A CIRCUS ROMANCE

Waikato Times, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 3070, 19 March 1892, Page 5 (Supplement)

A CIRCUS ROMANCE

(By Mr W. H. Goldsmith.) CHAPTER 11. Mr Fairfield fell into a profound slumber. It was close upon two o'clock ere he awakened, feeling considerably refreshed after his noontide nap. He remained musing in his capacious chair. Amongst other thoughts which crossed his mind was the one whether Doctor Cheerington had fulfilled the mission he had undertaken.

" I have slept a long time," murmured the squire, consulting his watch ; " so if Cheerington has kept his word the tent should be erected by this. I will see." Rising from his comfortable position, Mr Fairfield walked, by the aid of his short stick, to the French window, commanding an uninterrupted view down the long garden, or the home field as ft was usually termed.

"Ah !" exclaimed Mr Fairfield, appreciatively, as his gaze encountered the large circular expanse of white canvas, surmounted with gay streamers fluttering in the gentle breeze. " The worthy doctor has faithfully fulfilled his promise. What an energetic and thoroughly reliable man ho is. Ido like people that can be relied upon implicitly." ' As the old gentleman stood looking wistfully through the window, thinking how beautiful all nature appeared in her richly-tinted mantle —the day being a typical one in early September—of matured luxuriance, he found himself dreamingly drawing mental similes between the calm and happy scene before him and the dreary loneliness of his own existence. Soft thoughts of the dear dead days long past, when the presence in the house of a sweet gentle helpmeet shed a smiling radiance upon all around, gradually found their saddening soothing way into his agitated mind. How proud he had been of the sturdy little fellow, who had just begun to romp about in healthy childish sport when his mother, who almost idolised him, had been suddenly, in the fullness of her earthly happiness, summoned to her eternal rest.

How he had fondly watched that boy grow apaee into a high-spirited youth, so like what he himself had been at his careless age. Ah ! the happiness of those halcyon days could only be recalled by that silent companion of the grief-haunted — memory. As the old squire remained gazing outwards with tear-bedimmed eyes he groaned in spirit as he remembered—all too vividly—how, by permitting his proud imperious temper to gain the mastery over him, he had ruthlessly cast away that calm happiness which mightay, he knew would—have been his, to solace his declining years. But now when too late—those fatal words—did he repent his highhanded conduct towards his only son—his solitary tie of blood.

The old man bowed his silvered head, and indulged in silent grief. Presently, on slowly raising his eyes, he dimly discovered the form of a little boy at the further end of the garden. By-and-bye he became better able to distinguish the juvenile figure more distinctly. He noticed the youth was neatly attired in a dark velveteen suit, the short knickerbockers of which, with the high black stockings, served to disclose a oair of sturdy, well-propor-tioned limbs. The latter were actively engaged upon the strong wire fence, over which the boy lightly popped into the garden, then back again into the field. " Who can he be ?" wondered Mr Fairfield. Surely he cannot belong to the circus people 1 He seems too superior—and yet —" He remained watching the youngster's boyish gambols, feeling himself all the time growing quite interested in him.

He next opened the window and i called out— 1 " Little boy ! Little boy !" 1 But the little fellow evidently failed to hear the rather feeble summons, ai.d went on with his active pastime. Mr Fairfield waited till the youngster's face turned again in the direction of the window, then waved his hand beckoningly. The lad saw the movement, and instantly comprehending it, commenced running immediately towards the squire. The latter on beholding the attractive child at close quarters, became greatly agitated, murmuring tremuously, "How like! His very eyes! Can it be possible that No, no ! He would never come here." " Are you going to tell me," oegan the boy, looking fearlessly up at the squire, " that I had no business to climb over your wire fence 1 I know I ought not, and I won't do so again, so you must please forgive me this once, won't you, Sir V' j He turned quickly round, and was making 00, when the squire stopped him, saying laughingly— '"Not so fast, my little man, not so fa-rt. I should like to have some talk with you. You seem a nice little boy, and I am fond of nice little boys." " Have you any little boys of your own T' asked the lad, naively. "No I have none," answered the squire with a sigh. "Do you wish you had ?" t was the boy's next artless question. " Yes I do, very mnch," repliad

Mr Fairfield, beginning to feel amused, in spite of the sad memories which his companion's questions again aroused. "Butconie inside, he continued ; " I may stand at the window no longer. The bright little lad needed no second bidding. When both were inside the room, the squire once more leaning back m his favourite chair, and his new-found juvenile companion standing in front of him, the latter abruptly asked — " Are you poorly ?" . "I have been very, very ill indeed," answered Mr Fairfield, gravely, "but now am—Heaven be thanked —rapidly recovering. " I am so sorry," said the boy, gently. "What! that I am getting better, you little rogue ? " 0, no, sir, that .you have been so poorly." "It is very kind of you, I am sure, my little man, to say so. But why should you feel very sorry for anyone you have never seen before, eh?"

" But I think I've seen_ you before," answered the boy, quickly. " Indeed ?" " Yes; it must have been only in a picture, though." " A picture, eh ?" " Yes ; that my papa has in a book." " So your papa has a picture m a book that is like me. You are a curious little boy." "Am I ? My papa and mama are very fond of me, though." Mr Fairfield smiled at the ingenuousness of the lad, and asked— ' "Are you fond of looking at picture books, my little man ?" " Oh, very much," answered the boy, eagerly. " Have you got any ?" " There is one on the table there in the corner. You may fetch it if you like." I " Thank you," said the pleased little fellow, as he ran to_ secure the prize—a large portrait album. Placing his acquisition on a chair, before which he knelt, he commenced examination of the book. "By -the - bye," observed the squire, " what is your name, my little man ?" " Harrv," promptly answered the boy. "His name!" murmured Mr Fairfield. " Do you like it ?" inquired the boy, directing his fearless blue eyes full upon his interrogator. " Yery much indeed," said the squire. "But what is your other name ? You bave another. Come, Harry what ?" " Not Harry what —Harry Dashford. That is papa's name, you know. You don't know my papa, though. Oh, he is ever so clever." "Indeed," observed Mr Fairfield, smiling. "In what way is he so clever ?"

" Oh, my papa performs the 'cyclone barebacked act.' Jumps on the horse's back, you know, while it is going full gallop round the ring. It is beautiful, I can tell you. And don't the people like it and clap their hands." " Oh ! then you bolong to the circus, eh t" " Of course I do," answered the boy, opening his eyes in the wildest astonishment at the question. " Didn't you lcnow ?" "Not exactly," replied the squire, "though I must own to having some sort of an idea that you came from the tent wonder." "That is our circus," explained Harry, with conscious pride. " When I grow up I am going to perform the 4 cyclone barebacked act.' I tell you that," he went on vivaciously. "If you come to the circus to-night I will get you an order for the best seats." "An order? " repeated Mr Fairfield inquiringly. " Yes," said Harry confidentially, " we give orders, tickets you know for nothing, for the best places to help to fill them up. It looks better. Don't you think so, Sir 1 " " Most decidedly, I should say," answered the squire, feeling very much amused at the old-fashioned

air the boy put on, " but I am afraid I cannot avail myself of your very kind offer. I am not well enough yet to go out at nights." Master Harry seemed disappointed, but said nothing. The squire sat thoughtfully watching his young companion. The little "boy from the circus suddenly paused in his rather hurried inspection of the portraits to <*aze more earnestly at one in particular. It was a man s picture, quite at the end of the book. | " What is it that seems to take your fancy so, little roan ? inquired Mr Fairfield, with an air of interest. " I believe," answered Harry slowly, with a perplexed expression on his winsome face, " it is a picture of my papa. " I think you must be mistaken," said the squire. " Bring the book to me, please." The boy promptly obeyed, upon which Mr Fairfield remarked surprisedly— " Why, that is a portrait of my son, taken many years ago." '■ Why you told me you had no boys," said Harry quickly. "No little boys, I believe I said. That is a man, you know." " Where is he ? " asked Harry,

eagerly. " I should so like to tell him that he is like my papa." Mr Fairfield covered his face with his hands, and heaved a dejp sigh. " Oh," exclaimed his young friend, commiseratingly, " I am so sorry if I have made you cry." Then, as if speaking to himself, he

murmured very softly, "perhaps the gentleman's son is dead." There came from the squire the sound as of a sob of anguish. This pathetic episode was not strictly confined to the two performers. On the other side of the French window a face was pressed close against the glass, and two keen eyes were peering with evident satisfaction at what was going forward within the room. These twinkling orbs belonged to Doctor Cheerington. " It works well," muttered that arch-plotter, gently rubbing his hands together—a sure sign that their owner was on excellent terms with himself. " What a happy idea of mine that was to point out to the boy the beautiful garden. I was sure he would climb the fence, boy-like, only natural. And now there the youngster is. Ha, ha! I'll not show myself yet though. No, I'll pop on the scene exactly at the critical moment, like they do on the stage when the poor persecuted hero has to be saved, in the nick of time,from some dreadful fate or other. By Jove though, it is a long time since the old squire turned on the waterworks to such an extent. It will do him a world of good in more senses than one." Presently Mr Fairfield dried away his tears with his silk handkerchief, saying— " There, lam better now. You must not tell Mrs Peters that I have been crying. Promise ine that, my little man." " Mrs Peters," repeated Harry simply, " I don't know her. Where is she ?" At this precise moment the door was quietly opened, and the nurse entered.

" Ah," exclaimed the squire, " here is Mrs Peter 3. I am sure you will like her." The little boy turned his head, and immediately cried out " Mamma !" " Harry !" exclaimed the lady in astonishment, " how came you " She stopped abruptly, The squire, the picture of perplexity, had risen in his seat, seeming as though he had become suddenly bereft of speech. Not a word escaped his lips. He stood gazing alternately at the boy beside him. and the nurse standing near the door. " You said," cried the boy laughingly "it was Mrs Peters. Why this is my dear mamma," and he ran quickly to the lady's side, putting up his face for a kiss.

" I am fairly bewildered," at last articulated the squire, " and yet— and yet, something whispers in my breast, that 1 am about to hear a revelation. His boy—his name the two portraits —and—and—I feel faint. Ah." Mrs Harry Fairfield—as it is almost needless to say Mrs Peters was —stepped quickly to the squire's side, gently assisting him to be seated again. " Tell me," the latter murmured feebly, " tell me who you really are. Why are you here under an assumed name 1" The lady, on her part, was now considerably affected, and suddenly gave way to tears. "Don't cry, mamma," pleaded little Harry, who seemed sorely puzzled. "I am sure the gentlemen has been very kind to me."

"Oh, if Dr. Oheerington were only present," sobbed Mrs Fairfield, " all—would—be—properly —explained." " Ahem." coughed the tactical member of the family so pathetically invoked. " That must be my cue; so enter the doctor." " Here I am, quite at your service, madam—l mean Mrs Harry Fairfield." " Mrs Harry Fairfield! " gasped the amazed squire. Am I labouring under some powerful hallucina- ! tion ? or—"

The perplexed proprietor of Bran- j tingdale Grange drew his hand , slowly across his forehead, chen ( looked with questioning eyes at s Dr. Oheerington, whereupon the : latter raised his hand, as if com- ( manding attention. < "Mr Fairfield," he began, his , voice slightly tremulous from ; omotion, "my dear old friend, if you will allow me to call you so, you are under no hallucination whatever. In that estimable repre* sentative of her sex—estimable as you yourself know her to be— standing there, you behold your son's wife, and—your daughter." "But—" broke in the squire, pathetically. "Listen," went on the worthy doctor, almost authoritatively. "On how many occasions have I used my earnest endeavours to induce you to recall—unconditionally, bear in mind—your exiled son to the home of his boyhood, youth, and early manhood ? " " A voluntary exile, God knows, interposed Mr Fairfield sadly- " Exactly," agreed the doctor, resuming. " But is* it nocGSS&iy that I should enter into a recital of the painful circumstances which led your son to quitting of his own accord, his dearly beloved home i I think not. Then, as I have just intimated, how often have I pleaded the ju3t cause of your only son, and the wife he had chosen, whom you had but to know to honour and respect, even though she happened to be only a circus girl ? " "I acknowledge fully and unreservedly that I have been wrong, foolish, and culpable in the _ past, but thank Heaven there is the future—should I be spared—for me, in which to make amends."

Here the square's emotions became so eucessive that he could say no more, giving the worthy doctor the ehanco to finish what he had to say.

" Finding, " he comtinued, " that my poor eloquence was of no avail whatever I registered a silent vow. should the oppotunity ever present itself, to try the effect of a more direct to you appeal to your better nature to melt your stubborn heart. The longed-for chance at length came. The conspiracy was hatched. I am the chief conspirator. My crime is that I have plottad to render your declining years peaceful and, proud in the possession once more for a true-hearted, noble son. You have, as well, gained a daughter who has proved herself worthy to rank amongst the noblest in the land Then just look at sturdy little chap, There,s a grandson for you. Harry, go kiss your grandfather. " Little Harry ran to the squire who caught the little fellow to his breast, caressing his fair curls and showering him with kisses on his wonderous upturned face.

Mrs Fairfiield stood with hands clasped, seemingly offering up an inward prayer for thankfullness. The doctor walked up quietly to the window, dissappeacing through it, to return in a moment followed closely by a handsome, well set up man. The latter seemed on enviously femiliar terms with Mrs Harry, who smiled affectionately upon the new comer, and did not appear in the least surprised a<: beholding him, Not so, however, was it with Master Harry, who had no sooner caught sight of the tall man, than he very unceremoniously broke away from his newly found-grand-father's loving embrace, exclaiming delightedly—"Papa ! papa ! " On hearing this joyful outcry in a childest treble, the squire of Brantingdale turned round in his chair, and the instant his glistening eyes

re.sted upon the frank, handsome face of the man standing, as if it were under the sheltering wing of Doctor Cheerington, he rose from his seat, uttering at the same time a little cry of joyful surprise, followed by the exclamation, pathetically uttered :—

" Harry ! My son ! My son ! " " Father!" The two who had been so long estranged from each other were grasping hands with unspeakable fervency. As this happy climax was reached the individual who had been mainly instrumental in 1 bringing it about seemed no longer able to contain his feelings, and commenced to indulge in somo motions with his feet not altogether unlike a pas suel. At this interesting juncture, the room door suddenly opened, admitting the ancient butler, no doubt in response to an imaginary summons. He was so overcome on beholding the state of affairs, that he walked straight to the sideboard, poured out a glass of " the purticelar and swallowed it at one gulp, without uttering a word. Doctor Cheerington placing his hand on the old servant's shoulder, said — " There, Gregson there's a pretty sight for you, As charming a family group as ever poor mortal set eyes upon !" "But " gasped the old custodian of wines, " I don't—quite—understand what ?" " Never mind just now, my good fellow. This is not the propermoment for explanations. You will learn in due course. Fill me a brimmer of " the particular ," and another for yourself. We will drink long life and happiness to the squire of Brantingdale, his son, his son's wife and their son !" [The End.]