I. A TALK.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIX, Issue 13, 28 March 1901, Page 23

I. A TALK.

The crops looked well : green and yellow, with streaks of brown, oovered the flpld«. Wnt every far-n<»r kn«*w whit it meant, and ". r ii« not joyful. It bad rained, rained, rained for many weeks, and beneath all thi^ phow of color there was nothing but rottenness. May Gartland read in the newspaper that the incessant rain had ruined the crops in Bavaria, but she thought that it made no difference to her, and she was heartily glad that the crops were good at home, for that meant to her and her sisters a trip to France and Germany in the spring. May had nut been graduated from school yet, but she and Alice and Margaret had done so well that their father had promised them six months abroad, if matters were propitious. And so May, who always read the foreign news to her father every night, merely shrugged her shoulders. Mr. Gartland smiled. ' Too bad,' he said ; ' but it will bring up the price of our corn. You needn't worry about the trip, May.' May laughed, and said : ' You dear old papa !' Alice and Margaret were pleased too. They had made a great album of photographs of foreign places, and they were practising French and German verbs with a will. They, too, smiled. Bavaria was so far off, and the failure of the crops there would only give them additional pleasure. Their mother, who was sewing at the table, shook her head. ' I would rather Btay at home than profit by the misfortunes of others,' she said. ' I feel sure that no evil can happen to our brethren anywhere without its affecting us in some way. We are all " bound by golden chains about the feet of God." ' Mr. Gartland laughed. 4 You always were sentimental, Peggy,' he said. ' I must say I am more glad that corn will go up in price than sorry for the Bavarians. 1 Mrs. Gartland sighed. ' You do not realise what poverty means. I was once very poor myself, after my father's failure in business, and I know.' ' What's the use of talking about that, mother V said May, rather pettishly. 'I am awfully ashamed ' ' Awfully, May ? I thought you prided yourself on your good English,' said her mother. ' I was very much ashamed when you said before Laura Wells, of all people ! — the most conceited, snobbish thing in our school ! — that you and grandmamma had often done your own washing. I could have tuns through the floor.' ' I have never been ashamed of it, dear. And your grandmamma's roughened hands were more precious to me than if they had been loaded with diamonds' ' I was not at all ashamed,' said Alice, hotly. ' I thought it was a good lesson for Laura Wells — she is always talking about her ancestors. I'm sure they did their own wash'ng.' • Your mother is always right,' said Mr. Gartland. May raised her head haughtily. lln our position in life, we can't talk about puch thincs , they are unpleasant. Why, the other day, Laura Wella asked me if mamma hadn't made dresses before she married papa. I was that mortified I' 'Poor, tender violet I' said her father, smiling indulgently. He admired even the haughtiness of his eldest daughter. •It ia true, my dear,' said Mrs. Gartland. 'It is true — and if I had not been skilful with my needle, my dear mother would have laoked many little comforts, and I,' she added with a smile, ' might not have been able to wear the pretty pink dress ia which your father first saw me as I was coming out of church.' May's cheeks flushed. She tapped her foot against the carpet. ' I hate poverty,' she said. ' I wish we had always been rich. And I think proper pride is a good thing.' ' Self-respect, my dear, is a good thing — buc not pride May. you ought to remember how poor Our Dear Lord was — and I whall never be ashamed of that poverty which taught me so many lessons of patience, endurance, and gratitude.' Alice and Margaret dropped their photographs, and each pressed a cheek against their mother's. But May went out of the room. Her mother looked after her. ' Ah, poor May,' she said, ' she will have many lessons to learn —many. She is a good, sweet child, and after a while she will get rid of these false notions.' Mrs. Gartland went on with her work, and Mr. Gartland, who inconvenienced himself very often to make home pleasant, retd aloud the description of St. Mark's in Ruskin's 'Stories of Venice,' while the girls looked at the photographs. May, in the meantime, sulked upstairs. She felt aggrieved. Why couldn't her mother be more like other people ? It was just horrid to have those old, hateful things talked of. Other girls' mothers had probably been poor, but they didn't talk about it. ' I am always tender with the poor because I was poor myself,' her mother often said. Such nonsense 1 May herself always found both the poor and poverty very disagreeable. ' There was one consolation,' she said to herself, ' that the trip was assured.'