The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 27 February 1919, Page 3

The Storyteller

THE WILD BIRDS OF KILLEEVY Rosa Mulhollakd.

(By arrangement with Messrs. Burns and' Oates, London.)

CHAPTER XI.—ON THE TRACK. On a chill January evening, about nightfall, a weary figure approached the gate of a trim farmhouse in the South of England, and after hesitating for an instant, hand on latch, entered and walked up to the lighted dwelling. Through the window he could see a picture of tranquil comfort in contrast with the region of bare, lonely, wind-swept woodland through which his way had led him for hours; and, with a sudden thrill and contraction, the heart within him appreciated the full force of the contrast. The gleam of golden asters and the pale, drenched bloom of pink climbing roses against the gable gave even to the outer walls of the house an air of fostering protectiveness; and the figure visible within between half-drawn curtains, of a fair, placid woman musing by an old-fashioned fireside, hands folded, and face and figure crossed by loving lights and, shadows, seemed to promise an ample fulfilment of the suggestions mad© by the exterior of her habitation. The impression conveyed in a moment by the woman and her walls decided Kevin, who proceeded to the hack entrance to make his business known. Rachel Webb looked up as one of her handmaidens opened the door of her sitting-room. “Please, ma’am, there is a young man outside looking for work, who says he has walked all the way from Ireland.” “Nay, Dorothy,” said the mistress, mildly, “thou must make a mistake. He will have crossed the sea if he comes from that island.” “Really, ma’am?” said Dorothy, who had not the least idea of where Ireland lay on the map. “He must be of an industrious turn if he has come so far for work,” continued the mistress. “Invite him to have some supper and I will see him afterwards.” Accordingly a little later Rachel Webb stepped into her spotless kitchen, and was at once struck by the pale, thoughtful face of the young man who rose from his seat by the fire. Mild and staid as were all her looks and movements, she was a keen judge of character, and rapidly noted something unusual in the appearance of this applicant for labor to do. And Kevin felt on the instant an emphatic increase of the feeling of trust which her very shadow had inspired him with. “Thou art seeking work?” said Rachel; “and I hear thou hast come far to look for it.” “Yes,” said Kevin, “I am looking for work; but, madam, Twill tell you the entire truth.” “Do so,” said Rachel, approvingly. “I have not left my home merely to obtain work, for I had plenty at home. My father will miss me; but I have, another purpose.” “Proceed,” said Mrs. Webb, kindly. “I am in search of one I love dearly,” continued Kevin, flushing with painful earnestness, “who has been stolen away from home; who may possibly be in England ” “A young woman?” asked Rachel, while the maids at a table near pricked up their ears and listened with rounded eyes for the young man’s story. “No, madam, only a child; a child who will on© day be a woman.” “Is she thy sister?” “No; but her mother when dying left her to my care.” “And thou hast quitted thy home and thy country to seek for her?”

-V “Yes, madam. It is two months since I left our mountain, and I have been walking through England for many weeks. I have had work here and there for a few days, to earn a little money to bring me along; but I cannot stay long in any place. I must travel the world until I find her.” “Thou dost interest me very much,” said Rachel iWebb, noting the ring of pathos in the young man’s voice, and the stern reality of the look of care on his face. “Thou hast done well to tell me thy history. I will think over thy case, and meantime thou canst have lodging for the night.” Rested and refreshed, Kevin was sent for next morning to join his new friend in her garden. “Thou shalt work with me here as many days as thou wilt,” she said, “and while we work we will talk about thy pilgrimage.” Kevin fell to work with hearty good will. When Mrs. Webb met the eager eyes of her new servant, and saw him spring forward to meet her slightest suggestion, she thought, “I have got a young Nathaniel; an Isaelite in whom there is indeed no guile!” Rachel Webb managed her own farm in her peculiar way, allowing the greatest possible number of people to live and support themselves on the ground that she owned. A thorough lady in all her personalty she made herself the friend and companion of those who lived by and served her. “Come in here, Nathaniel,” she said one day, “I would speak with thee privately. Nay, I know it is not thy name; but bear with me; I mean thee well.” Her little sitting-room was the picture of repose, with its drab walls and settees, its glowing fire and beau-pot of golden chrysanthemums. She sat at her desk, and Kevin stood before her. “I have been thinking and remembering, and I believe that I have seen thy little girl.” Kevin started ; a crimson color dyed his pale face, and left it whiter than before. “Oh, madam, you cannot be in earnest!” It seemed to him in a moment that had she known where Fanchea was to be found she ought not to have taken him in, fed and housed, and set him to work, but sent him flying along the road in unbroken pursuit. The thought flashed through his mind in half a second, but Rachel saw the blaze of it in his eyes. “Nay,” she said, smiling, “my ways are not thy ways, Nathaniel. Thou must learn patience, or all thy simplicity and they truth will not avail thee. Yes, thou hast had a sort of patience in thy determined search; but thine is rather the endurance of passion than the reasonable coolness and meekness which succeeds. But I will try three no longer.” “You have the right,” said Kevin; “but I am in pain until you tell me what you mean.” “I shall tell thee. A short time ago a troop of gipsies encamped in our neighborhood. I have a dislike of the life led by these wandering people, but yet I feel an interest in them. They bear Scriptural names, and when I hear of their Naomis, their Rachels, their Nathans, I cannot but feel that they are the lost sheep of a royal fold. But I must not keep thee in suspense. I went to see the wives and mothers of this troop, and among them I found a little girl who struck me as in no way belonging to them. She was nursing a baby, and singing with a voice of extraordinary sweetness and power.” “That was Fanchea,” cried Kevin. “It was a voice that affected me in a way I cannot ? describe. The words of her song were in a strange language. The gipsies told me it was Romany ; but I know something of Romany, and I did not believe them.” “It was Irish,” said Kevin, breathlessly. “I had heard that this girl took a prominent part in their performances for the amusement of the villagers ; that she danced and sang and brought them a good deal of money. I was anxious to speak with the child, but noticed a distinct determination on the part of the gipsies that I should not do so. This increased my suspicions that they had not come by her

honestly, and I resolved to be very careful. My intention was to learn her history, to rescue her if possible from unworthy hands, and draw her intb a more wholesome way of life.” “God bless you, madam,” broke from Kevin, who had been struggling to listen with patience. “But the gipsies . were as suspicious and more cunning than I. They baffled me by shifting their tents and suddenly disappearing in the night.” “You have lost eight of them. Oh, madam, why have you kept me here?” “Stay!” said Rachel Webb. “I had a purpose. Thou wert in an exhausted state, and I wished to save thee from illness and defeat. But I have lost no time. The day after thy arrival I sent a messenger in pursuit of the gipsies, to find out their present quarters, and bring me back news of their whereabouts. The messenger has gone and returned while thou hast been recruiting thy strength.” “You know where they are?” “Yes; but I am sorry to say that things have taken an unexpected turn. My messenger found the gipsies, but the child was no longer with them. . They declare that she has run away. Whether it is a trick or not I do not know. This is what thou wilt have to find out.” “Where are they to be found? Which way shall 1 g °r 'That I will explain to thee. My messenger shall put thee on the way. But wait till I give thee my advice. If thou dost find the child come back this way, that I may rest you both and be of some little use to you. If thou art satisfied she has truly run. away, and is a second time lost, and if thou canst not discover any trace of her in the neighborhood, thy best course will be to make thy way to London. A girl with so remarkable a voice will' ultimately be transported there. Some one will take her up to make money of her. Should it come to that thou wilt suffer much, and wilt have ample need for the patience I have spoken of.” The pain and suspense in Kevin’s face mounted to a point l of anguish, at sight of which the good lady’s measured periods came to an abrupt conclusion. She hastily made some kindly preparations for his journey, and allowed him to hurry away upon the gipsies’ track. Following the directions given him, he easily overtook them, the more so as they made no attempt to evade his pursuit. The gipsy mother having suffered her own disappointment in losing Fanchea, felt a certain gratification in witnessing Kevin’s dismay. She came out of her tent to meet him, and smiled at his excited questions. “Yes, we brought her with us. She was always a wanderer, you know, and she liked to see the world. Now she is tired of us, and she ran away in the night. She will see plenty of the world before she has finished. It is not worth our while to search for her, but you can try it if you like. Ah, you will have me punished, will you? Who will listen to you? Where have you got molney for a prosecution ? I defy you, you poor creature ! You had better have stayed at home in your own poor country. But I forgot that it is your fate. Did I not read it to you off the palm of your hand?” Kevin turned away sick at heart. "He remembered what she had said to him on the island, on that evening which now seemed twenty years ago, when pretending to tell his fortune by the lines of his hand. The recollection made his heart sink lower than ever, so plainly did it prove that the woman had laid her plot from the first moment she had seen Fanchea. “You will lose that which you love best in the world, and be a wanderer, seeking for it in vain.” That was what she had said and as the words came back to him he seemed to see again the wild brown island, the crimsoned waves, Fanchea’s little eager face,, and the flocks of white seagulls that wheeled screaming about their heads and disappeared in a trail .of glory

across the sunset. Even as the birds had vanished, so had she gone out of his life. He walked away, and leaning upon a roadside gate tried to think the matter out, while his eyes fixed themselves on the distant landscape. It was a mild, damp winter’s day indistinct forms of delicate purple and misty brown were blotted in softly between the blank grey sky and the fields at his feet; and never afterwards could Kevin look upon such lines and tints of Nature without seeing in them the expression of a weary despair. As he stood there some one approached him; it was Naomi, whom Fan had named the sorrowful gipsy. . “Hush!” she said. “I have been sent to tell you to move away out of this; but I want to say something more. The child really ran away. You may not have believed it, but it is true. I am only a poor, broken-hearted creature, and I have no reason for deceiving you. I liked the child, but she never could have been happy with us. Three of our men have been out searching for her, and they think she must have got away by the train to London. I wish with all my heart that you may find her.” “May God reward you for this kindness,” said Kevin. ‘‘Can you point me out the road to Loudon?” .“You turn to the right from here,” said Naomi, “but that is the very most I can tell you.” CHAPTER XII.—LONDON. Tramping through wet and cold, faring on whatever food he could afford to buy, sleeping sometimes in a barn, sometimes in some corner of a wood, where the rain had not penetrated, Kevin made his way along the road to the great city. He was a strong, stalwart fellow, and sleeping in open air did not distress him. Having made up his mind that Fan must be in London, he kept up his spirits by reflecting on the joy of their meeting in some of the wonderful streets that he had heard so much about. Hand in hand they would “see the world” together, and having seen it to their full contentment, they would return together to Killeevy, where they would tell their experiences, turn by turn, as they sat round the fire with their friends at night. Thus having rested his mind upon hope, his thoughts began to take color from the objects surrounding him. He noticed with the utmost delicacy of feeling the beauty of the country through which he travelled, and contrasted it with the wilder charm of the beloved land from which his exiled feet were each moment carrying him further away. Every short conversation on the roadside, every rest of half an hour on the bench by some friendly cottager’s door furnished him with a new experience, and widened his grasp of existing things. When the road was lonely he cheered it with snatches of his native song, or repeated fragments of- Shawn Rua’s poetry; sometimes continuing a theme according to his own fancy, sketching scenes and forging rhymes, which floated away and were forgotten again, as the rainmists drifted off behind him. And so he reached London long before daylight on a foggy morning. Like Dick Whittington and others, Kevin had expected a certain glory and splendor to burst upon him at his entrance into the great city; and as he threaded the ■wet, foggy streets his disappointment and surprise were extreme. Was this London he asked again and again, and was answered, yes, that he was in London. He breakfasted at a coffee-stand with a group of shivering milk-sellers, whom he eagerly questioned about Faxxchea. But none of them had seen her. “As well look for'a needle in a pottle of hay as look for a child in Loudon,” said the owner of the coffee-stand, with a pitying smile. “But it does not seem so very large,” said Kevin, looking B..rminrl on flio navrnw cf.roof. on /I rllll rrtr li/iiicaq -- C* vv t J. W 1. nyuocu. “Walk a little further, my young h’emerald,” said the .man, “and come back next week, and tell if h’our London ain’t big enough to please you!” The day broke, the fog cleared a little, and a sickly yellow light made all things visible. Kevin had pursued his way from by-street to bystreet, axnd

from thoroughfare to thoroughfare,:, and was walking up one of the streets leading from the Strand to Bloomsbury, when his' attention was caught by seeing an old man stagger under the weight of a shutter which he had taken from a shop-window and was hardly strong enough to carry. Kevin sprang forward, just in time to save him from a fall on the slippery pavement, shouldered the shutter, and put it in its place within the shop. “Thank you! thank you !” said the old man. I’m sure I’m obliged to you. I am not used to carrying them, but my assistant has treated me badly; went off last night without notice.” Kevin answered by quickly stripping the window of all its shutters, and leaving an interior lined with multitudes of old books exposed to public view. “Well, you are a strong one, and a ready one, you are,” said the bookseller. “I am sorry to have delayed you from your business.” “I have no business,” said Kevin, with a little laugh and toss of the head. “I am a stranger in London, looking for work.” ‘Oh, come now, that would do exactly. But stay ; you are a slip of the shamrock, I think?”. “I am an Irishman,” said Kevin, quickly. “Not so. fast, young man; I’m not one of them bigoted ones that condemns a man for his country. We’ve done you more harm than you’ve done us, according to my way of thinking. I’ve dipped-enough into the old books to lead ,me to, that ’ere conclusion. But who ’ave you in London to give you a character?” “No one,” said Kevin. “I did (not think of that. “It’s a difficulty, you know,” said the bookseller: “for you’d have to live in my house and take care of my property.” “Yes,” said Kevin, “I see. And of course you cannot be sure that I am not a rogue.” “I do not think you are; I do not think you arc.” - “I am obliged to you for your good opinion; but it is a difficulty which I suppose will follow me everywhere. I trust you may find an honest man. Good morning !” Kevin turned away with his head erect, and a lump in his throat. To require a proof that he was not a rogue! This was a misfortune he had not anticipated. He had hardly got to the corner of the street, however, before he felt himself plucked by the sleeve. “Turn back, young man,” cried the bookseller. “Let me look again in your face. Yes, I will believe in your honesty. Come into my shop and I will show you what to do.” With a strange feeling of wonder and satisfaction Kevin followed his new employer into the shop. From top to bottom the walls were lined with books, more or less old and shabby. The counter was old and notched, the little ladders for fetching down the books were worm-eaten. The floor was mended, the boards dark with age. It was a curious, dingy little den, but Kevin looked around him with interest. The love of books, awakened in him late, had increased upon him rapidly since he had given himself to study. To be employed among books, to dust them and handle them ; nothing could be better to his taste. His new master brought him upstairs and introduced him to a small room at the top of the house where he was to sleep, and where he now removed his travel-stains, and made a hasty toilet. They breakfasted together in a small dark room behind the shop, a sort of reserve store for surplus books which stood in piles upon the floor, barely leaving room - for a stove and a tiny table in their midst. The winter daylight could hardly penetrate through the one small window built round with walls, and a lamp burned on a bracket above the stove. Here Mr. Must, the old book merchant, was wont to read his newspaper in the leisure moments of his day, when he was not busy in his shop, or absent attending book sales In the city. : .

Having received a lesson in his duties, Kevin was left to fit himself to his new position. - Customers were not numerous; and as Kevin sorted, and classified, and arranged, he made himself acquainted with the names of a multitude of books, their subjects, and their authors. When his task was finished he planted his elbows on the counter and lost himself in a fascinating volume. ‘ So the day passed; the dim, yellow light vanished, Kevin lighted the paraffin lamp on the counter, and read again. Now and then he raised his head to listen to the wonderful tramp, tramp, of many feet hurrying along the pavement, the most positive outward sign of the vastness of the city which had as yet been forced upon his notice. A clock ticked loudly above his head and looked like the face of time peering out of the accumulated learning and poetry of centuries. Kevin walked to the door and looked with eager interest at the faces of the passersby, asking himself how many, had read these multitudes of worn and handled books, how many heads were full of their secrets, how many minds were illumined by the light of knowledge they contained ? Then back again to the counter, and deep into the subject of his interesting book. It was about seven o’clock in the evening ; his employer had returned once during the day to dine, and had been out about his business all the long afternoon. No one had entered the shop since nightfall, but now Kevin was startled from his book by hearing a quick light step crossing the threshold. A young woman came in, dressed in a black waterproof cloak and a little hat, and carrying a small nosegay of flowers in her hand. Kevin had barely time to wonder at seeing flowers at such a time of year before the young woman crossed the shop, and, bowing, he asked what he could do to serve her. The girl stopped, stared, showing a pretty face, pretty in a style that was quite unfamiliar to Kevin. Then she gave a little laugh, and passing inside the counter with a backward glance and smile, into the house. Soon after Mr. Must came home, and Kevin shut up the shop. “Come this way! Ah, Kevin. My, what a name! Why are you not Tom, Dick, or Harry? In the evenings we give ourselves a little breathing space upstairs.” They had stumbled up the narrow, dark staircase, and Mr. Must threw open the door of a comfortable, lighted room. Shabby and dingy it was, but wnat with well-drawn curtains, a blazing fire and lamp; and a neatly-spread supper-table, the interior looked most inviting’to the poor stranger who was invited to enter. The girl who had passed him in the shop was in the act of carrying a dish from the fire, and smiled and nodded at Kevin’s surprise. “This is my daughter, Mr. Kevin (I will not attempt your other name). Bessie, this is my new assistant. She works with a florist in Covent Garden Market, and sometimes she brings us a little bookay said the father, triumphantly, sniffing at a few slightly faded flowers which had been carefully placed in water on the table. “He wanted to sell me some of your rubbishy old books,” said Miss Bessie, mischievously. “I thought that you Were a customer,” said Kevin, and then he ventured an observant look at this new acquaintance. She was neat and trim in figure, and her black dress was decorated with a scrap of geraniuffi fastened at her collar. Her movements were active and pleasant to look at, though full of consciousness. She had that unmistakable townbred air that cannot be described, but which is conspicuously new to a country cousin, and as strikingly absent from the appearance of every fresh-cheeked new-comer from, the woods and fields. Her hair was yellow, and was cut across her forehead in the conventional fringe. “We haven’t many customers on such a day as this,” said Mr. Must. “Bookworms mostly like to grub in their libraries at home this foggy weather. But I’ve done a goodish stroke of business to-day, for

all that. Bought a rare nice lot as cheap as framers.” ‘‘Mr. Kevin.was one of the bookworms this evening,” said Bessie, with a knowing little laugh, and-she suddenly planted her elbows on the table and clutched her head with her hands in such a ludicrous way as to make Kevin and her father smile. ‘‘More than you’ll ever be, miss/’ said the latter, chuckling and rubbing his hands. ‘‘l did read a good deal,” said Kevin. ‘‘When I had done all you told me I had nothing else to do.” “I don’t object to it,” said Mr. Must; ‘‘not if the business ain’t neglected. My best assistants have always taken a dip into the books. Them that never looked,, between the covers was always the ones as let the books rot, from the damp, and lost me customers through not having the goods in their proper places. The man that reads knows where to put his hand pu what is wanted, and it stands to him instead of tobacco and beer.” “My !” exclaimed Bessie. “It takes the roof from over his head——” “Oh, dear,” said Bessie, looking up at the ceiling. “Don’t be impertinent, miss; you know what I means. It creates a h’atmosphere about his head, and that’s what makes us booksellers so superior as a race. ~ “I am glad you do not object to it,” said Kevin, smiling. "No, I don’t; but I’ll give you a bit of advice. Sort and classify as yon go along. You’re beginning young, and it’ll come easy to you. I didn’t begin young, and I didn’t sort nor classify; and though I've been picking and reading rip and down for twenty years yet it has done me no good to speak of. All the knowledge has got mixed somehow, and they’re got into a sort of perplexity. If I had all I knows properly parcelled out and labelled, Lord ! there’s no knowin’ what I might have turned into. Perhaps it’s the mercy of Providence, for very great men is never very happy ones.” , Mr. Must leaned back in his chair, and patted his waistcoat while he looked over his spectacles placidly at his daughter and assistant. Kevin smiled and Bessie laughed outright. “What would you have been, father, if you had your choice? The Emperor Napoleon, or the Duke of Wellington?” “It’s hard to say, Miss Pert. I couldn’t have been men that was so long before my time: but I might ha’ been something as great in its own way.” “I think I’d take the risk of the happiness,” said Kevin, “if I had the chance of doing something great.” “Well, well! it’s just as I said. You’re young, and you try it. Dip whenever you has time : but sort and classify, or you’ll be like one of them books we get sometimes in a mixed lot, without title-page or finis, and with pages out here, and pages out there, through and through, like a riddle of holes. The learnedest work among them won’t fetch a price if it’s in such a condition. But if you has the knowledge in you, and has your chapters filled up, and your pages numbered, and your beginning and end in the right places, never fear but you’ll be worth a new binding and get a reading as long as there is a eye in the world.” * This good advice Kevin took to bed with him, and he lay awake a long time wondering at the din of life that lasted so far into the night, and thinking about this wonderful chance for self-education that had come in his way. He was in London, and he must work to live, and lie must stay in the city till his quest for Fan should be happily brought to an end. Meanwhile he would read. And then his thoughts wandered away through I lie labyrinths of the streets, and in dreams ho continued his search for the missing child. ,

(To bo continued.)