The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 4 October 1906, Page 3

The Storyteller

THfe STORY OF GLiOItIANA

For three weeks we had advertised for a^ cook— in vain. And ranch life, in oonsequehce, began to lose color and coherence. Even the animals suffered : the d£gs,- the chickens, and-, in particular the tame pie, who h-ung disconsolate abqut .the kitchen door watching, . and perchance praying,- for the hired girl that was not." ' This,' said my brother Arthur, c spells demoralisation. ' He alluded to the plates that lay face downward upon the dwiingrroom table. We had agreed toi wash up every other meal, saving time at the expense of decency. One plate did double duty, for we used the top for breakfast and -the -bottom for dinner. Before supper we scrubbed it thoroughly and began again 1 And this bread of yours, 1 1 retorted warmly— the plate labor-saving scheme was a happy thought of my own— ' spells dyspepsia.' ■ ' True,' he admitted forlornly, ' I can make, but not bake bread. In a domestic crisis like this many" things • must,- be left undone. We must find a cook I propose that we ride to the village, and rope some one.' We discussed the propriety of such a- raid with spirit. I contended that we might have reason to regret, at the end of another rope, so high-handed a proceeding. 1 You are right,' said Arthur. ' However, it's always darkest before dawn, and I've a feeling in my bones* that the present state of affairs cannot last Something will turn up.' He proved a true prophet. That very afternoon Glonana turned up. , We" were sitting upon the verandah oppressed with the weight of beans, bacon, and sodden biscuit. As we smoked in silence our eyes rested -gloomily aiponf the landscape— our domain. Before us Iky ah 'ambercolored, sun-scorched plain ; beyond were the foot-hills bristling with chaparral, scrub-oaks, pines, and" cedaxs-?* beyond these again rose the gray peaks! bf> theVismge^pricking the eastern horison. Over albAari^f the'iyalp^ tating skies, eternally and exasperatingly blue, aquiver with light and heat. ' Somebody's coming,' said Arthur. The country road, white with dust, crossed the range at right angles. Far away, to the left, was a faint blue upon the pink hills. ' It's no wagon,' said Arthur, idly, ' and a vaquero would never ride in the dust. It must -be a buggy. 1 Five iminutes later we could distinguish a quaint figure sitting upright in an ancient buckboard whose wheels wobbled and creaked with almost human infirmity. A mule furnished the motor power. 'Is it a man or a woman ? ' said Arthur. ' Possibly,' I replied, ' a cook.' ' She is about to pay us a visit. Yes, it's a woman, a bundle of bones, dust, and alpaca, crowned with a sombrero. A book-agent, I think. Go and tell her we have never learned to read.' I demurred. Finally we spun a dollar to decide upon , which of us lay the brutal duty of turning away the stranger at our gates. Fortune frowned on me,' and I rose reluctantly from my chair. . 1 Air you the hired man ?' said the woman in the buggy, as I looked into her face. • I work here,' I replied, ' for my board, which is not of the best.' ' I'm a book-agent.' , '.I'll- call my brother,' said I. . After he -came we listened patiently as she read •half a .page from *he volume she was* selling. Her :..; voice , rose and fell in a sing-song cadence, but certain modulations of tone lent to the words. 'That is very nice indeed,' said Arthur. 5 But I * 7 have (something to ask you. Do you make twenty dollars a month at this business ?' She shook her head sorrowfully. „ ' This is September,' said Arthur, c and within: six weeks the rain will begin. What will you, do then?' -- She regarded him wistfully, but made no reply I .' ' Your mule, ' continued Arthur, ' is -about played out —poor beast. Will you stay here this winter and keep ' house for us ? I _ daresay you can cook very nicely and, next spring, if you feel like it, you can start out bookselling again.' ' - '" - 'My cookin' is 'seen as white folks kin eat, but—' 'We will pay you twenty dollars a month.' ' The wages are more'n enough, but—' 1 And the work will be light.'

' I ain't scar't o' work ' she retorted valiantly, 1 but—' It's settled, then,' said Arthur, in his masterful way. 'If you'll get down I'll unhitch the mule and put him in- the barn. My brother will show you the house.' She descended, protesting, but we could not catch the words that fell from her lips. ' You must tell us your name,' said Arthur. ' It's Gloriana,' she faltered. 1 Gloriana !i Gloriana— what ?' " Jest— Gloriana. 1 ' She is a type,' said Arthur a few days later. ' A type of what ?' ' Of the women who suffer and are not strong. I'd like to hear her story. Is she marriod or single ? old or young ? crazy ox sane ?' ' Gloriana,' I answered, ' satisfies our appetite, but not our curiosity.' As time passed, her reticence upon all personal matters became exasperating. At the end of the first month she demanded and received her salary. Moreover, refusing our escort, she tramped three dusty miles to the village post-office ; and returned penniless but jubilant. At supper Arthur said : ' It's more blessed to give than to receive— eh, Gloriana ?' She compressed her lips, but her eyes were sparkling. During the month of October she spent all hei leisure hours locked up in her own room. We often heard her singing softly to herself, keeping time to the click of her needle. When pay-day came she demanded leave of absence. The village, she told us, was sadly behind the times, and with our permission she proposed to drive her mule and buckboard to the country seat — San Loienzo. ' I've business of importance,' she said proudly, ' ter transack. ' She returned the following evening with a 'larger parcel than the first. ' I've bought a bonnet,' she confessed shyly, ' an' trimmin's.' We prevailed upon her to show us these purchases: white satin ribbon, jet, and a feather. The ' locating ' of this splendid plume was no easy task. ' Maxims,' sighed Gloriana, *' is mostly rubbish. Now, fine feathers— an' there ain't a finer feather than this in San Lorenzy county — don't make fine birds. A sparrer is always a sparrer, an' can't look like an ostiiclge noway. But, »<:>od land, feathers is my weakness.' She burned much oil that night, and on Ihe morrow the phoenix that sprang fiom the flames was proudly displayed. ' I bought more'n a honnet yesterday,' she said, with her head on one side and a slyly complacent smile on her lips. ' Yes, sir, stuff ter make a dress —a party dress, the finest kind o' goods.' Arthur stared helplessly at me. The mystery t-hat encompassed this woman was positively indecent. ' An' shoes,' she concluded. ' I bought me a pair, hand-sewn, with French tips — very dressy.' Later, inspired by tobacco, we agreed that the problem was solved. Our head vaquero, Uncle Jap, gaunt as a coyote, and quite as, hungry, had fallen a victim to Gloriana's charms as a cook. The November rains were unusually heavy that year, and confined us to the house. Gloriana had borrowed a sewing-machine from a neighbor, and worked harder than ever, inflaming her eyes and our curiosity. We speculated daily upon her. past, present, and future, having little else to distract . us. We waxed fat in idleness, but the cook grew lean. ' You are losing flesh, Gloriana,' said I, noting her sunken cheeks and glittering eyes. 'In a good cause,' she replied fervently. ' Any ways, ther ain't a happier woman than me in the State o' Californy ! Well, I'm most through with my sewin', an' I'd like ter show yer both what I've done, but—' 1 W r e have been waiting for this, Gloriana,' said Arthur tartly. 'As a member of the. family you have not treated my brother and myself fairly. This mysterious work of yours is not only wearing you to skin and bone, it is consuming us with curiosity.' ' Ye're jokin', Mr. Arthur.' ' This 'is no joking matter, Gloriana.' She blushed and glanced indecisively at two solemn faces. "Ye've bin more'n good ter me,' she said slowly, '-but a secret is a secret till it's told. I hate ter tell my secret, an' yer both young unmarried men. It's reely embarrassin'.' ' Your- secret is no secret,' said my brutal brother. ' Somebody, Gloriana, is about to get married —eh ? ' ' Good land ! How did ye come to guess tfoat ? '

' Uncle Jap has not said a. word.' ' Well— why sfibuld he ? ' ' " ' He's as close as- a clam— the oM sinner; So we can congratulate you, Gloriana ?' 'Ye kin, indeed.' We shook 'hands, and she led the .way- * to her room. There, spread upon, her bed, fay some . dainty garments-, exquisitely fashioned— a ,,regularr r .trousseau ! Even to our inexperienced eyes the 'beauty of the workmanship was amazing. • A woman,' she murmured, ' likes ter .look at sech tilings. An' I do think these air good s enough.' 1 Good enough ! ' we repeated. ' They're fit for a queen.' „ ' An' a queen is goin' ter wear 'em,' said Glori^a proudly — ' a queen of beauty.' We stared blankly at each other. ' They air fer Miss Miriam Stan-dish, whp was' queen o' beauty at the San Lorenzy carnival. Miss Stan-dish is the granddaughter of Dr. Standis-h. Ye've heard o' him, of course.' She glanced keenly at Arthur, who rose to the occasion with an alacrity that I trust the recording angel appreciated. 'Of course,' he said hastily. ' Dr. Standish is a man of mark.' ' And his granddaughter,' said I, 'is about to marry—' 1 Mr. Hubert Leadbetter. I should say Professor Leadbetter, who keeps the biggest drug store in town.' We had bought drugs from the professor, and were happily able to testify to his personal charms. Gloriana beamed. ' There ain't a finer young man in the land,' Mr. Arthur.' ' You are going to attend the wedding ? ' said I, thinking of the wonderful bonnet. 'If you please,' sakl Gloriana. ' I jest couldn't stay away. Why, I've made things for Miriam Standish ever since, she was born. That is how I learned ter sew as few women kin sew.' Arthur touched one of the garments lightly. ' This work will bring you many shekels, Gloriana. I had no idea you were such a needlewoman •as this.' '■' What, she cried, her face crimson, 'do you think I'd take money from Miriam Standish? Why—'' She stopped short in confusion, and covered her face with her trembling hands. '( I beg your pardon,' said Arthur gravely;- 'I wouldn't hurt your feelings, Gloriana, for the world.' She looked up, irresolutely. ' I reckon I've said too much or too little,' she said slowly. ' Ye're both g-en'lemen, an' ye'Ve been awful kind ter me. I kin trust *ye with my secret, an' I'm going ter do it. The Standishes air hightoned an' mighty particular. I come from Wisconsin, an' it was in Wisconsin that I first met Dr. Standish. I lived there with — with my sister. She, my sister, was a real pretty girl then, but of a prettiness that soon fades. The doctor was a good man, an' a kind one, but she paid back his kindness by runnin' off and marryin' his only son.' ' Surely,' said Arthur gently, ' the son was'also to blame ? ' ' No, sir, my sister was ter blame, an' she knew it. He died, an'— an.' my sister died, an' nothin' was left but the sorrow an'— Miriam.' The name fell softly on a silence that we respected. . « Presently she continued : ' Dr. Standish offered to take the child, an' I dared not keep her. His terms were awful hard, but just. He told me he'd take Miriam ter Californy, bring her up a good Catholic, but that she must never know* the story of her mother. That was right, Mr. Arthur— eh ? ' ' I don't know, Gloriana. Go on.' ' I promised him never ler speak ter the child, an' I've kept my word ; but he let me make her things. That was kind of -him — very kind.' ' Very kind indeed,' said Arthur. "I followed 'em ter Californy, an' worked out, 'an' sold books, an' poddled fruit, but I've kept track o' little Miriam.' ' You have never spoken to her, you say ?. ' ' Never. Di\ Standish kin trust me. He's posted me too*. He tole me o' the wedding. I got word the first night I went teflfethe village.' Arthur began to pace up and down the' room. His fists were clenched. I felt certain that he 1 was about to interfere in matters that -did not concern us! 1 Miss Standish should be told the truth;' he said at last. 'No, no,' she exclaimed. ' I done wrong in tellin' the secret, but yer sympathy jest twisted it outer me. Promise me, Mr. Arthur, that yell never give me. away. ' W r e pledged. our word and left her.

__ ' Gloriana's dun days must soon come to an end,' said Arthur to me upon the eve of the wedding. ' Why shouldn't she marry Uncle Jap ? The old chap wants her. He informed me this afternoon that" a - double team travelled farther than a single horse. And ' he hangs about the kitchen door all the time.' ' Tell him to propose.' ' I'll have to do it for him,' replied the brother. 'Uncle Jap "has not the" gift of tongues.' We accompanied Gloriana to San Lorenzo ; as we feared -to trust our friend— for so we had come to regard her — with the mule, a mischievous beast, spoiled by prosperity. Arthur drove a- skittish pair of colts. Gloriana and I occupied the back seat of our big spring waggon. 'My brother is not Uncle Jap,' said - Arthur, as soon as the colts' had settled down to business", 'but he'll tell you all the pretty things the old man saysabout you.' 1 Uncle Jap is puffectly ridiculous,' replied Gloriana gaily. ' His love is 'cupboard love.' 'He is set on matrimony. You are the one woman in the world for him. Take him, .Gloriana ; and then we'll all live together for ever and ever.' , She laughed. ' ' Mr. Arthur— you'd sooner joke than eat.' ' I'm not joking now. Uncle Jap is an honest man, with money laid by. Hfe would make you comfortable for life, and such a marriage might pave the way to — to a better understanding with Dr. Standish.' Her face flushed at these last words, and fire flooded her eyes. Looking at her, I realised that long ago this worn woman must havot been a beautiful girl. ' ' No," she answered steadily, ' I wouldnH say Yes to an angel. Uncle Jap and 1 would make a balky team. He's obstinate as my old mule, an' so am I.' My brother had tact enough to change the subject. ' Gloriana,' said Arthur, after a pause, ' Will you allow my -brother, who is a grave and learned signor, to plead your cause with Dr. Standish'? 1 know what lies nearest your heart.' In this impudent fashion he laid a grievous burden on me ; for I have no stomach for other folk's pastry, yet the hope that glistened upon Gloriana's face whetted a strange appetite. ' I'll speak to him— if you wish it,' said I. "No,' she returned, her eyes giving the lie to her lips, 'It wouldn't be right.' But a woman's brain is a sorry advocate against her heart. Arthur, as I expected, put her scruples to rout. It was agreed that, I should carry, as credentials, Gloriana's present— the parcel she hugged to her bosom, weighty with love and linen ; that the interview should take place after dinner ; that the recognition of Gloriana as Miriam's blood-rela,tive should not be demanded, but suggested with all deference. The Standishes boarded at the Hotel Buena Vista, where we always stayed ; Gloriana was set down at a modest house, some three-quarters of a mile distant. - As the hour of meeting the doctor approached,. my courage oozed out from every pore, distilling a malignant dew of distrust that not even the optimism of Arthur could dispel. As we sat at dinner I noticed with apprehension the stern features of Standish, Avho occupied the adjoining table. 'He ate sparingly, as became an old man. His granddaughter, a charming girl, with eyes that reminded me •of Gloriana, chatted gaily to him, but he replied in monosyllables. Doubtless he was thinking of the parting on the morrow. Half-aji hour later he received me in his room, and asked courteously in what way he could serve me. I laid my . credentials upon the table. 1 This,' I began lamely, 'is a present from your housekeeper, Gloriana, to your - granddaughter. She asked me to deliver it into your hands.' ' I thank you, sir,' he said stiffly. ' You say this — er— woman is your housekeeper ?' ' Our housekeeper— and our friend.' .• . 'Indeed. Well, sir, lam obliged •to you. Goodnight.' ' A present,' said I, ' demands an acknowledgment.' An acknowledgment ? You look at me veryV strangely, young man.' . , Upon this I spoke ; explaining, in halting sentences, my mission. He listened attentively, a frown .upon his somewhat narrow forehead. 1 How dare you interfere in such matters !' he f^™> in . , a voico tt ia * Quivered with suppressed rage. \ What right have you to come between me and an -ignorant woman ; whose very presence is contamina-

1 Ignorant, alliterate— yes ; but a braver, ' truer, more loving spirit never breathed, I pount it a privilege to know her.'

'My life has been poisoned,' he muttered:: « It has been my one object to keep my granddaughter and this woman apart. I • allowed her to work for the •.child,, but the- clothes she has been sending. XT , have given to— others. Already, despite my "efforts, she suspects; that there is some unhappy .mystery about her birth. Leave me this moment, sir.' Arthur met me on the threshold of the hotel-par-lor, and listened confounded to my. story. As we 1 sat smoking and talking,.~th£. bell-boy ushered in Glofiana. When she caught sight of- her precious parcel she gasped ..with satisfaction* . - . ' I'm 'most choked,' she panted,- ■' in trying ter get here in time. I reckon I run most o' the" way. Ever since, ye set me down Pve bin studyin' «*nd -worryin'. I don't want ye,' she turned air anxious face to mine, T fer it might onsettle - Miriam. Good land o' Peter, how short "my breath is ! You see there couldn't be, room in the child's heart ■ jest now" for me and the Professor. An' when tfoa/fr ' there- idee took a holt it seemed as if I- couldn't rest until : I ' saw ye. I'm mighty glad I was in time.' ': The words fell from her lips in sobs' aiwU hoarse gasps. ' , - - - - ~ ' It's all right,' said Arthur. "Sit down, Gloriana. You deserve a scolding.' As she spoke she sank upon the couch, and tugged convulsively at the white linen band round her throat. ' She is ill,' whispered Arthur. ' Run for assistance—quick !'

I chanced to meet the bell-boy, and despatched him iv .search of a physician, and the youthf "suihmo.nod Dr. Standish, in hot haste. His granddaughter, learning that a woman was in sore distress, accotnpanifid him. They entered the room together. The doctor motioned buck the girl, but she hastened forward, and looking with infinite compassion into the poor twisted face, took Glorian-a's hands in hers. Somp one administered biandy and spirits of ammonia. .. ' How did this happen ? ' said the doctor aside to me. I spared him notions; in the recital, and Ms stern features softened as 1 emphasized Gloriana's anxiety to save Miriam from worry. As I finished the faithful creature opened her eyes, which rested naturally upon the face of Miriam. ' Why— it's my little girl ! ' she said faintly. Dr. Standish bent forward. 'If she mistakes you for one of her own kin, don't undeceive her. Play the .part.' Miriam nodded, ami kissed the frail hands that fluttered round her head. 'Gimme mv parcel,' she said presently, in a stronger voice. 'Mercy sakes ! I'm awful • weak ; but. I'd like ter show my .little girl the things. l made for her.' The parcel was brought and untied. Gloriana touched the garments tenderly. ' Nothin', ' she murmured, ' kin come closer to ye than these pretty things, except the love I stitched into 'em. When you wear 'em you'll think o' me, Miss Standish.' At the sound of her name the girl started, and .looked askance at her grandfather, who turned his head aside. ' Who is this woman ? ' she asked in a trembling - voice. The answer came from Gloriana, slowly and distinctly. ' I'm— nothin'— to— ye : but ye've bin the world an' all ter me. Well— l said I'd never go ter my little girl, because I wasn't fit, but I always thought that the Lord in His mercy would bring her ter me. Ye wore the clothes I sent, an' mebbe ye wondered Avho made 'em. 'Twas the happiness o' my life sewing on 'em, an' ter think you was weari.n' 'em. I've worked awful hard, but I lin take it easy — now. , I feel real sleepy, too. Good-night, my pretty, good-night !' We were quite unprepared for what happened,^ - believing that our poor friend was merely overwrought and weary. But as the words ' Good-night t fell ..softly upon our ears Gloriana sighed -peacefully— and died. 'Who is tfhi. s-~ woman ?' said Miriam for "the -second time, thinking that Gloriana had fallen asleep. The doctor was not so deceived. He pressed forward and laid his trembling fingers unon the wrist of the dead,, and then bent his head. When he confronted us the tears avcic rolling down his face. ' May God forgive me ! ' he—cried, falling upon -his knees. ' This woman, Miriam, was your mother.'—!Benziger's Magazine.' '