CHAPTER II.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVIII, Issue 51, 20 December 1900, Page 23

CHAPTER 11.

Seven years had passed away since I stood with Winson's rent book in Prince's Buildings, and again it was Christmas Eve — a green Yuletide this time, as it chanced. The everlasting hills and the golden stars looked down on me as I listlessly strolled through the fields which led to Hoar Cross Railway Station. They looked on a rich, but lonely, wifeless and childless man, did these same golden stars. For Fortune's wheel had turned in my favor. First of all, a cycle manufacturer had employed me as olerk, then ns manager, and ultimately into partnership. When the business was turned into a limited company I became managing director, and the golden tide of prosperity still came my way. The North had been my mother's country, and having a penchant for it. for her sake, I had rented a place called Malwood Tower, just outside the small township of Hoar Cross, and here I meant to pass Noeltide in the company of my chum and fellowdirector, Rudders, whom I was on my way to meet at the Junction. Half-way through the field a telegraph messenger met me and handed me the u-ual orange-tinted evelope, with 'Message for you, sir. Nothin' to pay.' I thanked him, took it mechanically, and thinking it of little purport deferred reading it until I put my feet on the platform of the station. Then I went up to a lamp at the far end, tore it open, and read aa under : ' Can't come, old man. S. S. gone wrong. Fear it's all up.' The meseaere was brief, but to my mind it spelt ruin, for it was from the director I had come to meet, and S. 8. meant the SwiftSure Cycle Company — my company. Evory man has a weak spot — has the heel of Achilles. My weak spot was the dread of becoming poor ; of having to face the world again. To one who has driven in his carriage life's stony highway looks rough. There were only two passengers waiting. One was a lady, in a chinchilla hat and royal blue costume ; the other was Macfarlane, of Clewsbury, the cloth manufacturer, with whom I had no personal acquaintance, but with whose history I was acquainted. He )m ! a bonnie wife, three winning children, a farm, and a large g'n'j^ concern. Why did the sun always shine on him ; why had the sudden blow fallen on me alone ? I grew stunned and dazed, and determined to go straight home by a nearer and shorter road than that by which I had come. To do this it was necessary to cross the line (for Hoar Gross wai then without a bridge connecting the platforms). I stumbled down the wooden steps and began to cross the line My head was bent ; I did not see the two green lights coming nearer, always nearer, neither I did hear the panting and the throbbing of the iron hcrse, on its way to the Land o' Cakes. But another did. A slender form stood by me. Suddenly a hand drew me quickly and firmly backwards ; a tremulous voice said quickly, ' Mind ; oh, mind ! the down express is coming. lam only ]vet in time to save you 1 ' Then I roused from my stupor, and looked round.

I was near the middle line of rails, the train was rubhing on. The lady in blue had saved me from a sudden and awful death. Awed and trembling, I reolimbed the steps and etood under the the lamp with the woman who had saved me, whose face and voice ■eemed strangely familiar to me. It must have been the same, with regard to myself, on her part. For, after scanning me closely, she said : 1 Pardon me, but is your name Branson V •It is. May I aek yours V 1 Certainly. It is Kathleen Wheeler. 1 A sudden light illuminated the situation. • You are Kathie,' said I. ' Kathleen Mavourneen, of Prince's Buildings. Where are Dick and Prue and Stella and father .' She smiled very pleasantly. ' Oh, they are well and happy at home— over in Rossett. I only came here to visit a sick friend. I have never forgotten your kindness. Soon after you went away from Sherborne an Australian uncle died and left us a small competency. I studied singing — became a ballad singer (under my mother's maiden name, Clare), and so, as the story books say, we all lived happily ever after. Dick went to Green Winson's and asked where Mr. Branson had gone, and Mr. Winson replied, '• Gone to Jericho." That was a wide direction, but I never gave up hope. I have always prayed that I might do something to prove my gratitude. My prayers are answered to-night.' I bent my head in reverence, and said a silent prayer ; then I lifted it and said : 'It has indeed been answered. You have been my Christmas Angel.' I have only a few words more to say. I went over to Eoesett, and renewed my acquaintance with the Wheeler family. And the New Year showed that my scare of Christmas Eve had been a bogus one. My friend, the director, was a man quick to take alarm, and full of nervous anxiety at some foolish canards, had telegraphed at once to me. The Swift-Sure did not burst up ; and I had not to again face the world with a pencil and a little book. Still, I must always speak respectfully of Winson's rent book, because it was the means of winning me my Kathleen's love. For, before the coming of another Noeltide, my Christmas Angel was my wife. We were wedded in the Church of St. Winifreda's, at Sherborne —that church in which Kathie had sought comfort and balm when fresh from the furnace of temptation. I asked my bride what ske would like to give to the Church as a wedding gift ; and, after a pause, she smiled her own sweet smile, and said : •lam a daughter of Erin, on my mother's Bide. Our Irish — as Father Ephraim calls them— are in great force in Sherborne, and, as usual, they are poor and faithful. Let us give them a Christmas dinner every year, as well as a Christmas box to each City Robin.' And I said, 'So be it ' ; and then and there gave a handsome cheque to the silver-haired shepherd of Christ's flock, who blessed us both. And even as I write my Christinas Angel is singing ' Venite Adoremus ' to a sunny-haired child named Mary Angela — in memory of Our Lady and my escape. — Exchange.