The Storyteller THE LITTLE OLD MAID

New Zealand Tablet, Issue 17, 25 April 1907, Page 3

The Storyteller THE LITTLE OLD MAID

Miss Erminie Wakely was "nearly sixty years old, and a spinster,; she lived— in the -village of L — -. She was so peculiar in .manner and _ in- habits that the - people who' were her neighbors.— kindly enough neighbors at -that — called" her crazy,' "and took little notice of lier queer speeches ' and queerer- actions. In all. L— — there was no cottage as. old-fashioned "as her. own. : All the cithers had acquired modern ' ' improvements, ' modem oomforts, and - even added jaunty little- wings and additions 'that said much for the- ,'prdgressiveaess. cf the small' town. Visitors to L invariably" paused at Miss Wakely 's co>ttage,",and,, after a .pitying smile, would aslc .if it were inhabited, and who its owner might be. Poor Miss Er-mini'e, they were told. Sometimes some , of 'them, professing to be students of human' nature, ■ would want .to see poor Miss Ermdnie. There was an excuse for ■ this. In the front window of the tiny cottage she kept hanging, on a string, some shoe-laces, some cheap toys, such as whips andwhistles and balloons, .- and _a picture-book or two. So to see poor Miss Erminie. one 'would merely want to purchase some trifle — a shoe-lacing generally, if it were a man, or a spool of thread or .needles', if a woman. What people saw, when they entered, was a meagre display indeed, although everything in the small window and the smaller case was scrupulously, clean: Miss "Erminie waited on them — a slender figure^ robed in black, with soft white j hair and soft gray eyes, and yet with an expression about, the mouth and firm lips that re*pelled the. attraction! her appearance" might otherwise have created. There was an air about Miss Erminie, a fleeting hint of past beauty,- a touch ol dignity, a bearing ; - that, even, in her sixtieth -year, could be called" distinguished. Looking ati her one would know she had a^history — sad enough,- lost in the years that had passed" over her head. She had loved one of whom her aristocratic -i * father did not approve ; defied that" father ■ in- 'order to marry him ; and, on the eve of her nuptials, -had been deserted by the man for whom she" was willing ±. to give' up her luxurious home, and^all pre-exjsting fam.- .""" ily ties. - ' . - v - Miss Erminie's heart was • sorely "wounded, but ]Vsiss Erminie's pride never recovered from the shock. Her people rallied to her nobly, but' she refused even her father's advances. He had been a 'little tco stern all .his life, be acknowledged, but if Erminie allowed him .he would make up for his seeming indifference. After a while . his prayers— and he had always been a very proud man— seemed to have effect. She went .about with him ; they became almost inseparable. But she was too cold, "too 1 indifferent to take more than a passive interest in the things transpiring around her. His death wraun the year left her her own absolute mis-tress., Wakely Hali passed into other hands; slowly, almost imperceptibly, Miss Erminie drifted away from all who had known her an»d cared: for her ; little by little she gave up the practice of her religious duties. From the merry girl her friends had once known, she became a taciturn, middle-aged woman ; a reserved, silent, old one. "~ Very few in L knew Miss Erminre's story. She had no relatives there— all were dead, or-.Jiad removed to some distance. 'She had no friends, for she wanted none. Sli,e was never ill, never, known to require assistance, never known tci give any. ' m - Mr. Ledyard had recently come to L . He hadbeep a wealthy manufacturer," and 'had just retired from active- participation in the affairs of a "big iron industry. But he had enough private interests to keep him well employed, and also to employ a young man in a confidential capacity. It was Jack Seveme who discovered Miss' Erindnie. He related the tajle of his discovery to Mr.. Ledyard, and his daughter Olive tnat nighf at .dinner. , '" .. ' ' A queer-looking place, the queerest! ever struck,' he said. ' Set away back in the trees, with funnylittle strings of lacings' and sugar pop-corn "in the "wtoi* dow ! I went in to buy a shoe-lace. I wish> you could see the little old lady. Come down that - way with me to-morrow, Miss Olive. She is like an old- . fashioned painting ; a carving in mellow ivory-; &> Dresden shepherdess grown old.' ' She is old, then ? ' asked Olive Ledyard, smiling a little. Her -pretty face was turned with speaking interest toward Mr. Severne, and , her eyes were r ' soft. ' What is her name ? '

' I do not know— poor Miss Erminie, they aall her. But I siaw nothing poor, about her. Her place is as antiquated as herself, but it has its charms -and is irreproachably neat.' ' Poor Miss Ermanie ! ' repeated Mr. Ledyard. Jack Severne looked up quic-kly, wondering if his ears deceived himi. Was there not an odd note in his employer's voice— a grating har&hmess ? l Some typical, countryish old maid, 111 be bound.' ' No,' said Severne gravely,-' she .isn't that.' ' / • i—i'd like to see her,' said Mr. Ledyard. 1 Oh, father — you're not interested in old ivory, or in old-fashioned paintings,' cried Olive teasingly. 'You know what you said when that dealer wanted to, sell you-"' ' A genuine Van Dyck— yes, I know,' said Mr. Ledyard grimly. ' Probably Mr. Severne's discovery is to '- be classed with that painting.' ' A forgery ? Oh, no,' said Severne laughingly. ' I assure you she is real. Not that I tbinK you will see anything in the little old lady, but there seemed such — well, she looks as if she has had a history, arid human nature is always intensely interesting to me.' '" You may find a new type, Mr. Severne,.' said Olive eagerly!" ' Won' t that be \delightful ! It is possifcde, too — how often it happens — ' '•Nonsense, nonsense ! ' put ion Mr. Ledyard giruflfty. ' The life of a little" old maid in a God-forsaken- vil- " lage ! Types, indeed ! • You won't find any types worth studying in L , Mr. Severne.' Jack shrugged his shoulders. 'On that point we cannot 'agree,' he said. ' This is precisely where we will be able to find them.' He was a little surprised the next day ■to find that Mr. Ledyard was ready to accompany him and Olive on his visit to the little old maid's. In fact, ' he would much rather the gentleman stayed at home, for Olive and he were approaching that state of appreciation in which two are company and three a crowd. If Ma-. Ledyard noted the growing attachment between them he did not say anything in disapproval. 'Jack Severne was not rich, by any manner of means, but' he was clever and well-connected, and Mr. Letiyard „ knew he would not seek to win Olive unless he could offer her us many advantages as her father possessed. Poor Miss Erminie, the day previous, had been" agreeably impressed by the fair-haired, bright-eyed, handsome young fellow who bad spoken to her so courteously, and asked her permission, to remain indoors a few minutes to escape from the blinding heat. He had utterly ignored her reticence, and kept up a fire of conversation — so pleasantly worded and so free from idle curiosity or desire to pry into her affairs that she felt herself thawing under his geniality. It was with a distinct sense of pleasure that slue looked up from her low, rocker and saw his smiling face enter her curious little shop the next morning, tie ' beamed upon, her as if she were an old friend. 'I was describing your place to my friends,' he said, ' and I told them how kind you were to me. They have come to see you too— you won't mind, will - you, or consider it a liberty ? ' Miss Erminie, in her quaint gown, dropped a quaint " curtsy — which somehow did not seem a bit ridiculous, but part of her. ' Indoed not,' she said, in her slow, drawling, Southern voice-. 'If you can find anything to interest you in — ' She lifted her eyes. Mr. Ledyard stood at the door, holding it open, his eyes riveted upon the creamy old face under the snow-while hair. Miss Erminie was no - - longer a young &*irl— she had outgrown the timidity of youtlh. Now the habitual softness went out of her eyes; the hard lines about ho" mouth grew harder, and into her pale cheeks there stole a tinjge of pink— like the flush of a rose. She met Mr. Ledyard's glance but an instant before she turned' her head away — prim, precise as ever, with an added coldness and haughtiness that robbed her of the delicate prettiness of which Jack Severne had spokien. Mr. Ledyard withdrew jmrnediaitely, and went down to the gate and out into the road. Hie was painfully white and- his nerves were greatly shaken— so shaken that he had to stand w under the . shelter of the oak at the gate and rest against it. After a little, "and without waiting for his daughter and Jack Severne, he moved -slowly in the direction of- his home. Strange as it may seem, a peculiar" friendship sprang up between Olive and Jack and the little old maid. They were earnest young people, good young people, and. devout Oaitho'lics. Olive, in particular, was filled with great pity- for the lonely .woman, who was spending her- declining years in such isolation, who had neither friend nor foe, neither love nor dislike. Of whom n 0 one knew enough to care, and for whom no one exist-

ted. Jack Severne was too busy to pay many visits to the curious cottage, but Olive went often, and began to feel, too, after a short while", that her atten- ' tions were not unappreciated. Bub Miss Erxninie said 'nothing of her past or 'present, would not dwell on her future. She was well-iead— indeed, clever. She could entertain if she chose,- and once -in & great while she did choose, to Olive's great delight. The first inkling Olive got into her' past came about by merest chance. Two religious passing ttirough- " L on a house visitation, colleeAng for their orphan .asylum, stopped at the quaint shop." Olive chanced to be inside, and lifted her sweet young face With a charming smile of welcome. .# ' Why, how do you do, Sisters ? ' she said, ''with the gentle familiarity we children of one Mother are permitted toward each other— and" -then she noticed the small black satchel. ' Collecting ? You have been to my father— Mr. Ledyard V At the old 'Wakely place, you know. You have not passed him by ?' - 'Oli, no,' said the older nun, smiling into the ear-" nest face, ''lie has. been most kind— we are very grateful.' • ' ;J; J Olive turned the contents of her purse into the little bag, and' waved the nun's thanks aside. Miss Ermrnie stood, a straight little figure, at the end of her tiny showcase. The Ulster looked at her an instant—she wore a most forbidding expression, and then, with something like a sigh, turned away. Olive glancfed with some^surprise at the little old maid Aren t you— a Catholic ? ' she asked. ' I thought— I 'imagined—' 6 1 I was once,' said Miss Erminie, shortly « They come here often. I will h aVe nothing to do with them, Lw S + - b n Ck ~^° T , back - She clas P &d h er fi ngers together tightly. ' iai never go back-never, never Z'ti ™* he rn?v "n I>Ve lived wiihout God m <>st folt n re- r | live Uie rest of my life without Him.' , , Oh, Miss Ermame, Miss Erminie ! ' said Olive in a ?nn ne l J°i Ce ' p 'iIOTi IO T te^ ble ' how horrible ! Wh &t will t™t ?t*°- G ° d T, hen He scuds for veu? M 7M 7 father, ' ,5? ih I .^Uy as ou are ~he will not go "to church he will not go to Mass or to ccntoSion. And he 1 iKe you is growmp; old. Growing old ! And withheart ' Sometimes the thought almost breaks my Miss Erm-inie looked at her keenly. There wee ties— no, not since 1^ can remember, althoueh he nrn mother that he would see I was* trained and"' brought up a good Catholic. Miss Erminie that 8s o7 g Whlr is S ff r?r ?w S r eI?Mn ' S wMch * cannot dwel fTom ° therwise SO w«,ST^ Ermilvie did not s P eak at once-but her' eves were fastened searchingly on the young girl. Then turning aside, she said very quietly • J mansion ?? 7'7 '° U kll ° W Wh7 7 ° ur father bou e ht the Wakdy *„rL7}l c*e * lately mansion— our horned No,'- said Olive surprised • for she had not expected so quick a chanS think!' ieCt - : UwaS ° nered to him by Q some agenH ' (i Do you like L ? Does he? ' «i«J * l°~ yei T m «ch. It seems a homelike sort of place; to me a restful place.' • ' And your father ? ' . ' He must like it or -he would < not stay here " Hb ls^wealthy enough to leave if he wanted to, and ' And yet ? ' ' I do not think my- father is very hap.py,,' said the girl. ' There is something— a shadow— which I have never seen until he came here. No, I am sure he is not happy, and I pray often that it may be his conscience troubling him, and that in a short while His faith—' She paused, shocked into silence by a laugh which seemed almost eerie-like on the lips of the little old maid. ' His conscience;!-' she -said. ' Oh, my dear young lady, h|is -consc once •! Some men are born without hearts or consciences or principles. Some men — ' She paused at the expression on Olive's face! ' Pardon me. Our conversation seemed to lead me back to a past that I had thought forgotten. I will not betray myself again— or trouble- you.' ' Miss Erminie— indeed, it is no trouble,' said the girl. " ' And if only you would let me talk, sometimes of my father and his utter neglect of religion ! Somehow I can not feel that you are like— like that. You are so gentle and quiet— no, I will not believe it.'

VI would not raise my little finger in that direction,' said FAss Erminie, with savage intensity. Once more a question, a surmise, flashed across Olive Ledyard's brain: Surely there was no way- in which her father and the little old maid could know each'other*? The answer came sooner than she thought it would. Mr. Ledyard, overseeing some 'of the improvements he was having made about Uwj grounds of his nejw purchase, was caught in a heavy shower and wet through. -That night a slight cLtlr set in, and in the " morning he was in a raging fever.. The doctor, called immedi- . ately, said that it was pneumonia in an exaggerated form,. He might recoveiy but — ' . ' ■ Olive almost despaired. To the loss of a kind and indulgent father was added the fear of the loss of his immortal soul. With all bar strength she -besought him to see la, priest, but he turned from her in anger." He had lived, without- them— he would "die without them ! And the words, seemed but an echo .of those - the little old maid had uttered a few days ' before. There were trained nurses day and night, but Olivecould not leave the sick-room. Her- every thought was a prayer, and as the crisis approached her fears knewno 'bounds. She sat with folded hands and- moving r laps at the foot of the bed, watching the dear face over which, it s ; eomed to her, the grim shadow of death was slowly stealing. Tears were in her eyes, sorrow in her heart. None can know such desolation as - hers save those who have seen a beloved soul pass away without the ministrations so necessary to reconcile it to a God whom it has offended. For death is sad, but when Mother Chur.h is withes, It is robbed of all its stmg. - - 'i > And as she sat looking at him, her ears strained lor any word that would show, ' perhaps, the slightest . turning toward his Saviour, the slightest contrition- his \ lips parted. • ' ' ' Ermdnie,' he said. ' Oh, Erminie, ErmSnie !» • - Olive sat bolt upright, unable to speak, to move' And again m such tones of pleading as would touch' tne Hardest heart : ■ .• ' °'\ E /; lm > ie > Ermi ™c Wakely, forgive, forgive !' snnlL r. n i n^ mC h - ad power to wrin « h)i s innermost • liriuni lt h! "V* T,-"" 1 again ' Throu sh all the de- : •ht k o ls . fe^ i* lingered with- him, was ever on ow J P p^ r ard e ;' emn S> olive - wan, and with shadr°e^r^ P^ SS 101 00 n SO on ly h°ef face the ™ * 'Why^Olive*?' 7 ' aSkGd> Stl ' UCk " Wlth ast ondshment. She pressed her hand to her heart fathPr'/S?'? 1 - n °^'' he faltered - P I that m y SuS* \T is- in her hands. :He knows her-he iS wl hh SS V pl nam v, 6,'6 ,'- F rnnnie > Erminie! Erminie Wakely i elch Se? n s,! M ~f,°! us - M y f>tner and she knJw eacn othei. fche must help me now-i-she must ' verne <Th7<fi* ° ] /- V6> my dear & ll > ? said ' Jack Se " world can 11 n ?, </1On i pUre ami simi P le ' How in th « world tan such an ulea have crossed your mindskmahS? 1 L f *f~l Shal1 ' l shall ! ' she said . P as - S? would d ivit card }*« word s he knew that of h£ ioul !' y h6rS S ° Ul ~ lt may be the savin S ' wav S °^ aC i ( l O i llpa ' Ili - ed , by \ he youn S raan ' she made- her 17+ *v lUMn1 UMn , t cotta S e with its quainter occuS mi , c f e^ d - It .was quite late, but the little S^l f fl h * had raised Olive Ledyard during the: Shf n h <daYS -"" ss « l more than she had Hna|in*>d her 3 d tpH°T lMy nn ] ISS an 7 one - A ccwd S^nce at and X mti ?a Sh °-r d that «>«»lhfcig- w-as amiss, - and the httle old maid rose to her feet hurriedly. ™ f o M 7.^ her 1S .' dyini S ! ' s * id 01 i ve , in. qnherfce acm?n?; i V™?? 00 ™ I }^ to God, dying without the Sacra!v ±. ? S w°f ;n?; n ? P riesfc -only for ErariinieWakely and Erminie forgiveness! Come, come, at once ; come forgive him, and -save his sou-l.' ' His 'soul saye 11 it y?Ur haMs -y° u^. yours. Come with me, and . i ++ i The .J 1 ** 1 . 6 " 01^ maid grasped at t-he corner -of her Ittle old showcase to steady herself. Her face was ghastly whiec\ *, " Go J w }' Ux you ~ to him ? ' s he shuddered. « No, a thousand times no, no ! ' 'But you must,' said the girl, in- the high, piercing tones of one laboring under^ frightful excitement. ' I dont care what he has done, what evil, what sorrow' he has brought upon you- Do thing, nothing can equal

the loss yciu will let him suffer 5 now.- Come, make ready ,the way for his reconciliation God; Forgive him', you, forgive Mm— and he will see then that God hast forgiveness, too— *• " The sobs broke in her throat. Jack Sever-ne cast his arm about -her shaking form. - : 'In the name of humanity, of religion, come, Miss Erminie, ' he said entre,atingly." The little" old maid still clung to the' show case,- her lips quivering. IHe was my, promised husband— l defied" all for his sake — gave up all to prove my love— was - willing to leave my .father's house " a beggar to show that I— that I — . And he — went away — 'deserted me, made me a laughing-stock, held me up to the. scorn of my townspeople, the" pity of 'my friends; Without a word, without a sign. t And afterward— l heard the truth. He" wanted my father's money, not my heart, .and on, the eve of our wedding was enriched by a distant relative, sci that he no longer had need of mine— or me.-' She hurled the wards at the two young people, still clinging to the case. ' And "now— after forty years-^-after ;my wasted -life— after such— such— after the conduct of a dastard— you ask" me to go to him— you ask me ? What right has he to call" my- name— ' "" With a low sob Olive slipped from Jack Sememe's - -encircling arm and held out her hand beseechingly. ' Yet he calls on you, he calls ! Miss Erminie, come. There must be something within his heart vths,t tortures him. Oh, Miss Erminie, come— he will/ listen 'to you, and he is— dying. In the presence of death everything must- be left aside— all thoughts, of" revenge. \ Come to him now, Miss Erminie. God is waiting for you— just think, perhaps waiting for your -presence there ,to save his soul ! How can you resist the call of God ? ' - ; Miss Erminie stared at her. She braced her shoulders and drew a " long breath. . For a few moments the struggle raging in her' heart was visible in -her face. Suddenly she sighed and passed her hand across her eyes. ~ ~ '-I will go with you,' she said. ' Let us go— quickly^ The next time the good Sisters -passed that way . they were told that the new master of Wakely. had ' departed this life fortified by all the rites of the Cathnlic -Church. Olive met them, subdued and melancholy in her /-mourning robes, but with a- peace in her soft eyes that reflected the peace in her soul. ;' Visit the little old maid on your -way down, Sister,' she said^ • 'We do always, my child, although it (is & fruitless errand. . But we pity her, and remember her always in our prayers.' ' _, ' ' ' Then your prayers are answered,' said' the girl. 'For she, too, has seen the eiror cf her hardness of . heart/ My father and she were friends in youth, Sister, and he behaved most cruelly, so that he felt he could not ask forgiveness of God when she had never forgiven him. But she did forgive him, and made ready the way for - his reconciliation with -the Church. And then she herself saw the folly of living apart from our dear religion. Oh, -how peacefully, how calmly he died, blessing her and me, and thanking God, and asking His mercy. I shall never cease to thank God myself, Sister.' 1 And she— poor Miss Erminie ? ' asked the nun involuntarily. • ' She is not poo", Sister—s he has just lived ' that way from choice. -I am gomg to clo-se up Waloely — this place was her old home, and she is coming away - with me until— until we both 'forget a little. - And> after that, when Mr. Seyerne and I marry, she> will stay -with us until she dies.' So pryted the -history oi the little old maid.—*-Ben-zigcr's Magazine.' . His eves were red, lv's rose was blue, , He couldn't speak, he'd just say " Tchoo ! " . And everybody round th-ey knew And. pitted him, he had the " fo"o," At last he gasped " What sbJaM I do ? " __ And swiftly came the' answer, too, . • For each one cried " Ob, fool ! procure A bottle of Woods'- Great Peppermint Cure.'*