A YANKEE ATALANTA.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1628, 9 December 1882, Page 1 (Supplement)

A YANKEE ATALANTA.

BY LUCIA O. RTJNKLB IN HABPERS' BAZAAR. A chime of tea bells rang out along the broad street of Charlton as Dr. Myrick, perched in his high-swung sulky, drove wearily homeward through the biting air. To a hungry man the cheerful tinkle pleasantly suggested the thought of creature comforts. But the thought of creature comforts unpleasantly suggested their natural entail of bills, He recalled the unpaid scores of these tormentors rustling in the hollow bronze globe, by whose weight a bronze Atlas standing on his office table seemed quite bent and overcome. No wonder either, thought the care-worn doctor. His own world often seemed to contain 1 nothing. but bills, and that the stoop in his^ own shoulders had come of their unllfting load he knew. It was Mrs. Myriok's last Christmas gift to him — that costly inutility. When he kissed her, with thanks, his prophetic soul misgave him that the bill would be sent in at. the moment he could least afford to pay, if one hour of his wearing year were distinguishable from another in that respect. __ But he had long, since discovered that his wife had a fiscal genius unrivalled' among her sex, save by that able financier Mrs. Mioawber. She declared that the explanation of their embarrassments lay in the fact that the doctor constantly mislaid h?s bills, and soj of course, paid most of them twice over. When, therefore, .she had appointed to office, so to speak, .this pagan Chancellor of the Exchequer, and hadmade in ! a. daily duty to put rail new or stray evidences of'debtinto his grim keeping,, she really felt"jtha# the ,Myrick<*family stood once more on a sound < financial basis, - or, j if they did not, thatiit was certainly no fault of hers, r . Meantime she went, on as she had always done, committing endless extravagancies in the name of economy, and heaping up .bills against the day of bills. , Had she been one of the ten. virgins for whom the bridegroom' called, her lamp wouldhave been found>neither full nor empty ; -she would' long, since have exchanged it . altogether, much.' under , value, for a- highly, recommended- aelf-lighting-arid-iee'd; 111 1 ing< perpetualblirner, certain under no circum- ■ t stances'tOjignite. , uThe'system' 'of : and - -.substitution, animated, the ' housekeeping,;de- < vastating^as itjjwent. <„ ,;.'., „ < /■ • • ,■ But however, spent and troubled Dri .Myrick - might bei.he riever.suffered himself 4o?be r _im^ patiemVwith;bip . wife, j* He! .was eminently^al just man. 1 jHe^remembered, that she.'was|uriv .altered from thesmiUng jbsauty of. seventeen jc twh'om' " ,he; ! had! passionately yomi% .af te&thef manner, of lovers,.theit;ja6||ois^prldsj iwould •heTHavelhadijjher , other s |h.lB|t t wa«fis strong^ itureifbr ;him:;he ha&gdhe so.far ,afl,td!say, in ' ithe r w>d6m';of,hi^i;post.gradu»te'rexperience f

done for him in essence and estate during these eighteen years; could ever have quoted with'approval.to the girl he loved, Coleridge's I sentiment, that the perfection of character in a woman, is to be characterless. Yet he remembered that he had perpetrated that very idiocy, and he- acknowledged that ho had no right to whimper now that his pleasant vice of sentimentality had been made «&h instrument to plague him. All that he had reason to expect from his Mary — love for himself and his children — he had received in 'full measure. And he would have held himself caitiff indeed could he have visited upon 'her blameless head his own sins of blinded judgment, of dull perception, and .of an ignoble worship which exaoted no nobleness of its object. • Over' the cradles of his five daughters he had suffered pangs of apprehension and selfreproach, lest they had been born to make the lives of other men as, hard and empty as his who had begotten them. Through each successive year, his own domestic vine had, clung and clambered closer about its supporting oak, precisely as he had invited it to do. He kneW that the innocent, bloomy growth had Bapped his vitality and thriven on his decay. And he vowed a vow to heaven that each of his little maids should grow up strong-bodied strong-souled, strong-minded — if need were, to the verge of masculinity — if only thus she could become a distinct human being, and no parasite. But, as the years slipped by in the commonplace of disguise of days, he accepted his girls as they were, with a matter-of-course paternal pride, and sometimes forgot, and of tener felt too weary, to shape into conduct his aspirations for them. They were^ all pretty — prettier than their mother even. They were all clever in their different ways ; well-bred and intelligent, as a matter of course. Those effects belonged to the Myrick blood, the doctor thought, with some pardonable selfcomplacency. He felt sure that Bose, who was seventeen now, had great executive force. He thought that she might inaugurate a new reign in the housekeeping, if her mother would only abdicate in her favor. He had suggested the chanpe o£ dynasties, with a perfidious pretence of relieving his wife from care. But, with perfect sweetness, he had declined all aid. With her experience, she observed, housekeeping cares were nothing to her — the merest form of occupation ; whereas dear Bose, would grow old before her time with such a responsibility on her shoulders. No, no. Every girl learned that sort of thing by intuition as soon as she had a house of heir own. She knew she did, and Bose had certainly inherited her capacity to manage well. Let the child have her brief holiday. Will Hayes wanted her to be married in the spring, and then she must settle down, of course. Besides, as Will was rich, Eose would never have to slave as she had done, thank Heaven 1 This engagement was another of the doctor's worries. Bose was too young, he thought, and Will too imperious. But he was secretly pleased that the Hayes family, who were as critical as they were rich, should have given so warm a welcome to his bonny daughter. Nevertheless, he reflected with some shame, he did not feel well enough acquainted with Eose to be sure that there were not depths in her nature which gay conventional Will would never sound. Bevolving these things in his mind, Dr u Myrick turned in at his own gate. Mrs. Myrick, with her usual forethought, having dispatched Jem, the factotum, to the other end of the town, he groomed his tired beast himself, and then made a fresh toilette, not to bring the stable into the parlor, When at last he came down, Mrs. Myrick rose calmly from her rocker and her novel before the fire. " Welcome home, dear," she said, with a placid kiss, leading the way into the diningroom, where the table stood strewn with the debris of supper. " Bridget wanted to go out to-night, so I told her that as one never knew when to look for you, I was sure you wouldn't expect anything hot. There's no more toast, I believe, but here are bread and butter and preserves, and I don't believe the tea is really cold yet. I put it down before the fire. Why, where's the tea-pot ?" " Comin', mum ; d'reckly, mum," cried a sweet young voice from the kitchen. " Serve the gen'l'man at once, mum." And the doctor thought he had never seen so pretty a girl as stood framed in the doorway, her soft black eyes shining with f un|and affection, her rippling raven hair pushed back from her fair forehead, her cheeks dimpling, and her white teeth gleaming. There was a splendour of youth and health and purpose about her that fairly dazzled him. " Are' you Hebe, cup-bearer to the immortals ? " he asked her, noticing her uplifted arms and covered tray. " Surely I think you have the power to make the aged feel young again." "Oh, no," she laughed, delightedly; "I am only a poor slave to Galen, purveyor -of his Sagacity's broiled chicken and toast and tea. Never mind historical accuracy, papa It's tea you have here, instead of Falernian wine, and I dare say a great deal better." "Why, Eosalie," exclaimed her mother, " you are the precise colour of Fox's martyrs in the picture-book. How could you do such a thing, when you pretend to recognise Will's claims upon" you, and all the Hayeses ' so strict on the subject of complexion ? " Eose laughed as she arranged the disordi erly table. " You see, mamma," she said, tl I recognise papa's claim' too, and he so strict upon the subject of involuntary starvation. At least he ought to be, though he isn't, poor dear. Don't compliment' me too' soon, papa. It, may turn but as pink as poor Mr. Copperfield's I ' mutton, and I should never dare ,to grill it for you as Micawber did that, with the Hayeses' and their l views as to complexion only a' mile'. 1 away. Mamma, dear, beauty is its own excuse for' being. Go back arid finish: youx' Detid Sea Fruit by the fire,' and leave me to feed this granipus." ' '.''But you 'never did it before, dear," and '.whyj being engaged, and all — " sighed Mrs 1 . Myrick, and, paused, as giving up a riddle too hard for ' ' I >,\, ' ' v " NoJ ; dy4rYl never did, tie more shame ,to But it's not Mndio remind'a penitent) sihner of Jier, transgressions. /Leave her toi : Heaven, and, to; those thorns that in her.Sosqm idSgd to jjfick and sting, her.' "' ' And pretty Eose^alijzed her mother 'back* to the'fockr stirred ijtie fire, turned up tn|'.lamp, kissejl her ' soft ( hair, tane t ancl .VaUused • laughiAgV $vA'ii was a" very; sober ,^wh6| qquietlyy v closed 'the" door behind 'hisr; and/satfdo'vn Jieside Her 'f atijer? „' , , . ; she said^ {? there is^, going to |be]anterid r jof tbis^.tßmg^ and' we must come |^,!«.^ainjy' f my Ji dear,-V< < he 'replied fsftWbafc 1 leyer/pleajjesyob* Would yourßoyalLlEgh[^|s|j^dly J, pajif y.rtthe^offendin'g £ ,' •

trousseau — it was three hundred dollars; you know— and go over to Stafford and learn telegraphing. .There will be , enough- to pay myboard and expenses of learning, and give me ,a start, somewhere. The wages are very good, papa, to a skilful operator; and I wouldn't' ( condescehd ,to be an ordinary , one. ,Very likely I could get a place near home, and come back quite often. But go I must, papa, so please give your consent." ' . " But, my dear little daughter, you don't know what it is -to work for wages, to go outside, the shelter of home, to fetch and carry at another's bidding." " It can't be worse, papa, than to see what I see here every day, and can't set right." " What.would Will say, Eosalie?" She flushed to her curling hair. " t He will be very angry, papa. His notions of values ,and,of right and wrong are entirely artificial. Probably he will break our engagement, But if he does, I ought to be glad that two people so hopelessly different in their estimate of things did not commit the awful blunder of trying to live together. I have thought of all that." "And your mother?" " She will be horrified, chiefly on account of • the Hayeses.' If they count themselves out of the question, she will soon be reconciled! You must go a-wooing over again, dear, papa, and persuade her, that this • yes' is as vital to your happiness, as that long-ago one. Will you, Aged P.?" The doctor thought and thought. He knew how Eosalie's imagination had overleaped the obstacles in her way — the home-sickness, the weariness, the monotony, the longing for her lost, lover, for he felt sure that Will Hayes would not marry a "working-girl." He showed her, carefully and tenderly, the seamy side of the web which her zeal and conscience had woven. But in his heart he knew she was right. Here, by his own hearth, sprung from his own loins, was the large-hearted, clearheaded, firm-willed woman he had dreamed of, ready to give up ease, comfort, love itself, when duty bade her. And when he gave his consent, he said softly, " I thank God for this dear daughter." The news being carefully and gradually broken to Mrs. Myrick, she said at first, that she * never did I ' Then she declared mournfully, that she could not have believed, she could have a strong-minded daughter, who wanted to go out of her sphere. Then she announced that she knew the Hayeses would not bear it for a moment. And finally, her husband and daughter having explained with untiring gentleness and patience, that Bose wished to live her own life, and count for one in the world's column of significant figures, she dived again into the abysm of her mental processes, and came to the surface, with the reflection, that telegraphy must be very scientific, and there was Mrs. Somerville, or was it Mrs. Sljowe? or it might have been George Sand ; at any rate, some woman was very, distinguished in science, and had a great deal of attention, and was in the best society, and she had no doubt Bose would be distinguished too, and invited everywhere, as soon as it was known. So that battle was more easily won than the victors had feared. But there still remained the encounter with the Hayeses, in the person of the imperious Will. Eose had said, calmly enough, that her lover would probably break the engagement. But in her secret heart she believed in his largeness, and glorified his loyalty to what was best in herself. He heard her plea with quietness that surprised her, and answered no word. " You know, Will, it is only for a few years, and we are so very young we can well wait. I want to send Helena to school, and to give Alice drawing lessons (her talent is really wonderful), and then they can both be earning, and I can afford to stop. Say that you think I am right, Will." " Bose, as a joke, you must pardon me if I say that this performance is very silly, As a purpose, you must know it is simply impossible and preposterous." "Why?" " Why? Because I do not choose that you should do it. Because the Hayeses do not go to shops and factories for their husbands and wives. They are accustomed to mate with ladies and gentleman. They are something for refined habits, and the protection of home. The men lopk up for their wives and the mothers of their children, not down, and the race shall not begin to deteriorate through me. Eose, if yo,ur lather really needs money, I will lend him whatever sum he names, and without interest. Better still, we will be married at once, and his son can claim the same right to help him that his daughter demands. .But it is not fit that my future wife should crowd elbows with some common girl from a tene-ment-house learning a vulgar trade. Give it ,all up, Bosie, and say that you will marry me, next week, to-morrow, when you will, and never talk nonsense again about earning your living. "If I am capable," answered Eose, trembling with anger and wounded pride — " if I am capable of a suggestion which dishonours your house, I am proved unfit to mate with it. I would never have consented that you should marry my whole family, and they would repudiate such a scheme with indignation. But now I will not consent that you should marry me.' We do not agree on so simple a thing as the definition of honesty and duty. What folly, what madness, to suppose that we should not ruin one another's lives ! I have adored my father ever since I knew his dear face, and he is nobleness all through. He could not think a mean thought, or set a sham above a reality. I have loved you for a year, and you, have hurt me with your mean thoughts and your reverence for shams again and again. It is the last time — I choose my father. •Go, Will Hayes, and never come again." So they parted, with anger and injustice and bitter longing on both sides, and with pride which forbade either to make atonement. Bose went td the great Office in Stafford, and studied with a fierce determination to succeed, born not more of her conscientiousness than of her wish to have no leisure for regret., She, duly won her certificate, and obtained the excellent place of night operator at the great junction' station of Fairfield, where twenty rushing trains, incoming from north, south, east,* west, depended on her Blender hands, her 1 sleepless eyes, her sensitive ears, for safety. She watf 'faithful, tireless, skilful. She was earning money which every month gladdened, tlie' girls at home. ■ She was helping her father, to bear his burdens with an ew courage,, "inspired by her cheerful self-sacrifice. Was she' happy ? The nights were long. ' She was. not always .busy. , There was. so much time to think, even when her hands were occupied! , ■Sheimissedhpme and home tenderness more, than she.' had thought, possible. She missed, Will's impetuous, ardent, constant deVotion. . She missed i even "his 1 tyranny, and - mourned , it, but she never dreamedpf giving up. And she knew by heart' the significance of' Adam, Bede's saying':?" There's nothing 'but.jWhat's' 'UeWSbl^'ao^ng 'as' 'a'mafica'ji J work\' 1 ,fi ] qua% I 'O^'f6ur,;is^sixteen,*and ' you' must iWgiien^'your^lOTerYin ? proportion to' your , pMght.is^a^ 'miserable^, •wli^he'^tiap^y ;'Snd:the,best b',<V,6rkingis, \ stigivj«lyo.tta;gnp;nold o, things outside.ypur , 9sffi®s&ss*Ms '- '&-& "' *j * ;*? ' 2 ' jTherejCime^a'vrainless'August^tvDay^ after;;

platform of the station, the heaven's seeme&to op.-n in a vast sheet' of flame.'/the' building trembled in the crash of 'thunder, sudden fire flashed from her little office, and darkness, as of 'midnight, 'had settled ,bnce more overall things. She groped her way forward; stumbling against a man. • , '' "Is it you, Miss Myrick?" he gasped. " For God's sake don't stay here ! That bolt struck the instrument, and burned 1 out 'the magnet. The room's' a death-trap. Gome away." " I can't, Mr. Bice. It is time for me to go on duty. Something may happen to the trains in this awful storm. Is no one else here?" " Not a soul, Miss Myriok. It's the half- 7 hour for supper, though it's so dark. There's no train for forty minutes. It's as muoh as your life is worth to meddle with that magnet. I beg you to come.' Another flash of blinding "light, ■ 'another crash as of a crumbling world. " Don't stay, Mr. Bice," said Eose, quietly. "You have your wife and child to consider; but my place is here." He made a feint to remain, but she closed the door of the office behind her, as if to make his dismissal absolute, and he was glad to go. She found the matches, lighted her lamp, and supplied the magnet, a fury of rain and wind dashing against her window, a flame of lightning seeming to scoroh her eyeballs. She tried the instrument, and found the circuit secured. Her nerves were tense with excitement. She went to the open door to breathe. I|[A. ghastly 'brilliancy, brighter than any daylight, touched the earth for a swift moment, and by its torch she saw, far up the shining, narrowing rails, a huge tree uptorn and lying prone across the track. ' She remembered the. road just, there — the river ori one side, a rocky chasm on the other. Good God 1 and the Western Express was almost due ! Was there time to stop it at Hard' wick? She would try. She rushed to the instrument. The storm had deranged it ; it would not respond. She wasted three precious minutes over the battery. Suddenly she remembered having seen the red lanterns ready lighted for use. In the same instant she remembered also that long stretch of trestle-work which she must cross, that open bridge, the mere thought of which had always . turned her dizzy and sick when she had noticed the trackmen shuffling heedlessly • over. • For one second she hesitated. Then some words Will Hayes had once read to her, with flashing eyes and a deepening color, seemed spoken audibly in his voice : " Whether on the scaffold high, "Or in the battle's van, The fittest place for man to die Is where he dies for man." She snatched up a red lantern, and ran — ran as if the issues of life and death lent her feet wings. , She reached the horrible trestlework, caught her breath, and darted on. She felt the firm ground under her feet once more, saw the bridge rise grim and awful before her, put all her heart and strength into a swifter fliglit, and crossed it, swinging her lantern high in the air. ' For she had heard, faint and far off, the swift rush of the oncoming train, and knew she was racing neck and neck with death. The storm beat on her uncovered head, half blinding her. Her light summer raiment, soaked through and through, clung about her, hindering. Her heart throbbed so that she seemed suffocating. She had ceased to feel her flying feet. This running, panting, aching, choking thing that toiled along so painfully, -swinging its red light with its numbed arm, could this be Bose Myrick ? Oh, if her will should fail, she thought — her will which alone seemed to bear her stiffening body on ! And at that instant she heard the sound for which her straining ears were set, the whistle for " down brakes." The engineer had seen her signal. Thank God, the train was saved 1 But its fiery rush could not be stopped. It kept the track, indeed, but struck the tree with a force that sent the smaller branches flying like missiles, that drove a splinter full against the breast of the slender girl, still mechanically struggling on with her beacon, and hurled her down the embankment. She felt no hurt. She was confused, utterly exhausted, willing to lie there forever, so she need never move again. She was almost sorry when she saw lanterns moving above her, and men climbing down to her. It was the kind conductor, whom she knew well, who took her gently in his arms, exclaiming, " Why, bless my soul 1 it is Miss Myrick ! Gentlemen, take off your hats. This little girl has done what few men would have dared to do in the face of such a storm, and saved three hundred lives. Are you hurt, my dear ?" "I think not," said Bose, faintly; "but please lay me down again." " Go, somebody — everybody — and see if there's a doctor on this train," ordered Conductor Parker. But one passenger remained behind, and silently, but very tenderly, helped the bluff official to carry the half-conscious girl back to the baggage-car, where they laid her on a bed of coats and wraps eagerly proffered. Half-a-dozen • doctors were there in a moment. When they agreed, after long consultation, that it was probably a case of simple exhaustion, and noti of internal injuries, the passenger who had lingered beside her breathed so fervent a thanksgiving that the conductor beckoned him apart. » 11 You know Miss Myrick," he asserted. The passenger bowed. " I don't mean to be impertinent," said the fatherly conductor ; "I am only thinking How to bring her back to life, for, mark my words, it's a near shave. Would she be glad to see you ?" " I don't know," groaned the young fellow. "If I had not been a fool, she would have been glad." "I see," replied his confessor. "You treated her shabbily, and,she loves you all the more, of course. You are the medicine I want : better tkan all the doctors' stuff. Go in there and sit by her .tilTshe rouses up. I'll keep everybody else out, sympathetic women especially. We shall run in to the station as soon as the tackle comes to get this confounded tree off. Make the most of your time. I shall telegraph her father, and he may warn you off jfche premises." ) When Kose lifted her heavy eyea they looked straight into the anxious face of Will Hayes. But he forestalled her i questions. " Hush !" he said ; M I'll tell 1 you. . I couldn't bear it any longer, Bose. I was coming to say so, when you— I'm afraid to think of what might have been, darlingl But if you will take the life you have saved, and help me to make 'something of it, please God you shall never' again be ashamed of me." ' ! ' . ' There was a wedding at Dr. .Myrick's the next summer. > Helena was earning' more than Bosehad earned!. ' Alice 'was the thrifty and energetic housekeeper to whom f her mo'thfer had at last' been persuaded to 'resign the "dignity* bf • office. -■' -The; doctor > himself grew 'dailyyo^nger,, his children declared. As for Bose ; anlcU Will," it was' the!' opinion of the 'entirely to" be in « theUeastf interesting.' s^lndeed, 1 .they differed, I apparently, /Upon i only*'one-< subject, u Bose ;aoij^t^ltot/-WiUi;went'/|to(Bß^QOi»fM'; aoij^t^ltot/-WiUi;went'/|to(BB^QOi»fM' in , ItfdyocStij^ilie 1 right of and( for that r \w.orfc; and ,