THE PRICE OF A HOLIDAY

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXV, Issue 49, 5 December 1907, Page 5

THE PRICE OF A HOLIDAY

It was Sunday afternoon, and John Scrivener was enjoying his time of rest in his own way. It was a very good way, to my thinking. ~ He sat in his large wotiden armchair.i holding his little daughter Loo tightly as she stood on his knee and twisted her chubby baby fingers in among his hair. His boy ' Jack squeezed himself into the chair behind his father, and there' the three were, as happy as -one could wish. • John's eyes were full of a glad- content, which deepened as he watched his wife moving about the room, engaged in clearing the dinner-table. She was a little thing, .not much more than a girl" still, with fair curly hair and blue eyes. John Scrivener had married

her eight years before, and he loved her as dearly now as he had ever done, for he was not a man to change his mind easilyC ' ' Steady, little lass ! ' he said, tightening his hold on - his baby daughter as she tottered. ' Steady there, my little L.oo ! ' Then he turned to his wife. -*■ ' Lizzie,' he said, ' I've promised to go over ~ to Thornton's on Thursday, as it will be a holiday, to help him' put up the bit of fence round his garden. You'll not mind, will you ? Thornton doesn't seem to know how to. turn his -hand . to, a thing by himself.' Lizzie pouted a little, and her face flushed. 1 You might ha' taken me to see the show, \John, I do think.' - - s 1 Why, Liz, my girl, you wouldn't leave the children alone ? ' . " _ , ' Just as well as not. What harm could come to them. ? I shall go to see the doings with Mrs. Freeman,' grumbled Lizzie. Then John put the children down, amd an angry light began to dawn in, . his • gentle blue eyes. 'He strode across the room and laid his hand on his wife's shoulder. 1 Listen to me, Lizzie, and mind what I say. I'll not have the children locked in here and left to take care of themselves. Seeing they're only four and seven years old, you might have more sense. Even for a few hours, I v won't have it ! Now do ye understand?' But Lizzie turned upon >hi<m and cried petulantly : 1 You never • seem •to think a body might want a bit of pleasure herself sometimes.- " It's, always the children, the children from morning till night. I'm sick of hearing about them. You never think of me, that, you don't.' She began to cry. John's anger gave way to tenderness in a moment. Perhaps he had been hard on. - the little wife he loved so dearly. After all, she had a dull life. He had not meant to be unkind, and he melted at once at the sight lof Lizzie's tears. 'Come, now, my girl,' he said gently, ' don't cry! " I'll take you out to see the fireworks when I come home, and we'll get Mrs. Spriggs down below to look after the little 'uns for a while. So promise to stau with 'em till I conre.' And Lizzie promised, half-comforted, and half because John— strong, gentle, masterful John— had made up his mind, and Lizzie dared not oppose him. But when Thursday "had come, and John, with a parting; iklss aij round, had gone off to Thornton's, whistling as he strode along with his bag of tools over his shoulder, then Lizzie began to regret her promise. She looked at her little clock on the mantelpiece. It was just nine o'clock. There -was still time to join Mrs. Freeman. John would never know, and if he did he would not be hard upon her when it was all over and done with. So reasoning, she succeeded at last in stifling the voice which said within her, ' It is wrong ; you . ought not to go,' and made some hasty preparations. She tooto all dangerous and breakable articles out of the room and put out the fire. ' They won't, hurt a bit,' she said, though her conscience pricked her, for the day was damp and foggy.Then she gave the children some playthings, and after - making little Jack' promise to ' play quiet till mother comes "back, and be good- to little Loo,' she locked them in and ran downstairs. Mrs. Spriggs, the lodger in the room below, readily r undertook to look in at the children now and again, and Lizzie promised to be back by two o'clock. Then she set out — careless young' mother, a very child herself in her thoughtlessness, thinking with delight of the new pink ribbons she had found time to put into her best hat in honor of the occasion. The day wore on. John Scrivener, hard at work at the bit •of ground which Bob Tdiornton called his garden, began at last to think he might take a rest. He stood up and surveyed his work with pardonable pride. Not every man could put a fence up as neatly as that. He called to Mrs. Thornton, who was standing, at the door, to come and admire. As she moved towards him a- man ran down the street and stopped at the gate. 'Scrivener,' he cried breathlessly, * here— qiuick, man! You live at 10 Whiteland street, don't you ? ' 'To be sure. What's up ? ' ' It's a fire, blazing hard ! You'd best come and ♦see.' • John threw down his hammer and reached the gate with a spring. In another instant they were racing down the street, side by side. As they ran John's companion panted : 1 Which, floor were they on— your folks ? ' ' The third,' was the brief reply.

The man stopped aghast and stared at him. ' Then the little 'uns were*"alqne ? ' „ ' No ! ' thundered. John, turning suddenly upon him. My girl was with them. Don't tell me she -wasn't !' The other laid his hand on his arm. His face was pale, and when he spoke his voice was thick and husky. . ' Scrivener,' he saM, ' hear up, man ! It's hard, I know, but you were aLways a b'fave chap, and you'll take it like a man. The children—.' He broke off hastily. ' Well,' said John in a hoarse whisper, ' why don't you go on ?■ What about the children V ' 1 They- were alone, locked in ! ' repeated the other slowly. ' And— and the floor gave way before we could get- to them.' - v John Scrivener staggered backward. - For a moment lie was- too giddy to speak, then he ..turned his white face to his companion.. 'IV s a fie ! ' he cried ; J Lizzie was with them ! She— she promised me not to leave them. It's a lie"! ' 1 Maybe she couldn't help herself ; maybe she was called away. They were alone, locked in ! ' repeatedthe ®>tEer. ' A terrible look was dawning on John's face. He raised his arms to the sky.- '/ Then I hate her !, ' he cried. '-It's her doing, and I trusted her ! ' . Not another word was spoken until they reached the scene of the fire. As they joined the crowd a fireman emerged upon the # roof with something in his arms. A few .moments and he was safe on the ground, and as John pressed forward he saw the • face ■of his boy, lying ( white and still on the man's shoulder. .' 'Is he gone ? ' asked John in a strangely ouiet voice. -'" ' No-fc he !' ' answered the man cheerily. « Thank God we're close to the hospital.'' .- " ' There was another— a little girl ? ' The .father's lips cpiivered. The fireman did not tnow him, and answered : - - ,- ' We coiuld not save her; we were too late. They re mad who leave blabies like these alone, locked in. We could have saved her but for that.' Again that gsiddy feeling came over John, but he struggle^ agiaijnst it "and held out his arms to take his boy. ' At that moment a woman -pressed forward. ' Come with me, for God's sake, Mr/ Scrivener ! Your wife is waiting for you.' He turned round suddenly. 1 Keep • her out, of my sight ! » he cried." ' Keep her away from, me, I say ! Tell her I'll" not see her! Oh, my bajby, my little Lop ! ' 'He went to the hospital. Little. Jack was conscious, but the doctor would not let him see his father as yet. Hour after hour John waited, and was at last admitted for a" few minutes. He held his child's hand in his and spoke to him tender, cheering words. Then, • as he -stooped and kissed him, such- a rush of painful " feelingi swept over him that he hardly heard the doctor's voice, till a bJojpeful word or two made him look up. 'We shall pull him round, I think— an fact, I am •pretty sure of it. No need to be downhearted.' Then Dr. Royes held out his hand and dismissed .him 1 „ gently. John went to a friend's house and sat • i there through the night and the long day that followed, his head 1 on his arms, deep, 'heavy sobs from time to time breaking the silence of the room. They left him alone, knowing, by their sympathy, that it was best so. The sun-was setting over the great sad city - when the door opened softly and. a figure crept in. It was Lizzie. John did not raise his head, and she sank downon the floor beside him. She dared not touch him, and crouched there, sobbing. _Hot, burning tears were running down her face, swollen and flushed with crying. - Suddenly he looked up. • She could not meet his eyes, but she crept nearer and laid her arm upon his knee and her head upon it. The fair,- fluffy hair that John had so often caressed",''the hair that - was so like little Loo's, fell over her shoulders and hid her face. „ •'.-John ! ' she sobbed. ' John, ~dear John, forgive •me ! ' - ' , ~ She had nothing more to say. That 'is the bitterest of all repentance. As John lbolfled. down on her his passion of resentment died away, and he knew how dearly he loved her still. Dimly he felt that strength is gentleness and forgiveness comes from God. With all his old 1 tenderness he put his arm round Lizzie and lifted her up. She clung to him., sobbing, and in that ■ moment husband and wife felt for each other as they had never done before. Together they were starting on the road of mutual help and patience, and out of their bitter trial came forth a stronger love.— Exchange.