A HAPPY CHANCE

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXV, Issue 47, 21 November 1907, Page 3

A HAPPY CHANCE

A hot" sun poured pitilessly down upon the gailydecorated streets, on the long red line of "soldiers on guard, on the densely-packed 'mass of people standing within the military lines on either side, a good-hum-ored if impatient Dublin crowd. Long festoons of roses hung from lamp-post to lamp-post, gaily caparisoned Venetian" masts stood at intervals along the streets, flags of- all colors and sizes drooped from.. the windows of the^houses. All was life and color, bustle and excitement, for it was the occasion of- the State entry into Dublin of King Edward and his Queen. On the topmost doorstep of a handsonre city mansion stood a young gill, waiting with the rest to see the pageant go by. In a quiet corner beside her, resting in a folding chair, sat a little ' boy of eight or nine, watching the whole busy scene with interested eyes, whose unnatural brightness was increased twofold by the hectic spots of color beneath them. - The girl herself was young and slender, ' more than common tall,' with something about the willowy figure and her slightly hollowed cheeks which gave one the impression that she, too, had outgrown her strength. She loo"ked at' the boy now with an anxious air, as though doubting her own wisdom in having brought him so far and into such—a crowd. ' I'm. all right, Mab,' he said with a bright smile, in answer to her looks of tender inquiry. ' I'm jolly comfortable here. But, I say, it's your turn now -to have a rest,' making .an attempt to rise. 1 Don't get up, Brendan,' his sister said, with gentle decision. 'Don't you' know I'd be quite doubled up iL I attempted to sit -in that seat ? Can you see anything ? ' ' •Oh, yes,' cheerfully. 'I suppose' they'll soon be here ? ' ' I hope so. You'll hear the cheers beginning afar off as soon as they xome in sight.' A slight commotion in the crowd below her now distracted the girl's attention. Amidst a great deal of josriiiig ana shovingpand some half-suppressed exclamations of annoyance, a little old lady pushed her way or rather found herself pushed through the crowd. She clutched at the railings of the .steps beside her as a drowning) man will catch at a. straw, and findijng a sure footing on the lowest of Mabel's flight of steps seemed determined not to budge an inch further from this safe harbor of refuge into which she had drifted. Mabel from, her own high vantage point looked down at the newcomer with a certain feeling" of compassion. She was a little woman, white-haired, very feeble, very old ; - utterly out of place in this thoughtless "-crowd without someone to protect "and fight a way for her. Mabel walched her still clinging feebly to the railings, slie saw how the old woman's" breath came and went in quick gasps. . Her bonnet was all askew the pretty little boßs of white curls which hung beneath it at' each side of " her face were tossed and dishevelled. All at once the bright color which illumined the withered old cheeks faded into paleness. Her eyes closed; . for a moment it seemed as though the old lady were about to faint. With a little' cry of' alarm, Mabel pushed her way down -and put her arms supportinely about the old woman. ' Thank you, my dear,' the latter said, opening her eyes after a moment. «It is nothing. I'll "be all right presently.' ' There's a seat up here,' Mabel told her. 'If you could come up to it you would be better.' Two or three pairs of willing hands were outstretched to help, and the old lady found herself half led, half lifted into the q.uiet corner which by silent consent on the part of the bystanders had been reserved for the delicate-looking boy. ± 1 Than i c y° u again, rriy dear,' the old woman reiterated, as. Brendan quickly vacated his seat in her favor ' You are very good.' She sank "gratefully into the folding-chair. . „.' Don't talk too much yet,' Mabel said gently. Would you like some grapes ? I had brought some for brother, wlio is' not very strong.' • Ah, yes, poor boy ! ' shaking her head. «He looks too thin. What do you give him ? Milk, meat, eggs cod liver oil ? He needs all these things and plenty of Iresh air. You should take him to. the countiy, my dear.' - ' 'Unfortunately,' Mabel said, with a pitiful smile, keep? me fn\^} Jam ™ hle t0 do " MyT*sines*

1 And is there, no one else ? .' ' There is no one else. Both our parents are dead.' 1 Poor children ! ' the old lady said tenderly. ' Ah; well, God is good. I once had a delicate boy of my . own. But he grew up so sturdy and independent of me -that sometimes I air. almost wicked enough to wish he had remained delicate. For now. nothing . will do him "but to travel the world over and leave his poor old mother desolate and alone. Isn't it cruel. Well, what a foolish old woman I was to get myself lost in this crowcT! 1 wanted to get to my friend, Lady M'DonneUs— l live in the country, my dear — and when we came a certain distance into the city my carriage would not be allowed any further. So, as I was determined to see their Majesties come in, I tried to make my way through the crowd on foot, and of course it nearly killed me. But what is this, child ? Lift the btoy up ! Uan he - see ? ' The King and Queen were coming. A great wave of human voices swept up along the crowded lines. The girl lifted her brother high in her arms that lie <night have a better view. The old lady had leapt to her feet, and stood straining her neck to catch sight of the royalties. ' Well, welL, what a marvellous woman ! ' she was saying. ' Not a day older, I do declare, than when ye saw her at Puncfaestown, I and ir.y dear Edward, how long ago ! Ah, my dear, time has not dealt so tenderly with all of us.' Mabel saw that the oTd woman's eyes were filled with something suspiciously like tears as she* waved with enthusiasm a tiny lace handlcer chief in the air. In another few minutes the last of the carriages had passed ; the pageant was over for to-day. llt was a great "deal too short,' the boy said, in tones of disappointment, as his sister, with a sigh of relief, set him again on the ground. ' Ah, well, wasn't it worth seeing, after all, Master Dissatisfied ? ' the old lady said sharply. ' But now, my dears, I must be going on. My friend's house is not many floors away. What is your name, child ? And do you live in this sq,uare ? ' ' Oh, no, ' Mabiel answered. 'We live at 23 C street,' mentioning the name of a well-known thoroughfare in a decaying part jof the city, once a favorite place of residence with the old aristocracy, but now given over to the undisputed possession of tenement dwellers and cheap lodging-house keepers. ;, My name is Mabel Plunkett. Brendan is my -brother's name.' ' Plunkett !• ' the old lady repeated softly, a shade of tenderness creeping over her face. ' I onge had some very dear friends of that name, but they are gone long since to the land of shadows. Perhaps I may come to see you some day, my dear.' " Mabel murmured her thanks/ somewhat shyly and awkwardly, it is true, being indeed embarrassed b3 r the high honor threatened to be conferred on her. What would this " finely-dressed old lady, who talked with such ease of her carriage and her titled friends, thinkof their own poor abode on the dingy top floor of a second-rate lodging-house ? Kindly and gracious as Was the old lady's manner, the girl hoped devoutly thati she would forget her intention. But she need not have been afraid. _ Week after week went by, 'and still there was no sign of ' the strange old lady coming to see them. Mabel and her brother were wretchedly poor. The orphan children of a physician whose practice had lain in a poor part of London, and who himself., .owing to long ill-health, had died in poverty, they found themselves at his death practically thrown on ~ their own resources. That was to say, Mabel's resources, for Brendan could* not be anything save a drain on her purse. , With part of the inconsiderable sum realised by the sale of their furniture she and her brother had migrated to Dublin, where, as it was the city of her father's birth, the lonely girl felt she might be more at home. But it aid not seem to make much difference ; her father's friends seemed to have forgotten his existence and" That of Ins family— at least no one sought to find them out. • Luckily, the girl .had musical talents, which, though there was little chance now of being 'able to develop them, gave hone at least of enabling 'her to make a . living by teaching the piano. An advertisement inserted in the papers had brought her two or three pupils, who in turn recommended her to others of their friends. - During the months of winter and spring she had been fairly successful in making ends meet, but " now that summer had come, most of her pupils had gone

now ? '

to the country or the seaside ; the one or two . that lenrained hardly sufficed, to keep them in bread and'blatter alone. And then there were so many things to be thought of— the rent of their two little rooms, .now long overdue ; clbtnes "for Brendan and herself, medicine and delicacies for the boy, whose little strength seemed td . lail him more than ever in those attics under the. roof since the hot days bf summer arrived. Only yesterday the landlady had told her ih lib uncertain tones that if she did not pay the , f eht by the end of the week they would have to" leave. Mabel . had a wild idea of disguising herself somehow and setting out to sing- for pence in the streets. The idea did not appeal to her, though there was little that she would not have done to bring back the roses to Brendan's pale cheeks, to see his worn, shrunken little limbs covered with firm, healthy flesh oncejnore. If there was even anything that she could sell. But there was nothing ; no jewels, no plate, -nothing worth selling except that little gold locket belonging to her mother, set with diamonds and pearls, v with the miniature of her dear father inside— her father not as she knew him, bent, gray-headed and broken, buif young and handsome, with)' smiling eyes and a brave and confident air. Ah, no ; she could not part with, that — and yet if Brenmie were to die ! — The boy was inexpressibly dear to her. What kind of a world- would it be without Bxennie ? A visionflashed across her mind of a little wooden coffin being slowly carried down the long, dark stairs and out into the sunshine and down the noisy street, to be laid in a lonely pauper's grave. " With a half-stifled sob of anguish she threw herself down beside the boy and enfolded him in a passionate, motherly embrace. ' What's the matter, Cis ?' he asked in surprise, laying aside the illustrated boy's paper in the reading of which he had been thus rudely disturbed. ' Nothing, darling.' She had always been careful to hide her troubles from him. ' I was only thinking of something that might happen.' & 1 Just like a girl ! --Fancy anybody crying over something "ERat might happen ! You were crying, Cis J — your eyelashes are wet. Hello ! what's up with her now ? ' ' Her ' had reference not to his sister, but to Mrs. Mulrooney, their landlady, whose surly and disrespectful behaviour latterly had not been entirely lost on the boy, and whose well-known rap was now heard at the doojc of the room. ~" ' Come in,' Mabel said in loud tones, jumping up hastily and brushing away a tear. The door opened, and, to her astonishment, Mabel caugiit sight of "her landlady's countenance, smilirjgly obsequious and refreshingly guiltless of a frown as she ushered a daintily-dressed old lady into the apartirent-, announcing! the visitor's name in mincing tones as 'Mrs. Browne Cooper.' To Mabel's surprise, she saw it was none other, than the same old 1 lady whom they had <met on the" day of the royal entry. _ ' Why, my dear children, "whlat a Sreadful height up you -are ! I'm- ,' quite out of breatli,' gladly sinking . into the chair which Brennie brought forward. ' No, not a bit good of me, child,' as Mabel ventured to thank- her for coming. ' I ought to have found you out long ago ; but 1 was busy, and other things put you out of my mind.' Her keen eyes travelled round the apartment, refreshingly neat and tidy, for all its barrenness and poverty, Ihen rested inquiringly on Mabel's face. Perhaps she, too, saw that Hie girl's eyelashes w.ere wet, for she turned towards Brennie as though to find in him an answer .to' a question suddenly -arisen. 1 Well, what's the matter with' you, young sir ? What about getting off to the country for a month or two, eh ? ' ' <■ "< Mabel looked at her' doubtingly. Could it be possible that this kind old lady -herself meant to help them ? '' ' What Have you "been doing to yourselves ? "Tell . me what you had for your breakfast this morning ? ' ' Tea and bread and marmalade,' Mabel answered, forgetting to be offended by the old lady's brusqueness. ' And " what will you have for your dinner ? ' TTie girl hesitated. ' Tea and bread and marmalade again," I suppose ; and tea and bread and nrarmalade, or bread without the marmalade, for Your supper later. Is that it ? Don't deceive me, child ; I know.' - Mabel nodded silently, feeling all at once that she wanted to throw hejrself at the feet of this kind if inquisitive old- body, and by telling her all her troubles lift half the weight of them off her own young heart. 1 I thought so. Well, well, we must change all tliat. Have you any money in the house ? What is that you've got in your hand, child ? - Ah, a locket I

see, and a pretty one, my dear. That old-fashioned bit of enamel is beautiful. Whom have you in it ? Your sweetheart ? May I look ? ' She glanced at the girl with bright, questioning eyes. ' It is my father,' Mabel said. The old lady snapped open the locket, then gave a cry of surprise that was almost pain. * Your father, child ? Was Roderick James Plunkett your father ? ' , , * ' That was papa's name,' Mabel answered, wondering much how her visitor^ should know it. The old lady was silent, looking from the face in the locket back to Mabel and the boy with eyes that were dimmed with tears. 'My child,' she said .then, ' your father and I were very dear friends a long" time ago. " We did hope, both of us, to. be something more than, friends some day, but it was -willed otherwise. Roderick Plunkett was a poor country doctor, ana I was an heiress, the only child of my parents, who wished a wealthier match for me. We drifted apart— he to earn a living in London, and I, weakly, into a marriage which,- though it gave me riches^ a good husband, and a dear son,' yet never brought me the heart happiness I had dreamt of. Poor Roddy 1 What a happy chance it was that brought me here ! I never heard that your father was married, child. He must have married late in life.' ' I believe he did,' Mabel assented. ♦He was not very successful at his profession, but he had bad health— heart trouble it was— for nearly as long as I remember.' v 'My dear, he would have been successful if I had married him,' with an air of conviction. ' I broke his heart. I broke his heart. Poor Roddy, poor Roddy,' she went on in a dreamy', sorrowful way, till at last she seemed to remember where she was. ' Now, children,' she said, ' you must' come with me at once ; my carriage is at the door.' ' But ' Mabel began. 1 There are no " buts." lam going out straight to my country home, and a little fresh air will do neither of you any harm. What do you owe this woman down-stairs ? ' % Mrs. Browne- Cooper was a close student of human nature, and had shrewdly gathered from the landlady's first manner that her lodgers on the topmost floor were not just now in her best graces. It was useless for Mabel to protest or prevaricate. She would pay the landlady's bill, and they should go with her. 'My dear, I am " she who must be obeyed," ' this* self-willed old lady said with a smile. ' Long ago in nay youth I lost the best happiness of my life by being weak 7 wille"d and too easily led, but I have atoned lor it ever since. Now I make up my mind to have what I want, and I generally get it, too.' Mabel, not ill-pleased to have to' obey this beneficent tyrant, now packed up their few personal belongings, and, having paid, by her visitor's orders'? the landlady's bill out of her visitor's money, a few minutes later she and Brennie were seated comfortably in Mrs. Browne Cooper's landau and driving rapidly away from the scene of so many unhappy hours. " It was quite # a long drive to Killardyce, Mrs. Browne Cooper's country residence, which, as Brennie remarked, to that "lady's evident pleasure, might better have been called ' Paradise ' instead. Such woods, and fields,, and lakes, with gardens and orchards, terraces and greenhouses, flowers and sunshine and running rivers— everything that was sweetest and loveliest in the whole glad world ! • Why, my dears, it is just dinner time,' the old lady said, as the carriage swept round the corner of a big,_ oM-fashioned mansion and stopped before the imposing front entrance. ' And this is my son, child,' she went on, as a tall, 'sunburnt young man came forward and hefped his mother to alight. ' I "did not^tell you, did I, that my wanderer had returned ? This is Miss Mabel Plunkett, Gerald, and her^ brother Brendan, the children of, an old and very dear friend. I have persuaded " them to come— much against their will, indeed—to stay a few weeks with us here.' The young man lifted a pair of very pleasant, kinfclIy brown eyes to Mabel's blue ones. 1 T ol \ - are welCome *b Killardyce,' he said simnlv. And looking into those honest eyes of his, Ma<bel felt at once that they two would be "friends. x-,t T x? month has lengthened into two or thiee, and - still there is little sign of Mabel Plunkett returning to her weary routine of musicaT tuitions. The girl has wound quietly around the heart of her benefactress wno treats her as a dear daughter for whose love she haa always been lonely. Little Brendan every day grows -stronger ;v the color X has come back to his wan cheeks. The .household at .Killarayce is a singularly happy one, and \ since f the

wanderer ' seems at last to have found a pleasant and safe anchorage in Mabel's tender heart, there is nowlittle'likelihood that his mother will again be bereft of him.—Tfie ' Catholic Fireside.'