A TATTERED ROMANCE

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVI, Issue 23, 11 June 1908, Page 3

A TATTERED ROMANCE

16 faTm WaS ° n itS laSt le^ S> tiiat was self ~evi- ' Rag-weeds and thistles crept through the -^pasture • fence and encroached upon the road, with -curious-eyed dog-fennel peeping out here and there. sentfnel^fUure. 11 ' *" St °° <l ** the br ° kea gate ' a ,' A , one-horned cow was reaching lazily over the bae ° snl Ppmg oft the leaves of a ragged cab- ™ i A - flo< 2: °L?f se dabbled and out of a stagnant pool m the little hollow below the walnut tree • from S i*? I Ca s ed a dra wling, high-pitched voice _ from the log house beyond the persimmon- grove"' why haint youjiurryin' them geese up? I'm just tired standin' here watchm' the hogs out of the yard.' Yes urn. The geese hain't done dabblin' in " the There was a grumbling reply, but Mary Frank did not near ; she was busy chasing a contrary goose into marching order. Finally she experienced something she had never seen or heard of before. She had been running about the pond, stooping under the briers, slipping into the ill-smelling water until her blood seemed as hot as fire ; another run £f« H e w and she fel1 ' with a Mile groan, forward into the hot dust upon the road. ' Mary Frank gets more no count every day I'll just fasten the gate after the geese and go on <to Mrs. Brown, the widow, who owned the small farm under discussion, felt herself aggrieved, in that, in her seven children she had only one boy. h Q^ Dad £ ad - Igirl1 girl - S ,\' she , J would say ' ' the y J ust eat their heads off like idle colts, when they're growin' up, and after they're grown they go and marry some no 'count man critter.' Meanwhile Mary Frank was in her dead faint in the dusty road. The afternoon was nearing to its close, but Mrs Browns lace-makmg needed her attention, and it never struck her that her youngest and most fragile daughter was not coming at her usual time. Opposite to Mrs. Brown's farm lived a silent bachelor, * the last of a race famous in neighborhood annals as fox hunters, hard drinkers, and long livers. Death had taken away every member but one in the years following the war, jyid Cyril Woodlett was left with, his hounds, his horses, and his remnant of a farm. He grew more reticent as he neared his fortieth birthday, while Ins well-kept orchard was the temptation, as its owner was the terror of the neighboring - boys. - & Toward the Browns he never showed any recognition beyond a contemptuous tolerance, that the widow received with very evident displeasure. To-day he had been seeing to his tobacco, and as he neared the roadside he stopped and took a look up the lane for, the one-horse cart that carried the village mail. All he saw was a slender figure doubled up ib | the dust, one outstretched hand clutching a faded pink sunbonnet, while the sun beat down hotly on a head of soft brown hair. 1 Gee ! ' muttered Cyril, ' somebody's killed, I reckon. Drd you ever ? ' He raised the soiled face and examined it carefully for bruises, as he did the arms. Then he made an effort to stand the unconscious figureo on its feet, but it fell against"- him limply. ' Gee ! ' he said once more/ I guess I'll have to carry you home, but I expect I'll never hear the last of it.' He thought with a pang how light she was, and ' he noticed the thinness of the wrist and throat. The possibility -of her being half-starved suggested itself. ' He had not, he was certain, ever looked squarely at one of the Brown women, yet this face against his breast seemed strangely like an old friend. He saw the little curls of hair, damp against her forehead and neck. ' Poor little girl ! ' His own thoughts expressed, startled him. For a minute he rested against the fence and looked at the thin face. In all his life he. had never been the comforter or helper of any woman. He felt ■ a tenderness for the burden he held, that a mother feels for a child. . > . A dumb unreasoning hate of the ways of" the | Browns filled him, and he wondered if death was not

pleasanter to the girl than life as it was forced upon By this time he had reached the door of Mary Franks home. Mrs. Brown's lace-making was going' on- monotonously. x &<*&""& Cyril raised- his voice and ' shouted : . Here's one of your girls. She's been layin' out ' there in the roa.d all afternoon fur all I know. You'd .better see to her.' a, ? is v ? ice aroused her. She moved and put out a hand to hold to him ; he felt it was a protest against his leaving her at Browns. *1/ I h Z ~ ould see t0 her >' he^ muttered regretfully. But, G-ee ! this will be down to Millville 'fore to-morrow.' - 'My sakes ! ' cried Mrs. Brown. ' I just -been ' spectin to see her come out of her head, most every day. She takes after my family, we all was delicate J.IK 6. ' Gee ! ' began Cyril, ' I reckon she's overdone herself. She don't* look' able to be out in the sun as much as she is.' - 1 I 'spect she don'b be careful as she ought, - but you've heard 'bout pore folks having ppre ways.' ■1 ~ H ust stay tiU 1 see if she ' s coniin' 'round,' said Cyril, as he took one of the rickety chairs. ' That's mighty neighborly of you, Mr. Woodlett. I ' was just tellin' the girls t'other day that you wasn't such an onncighborly man if you's took on the right side.'. There was no reply to this flattering speech that he could make, so he studied tht clock:: Mrs. Brown produced some 'medicine, and after several vigorous slaps and sundry ejaculations Mary Frank was ' brought around,' as her mother called it. ' Now, if you'll just fan -her. awhile, Mr. Woodlett, the girls and me will shake you up something to eat ' Woodlett bent over the girl. Her dark eyes looked - hollow and there were same weary lines about- them. She looked at him unseeingly. ' 'Taint no use, I "can't get that one in,' she muttered. ' She's not all right, ' thought Cyril. Mrs. Brown came in for a moment, and he spoke to her. - ■wT ' I think your girl's in a fever af some kind, and I believe she needs a doctor.' _^_ ' If she does I don't see how I can—' she paused. A sense of her helpless poverty overtook her. Mrs. Brown slipped her beads from her pocket and fell on her knees by the bed. ' I'm goin' to say some prayers. I can't do nothin' but that.' ' She needs something to build her up.. Did she have any dinner ? She looks like she never had eaten ' anything.' But her mother was praying with her eyes tightly closed. Cyril went out and closed the rattling gate behind him. ' I guess I'm in for it this time,' he groaned. 'I. can't let her die. I'll go for a doctor, and I'll settle the bill, too, I reckon,' he added, grimly. Darkness was hiding the desolateness of the little cabin and its surroundings when Cyril returned with the doctor from the village. ' What do you reckon ails her, doctor ? ' asked Mrs. Brown, anxiously. The old doctor looked at the girl closely. ' She's overworked,' he answered, gruffly. ' Not properly nourished ; she's not been well for a long time, but, of course, you didn't notice it. Got any stagnant water 'round here ? ' he asked suddenly. ' Yes, they have,' spoke up Woodlett. 'An old • goose pond right before the door, you might say.' 'We hain't any of us been sick, an' that pond's been there more'n fourteen years,' answered Mrs. Brown sharply. ' But this has been an unusual summer, - madam,' answered the doctor suavely. ''Such' an unusual amount of sickness, especially in this form,' waving his hand toward the bed, ' typhoid.' Mrs. Brown caught her breath. ' ' Has she' -that ? ' she murmured. She put her hand "over her eyes " and "Woodlett saw a tear trickle through the worn- and browned hand. ' It takes a heap of money to bring them out of that. - When my husband died .it . took the whole tobacco crop to pay the expenses,' she said trembling. ' There's more in the nursing than anything else,' consoled the doctor. ' I suppose you have plenty of milk out here ?. ' -' I don't keep any cow now. I had to .sell her to—.' j Again- Mrs. Jr own choked over the fact that her cow had paid the taxes. ' You must manage to let her have all the' milk she can drink ; but mind, no indigestible food, no

meat.' And, say, drain out that pond and you'll save the grave-digger. ' - * - _ Woodlett saw the doctor out the gate. ' ' Just - you see her through, will you. Doc ? I'll see that the "bill's settled.' The doctor looked down' at the rugged but "manly ' Straws show which way the wind blows. I've heard, but I'm surprised.' Then he rode away. - " - Woodlett felt the remark like a blow. 1 He'll say that in < ~Millville,' he 'groaned: He crossed the field to the - old house that had sheltered three generations of his name and was still substantial. As he neared the door -he noticed how overgrown the lilacs and honeysuckle" were. - His - grandmother had planted the last shrub there in 1830, and if it- had ever received a check its riotous conduct did not" testify to it. _ ~ ' A blur and white morning-glory was trailing in ■ the grass by the verandah. He tore up some cloth and trained the delicate blossoms around the railing. • She would- like" that better, if the—,' he commenced aloud. ' . " ' Gee ! ' he gasped ; ' such a fool.' " . But his being one did not prevent him from leading over his favorite cow and recommending her and her acquirements to Mrs. Brown. ' Now I'll leave* her here until your daughter gets better. All you've got to do is to feed her and she'll I give you plenty of milk, but don't stint Mary Frank.' | The name gave him a new feeling. « • I ' Shell never get well." Didn't tier father go that way,? Though I nearly starved the rest to give him - the things he needed ? ' Cyjril shut his lips "tightly. - ' We won't give in so easy,' he- answered, firmly. 'We will fight each step.' Mrs. Brown felt the reserve force in that- we.' ' It is kind- of you and neighborly, but it will take the farm tp pay it back.' ' I hain't askin' no pay,' answered Woodlett sharply. ' But you must help me in the fight.' Mary Frank had a cool draught of milk the next morning, but she did not recognise anyone. Her eyes were half-closed, while now and then she complained : .'-Oh, me ; Oh, me ! ' The next* morning Cyril came over early. ' I'm going to drain that pond, Mrs. Brown. Your geese can take to the creek for a while.' Mrs. Brown flushed, but the determined man went on. - ■ He was there when the doctor rode up and looked down at him humorously. - r ' Taken possession, eh, Woodlett ? ' ' / ' Look here, Doc.; you know I hain't no jokin' man, but them women need a man's' help. They're shiftless, anyhow ; 'so . was the old man. If that girl gets well I'm going to ask her to be my wife. . If she dies,- why — .' And he- waved his hand resignedly.- <" . ' That's right,' assented the doctor ; ' get her out of this anyway. 1 Several days passed, but the fever was master'; Then the day of the crisis arrived. The doctor stayed three long hours. { She will get well — now—,' he said measuredly', ' if she has anything to call her back from death. She seems to not have proper energy.' Woodlett came that evening. He sat studying her" face intently. \ ' Do you know me ? ' he asked in a low tone. ' Yes, you are Mr. Woodlett,' she said faintly. * I've been here every day since you've been sick, "but -you don't remember that.' ' The last few days I remember you:' ' You're glad to be getting all right ? ' he asked anxiously. She closed her eyes' tightly, r then looked sadly out through the gathering night. ' I'm just a burden on mother,' she said apologetically. • She has such' a hard time, "anyhow. I hain't never earned a cent,^ though I've worked and worked. I just feel so tirednihat if it ain't any harm I'd just ;as lief not \4set well:f : ' But if you could 'have a house of your- own and comfortable chairs, plenty of cows and horses, with a ■ chance to make your "mother's life easier, when then ? ' """ A quick smile trembled across her face. 1 Oh, that ; that would be all I'd ever\ want.* c Then just think of getting ground all right, and I'll see to the rest.' -The days came when Mary Prank could walk out and see the lanes flashing with their- borders of golden -rod. Woodlett came over with a light rocker. r We will move it back after a while,' he said smiiiner. ' ;

1 Take this ' chair, 'Mr. Woodlett,' invited Mary Frank. * I want to ask you a question to-day ,' he began. ' Remember, I want -you to say just what your- heart says. Ever since I carried you home that day I've wanted you to go over yonder as my wife. I'll make you a good man, and you will never want- nor be overworked. Don't say yes unless you can love* me, or because you feel obliged to me for anything.'. Mary Frank put her hand over her face and commenced to cry. ' Don't,' said Cyril awkwardly, 'we won't say another word about it.' He picked -up his hat a little blindly, but Mary Frank's thin hand caught his sleeve. ' Don't,' she cried brokenly. ' I could not live without you. I have liked you a long time.'—' The Monitor. '