AMICE'S WEDDING-DAY.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 4, Issue 1026, 18 March 1882, Page 1 (Supplement)

AMICE'S WEDDING-DAY.

A PEDLAR'S;STORY.

I was always glad when my' rounds happened to lead me thrbiigh Sandridge'-by-thfl-Soa; there were many places 'Where I mot with kind friends enough; who'too pleased to see the old pedlar, who had served them for ever so many years'! sineo 'they were children themselves some of them, but somehow I liked the tramp to Sandridgd best of all my journeys;. ■ :.-■•.. < It was a'queer little village) one straggling main street leading up from the shore, with the fisherman's huts built one upon another, up the cliff, until it made you wonder how you ovor got into them atall, i It was surprising to find how ready the Sandridge people were to buy my goods, too '• I always took' a largo assortment there, and chose the brightest, colors to please the fishergirls, who like to be gaily dressed when they can, and don't grudge what money they spend on themselves neither. 'But there was

one cottage'in Saiidridge whero my'gaudy ' wares fell rather flat, but whcrcl was always so suro of a bright sunny welcome that I usually made my way there first of all, J It was a stccpish walk tip the cliff to Ben Ryder's cottage, and I was always glad whori _I reached tho; top, and saw'Airiice standing in the doorway laughing'at my efforts to struggle up. Beautiful Amice Ryder she 1 was called, and rightly enough to my mind. : Slid wasn't pretty, like many'of the Sandridgd ' girls wore, she was too big aiid quiet-lookiud for mere prettiness; she was just beautiful] neither more nor less; and : she didn't need gay clothes' to" show it off neither. 'Folks called her proud, but she was never proud to me, but used to laugh at me and bid me wetf come, as though I hadbeenaking.'inatead of ~i twopenny-ha'penny pedlar. I ,; One bright spring day I came to Sandridgd in the afternoon, and as I neared the place 1 stopped td'speak to an old comrade of mine] who was breaking stones by the roadside! 1 ' • "Any'news up yon?" Tasked, when we 1 had passed the timo.of day to each other. I "News!"he grunted, wiping his mouth; with the back of his hand;:" news, you say ? Well, there's more news than I caro for, anyJ how," and then resumed his work.' .• j , "Come, Sammy," I said, laying down my! pack, "jou'rp put out a bit.;. What's up ?" | , '' What's upl" he repeated—he always had; such a tiresome way-oidoiiig that, had Sam! .Penfold—" well, a billet's up." ..;"What's;that?'.'la3kedl;.. "Why, just this, Tliey ain't got room for tho. soldiers that are quartered at Ley, so! .they've handed them oh.tous, and neither! .with yer leave, or by yer leave; in.stalks a 1 igrcat six-foot fellar,, right into yer house,! with a piece qf.paperju his hand. .his billot.'.says he,,and there hestayaasiW as you please,. lyhethw, you' want him or! not." |, „..',. •„ ~ ~;,... ",','."', ' ! I laughed at jSammy's'griovances, and, re-! shouldering my pack, prepared to,walk on. ■ ," Going to Ben Ryder's?" asked Sam with,, a parting : grunt,. ~ . "Ay.*., ".'..:, ' ; ' ',' Then you won't got lodgings there," lie 1 .said with grim satisfaction ;,''he's'got a' billet, too." .. ut.- . '■;.,. ' Somehow I w like tho. notion oE a rough soldier being quartered at Ryder's' house, though it was no business of mine. It didn't, seem altogether right of Ben towards his motherless girl, but p'r'aps it wasn't any fault of his^A Aiiyhatfffttmld wait before I came to any hasty conclusion on tho subject. ■ Up thediffl toiled with my load, and as I neared the top Amice came out to meet me as usual, hut whether it was fancy or not I couldn't tell, her face .seemed to look paler and graver _ than it. used to, She wore her usual fish-girl's dress of coarse,homespun; but stuck in front of it was a cream-colored rose, a tiling I never saw Amice wear before in my life. She wasn't given to frippery of any sort . , ... , ■■"Come-in,,Paul,!!she said, holding out her hand towards me. "You're as tired as can bo, ; .. , . .

Just the same welcome as ever, but there was, something in the ring of her. voice that told me I wasn't altogether wanted there that day, or at least I .thought so. .However, NtiinfMtown in. the, porch, I stopped on for some r^ time . making her.tell me all the gossip rfi village. Of course, the arrival of the soldiers\camo up among otherthings, and by the flns&\ that overspread the girl's Palo cheek, as she\to!cl me this hit of news, I felt sure that the nWhief was done, and that Amico Ryder was tart-whole no longer,. i" Did your s/dldier give you that rose, my lass ?" I askefl/.sutldenly. r . : - sv. fJrn/ first time in my life I saw Amice angry. She did not vouchsafe any answer to my question, ;but, rising from her seat, she turned abruptly away and busied herself in the house, getting some refreshment ready forme, which [I hardly deserved after my impertinence. ; |., i ; .•As.'l .smoked my pipe peacefully.in Me porch, ,1, thought it all over, and made up my mind .that, it .was nothing to do witlrme-if Amice bad a,lover... {tier father.conldlook after her interests bottdr than I could; .only soldiers were such, qmler chaps; .they so often pretended what thW never meant, and 1 was too lond of Amid) to see her treated that way* | Suddenly, as I sat ii|a quiet spring sunshine,! saw a man toiling up the assent that led ■ to Ryder's cottage. JHis red coat hanging over bis arm showed him to bo a soldier. His hat was off, and I could see his face dis. tinctly.

Amice," I called out loudly, "Amice, comc.herc." Then, as slip ncarcd me, I continued;,"l 3 you the man that is quartered: here, at your, father's house ?" For a .moment she looked out a little anxiously,; then said quickly: - :'!;Yes, that's, him, Paul." ,■'■'■., ■Without another word J left her, and lyalkd down the steep road to within a short distance of the approaching figure; then I; Stopped dead/and waited for the.man to come towards me. He was looking down on the ground as he swung himself up the steep 1 way, Suddenly he raised his eyes, and they met mine full. Ah me, how his face changed as he did so! .

"Wh'at.'do you 'want now?" ho gaßped Ollt, !„.. ' - . , ,'. . ~ ...

"Only to let you know that I am here, and can .guess the game you are playing," I returned. "As long as you remember that, vou'n safe from me. Forget it, and I shall keep silence no longer," With' a rough laugh he turned away, and : left ihc standing alone; then I slowly remounted the rocky path witli a heavy weight at my heart, and prepared myself for what I could say to the girl who was waiting for my return above, She stood watching me from the porch, where the roses were growing in thtfr wild beauty, and I could see a wondering'Bort of look in her face as I came near her; but she never spoke a word or asked a single question, I was a bit out of breath after my tug-up hill, and, as what I had to say wanted all the calmness and quietness I could muster, I waited silent for a time, then! took her her hand in my withered one., ; ;" Amice, my lass," I said, "I have known you since you were a wee thing toddling about here, and seen you grow up into tho : woman you are with near as much pride as your own father could do, and on the strength

of that old, friohdshipjl \vant,,yputomakl mo a promise*..','.',^' ; ~, j,,.;,',, j.,., I

No.answer,'only sho hold her head a ; bil higher, and looked 'line straight in<tho : faci unflinchingly. <u • < .-i,.-.!

"Will you grant an old man's nwhim Amice ?" I said again; .' m ■■.;n) i :,:■: : " l.must wait until I heariwhat it isiiirst Paul,"Bhereplied. :. . .:■!■!■.; ~i.i " Well, it's this.. ■ I've &' fanoyj a Strang fancy, to be one of the guests at your wed ding. Amice, and the promise I,want! ff6n you is this: fivo days beforo your marriag send me word to comeito it," ■/'■.-h, :i

She laughed merrily, her old linconacioiu laugh, that somehow it hurt me to'hear; ';.. j " Oh, you silly old Paul," she said, ibluahj ing slightly, " is that all you've been making such a mystory about? .Well-yesjirLproj inise." ..'.. , ■;.■ :■,■. jr.;

I looked at her eamcstlyi',".Amioo,''.l said, " you've given me yonr promise/, and I trust you. Whatever persuasion! you l may 1 get to the contrary, yon 'giveino yourihonos. word that old Paul; tho pedlar/, shall comote your wedding 1"; ■,„■„;.. ut .-. ;,-i :.i ; :i„v„; "Yes."6he Raid, *M doiiPaul.'.-roallyant tnly."-\.; - : , ; , . .1 j,,,,-. ,/„ „,-,. _And; thep I was satisfied, forilknew.ngir with such', truthful eyes oa hers cbuldn'i Stoop to decoit.: . : ;.i :;i,i .• ■ ~;•;•,..■ After telling her how to let me know whet I was .wanted, so seriously, that:iske.agaii began to laugh at me,-1 left the cottage, re. fusing all her invitations to'stay," for I knewj the same.roof .eouldu t. shelter me. and the man alio jhad chosen.for her lover,i without! someharm comjngofiit. .So I Went dowrj into the village for the night/ and tramped next: day; : fcehng more idowncast than'T' had ever done before at leaving Saiidridge .behind ™, , ;, . , ■ ~•■ , ■.. • -,., j,,; I Only a few months passed away before tho summons I.had been.fearing came.- .'Ainico was going to be married, and wrote'to bid! me come to the wedding,-.. As luck would -have it, the, message was; delayed;, notwithJ standing all my .care that it:should be 1 for] warded to me directly it readied the. place' I had told Amice to send it to, and I only goo it a day and a half before the affair, canto olf.l There were few railways in those days, remember, so I had to start on' foot, and walk day and night in order to reach Sandridge in time, j and a heavy jaimfcit was, for I was nono so young as I used to be. ; .At last the wearisome journoy neared.its .end, and the little fishing village.came:in sight, lying quietly among the hills in the latel autumn sunshine; I did not wait to go upj to Ben Ryder's cottage, for I. could'tell,'by | the way most of the houses were deserted,! and by the aspect of the women■ who re-: mained standing* at their house-doors, that' the wedding-party had' gone- into 'church,! and that they were waiting their return,' ! ' Many greetingsi • mot my ears; and' many a! laugh was raised at my sorry appeafanco; for! I looked travel-stained and weary enough, Ii warrant, .• ■ • . : , „. :.■ ~<..', -.-, ■

. At last I reached tho .little lych-gate leading into the old churchyard, and there my spirit almost failed me,.for on the ground lay the protty flowers :tkat tho ohildvein had thrown before the bride as she had walked up the path. But nerving'myself for what was before; me, I entered tho door, alm6st ■ unnoticed. Then I saw. Amice as Bh'e-stbod in her soft grey, gown with her beautiful hsad drooping on to her breast.. I only looked at her 16ay, and the sight gave me courage l ; no man living should harm her, while I lived to prevent it, but my task was a hard one for all that. Stepping forward through the little crowd of villagers that looked' onj openmouthed, to see me, I made my .way towards the group in the chancel. • : ,-i • .-.-:.,--.

"Stop I" I called out aloud,'holding up my hand. " This wedding'must not go oh.'V ,'■ Amice, I know, looked up at mewith a look I shall never forget, but it was too late to heed that now. -.,".,•

"For what reason am Ito stop?" said old Parson Leigh, who was a-marryirig. them, startled by my voice, and not knowing how to act.. ■ -., ~.;

" Because," I said, covering my eyes 'with my hand, to shut ■Amice's face from,.my sight,','; because that man is my son, and he's married already I" ;■; ',/, , : '\ Is this true ?" says Parson Leigh, his voice shaking a little with the sorrow he felt for the girl, whom he had known since alio was a baby; and turning to tho man who stood before him. ; ' 'V;"t

_ "It's just a downright lie, sir," he said, simply enough, " and lam ready to'prove, it, My father's here to speak for himself, and Heaven knows why anyone should:want'to come between Amico and me : like, tliis." ]

.1 looked up bewildered as the maiispoke, and then in an.instant tho a'wful'mistoikol had made flashed across my min'd. was hot the man I saw' coming ,up'to Bon Ryder's house at, all; this was, -not.my ( son, hut,fi younger man, and different ln'every, way. W that poor .wandering.,fellow, ! i i , or,'a',inlnuto something seemed to epineintomy throat and prevent me speaking'. .'.But, presently tho words.came:, / .", „, '.' , what! said entirely, sir,'.' I said solemnly, "and I humbly ask pardon for the .mistake'l made, which I will, explain later on," ! " , ' 5 "

, Then falling back 1 into the 1 rank's'of the ; astonished ; lookers-on, I listened :| td ! the' i words that made Ainice Ryder a happy wife',' 1 wondering,, with • a sad heart;' whether she ' would ever forgive the blunder I had made in . my-efforts to secure her happiness. 1 ' •"'' '■'■■'• I :; She was very pale 'and still, and a tear !trembled, on. hci" cheek, but she made'her' !answers''in i; a ; low clear Voice, that 'seemed' jfull of trust and hope. At length the" bells' in tho oldtowerrarig'oiit;' and the wedding-! Iparfcy began to'prepare'for star'tihgi' but.! jhung back, ashamed to meet 'Ben Ryder or ihis daughter, and stiU'niore ashanied to'me'et j the gossiping folks who had heard all 1 lia'd, said.' But Amice had hot forgottcii mo; slie ;saw me watching her from the back of the' 1 -'church, and came toward directly oniier' ihusband'savm, ! ; '' '•" '' ;: l;''•,:; ''•, : ' '"Comehomo with us, Paul,".Bhe' ;; sj»id, 'gently; "I want yon," And notwithstanding, .tho queer looks given me by'her solaior, 1 '! 1 followed them at a distance' towards'tiie'bid! jhorrie. ' : ,i: '. ■: ■ : ■.'■!. i ;.i;l : Outside the cottage I stopped, 1 and' ibeckoned' them two out'into tho golden'sun:' light, '; . • .";■ ; ' ' ;-, 1 "Amice," I said, humbly enough, "IhaYc to ask your pardon for my behavior towards you and yours thisday, The man wholpdged. at your father's was mysoh.and.iihevcr entered into my stupid head that it might be another soldier who was courting you, 'I only thought of Mm, and, knowing his ways, iiiadc' up my mind to'save yo'ufrom him,' though ho Jwerc a dozeh; times iny son," -Helias ney'er. caused me anything but trouble sincere was' a lad, and such trouble should never cross your path from one of mind..' It is oVhis account I have to tramp the country from one year's end to year's end, and it.is on his account I dare not settle in one place, knowing he would only bring clisgvaco on me if I did, so, It is from this man I tried to save ydii, and you must forgive a half-blind old.maii's. mistake, when you remember bow, hard'it was for a father's heart to have to denounce his own son, Now, good-by,,and'Heaven, bless you both," , -. ' .'.','..'■,'„. ',. '.',.;, ' The tears stood in Amice's eyes; she always had a- feeling heart, and she saw now I was well nigh overdone, She would not have

;, imo saygopd-byo, bjit pvpsßedii)e to join.theilv ,at ..their! sjpiplq. ledding.fqasi', But Lsaid. no, and kept to it. Somehow it w>uid|have f jarred pn mo to-be;there.,. I had had happiof ,i ,days,myself, but they,.were;gone,,and„thfe,' mo.should have no ,fikp. .amid thejr ,innpcpnt mirth,,. So I just: .shouldered ,my pack and talked ,off down tlib, ,hjl\ towards. thptQwn, j Once I looked baokjl ™!i ; ?aff f| iny,girl;follo\ying;me.;'ivithliDriOycS' full of pity, so I turned and waved my,hat tp. ,hor, cheerily enough:; then she, spoke a word, ,tp lier ;< soldicr-hua|)and 1: and i ,Jie,nodded,'his so'she just ran after me[ ,ahd putting her arms, round my neok, kissed i.ray ,wcafher;beatqn.;cheek, gently. -.Then I way off.as quick, as, possiblo, ,for,.fcar; an. old mauYsalt bring .jll-lupk to Amice's. JVedding-day,,,!, i-i-..-J