of Mrs. Penny's little mistakes. In her scornful repudiation of any interference in her affairs she had married without consulting any friends, and without taking any precautions to secure to herself the control of. her.property.; and so quiet and submissive.had ; her husband been that no suspicion of her position had flashed upon her till now, when indeed sho realised it in its full fnfee, She stood as one thunderstruck, but taking in everything with such Helpless acquiescence as that with which we regard the wonders of a dream.

The,old man approached'his son, shook him by the hand warmly,. and kissed his niece, whose eyes, dry till now,'answered his kindness with responsive dews.'' : ' '' ■' "Your mother," said he, "istossicated" (perplexed) " like with disappointment and the vexation of it. Thee'd better not worry her now. It'ndbe better, mayhap, if you'd go away for a week j. then you come back, and all 'nil be right; '.'her'U'have time'to come round. Go round to the'kitchen, and I'll come and talk to you in aminit." "Now, Amelia, come," he went on, when he had led her into the parlor. "We both oh us_ loves the boy, and you'd' be bitter sorry if he was to take you at your word and go away. Ay, an'he loves us too, though no lias chosen a wifo for himself, as a man should do. And she's a right good gell, never you doubt that; she'll male him a good.wife,and he'll be a happier man and a better man .than if youandl.had had the shapin 1 o 1 his life for 'un. He's all we'n got, and we muB I 'n let'un go," We are strange creatures, and our lives and characters are full of contradictions. The quiet tone of authority, which any.timo during the previous quarter of a century she would have resented strenuously, was now grateful to her feelings, and she allowed herself to rest, with a sense of comfort : and security, on the practical common sense and right feeling of the husband she had systematically underrated. "Leave me alone, Penny," she said, "for half an hour. My head is-in a whirl now, and I want to be alone. Tell Jane to bring me a cup of. tea, arid come' back in half an hour, Doii'fc let thc.boy, go till you've seen me again," w ,When .the' allotted ,time had .expired, Penny went ba'ok'again, 1 And 'fouhtl'her look-

ingtejooafs ypiingek M prjbJjßJled and beautiful lace cap on her head, and a box of whim-whams by her stdo^ ... "Penny," Jllkve been an old fool, and" blind to Sore'ffimg?lhan" "ono.f jrdon't say done; 'could'beumfoneTwouidii'l; undoitpbut I" .oftn't l aud-Lwill-:makfithe^hßat.of.dt.:; l Tßlfc the boy he needn't go. away.for a week, Ii amnot : tossicated 1 riow : , 'And"tell'himiitoo, that if I never give Him occasion to'remember that mad scene put—side so help me heaven, I never 1 will!—I hope that l he will never recall it. See here, 1 " she"addedi'with | a laugh, emptying the ; box of trinkets on'tlfe table, "Thavenever'womthese things since I was a girl, but AliceAtill'lopk-'gay in them," ■ • •-'•• >. : ':--;- :i -)y::;,'Two years and a half later th'o- old "folks sat by a blazing winter .ike,' and ; a'chubby boy was fondling a shaggy dog oh the hearthrug at their "feet. The old lady 'stooped down and smoothed the' flaxen ringlets of the child;; ;' "" : - :'. ••.;!•:■:•• ■!■■•■::.■■■ "James," she said;- "do yon mindimy tellingyou onco that if I' could <l would' undo what'Gus had done? 'I do not wish itj undone now," : ■•:'■;■'• ''"■■'■■■•