The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXIII, Issue 39, 28 September 1905, Page 23

The Storyteller

' Ho depresses me— honestly he does,' said Mr. Smith; ' makes mo feel down in the dumps— and it's my first holiday in ten years ! 'Taint fair ! ' Margaret Vibart smiled. ' Don't notice him,' she said. Mr. Smith went on carving the chicken. He felt quito 'aggrieved , 'and he showed it in his expression.

THE MAN FROM AUSTRALIA

They were out on the Lake oi Killarney in the hotel boat—ten or twelve of Cook's tourists— and this seemed to introduce them to each other— Mr. Smith thought soy at any cate, for he made friends in his genial way with every one. He was the most sociable of mem, therefore it gave him positive annoyance to have one of the party sitting remote from the others, his back toward them, ihis face grave and emotionless. He paid no attention to any one. Gloomy, depressed, moody, ho sat, and Mr. Smith, who felt that this was particularly his own expedition, resented the attitude. He himself was in a perpetual state of exclamation. H« seemed to regard the scenery as belonging to him personally, and. his high spirits were contagious. 'He is from Chicago,' said Mrs. Vibart to her daughter, ' and has not had a vacation in ten yearsTHo owns a tannery. No wonder he enjoys this now — after a tannery.'

'And again Margaret Vibart smiled

INo wonder ! ' she echoed. lHe is most obliging and pleasant — Ibut if ho 'would only let the man from Australia alone. There are enough Americans here to make him happy.'

Mr, Smith did not intend to intrude his rollicking mood and his jests upon them, but Margaret was worn out after a year's hard teaching, and sometimes they jarred upon her. She felt a touch of sympathy for the man from Australia, who hardly answered, save by a brief word, when called upon for raptures.

The lake was so still and so sunshine-haunted, the mountains were i,o rich in verdure, so emlfoowerod in green, tha shadows were so lovely in the ravines ! And then the purple heather and the wealth of ferns on every rock! Margaret had fancied the heather would be over, and it was purple and luxuriant still. Autumn tarried long in Killarney, as if loth to depart. Her lips were stained stall with Ihe blackberries, which hung in great ebony-hued clusters on their trailing branches by the roadside, and she had a great tangled bouquet of tawny leaves, and holly 'and ferns, and heather in her lap. Such holly ' Sine had never seen such glorious red berries in all 'he<n life. And when one was drinking in health and beauty, anxious to steep one's soul in it and lay by a store for the long workaday winter, she did not 'greatly desire to talk about it. No, she felt much sympathy foe the grave man who said nothing. Why might not one's aopreciation be taken for granted?

Mr. Smith, the kindest little man possible, amused her mother , presently ho was tellmg her all about the tannery, and his workpeople, and the six children at home, with a simpJe delight in her interest and attention, which was, after all, rather attractive.

'' Mother finds every one interesting,' Margaret thought ; ' her heart could take in the whole world. And tftve way that man is confiding in her ! I wonder if that other man has a history ? '

'My missus, she only let me go if I'd promisethat,' the old man was saying. ' " You take caro of cold, Stephen, and you don't forget that old bones can't do what joung ones can." How she does fuss over mo— my missus ' Bui, bless your heart, ma'am, wo like it ' Isn't that so, sir.? I reckon if you have a missus in Austialia— '

He paused then, and his hearty smile faded

The man from Australia had turned his hack suddenly, and Margaret caught sight of his face. Her quick instinct nuade her look away at once. She 'had no right— -no one had any righi— to see that shi inking look of horror. What had Mr. Smith said ? Yes, certainly them was a story hete.

They laiidut at Ross Castle in the afternoo'ti, and the j-'hadow9 were growing longer then, and hr-r mother was a little tired. Margaret ami she got into the car awaiting them outside the castle, and they saw the rest of the party ascend the bral.e, the silent gray man mounting on the box ; and he escaped their memory till later in the ctvenvmr, when tho tanner joined them in the big ho-tel drawin-j^rcxoTn, where Mrs. Vibart was half asleep.

Seeing this, (Mr

Smith sat down by Margaret

' I met tho gentleman from Australia— Pennyroyal is his name,' he began in a low voice. ' I— I — had a bit

ol a chat with him. He has lost his missus, poor chap !*— lost her just hefore he came here. We were standing in the dusk there in the cathedral, and he told me. He was down in Sydney on business when the news came. He had left her in the bush ; and— she— » had been murdered toy the blacks. He just took out a ticket and, sailed next day. He said he'd have gone mad if he had stayed— stark, staring mad I And on. board he had a bad fever. He hasn't anyone else in the wide world— never had.' !

Margaret was listening in a kind of horror f and before she, thought the words escaped her :

4 Oh, I saw — I saw his face in the boat ! •

• I know '—and the old man's honest face crimsoned — ' I know) ! I begged his pardon for that. -He said it didn't miatter at all. 'It only gave bim a bit of a shiver.'

And then Mrs. Vibart roused, and they went ofl to

But Margaret could not get the story out of her mind, nor the man's shrinking, stricken look.

They! were all at Muckross Abbey next day, Pennyroyal walking at their side, with his usual bent head and ateemt expression, and he stood where directed, looked where directed, and tipped the driver and gave the children coppers, like a man dn a walking dream. Ho even bought photographs in the abbey, apparently because the others were doing so, and very much as if it were all part of the day's work, for he left them lying on the table later, and Margaret lifted them to give them back to him. The party separated after a little, to wander aroumd in the ruin and look for shamrock, but Margaret was making a little sketch of The O'Donoghue's tomb, and she was seated on the base of the bnoken,' pillar when she became conscious that Pennyroyal's absent gaze was fixed upon her, and that he was standing by the side of the tomb.

Sha raised her eyes with such a depth of gentle pity, half-rovercntial for his sorrow, that the man started. Siace that awful day when he read the letter which told him that, no woman's face had seemed to reach his vision. They were all dream faces, fantasies— passing before his gaze like silhouettes on a white background.

She looked at him with such pity that something seemed to start and strain in his heart for utterance, though hq only said in his dull way :

1 You are sketching ? ' •' Yes ; I want to carry away a little memento to America. Look how those ferns are spreading all over that tomb ! ' He looked at them absently. ' Things grow well here.' ' Wonderfully.'

There was a pause then,, and he said slowly : 1 Folks like to be buried here, I suppose. Some folks leave ordeis that they should be carried across tha seas, so as to be in the old place. Do you think it would matter ? '

Something in his eyes made her wonder what he meant.

' I should not mind,' Margaret said. ' After all, what does it matter where one leaves the garment one has doiio with ? If one does what is right, the soul is happy. I have sometimes thought if they knew— l do not know if they do—t hat it must vex the happy spirits of those who arc gone to see us grieve- for them, " as those that have no hope "! ' She spoke from the depths of her fervent Catholic heart.

Pennyroyal listened, and he suddenly took a step nearer, as if startled:

' You see,' he said abruptly, ' she used to say— my miss-us— that we'd come home together— we were both of us Irish liorn— and lie together, when we died, in the old churchyard. 'I've wondered if I ought to go back and find her grave ami bring her home. Seems like I'd go mad to see that place ! What do you think about it ? I think she'd a faney — she'd like to be near me still— when wo were dead.'

' I think she would not like yßu io do anything ihat would lvuit you,' the girl's gentle voice said. Ho looked! sttartled, and roused again.

' Seems almost as if you had known her,' he said ; ' sho always I'alkcd like that— kind of low, too, like you ! Ymi mustn't think she was like me ; she wasn't a bit. There never was anyone like my missus, never ! Sho was all I had in the world. I felt like kissing the ground she trod on, Miss, that day Father Byrnes married us— and I never got over the feeling-. I'd never like her to have done a hand's turn— and I'd scarcely let the wind touch her — and — aivd — when I was away — they killed her ! '

His head sank again. Margaret felt as if words were swords to a story like this, and yet ho was so desolate.

IDo not think of that part of it,' fehe said. ' Think; only of her waiting for you, and loving you. Life is so short. We have an eternity in which to be happy ! '

Pennyroyal listened, and for the first time in six months his look lifted. But he said nothing at all.

' I should hear from Ruth to-day,' Mrs. Vibart was saying that afternoon, as they drove home, Mr. Smith chatting gaily. '"How one does appreciate letters when one is away from home ' Are you sure you asiked at the office this morning, Margaret ? '

1 Yes, mother ; there were none.'

1 A post conies in at fi\e,' Mr. Smith said : ' we'll all 'hear by that. I expect a letter, too ; I'm longing to hear if James has passed his examination. Bless that boy'! now he did work ! '

Once launched upon ( James, 1 the conversation remained in that channel till the huge facade of the hotel was reached, and then Margaret saw her mother go upstairs, while she went to the office to inquire for letters.

Quite ai number of people were waiting, and she could see Pennyroyal look at them dully as he strode past, a head, taller than all the other men. lie never even inquired ; apparently no one wrote to him— now. Andi then Margaret got near, and after finding the desired letter from Ruth, she suddenly caught sight of a square, whito envelope, very much re-addressed, and she read the name :

' John Pennyroyal.' ' I'll take it to him,' she thought. 'It seems to have followed him about a good deal ' , and then, after giving her mother the long-wishod-for epistle, she went into the reading-room.

Pennyroyal was there alone, standing idly at the window, amd looking out al a row r of dahlias which were beginning \o hang their heads. Margaret held out the letter to him.

' I found a letter for you, Mr. Pennyroyal '

He took it listlessly, thanking her in his usual absent way. 'His gaze fell on the envelope, lie started wildly, as if pierced to the heait ' It's ai trick ! ' he cried , then, brokenly, ' a cruel trick ! Her hand ' Mary's, hand ' '

And then he tore the emelope open with a sudden wild energy, and he read, ghastly white, and with big drops on his forehead.

Margaret wnitcd, and i< seemed an hour till he looked up. And ah, the joy, the radiance, the* gloiym the dark face, and his \onc was hoaise and bioken still, and his strong hand trembled till the letter shook

' It was all a horrible mistake ' ' he "-aid ' Tt wasn't my missus «it all ' It was a pool woman she got in to work And they icpoitcd it was nn Mary, and she was lying ill with fever at tire station, and couldn'ti deny it ' They "told me slue v.as dead and buriel ; anl 1 took out mv passage and set sail the nexli day And they hunted me ever since, and through my travelling about, like this, and leaving no address, they never found me , and waiting — she's waiting for me at Sydney ' '

Margaret did not see Pennyroyal again that night. He dashed wiklly from the rooan to cable to his wife, and he lift early next day.

But 'before leaving she met him in the hall, and he eamo up. to her eagerly — a new man — with such a li^ht of joy "and ho| c on his brown face, and he wrung, her slender 'luanl in his till Margaret winced inwardly, though she only smiled.

' I didn't thank yoii yesterday,' he said , ' maybe you thought I didn't hear— or take it in , but I did ' Catholic and all as I am, my heart was like stone until you spoke. And then your \oice was so like hers it made mo think I heard her 'And it was all true, Miss' I'\c ppt her hack, l.ut death'll never seem so bhvek to me again. I'll tvtiH'rnhrr, and I'll teil her all abo'it it. She'd thank yo'i better than ire for these kind woids And she isn't a hit like me-— my missus— not a bit like me ' Don't you Ihmk (hat ' ' ' Car is at the door, sir '

He wruniT her hand and was gone

Margaret, and her mother left Killamey ncvt day, and they were seen off by Mr Smith, beaming all over

' Never hiad such an enjoyable time in my li fo> — never ' Ami wo were a pleasant party, all except poor Pennyroyal And now he is all light ' Odd story that ' Go'id-bye, pood-Lye ' '— ' Ben/iger's Maera'/ine '