The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 13 March 1919, Page 3

The Storyteller

THE WILD BIRDS OF KILLEEVY Rosa Mulholland. (By arrangement with Messrs. Burns and Oates, London.)

CHAPTER XIII.—FAN'S NEW FRIENDS (Continued.) . .;- Little "Mamzelle," as she was called, or, to speak more properly, the Signora Dolce, was an Italian. In her leisure hours, when not poring over Dante or Tasso with a pupil, she sat at her easel either at the National Gallery, or in her own little room, and many a sweet little picture, a copy in miniature of one of the old masters, or perhaps only a head, or a group taken from a corner of some of their great works, went forth from her hands to be sold in the print shops, bringing her a modest sum of money in return, which helped to keep the fire alight upon her lonely hearth. When Mrs. Wynch entered the room, she was sitting before her easel doing such work as could be done by lamplight. The lamp stood on a high stand beside her, and the yellow light fell on her fair, pale hair, a mixture of gold and silver, which hung loosely about her large head, and just at this moment had somewhat the character of a nimbus. She was not young, and yet there lurked round her an air of youth, somewhat of the look and expression of a child, which' made one sad for her, suggesting that she had never been suffered to ripen or mature", perhaps for lack of sun or dew, and forced one to wish that Time had not overtaken her so cruelly just yet. Her brows were knit almost fiercely over her work, but the soft "come in" that invited Mrs. Wynch to appear proved that there was no real irritation of spirit within her. "Not here!" exclaimed Mrs. Wynch. "Goodness me! Mamzelle, what has become of the child?" "Is she gone? I left her sleeping on your sofa." "So did I ; but she has taken herself off. Oh my, my ! The ungrateful little baggage. But I might have known what a folly I was doing. I must go and see how much of my property she has stolen." "Not any, I trust," said the signora. "The little one bad so sweet a face. I cannot bear to believe " "Ah, that is so like you, Mamzelle! You are always thinking of the angels in your pictures, and you have wings ready made for every little beggar you set eyes on. What took her off in such a hurry if she hasn't got something with her? Without even saying 'thank you' or "good-bye,' the ungrateful monkey. I that paid her train, and her cab, and gave her her breakfast and scrubbing. I shall hand the matter over to the police, I shall!" "Won't you search first?" said the little signora. "Search the house and see if anything is missing." "There!" exclaimed Mrs. Wynch, angrily. "There's never any use in asking your advice about anything, Mamzelle. You always go off on a hobby of your own, and leave one to worrit out the rest for one's self. If she isn't a thief, now just tell me what do you think she is?" .* : r , "I don't know," said Mamzelle, softly. "We must try and find out." But her irritated landlady had ready bounced out of the room. The signora's work was at an end for that night. She tried in vain to recover the mood so rudely broken in upon, and giving up the attempt, laid down her brushes with a sigh. She took up her needlework and put it away again, opened a book and closed it, just glanced at a guitar that hung on the wall between two small bronzes of Michael Angelo and Titian, and shook her head. Her mind would not rest upon anything, and finally she locked her hands behind her back, and began a little trotting walk up and down and round about the room.

~„, "And why. should they not 'have wings?" she muttered, in an angry whisper, patting her little feet on the ground as if she would .tread something down. "Except that an evil world will not allow it. Such faces, full of heaven, so freshly come on earth! Where did Raphael find them not about the streets and in the fields ? Great Powers ! to think of deception hiding behind such a mask as that! It is enough to make one doubt the great master himself. Do I see a look of mischief, a glimmer of malice hiding in the corner of that little cherub's eye? And did the master see it, and purposely leave it there to disappoint and mock me?" She had taken up her lamp, and was peering into a canvas on the wall, a head of one of the angels out of the "Virgin with the Candelabra." It had been a labor of love to her, and for. many years the beloved companion of her solitary hours. She had never been able to make up her mind to 6ell it, and was resolved not to part with it except upon some great emergency. Something in the face had soothed, refreshed, delighted her; it was unlike any face she had ever known, and yet within the last two hours she had seen a face that bore some resemblance to it. The angel in her picture had the appearance of a young boy, and yet there was in its countenance a certain resemblance to Fanchea. The door opened quickly again, and Mrs. Wynch reappeared. "I'm bound to say," she began, "that I can find nothing wrong; but I shall need the daylight to make a proper search. I feel sure " Here there was a sound of the hall door shutting, a slight noise in the hall; the door of the signora's room flew open, and Fanchea sprang in, her eyes shining, and her cheeks glowing like a damask rose. All traces of languor and fatigue had vanished from her, and she stood erect, graceful, and alert as a young stag before the two astonished women. "I got it; I earned it; I knew I should f" she cried, lifting Mrs. Wynch's stuff apron, and pouring a large handful of silver into it. "Whatever do you mean, you young monkey?" said Mrs. Wynch, seizing her by the arm and shaking her. "Tell where you got it. Whom did you steal it from?" "Steal it!" echoed Fanchea. "Did you think T was a thief, then?" she said, reproachfully. "What else can I think?" cried Mrs. Wynch. "Oh, you shouldn't, you oughtn't, you have no right; how dare you?" cried Fan, waxing more indignant as the whole truth came to her. Then, as the recollection of what her benefactress had saved her from came back upon her, she burst into tears, and sobbed passionately, "Oh, why have you turned cruel? Why have you spoiled your goodness?" There was that in the ring of her Voice that stayed the angry reply on Mrs. Wynch's lips. » "Tell me where you got the money?" she said, after a pause, and a perplexed look at Mamzelle. "I sang in the streets and the people gave it to me," said Fan, drying her tears and looking frankly into the woman's face. ' "I went into great wide streets where there were fine houses, and I sang under the windows. People came out and gave me money. I counted' the turnings going, and so I found my way back. I heard you say you could not afford to keep me, and I thought if I earned some money you would let me stay here with you till Kevin comes for me. I can earn more, and I will give it all to you; and 1 will work for you if you will let me; indeed, indeed I will." Mrs. Wynch-threw up her hands with an air of unbelief, and took a seat with a gesture, as if the whole affair was becoming too much for her. "Do you believe this story, Mamzelle? Can you think it true that people would hand out their shillings and sixpencesay, and their half-crowns," she added, turning over the silver in her apron, "to a little tramp like this, because of any singing she is likely to be able for?" "We will see," said Mamzelle, who had been watching Fan's every look and movement, us

try what she can do. Sing us a song, my dear, if you can-find your voice." r r; ~ ;- ■•--.--'.-•.■?■■_- ; ; Fan swallowed a ; sob, and glancing round the room her eye fell on the guitar. "Will you lend ino that?" she asked, "and it will help me." : : > "Certainly," said the signora, and quickly placed the instrument in her hands. ,' Fan went on one knee immediately, and began to strum with her finger and thumb upon the strings. After a few bars she "saw" Killeevy Mountain; and then her song arose. When she had finished, the two women were silent. Mrs. Wynch, quite subdued, tried to steal away a tear or two that had gathered in her eyes, while the signora wept copiously with her face behind her hands. ■■■"..; "There, that will do," said Mrs. Wynch. "I won't say again but what you earned the money fair enough, though where you learned such singing I can't make out. What do you think, Mamzelle? What are we going to do ?" and she chinked the silver in her apron. The signora choked, and gasped a little, and wrung her hands, while a sort of spasni seemed to have possession of her. "My advice she began. "Go downstairs, child. Betsy is not gone yet; ask her for some supper," said Mrs. Wynch; and Fanchea obeyed, satisfied that she had at least cleared her character. "Now, Mamzelle! Dear, dear, how dreadfully you do take things to heart. What are we to do with this little singing girl ?" "Let the poor bird stay where it has taken refuge," said the signora, recovering her usual demeanor, for her landlady's matter-of-fact speeches always acted on her like a shower bath. "I don't want to drive her away, bird or no bird," said Mrs. Wynch, "not if she's honest, and I've made up my mind she is. This money would buy her some clothes, and if she will work in the house, she might do part of the time instead of Betsy. We might make a little maid of her." "True," said Mamzelle, brightening. "I would like to see the little face coming in and out of my room. But we must not overwork her." 'And you must not spoil her. For mind, I give you warning, if she is lazy and useless I will have none of her here, I would not have a slovenly baggage in my house, not for all the music in the Italian opera. And she must not sing again in* the streets." "Heaven forbid!" said the signora, fervently. "She is far too good for such a fate as that." After this a new life opened up for Fan. Quickly apprehending her position, she labored to perform well all the tasks appointed for her, and was soon clever at sweeping and arranging rooms, dusting ornaments nicely, serving meals, and waiting at table. Dressed in a neat brown frock and little white apron, with her curly hair cut short out of the way, she tripped about the. house doing her best to serve her protectress, and succeeding in winning her good opinion.. "She don't eat much, poor dear," said Mrs. Wynch reckoning Up her accounts at the end of a month "and Betsy's half-time covers the expense. And I'm sure we're a deal more comfortable." She did not, however, admit quite so much to Mamzelle who, she maintained, was always doing her best to spoil the little girl and hindering her from developing into a steady servant. It was with great unwillingness in the end that the two good women agreed it was their duty to write and acquaint the child's friends with her circumstances, and let them know where she was to be found. Neither confessed to the other how much she disliked the idea of losing the little servant and companion, with her bright face and her ready song which would break out air over the house: Mrs. Wynch was ashamed of such! sentimentalism, and Mamzelle was afraid of Mrs. Wynch. Fan dictated the address of the letter, which went its way with its imperfect direction, "Killeevy Mountain, Ireland" ; and then life, in and behind the little bric-a-brac shop, went on as before. . (To be continued.)