L THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ^hamrock and Wattle 5$ loom : A SERIES of ... ( HORT TALES and .... SKETCHES. BY . . MARION MILLER (Authoress of "Songs from the Hills.") Melbourne : EDGERTON AND MOORE, PRINTERS, 241-248 FLINDERS LANE. i goo. PR 602.1 DEDICATED Him who, in my hour of need, Hath proved himself a friend indeed ! 1592465 PREFACE. WHILE placing this unpretentious collection of short tales and sketches before the Australian people, I take the opportunity of thanking them for their kindness to me in the past, and for their patronage of my first book, " Songs from the Hills." An Australian by birth, I have not roamed far from my own native mountains and valleys. The advantages of travel have not been mine, and circumstances have forced me to move in the one narrow groove. Therefore, I claim your kindly indulgence for all wants and defects in the work here submitted. If a tragic note be too often struck, the cause is not far to seek. My childhood was spent in a once-flourishing mining town in the heart of the Dividing Range, where tragedies were of appallingly frequent occurrence. Old memories still cast their gloomy spell over me, and their shadows on prose and verse. Chide me not harshly That sad is the theme Over and over Of dream after dream. Fain would I ring thee From Fancy's blue height, Liquid and golden Bell-notes of delight ! The curlew can tell not Why sad is her cry, Though the sound of her mourning Heart-pierces the sky. The bird that is silont Till others are still, Then croons to the midnight From some lonely hill, Knows never a reason Why, pensive, alone, She chants in the moonlight Her weird monotone ! THE AUTHORESS. CONTENTS. I'AUK Sally's Widower ... ... ... ... ... ... 9 The Store at the " Golden Bar " 1<> Echoes of Old Mining Days ... ... ... ... ... '20 Aunt Hannah ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 26 Sandy 29 A Wild Night in June, 1883 34 Miss Binnie, Costumiere ... ... ... ... ... 41 "Trust" 44 Sarah Jane ... ... ... ... ... 47 "Daddies" ... ... f>l Patsy f>f) Daisy ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 57 First Love ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 65 In the Wind and the Rain ... ... 67 ' The Duchess " ... ... 70 'Me" A Surveyor's Story ... ... ... ... 73 Gavin Glynne's " White Rose " ... ... ... ... HI Geoffrey Stapleton, Bachelor ... ... ... ... 92 Jim Allonby's Xnias Letter ... ... ... ... ... 109 Barbara: A Mining Idyll ... ... ... 117 The New Draughtsman ... ... 137 "^Kathleen Mavourneen " ... ... ... 144 Damien Engelhart's Xmas Eve ; or Cissie's Angel ... 155 A Page from the Annals of Corley's Creek... ... ... 163 Jonathan Harwood, J.P 170 Tom Rogers' Wife 173 The Old Maid's Dream 181 Exceeding Small ... ... ... ... ... ... 184 oom. = Sally's Widower. Old Samuel Hodson was about to marry again, after being a widower for ten years. The news galvanised Narrawanna into life. Samuel had been the most devoted of husbands, and time had not lessened his grief. Every day he went up to the cemetery, with flowers for her grave. His garden was the pride of the town. Through all seasons the flowers bloomed. Over the mantelpiece in the old-fashioned but com- fortable parlour was an enlarged photograph of his Martha's tombstone. Her bedroom had been left exactly as she used to arrange it; her dresses still hung in the wardrobe; every article of jewellery she had owned re- posed in the cabinet he had given her when they mar- ried. For ten years Samuel had "batched for himself," visit- ing only old cronies who could talk of the past. He had so long shunned the society of women that when Sally Vorne, the new blacksmith's daughter, had first "passed the time .of day" to him over the fence the only response she got was a grunt. Sally retaliated by cracking jokes at his expense whenever she saw he was within hearing. Every word spoken on Vorne's back verandah could be heard in his garden, and, as Samuel spent most of his time there, very little that was said escaped him. Talking, laughing, singing, "the woman's voice buzzed about his ears all day worse nor a swarm of bees!" he had complained to his friends. Now the news was abroad that Samuel was going to marry Sally. A 10 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. Sally made no secret of the fact. She took every- thing said by her surprised neighbours in good part, and set to work to get her trousseau ready. On Sun- day mornings she walked to church with Samuel ; in the afternoons she accompanied him in the stroll round the township in as matter-of-fact a style as if they had been married for years. It was some consolation to disapproving gossipers that Samuel, with his halting gait and bent shoulders, always looked uncomfortable and out of place beside her htne figure. Sally was handsome, and knew it. It was not from lack of lovers that she had accepted Samuel. The young signalman at the railway station had long laid siege to her heart, and the constable across the road had often forsaken his proper "beat" for a smile and a nod from Sally. Whv she had taken up with a man "old enough to be her father" was a distracting question. Now she passed the signal-box with never an upward glance from her saucy dark eyes. For once the signal- man discovered that for him at least "the line was not clear." She would not .give him the satisfaction of meeting his reproachful gaze. in vain he asked him- self had she forgotten the night of the quadrille assem- bly, when at her own gate he had snatched a kiss from what seemed not unwilling lips? She had flown away, it was true, like a frightened bird, but the impression had been strong upon him that she was not ill-pleased. Jack Norris had made love fast and furiously to Sally. asked her twice to marry him, and, when she refused with jesting words, had threatened to blow his brains out and hers too, at all of which she laughed, telling him his snub nose was never meant for "trag-gerdy." She now took peculiar delight, thoroughly feminine, in parading past the police station, leaning affectionate- ly on Samuel's arm. She always felt "tired"' just as she neared the sign of V.R. She knew that the discarded lover, watching them from his office window, was invok- ing the powers of darkness, and wishing for the pleasure of handcuffing them both. Samuel never troubled himself about Sally's past love affairs. He was lost in admiration at her bright- ness, her cleverness, her tidy ways, her cooking powers. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 11 Sally did not find him exacting. He was humbly pleased with every small attention she showed. He showered presents on her in a sort of speechless grati- tude. He had money, if he had not youth. He seemed particularly anxious that everything he bought for her should be "up to ,date." "The house is too old-fashioned for me, Samuel,' she had told him. "You must get new furniture for the parlour. I'm not going to have my visitors passing remarks about these old-fashioned things! Those an- timacassars, bead mats, artificial flowers, and that wax girl under the glass globe must be all stowed away out of the road. Put them where you like, but don't leave them in this room. We must keep up to the times, you know! Why, I'll make a new man of you in no time, Samuel !" and she kissed him lightly on his wrinkled cheek. "What you like, Sally, my lass!'' he had answered, but liis eyes had lingered doubtfully and affectionately on each one of the despised articles. He ordered new furni- ture, and the old-fashioned things disappeared. It was a month before the wedding. Sally was busy putting the last touches to her "going- away" dress, when an old schoolmate called whom she had not seen for months. "I've been meanin' to come up and have a yarn with you for ever so long. I've brought you the last of our wattle-blossom, old girl. Isn't it lovely? By the time it is in bloom again we'll both be visiting each ether with our husbands! Don't it seem funny?'' "Oh!" said Sally, "so you're going to be married too? That's news. Who's the lucky man? Bob May?" "Bob May ! You know well he hasn't an eye for any other girl in the district out yourself! Between ourselves, Sally, I think you've treated him badly. But, there, you needn't look so mad!" "Do you mean to tell me, Anne Lovett, that you aren't going to marry Bob May after all the Sally paused, her face white now. "After all the what? Bob May never had two words to say to me since the hospital ball before you were engaged to Samuel, you know and then he spent all the evenin' tryin' his best to get me to make up the tiff 12 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. I had with his mate, Tom Griffin. We sat out near' all the dances. Seems Tom. had told him about our quarrel before he went to Broken Hill, an' Bob pro- mised to lend a hand to make things right. He's a real good sort, is Bob May ! I wasn't goin' to make so little of myself as to let Tom Griffin know I was dyin' to make it up ! but Bob managed it without my havin' to write an' Tom's comin' home at Christmas." Anne twirled round the new ring on her finger with a dreamy smile. Her mind had flown to her Tom, so she did not notice how Sally's hands trembled as she put the kettle on to make 'a cup of tea," nor the strained, stony look that had come into her eyes. "Bob sent you notes pretty often, anyway, Miss Anne ! Mrs. Burns told me her little Jimmy was al- ways running down to your place with them." "Always!" said Anne scornfully. "He only sent down Tom's letters to himself, knowin' how glad I'd be to see them. It was Tom's letters that drew the heart out of me Tom none the wiser I'd ever set eyes on them, an' talkin' so hopeless like." Sally silently put scones, cream, etc., on the table. "You are a fine one, Sally Vorne! I thought you'd be the first to wish me luck. Sally's arms were round her neck by this. Her kiss was hearty, though her lips were cold, and the words she whispered in Anne's ear brought blushes of pride and pleasure to the girl's face. Next day Bob May's heart throbbed with surprise and joy. Sally, on her way back from the grocer's, had actually looked up* at the window of the signal-box, smiled, and bowed. He returned to his "points" with a lighter heart than he had had for months. That evening Samuel saw a ghost. He came into Vorne's about 9 o'clock, pale, awd shivering, as with cold, though it was a warm evening. "What is the matter, Samuel?" cried Sally in alarm. He walked to the mantelpiece, and leaned against it ; then, without meeting her eyes, he answered slowly "I'm not so young as I used to be, my girl, and I saw something in the garden that gave me a bit of a turn though I don't believe in spirits, and I know the mind plays us queer tricks at times." SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 18 "What did you think you saw, Samuel?" Sally said, kindly, laying her hand on his arm. He turned a little away from her. "Martha," he answered, almost inaudibly, and some- what shamefacedly. "What! out there in your own garden?" Sally said, tremblingly, fear seizing her that his mind was becom- ing unhinged. "Yes walking down between the flower beds at the side. It was a woman right enough, dressed in white." Suspicion shot through Sally's practical mind. She thought of Bob May, and her heart hardened against him. She pushed Samuel gently into his arm-chair. "Look me straight in the face, Sam Hodson. I de- clare I'm ashamed of you. Some silly boy's trick to un- settle you like this. I wouldn't have believed it. I'll make you some hot supper at once; that'll drive ghosts out of your head. An' you so well up in Scripture, too! You'd better not tell father I hear him coming now or he'd never let you hear the end of it. He'd laugh loud enough to bring the house down." Sally lay awake a long time that night. When morn came she had decided on her course of action. She would marry Samuel Hodson if all the young men of Narrawanna were to scare him into fits with ghost scares every night. She was a fool to think of Bob May. He was no better than the rest. She'd let him know what she thought of him ! Late in the day she had occasion to send a neigh- bour's child on an errand. On his return, after the manner of children, he stayed and talked. "You don't know what I seed last night!" he said, nodding at Sally. "The man in the moon?" "Better nor that ! I seed I seed" in an awe- struck whisper now, and clutching hold of her gown "a ghost!" The butter-dish dropped out of Sally's hand to the floor, breaking into pieces. "You naughty boy, you nearly scared me to death ! Pick up the bits of glass for me. There are no such things as ghosts ! Where did you think you saw it ?" 14 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. Tommy jerked his thumb iu the direction of next door. "I was gettin' my mornin's wood for lightin' the fire. Dick an' me had forgot it, so we sneaked out while father was writin' a letter. We was just lookin' round before takin' it inside, an' we seed the ghost goin' down Hodson's back yard like a streak of lightnin' ! I was frikened ; but Dick, he said, 'Let's see where it goes, Tommy !' so we out an' hid by the corner of Moore's fence, an', sure enough, it came up our back lane as quick as quick, an' into the side street. Dick an' me followed it, but it didn't go far. It just turned round all of a sudden, an' put somethin' black over itself. I was so frikened, I hid against Dick, but he says it made for the police station, an' went right through the back gate, without openin' it!" "Oh !" said Sally, and stood five minutes looking into vacancy. She seemed to derive great satisfaction from the exclamation, then she told Tommy to run home to his ma, and think no more about ghosts. Only bad boys saw ghosts! "So it wasn't Bob," mused Sally when the bov had gone ; "I might have known nobody but that fool Jack Morris would have played such a trick ! He a con- stable, too! I'll make him 'shake in his boots' before the week's out." She did, with a vengeance. The wedding day drew near. Bob May wandered round to the house one evening with a present for Sally, which he barely gave her time to take out of his hand, before he was off, deaf to her entreating call of "Mr. May!" Presents were arriving every day, but this one had been unexpected. Sally took it into her room, and un- did the wrapper with fingers that trembled. It was an album of some value, but an ordinary present enough. When old Jacob Vorne came home to tea. Sally's eyes were red, and her face so pale that he asked her with concern if anything had happened. "Oh, no!" she answered. "Cant one have a cry at times for sheer happiness? Am I not going to be mar- ried in a fortnight to one of the best and richest men in the town? What more could any girl want?" SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 15 "Before your mother married me, Sally, my girl," said the blacksmith, giving a glance at the picture on the wall, "I'll take my oath she never gave herself a swollen nose and a pair of eyes like two burnt holes in a blanket to show how happy she was! Look here, Sallv. you're all I've got. If you feel like drawing back from old Sam, just" tell me, and I'll settle it all up for you, without you having to say a word. You can't deceive your old father, my girl!" Sally's eyes filled with tears. "It is all right, daddy!" she said, putting her arm round his neck. "There is no man in the district I re- spect more than Samuel, I am quite satisfied." It was touching to see the devotion of Sally to old Sam. She never answered him sharply now, never ordered him about, nor bantered him as had been her custom. This, instead of giving Samuel pleasure, seemed to trouble him. Though he sought her company more than ever, and every day added something to the furniture of the house to give her pleasure, he seemed restless and ill at ease ; often started when the girl spoke to him, and would sit twirling his thumbs without speaking a word. The wedding was to take place on Monday. On the preceding Thursday Samuel's manner was so abstracted, he seemed so dull and heavy, that Sally could not but notice it. There was some weight upon him. After long silence that had been awkward for both he arose to go- Sally followed him out into the passage as usual. He bade her the customary farewell, but his lips were cold, his hands were shaking. Great pity for him filled her heart. She laid her hand on his arm. "Is there anything wrong, Samuel?" His face worked as he looked at the soft, bright eyes soft with a tenderness he had never seen there before but he never spoke. "Won't you tell me, Sam? Perhaps I could help you, dear?" He caught her hands in a grip that made her wince. "Sally, Sally ! God knows I meant well by you, but" 10 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. he turned from her with a hoarse sob "I can't forget the old 'un !" In the silence that followed, Sally whispered inaudibly, "Thank God!" The Store at the " Golden Bar." It was Saturday afternoon. Masterton's store was crowded with people from the outlying districts, loung- ing about, gossiping, or buying their weekly stores. Anything, from a nail to a belltopper, was obtainable at Masterton's, as also the latest news. The old store- keeper was a noted scandalmonger, who enjoyed nothing better than a good yarn. Annie, his daughter, was tying up parcels of tea and sugar at the counter. Absorbed in her work to all appearance, her ears were strained to catch every word of the conversation going on between her father and a stockdriver from Tinteldy Station. " Yes, there's been no end of a row this time ! Jim has done for himself now, I'm afraid. The old gentleman ordered him out of the house. He was game to the last, though; told the lot of them he would rather starve than touch a penny belonging to them." "Fool !" said Masterton, sharply ; "he was always too quick with his tongue. He'll cool down yet ! And where is he going, did you say?" "To Queensland, I think. He did mention the West, but I fancy that was onlv to mislead the old man." There was a singing in Annie's ears, her face grew pale, but she quickly recovered herself, and when her father looked round to see if the customers were being attended to, she was talking animatedly, a bright flush on her cheeks. "By Jove, that girl of Masterton's is growing a deuced handsome woman! I never saw a finer pair of eyes," said Allison, the commercial traveller, to his neighbour, as they stood in the doorway. "She has a temper to match, they say," the other re- joined carelessly. "Is it true Jim Mostyn has a fancy for her? Preciors little good it'll do her if he has ! Jim Mostyn is a re- gular 'ne'er-do-well ; ' hasn't got an idea above a horse. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 17 A jockey's life would suit him better than a gentle- man's." As he spoke a young fellow brushed past him and entered the shop. "Talk of the - -! Why, it's Mostyn himself." Old Masterton left the stockrider and hastened to at- tend to the squatter's son with a great show of cordial- ity, but, as he went behind the counter, to get the to- bacco asked for, he took occasion to mutter a few words in Annie's ear that caused an angry flush to leap into her eyes. She turned away from her post, and busied herself at the shelves. This little bit of by-play did not pass unnoticed by Mostyn. His brow darkened, and he answered the storekeeper's suave remarks in a surly tone. "Mostyn looks down on his luck," remarked a few with whom the young fellow was popular on account of his free-and-easy style with those whom the rest of his family considered beneath notice. "Not much 'go' about him to-day." "There was enough yesterday!" said the stockrider, who had joined them. Then lowering his voice, "He thrashed the overseer at Tint-eddy within an inch of his life for domineering over the men. Some poor devil of a new-chum jackeroo has been a butt for Smith's hu- mours for long enough. Jim was always knocking about among the shearers, so he knew all that was going on, and had it 'out' with Smith the first opportunity. Smith complained to the father, and as Jim was out of favour altogether with the old man through debt and drink, he was ordered to clear out, and leave Ms father toman- age his own affairs. I don't believe he has a shilling to his name, but he's taking him at his word." The group looked with new interest and some admi- ration at the dark, sullen face opposite. Old Mostyn was disliked by the whole community for his arrogance and meanness, Smith more cordially still. The "Golden Bar" was the ordinary bush township general store, hotel and post office. Tinteldy Station kept it going in more than news. Many of the Golden Bar men were employed there. Yet feeling ran high against the squat- ter, and his scapegrace son was never without sympa- thisers among them. 18 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. The storekeeper, however, found it served his interests best to keep in with Mostyn, senr. Had Jim got on with his father, he would have placed no hindrance in the young fellow's way as regarded his daughter. But as things were, he kept a watchful eye on both. For over half an hour Jim hung about the shop, talk- ing to one another, but never losing sight of Annie's movements. At last he found an opportunity to pass her a slip of paper, and then went out. It was nearly 6 o'clock before the crowd thinned and she had a chance to read it. "Meet me at the old place at 8 p.m.," it ran. "I am going away in the morning. It may be years before I can see you again." Her father came suddenly behind her. "What are you reading?" he asked, suspiciously. "Only an order," she answered coolly. "Mark me," he said, looking into her defiant eyes, "if I catch you fooling round with that young scamp of a Mostynj, you'll suffer for it! He hasn't a penny to bless himself with, and no daughter of mine shall marry a worthless spendthrift, whose own people have kicked him out. So understand me, once for all!" He passed out. Annie's face hardened as she looked after him, "Money, money always money !" She hid the slip of paper in her breast. A tender gleam softened her dark eyes. "Poor old Jim! It is not likely I will turn against him now." It was quite dark at 8 o'clock, save for the dim light of the stars. It was only by very skilful manoeuvring that Annie was able to leave the shop at all. She was just halfway down the narrow bush track that led to their trysting-place when a hand clutched her from be- hind, and ahe turned round with a faint scream to see her father, his face white with passion. "You are going to meet that fool!" he said, hoarsely, shaking her in his strong grasp. "Go home, or by Heaven, I'll swing for one of you yet!" She wrenched herself free from his grasp. "In this one matter you must leave me free to act for myself, father. In all others T[ am at your service." He lifted his hand and struck her -in the face. The SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 19 girl staggered back with a cry that brought her father to his senses. "There, girl ; I didn't mean to hurt you ! Come home. It is the best place for you!" He caught her by the arm, afraid that she might slip away from him; but this time she offered no resistance, and walked quietly back with him, making no answer to his attempts at reconciliation. Not fear for herself, but her lover, restrained her. The store at the Golden Bar closed early that night. Jim Mostyn came in as the shutters were going up, and asked if he could see Miss Masterton, to bid her good-bye, as he left for Queens- land in the morning. "I regret to say that she has retired for the night, but she left this note for you," old Masterton said, with a bow and a smile. Jim's face brightened somewhat, and he said farewell to the storekeeper with a hearty shake of the hand. Masterton watched him go out with a grim smile. "I think I've settled that business!" he said, with a chuckle. Mostyn read the note under the hotel lamp. It was short and to the point: "Dear Mr. Mostyn, It is best, after aJl that has late- ly occurred, that we should part. It would only cost us unnecessary pain to see each other. Therefore, I say good-bye now, wishing you every happiness in the future. Hoping you will soon forget ma Yours sin- cerely, Annie." Annie Masterton slept little that night. Torn by conflicting feelings, afraid that her lover would think her faithless in his need, and not knowing how to com- municate with him before he left, she arose at last, and, dressing, sat by her window till daybreak. At dawn she bathed her face, which was swollen from the blo\rt it had received, and, moved by some impulse, left the house noiselessly. Her heart gradually lightened as she hastened again towards the old trysting place. Surely he would guess something had prevented her from meeting him? He would not go away so far without making another effort to see her. Wild and reckless as he was, the girl knew he loved her. 20 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. She heard the whine of a dog as she neared the hill- side, and quickened her steps, parting the wattle branches hurriedly with the hope of seeing Jim waiting for her. The whine grew louder and more pitiful. With a fore- boding of evil that turned her faint, she followed its sound. Yes, Jim was there, but with God knows what thoughts in his heart. He had not heard her light tread. His face was turned to the sky, and it was white and set with some awful purpose. What it was the girl saw in a moment's flash. In his right hand was his revolver. Gazing up at him with eyes of human- like understanding, the dog howled on, unheeded. "O Jim ! my love ! my love !" Her arms were round his neck, and her tears were falling on his face. Masterton caine down to breakfast later than usual that morning, feeling satisfied that Mostyn had gone, and congratulating himself on his cleverness in imitating Annie's rather masculine handwriting. "It is not likely she will either see or hear of the note. As for Mostyn himself, he will never suspect I had a hand in it." He was surprised to find that Annie had not appeared for the morning, but put it down to resentment for his ill-treatment of her the previous evening. His conscience smote him, for he was fond of her in, his way. As the day wore on he grew uneasy, and sent the ser- vant in search of her. But the strong, passionate na- ture would be his to curb no more. Before night the whole township knew that she had gone with Jim Mos- tyn. They had been married at a neighbouring town, with the new-chum jackeroo for witness. Echoes of Old Mining Days. THE ROSS'S WIFE. I tell you there wasn't a man among us rough and ready miners as we were who wouldn't have laid down his life for the boss any day if it had pleased the Lord to give us the chance, but things in this world work different from what we expect 'em to, somehow. Who SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 21 would have thought 'twould ever have been our hard lot to carry home poor Jack Errington's mangled body on a shutter him as knew every inch of the mine, inside and out; him as had been our "underground boss" for many a long year ! And the worst of it was he had a young wife, you see a pretty, foreign-looking creatur' he had picked up somewhere; "Maddalena" he used to call her. She was a fine woman, boys, there's no two ways about it. She had the cunningest, shiny black curls, and the brightest, sweetest black eyes, as ever stole a man's heart out of him, and a happy laugh with her it did one good to hear. So fond of him she was, poor soul. How were we to tell her? 'Twas little wonder there wasn't a dry eye among us that day. But that job was taken out of our hands, too maybe for the best. You see when the whistle blew that mornin', strikin' terror into the heart of every wife and mother in the diggin's, she was sittin' in the sunshine outside her cottage door, singin' in her pretty broken English some old love song to her babe, a kickin', crowin' little fellow about eight months old poor Jack's pride and darlin'. Bless me how she did love that child! But that's neither here nor there. She saw all the women rushin' from their homes, a-wringin' of their hands, and makin' like mad things for the claim, afore a thought struck her that the screechin' and wailin' of that there Magdala whistle weren't all for nothin', though it was as lovely a spring day as God ever made, and every man had gone by to his work long since, as merr^ as a school- boy when tasks are done. Where she left her baby I don't know. The first thing I recollect is the seein' of her as pale as a ghost at the mouth of the shaft, when we hauled up all that was left of poor Jack Errington. My God, what is there in a woman's shriek that drives the blood from a man's face, and makes his knees shake together like as if he had the ague? Lord, but it was terrible to see that poor distracted creatur' ! We would have spared her the sight if we could ; our women folk were draggin' her off with them, but she pushed us all away with her hands her little, tremblin' hands grown strong as any tiger's claws a-soreamii) to Heaven to help her, to spare her her husband, her babe's father, her only friend! She threw herself on her knees be- 22 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. side him, and lifted his head to her bosom. The blood was runnin' down his face, but she kissed it with pas- sionate kisses that ought to have waked the dead. Wo all thought he was dead, you see, but he wasn't quite, for all on a suddint a shiver ran through his mangled frame, and he looked up with a dazed sort of look, you know, wonderin' like. But when he saw her bendin' over him, and felt her scaldin' tears droppin' on his face, he sorter guessed, I think. But he didn't show no sorrow. Only a bright, lovin' light came into his big brown eyes (Jack always had the kindest, lovingest of eyes; there is only one pair in the world minds me of 'em now, and they are my faithful old dog, Bruno's). Such a shinin' light ; our own grew dim to see it ! He tried to lift his hand to put it on her head, maybe, for them curls of hers was fallin' over his breast, and he always did rave about her beautiful hair, poor fellow! Well, his hand dropped again, o' course; there was no strength there, as you may guess. I was kneelin' by him close to her, for you see I kind of wanted him to know I would stick to the lass through her trouble when he was gone, so I lifted his hand up on to her head for him, and held it there. He thanked me, mates, with a look. Am I an old fool that my eyes are wet, now, when I think of it? He tried to speak. Very faint, very slow the words came, but I heard him, I heard every word "Mate be good to her. Maddalena dsrlin', may God be with you till we That was all. "Till we meet again," he meant, you know. Many a time he'd sung that hvmn, boys, in the old church on the hill, but I never noticed the words partikler like till that sad mornin'. Another stronger shiver went through his body. I put his hand gently down. The doctor was comin' post haste, but he wasn't wanted after all. With his wife's kisses on his lips, and our smothered sobbin' in his ears, the boss we loved so well had gone to seek better gold than earth's mul- lock-heap could give him! But she wouldn't believe he was dead, poor lass ! Not lor many a long day could we get her pitiful cries out of our oars. I never see the mine but I hear her cryin' " Oh, Jack, Jack, my darlin' ! Speak to me. Stay SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 28 with me ! I am here by you see your own Madda- lena! O Father in. Heaven, spare him to me!" Well, we did what we could for her, poor soul. We went round with the hat that night, havin' not only her but the little 'un in mind. Jack had always good wages, as wages go, but we knew right well he hadn't been of the savin' kind. He was a deal too good- natured and open-handed for that. Who had always been the first to hold out a helpin' hand to a fellow down on his luck, to feed a starvin' widow or a homeless child? Who had been to every man as a brother, what- ever his nation or creed? Jack Errington, to be sure! And would we forget it for him now he was gone? We gathered a tidy sum; then, feelin' a bit relieved after that, some of us took a walk past the cottage just to see if the women folk had managed to coax the poor lass to rest ; but no ! She was sobbin' and screamin' still, and through it all ran the wail of that blessed babe. Both on 'em cryin' for Jack, and he lyin' stiff and cold inside with never a word ! I couldn't stand it. I went home and to bed, but all night long I heard her sobbin' in my dreams poor little lonely foreign body, with neither kith nor kin in wide Australia! and again and again Jack's weak, faint voice, whispering over and over "Mate, be good to her ! Mate, be good to her !" What woke me all of a suddint I don't know, but I did wake, with the cold sweat standin' on my forehead and a creepy feelin' over me. I sat up. I distinctly heard above the roar of the battery a woman's blood- curdlin' shriek one wild scream, no more. I knew at once I felt it could be from no other but Maddalena Errington! But how had she got so near? Her home was full a three quarter mile away ! It didn't take me long to dress, I tell you! I rushed out into the dark night, but not a soul could I see. The sound had come from Big Hill right enough, but what was she doing there? A thought struck me that made me sick with terror. The shafts, my God, the shafts ! It was chock full of 'em, and only some were covered over. Dick Grey lived next door. I roused him up in a twinkling, and together, lantern in hand, we started for the Hill. We searched all over it; we even listened 24 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. wherever there was a hole, and called again and again, but there was neither sound nor sign. I felt a bit of a fool, and Dick looked at me as if he thought I must b mad or drunk, or both. So we came back. But we had barely reached our own gates when we heard some- one calling us by name, and turned round to find the two women who had been left in charge of poor Jack Errington's wife, running up to us, their teeth chatter- ing in their heads, to tell us she had given 'em the slip, and had cleared out of the house, they knew not where, but they were afeard she was making her way to the mine. You might have knocked me down with a feather. I forgot they were women, and maybe couldn't have helped it. I swore at 'em roundly, and so did Dick. If they were angels just come down we'd have done the same; our hearts were so sore, you see, and we felt it was all up with the boss's wife poor, crazy, broken-hearted lass. Well, we were soon joined by every miner on that side of the Hill, but it was only when dav broke that we found poor Maddalena Erring- ton. Yes, we found her not in them cursed shafts, though ; we were spared that, but 'twas nearly as bad after all. Was she living? Dripping and still, and cold stone dead, mates ay, stone dead; for we did everything man could do to make sure after we had dragged her body up from the deepest part of the Magdala dam. You see that dam was jest about opposite the mine, a few hundred yards away. It was a dark, lonely spot at night. What notion was in the poor crazed body's head none can tell, but that she flung herself in, a- lookin' for Jack, is sartain, jest as sartain as she lay there, stone dead, with her pretty black curls all wet and draggled, and a restful look on her bonny face. Well, we said nothin', not a man of us. We jest stood and looked at her till somebody brought somethin' to carry her home on. Then we lifted her up as tender as we knew how, and took her back to Jack. The boss was dead, and the boss's wife was there a curse on our mine, we wondered? There were plenty of women-folk to look after her now she didn't want watchin', so we left her with them, all except me, for I felt I must go in and see the boss alone. You see I had summat to SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 25 say to him no one else could understan'. They showed me in where he lay. I shut the door and I knelt down beside him and took his cold, dead hand. "Jack," I says, "Jack, you told me to be good to her, her as is lyin' in there, damp and cold. I would have been good to her, so help me God!" I couldn't say no more, but he knew, oh yes, he knew! He knew Bill Halliday never told him a lie in his life, and wasn't agoin' to commence now. He knew I'd have been good to the lass, but what could I do now she was gone? I knelt a-thinkin' there. All at once I heard a woman in the kitchen say, "What'll become of the child, neighbour, that's what I'm a-thinkin ?" and someone answered sayin' "O, somebody'll be sure to take it ; Mrs. Dick Grey like as not." I got up; I had my answer. Who'd a better right to the boss's child than me, his old chum me as he'd always told all his troubles to though he was a sight better'n I? I jest took his two hands; Bill Halli- day don't often take an oath, boys, but I swore a big one that day and may 1 die like a rat in a hole afore I break it! Well, we had a double funeral. Next day it was If the Queen was dead she couldn't have had a grander one, boys. Everybody left their work and turned out. Kich and poor went to see the boss and his wife buried. There never has been such a funeral before or since. Lor', but didn't them women cry! The lumps kept a-goin' and arcomin' in our throats, but we didn't forget as we were men. The parson, he could scarce read the buryin' service. He said somethin' afterwards about them bein' lovely in their lives, and in death not bein' divided, and someone sang "God Be With You Till We Meet Again." That sorter upset us, you know. Then we left 'em there together. Do you see that little chap playin' marbles over there by the mill? him as comes with my "crib" some- times? Well, he's Jack Errington's boy. He ain't so much like his father as his mother. He has jest them pretty, winnin' black eyes over again and is that gentle like, he's no trouble to no one. The wife is very good to him. She knows I married her to take care of him, and she does it. She is not as good-lookin' nor as bright as his mother was not by a long fchalk, but she is 26 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. faithful and lovin', and tidy, and isn't the sort as goes gaddin' about abusin' of her neighbours, so what more does a man want? She is real good to him, and I don't forget it for her, but sometimes when I think of that dead girl in the churchyard I kinder feels lonesomelike. Aunt Hannah. She was an old maid slight, angular, precise. Her face was thin and worn, with a worried, anxious look about it always, thotagh she had a fair amount to her credit at the local bank, and the house she lived in was her own. But Aunt Hannah had a niece, and the niece had a lover she did not approve of that was the trouble. "He is too old for you, Ruth," she was saying, as she ironed a blouse in the hot kitchen where Ruth was making scones; "and he is too slow. Why, in my young days, I lined any man that came courting me to have plenty of ' go ' in him ; and you are a deal prettier and livelier than ever I was but Tom Lyons has none. "Three times a week has he been coming to this house you needn't deny it, Ruth Curtis! three times a week for the last twelve months, and now New Year is in its third month; yet not a word has that man said about settling down like a Christian, and getting mar- ried ! leastways, not that I, your lawful guardian, know of !" and she gave a sharp look at the girl's flushed face, and pounded away vigorously with her iron. "He is no man, I say, to liang about the house as he does, and keep away a better one, who is as well able to give you a comfortable home, and who loves you in the right sort of way, and "What is the 'right sort of way,' Aunt?" came in muffled tones from the colonial oven where the scones were being transferred from the pasteboard. Aunt Hannah looked "taken back" for a moment. She lifted up her iron, and kept it poised in the air absent- mindedly, while a dreamy, wistful expression stoie into her faded blue eyes. "The 'right sort of way/ Ruth dear? well, for a man to love you hard, so that he would like to crush you up close into his very heart, yet wouldn't, for fear of hurt- SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 27 ing even your little finger ; to love you so, that he would want to have you always with him for ever and ever!" Ruth turned round and looked at her aunt in aston- ishment. In the thin cheeks was a bright colour ; there was a soft light in. her eyes. Time liad rolled back, and Aunt Hannah was pretty and young again ! Had she ever known what love was? Ruth wondered. If so, why had she never married? Even as she gazed, Aunt Hannah's face changed. The light died out, her hands trembled, and she put the iron down. "It is very close in here, child. Ill step out into the garden for a breath of fresh air." Ruth watched her till she was out of sight, then got up from her kneeling posture before the oven, banged its door to, sat down on the broken-backed chair near her, and sulked ! "She's right," she said, after an interval of scowling at the unoffending kettle on the hob ; "he hasn't a bit cf spirit in him, and I'm not in "Hallo, Ruth !" cried a cheery voice from the doorway, "what's up?" Ruth rose quickly, a flood of crimson dyeing her face from brow to chin. "What would be 'up,' Mr. Impudence? You're round very early this morning, Mr. Dick Graham! Perhaps it wouldn't be amiss for me to ask you 'what's up ?' " Dick put down his basket of tools on the kitchen table he was a carpenter and a merry twinkle shone in his honest eyes. "You're never at a loss for an answer, Ruth, my girl Well, seeing we're all alone at last, and Tom Lyons is breaking a horse in, down in 'the long paddock,' and Aunt Hannah is busy looking after her bees, I'm going to take the liberty of asking a more important ques- tion !" By this time he had secured Ruth's floury hands. She was trembling with excitement, and an entirely new feeling half fear, half joy. The clear grey eyes were compelling hers to look into them, and she wondered why she had never noticed before how handsome and manly Dick Graham was. 28 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. Why, Tom Lyons, with all his broadcloth and his acres of profitable land, couldn't "hold a candle" to him. But Dick was speaking again, not so flippantly this time. His voice was very earnest, and at times husky. "See here, Ruth! That fellow has been hanging after you for long enough, and no ring on your hand yet. He's had his innings, and it's time things were settled up one way or another. By Jove! I've often felt incln.ed to kick him! But I was afraid you cared for him, slow and cold as he is. However, just lately now, don't be so cross, Ruth (she was trying to free her hands) I've begun to believe that ii your heart you don't, only you've sort of got to look on yourself as belonging to him isn't that it, dear?" But Ruth had flounced away from him, and was crying with mortification in the broken-backed chair. Dick gave a hasty glance at the door, but there was only Ruth's pet magpie hopping in and out. So he promptly crossed over to the weeping figure, and gathered it into his arms, in spite of indignant protests and frantic struggles. "Ruth, I love you! ] love vou! I can't and I won't give you up to anyone else. Ruth, can't you care for me just a little bit? Be my wife, and I'll slave my fingers off for you !" A flushed and tearful face emerged for a minute. "I'd rather you kept your fingers on, thanks!" That was all, but Dick was so emboldened that he seized the disappearing head, turned it gently but for- cibly round, and kissed the quivering lips and wet eyes rather many times. The scones were burning, and the scorching smell penetrated the fresh air outside, where Aunt Hannah was gathering flowers near the beehives. With woman's instinct for the economical in domestic affairs, she was hastening towards the kitchen, when another instinct as natural stopped her steps, and she smiled, and sat down on the front verandah instead. "Such a thing has never happened Ruth's baking before. I will give them every chance ; You ask the doctor^ patients, and you'll soon know which is the better liked of the two. And it's only a fortnight since she sat up all night with that SHAMROCK AND WAIT LE-BLOOM. 18 dying child of Groves'. It won't hurt us once in a while if she does get a dress made in town." "My troubles, if she gets them all made there ! Thank goodness, we can keep our heads above water without her help or Miss Lewis's either. Did Miss Lewis call for that blouse yet?" "Yes; at least Thomas's boy came for it." "Well, I never! I suppose she is getting higher up in the world since the doctor's wife has begun to take notice of her. Sending for her blouses, indeed ! She was always glad enough to come for them before. I hope you didn't forget to put in the bill? I suppose we'd better finish that evening body of Miss Desailly's after tea. Scraggy -necked old thing ! She'll look per- fectly hideous in amber. Trying to catch young Hoi- well, the lawyer, I daresay. I'm sure her hair is dyed. And she uses belladonna for those, eyes of hers, I'll wager! A real 'family reader* miss, she is. Holwell will find his mistake when he gets her. She'll be no wife for a man only at the foot of the tree. Eh? What? Holwell engaged to Miss Lewis! Are you dreaming, Ellen? Who told you?" "Mrs. Thomas. I slipped out to the greengrocer's for the lettuce just before vou returned, and met her coming from the sewing-meeting. She says the news is as true as Gospel. "My goodness, Ellen, she'll be wanting her trousseau soon, I expect! I must make it my business to drop across there and see if the blouse suits. Not now, of course ! To-morroVll do. Well I never ! I must say she always was an extremely genteel girl. She'll make him a good wife. How I'd like to be the first to tell the news to that Miss Desailly! I'll be bound that yellow skin of hers would turn green with envy ! She's angled after Holwell long enough ; one blessing, he's seen througii her. I don't think we'll bother finishing her dress to-night. She can just wait for it. Hand me over that fashion book. I suppose Miss Lewis will want real nice things? Heigho! it makes me feel as if I'd like to be married myself! Not that I'd look the same side of the street as any of the clodhoppers in this town ! I hope I have plenty of self-respect. That stupid Tom Burroughs gapes here often enough. I declare I can't 44 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. look out of an afternoon for one minute, but he's staling straight at the window ! It's a pity his folk aren't more up to date. I couldn't stand Mrs. Burroughs for a mother-in-law. 'She's kind and good enough to be a mother-in-law to better than me?' Why, what's the matter with you, Ellen? You're as red as a turkey- cock, and your hands are shaking ! Whatever's up with the girl ? "You're what? Ellen Binner! You're you're en- gaged to Tom Burroughs ! Gracious Heaven ! and you a sister of mine. That common lot oh, but it's too bad! And their favourite dinner's corn-beef and cab- bage; he told me so himself. And they have no style whatever. Ellen Binner, you ought to be ashamed of yourself at your age, too! Why the man's younger than you by a good four years. You can't help that? Well, but the shop will go to rack and ruin! Who am I to get for a body-hand, I'd like to know? A nice fix I'll be left in, but little you'll care, eating your corned-beef and cabbages, and milking cows, and feeding pigs! It's well our poor mother isn't alive to see this day! "I'll tell you what I'll do, Ellen Binner. ill marry the first man that asks me, even if it's the one-eyed watchmaker round the corner. You needn't smile ! He's mended two brooches for me for nothing this last month, and if that's not paving the way to paying his addresses, I'd like to know what is! There's not a woman in this town, Ellen, that can put two and two together better than Julia Binner, costumiere !'' "Trust," "I do believe you love that horse better than me, Jim!" The words were spoken jestingly, but there was a half-serious look in the girl's eyes. Jim M'Leod stroked the mane of his chestnut lov- ingly before he answered. "Right, yet wrong, lassie. There's no question as to which I love best, foolish little girl, yet I know I couldn't give up old Trust here, even for you. faHAMHOCK ANL> WATTLE-BLOOM. 45 "But you're really siUy over that horse, Jim. Anyone would think it was a human being." "Well, he's been as good as one to me in his time, old girl. You know that. Before I met you he was friend and sweetheart all in one. Weren't you, Trust, old fel- low?" The horse gave a low neigh, and rubbed his nose against his master's coat. "When troubles darkened my home, Mollie, when home and all were gone at last nothing left but Trust many's the long, wild ride we had together, trying to forget care and sorrow, and many times I thanked God for the dumb affection shining in those eyes." "You've you've been patting him for a whole quar- ter of an hour, and it's nearly milking time. You can stay with your old horse." She started homewards with pouting lips. Jim laughed, and, darting after her, seized the mutin- ous figure in his arms, and half smothered her with kisses. For some happy moments Trust was forgotten. WATTLE-BLOOM. tion of being sent on Saturday afternoons to the house, to take the orders for the following week. Proudly he used to stand in the kitchen, moistening his lead-pencil, and flourishing it in the air before writing the orders down, ending up with a businesslike look, as he en- quired, "An' now, what'll be the 'sunberries' (sundries), ma'am?" One afternoon each week he had to spend in the vegetable garden. There he dug or planted potatoes, whistling as he worked. My sister and I used to pes- ter him with questions. His opinion of us was summed up in an answer he gave to mother, when she asked if we were troublesome. "Well, ma'am," he said, leaning on his spade, and looking down on our upturned faces, "it's just this way. Miss Halana there, she is an angel, bless her kind little heart, but Miss Minnie's a divil!" For some time after that I scorned Patsy, and never again indulged in my favourite pastime of mounting on his back, while he set potatoes. Patsy had "a girl" in old Ireland, and it was a proud day for him when, with mother's help, he wrote her a letter, and sent her a pair of kid gloves. " 'Tis goin' back to her some day I'll be, ma'am," he said, "whin I've 'arned enough to buy us a snug little farm, an' we can live dacently, but it's the sore heart I'll have to part from yourself an' the masther." An evil day came on us suddenly. Just after a con- signment of new goods had arrived from Melbourne our store was burned down, with all its contents. Fire had broken out in the hotel three doors off, through the carelessness of a lodger, and it rapidly spread down the street, swept onwards by the strong wind. The brigade was soon on the spot, but the Bank had gone like tinder before its arrival. Our place being next, and full of combustibles, was quickly beyond salvation. My father was a heavy loser, as the stock was not in- sured. Half-dazed, lie kept wandering to the spot all day. Patsy, after his first outburst of sorrow, sat in a corner of the stable-yard with his head on his hand. In the afternoon he came to the house, and inquired for "the misthress." As soon as he saw us, half-falling on SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 57 his knees he drew out of his pocket a bag, which he placed in, mother's hand. '"Tis for yourself an' the poor masther, and the little childher. Shure, I know this is a black day for yez all ; but there's close on two hundhred pound in that bag, thank God, an' it's all my 'arnings for the years I have been wid ye." Mother, who had kept up well heretofore, burst into tears. "My poor, faithful Pat, so you would give us all you have in the world, and your hope of going back to the land you love?" "I'd do more than that, ma'am, to save you an' the masther sorrow; an' shure isn't every penny of it your own, though it was for work done ye gave it?" Of course, Patsy's offer was not accepted. He re- mained with us another year, and then answered Nora's call, sailing for home. A letter that came from him in due time told us that he had bought "the bit of land," and married Nora, but he said that there was "a sore place left in his heart" since he parted from "the mas- ther, the misthress, and the childer." Daisy. A REMINISCENCE OF 1870. I thought her then, I think her now, the sweetest and purest woman I ever saw, and I have seen a good many in my time. It was in the beginning of '70 that first became acquainted with her. She was standing at the entrance of a small up-country store you know the sort where almost everything is sold, from a flannel shirt to a bottle of brandy. We had pitched our camp just about half a mile be- yond it, on the top of a suitable rise, and the boss had sent two of us Kennedy, the draughtsman, and myself (then an ungainly lad of nineteen) to purchase some stores and tobacco. It was a very hot day, but I remember she looked as cool as a cucumber, and as fresh as a daisy (her name, by the way, as I found out after), though she blushed timidly when we spoke to her and made known our 58 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. wants. Before she could reply, the old mail himself ap- peared upon the scene. To look at hJm you could not imagine for a moment that he could possibly be the father of such a bright, pretty creature as she was ; he had such a grim, old face, half concealed by a thick, grey, bushy beard. His manner, however, was amiable enough. He speedily attended to us and chatted freely about one thing and another, though we were strangers, and not much inclined to be communicative. He gave us some valuable information about the country we had come up to survey, but shook his head over the possibility of there ever being a railway there. Feeling worn out by the long day's journey, I soon tired of his garrulity, and left him to Kennedy, who was fond of a yarn, and had always a tnendly, easy-going way with him which made people take to him. Leaning against the counter, I fell to studying quietly the face of the girl as she stood silent in the doorway, her eyes, to all appearance, fixed on the blue hills op- posite. She was worth looking at, and no mistake. I had often, when in Melbourne, wandered into the Picture Gallery, and gazed, with all a boy's enthusiastic admi- ration for the beautiful, at the many lovely faces in the fine pictures that line its walls, but I assure vou that not one of them, was eaual in true, womanK beauty to the sweet, sensitive, noble face of that young girl. Her complexion was clear and healthy, with the deepest of pink roses in the well-rounded cheeks, yet somehow gave one the idea that she was not particularly strong. I can see her every feature in my mind now as plainly as I saw them in flesh and blood that dav the broad, snow-white forehead, half covered with short, dark, silk- en curls; the large, long-lashed, wistful-looking, deep- blue eyes ; the clear-cut Roman nose, that gave character to the face ; the soft, full (yet not too full) crimson lips, shaped like a Cupid's bow, and expressive if a faithful and affectionate disposition. She did not seem to feel that my eyes were upon her ; she appeared, indeed, to be perfectly unconscious of our presence. We might as well have been one of the bales of calico on the shelves for all the interest she took in us then. SHAMROCK AND WATTLTl-BLO M. 59 At last Kennedy bade the father good day, and was turning to leave, when an elderly woman entered the store by a side entrance, and, catching a glimpse of his fa/ie as he was walking out, stood stock-still, staring at him as if she had suddenly lost her senses, or was gazing at a ghost. I touched him on the arm, and drew his attention to her. To my surprise, he, too, stood as if thunderstruck, while his face grew suddenly as white as a sheet. However, he mastered himself in a few moments, and crossed over to the woman, greeting her with outstretched hand, and evidently with words which expressed great pleasure at his thus so unexpectedly meeting an old friend. The woman drew him aside, and spoke to him rapidly in a low tone. She seemed to be about fifty years of age, and was respectably attired in a black dress and bonnet. Her face was thin and worn "hungry-looking, " I would call it and her small grey eyes roamed about restlessly all the time she was talking. The storekeeper and his daughter, I fancied, knew her well, for they both had advanced to speak to her when she came in. I grew tired of waiting for Kennedy, so started for the camp with the provisions, heavy though they were for one to carry. He soon caught up to me, however, and began making a long, rambling statement about the old lady having brought him safely through a serious illness once, when he was away somewhere in the mallee district. "She looked as surprised as if you had just risen from the dead," I said with a laugh, not wholly believing his story. He muttered something which I did not catch, and said no more till we reached the camp. We had plenty of hard work for the first three weeks, for the country was thickly timbered, and the bush tracks overgrown with scrub and the wild ground-creep- ers; but after that we began to feel that we had made some headway, so began to roam ahout the township of an evening in search of whatever amusement was to be got very little at the best of times for men who were neither hard drinkers nor gamblers. We all soon struck up an acquaintance with the old 60 SHAMKOCK ANT> WATTLE-BLOOM. storekeeper and his family, and, as they proved to be kindly, sociable people, often spent a few hours in their company. Mrs. Harrison was a small, thin, faded- looking woman, with a pleasant manner, and a soft, per- suasive voice ; the sons (two) were tall, hearty, good- natured young fellows, ever readv to play a game of cards or join in a song when we felt in the humour for either. Thev had a fairly good piano, and as most of our lot could sing and play their own accompaniments, we often had a real, jolly time of it. Daisy was not alwavs present, but when she was she would sing for us some- times sweet, plaintive, homely songs, that made the lumps rise in a fellow's throat, somehow, and his thoughts fly back to "home and mother" like magic. She never had much to say at any time, yet she was not the sort of girl who seems to think it her dutv "to sit still and look pretty." She was naturallv shy and reserved, yet I have seen her (when Kennedy would spin yarns about some of the brave, reckless doings of the diggers of the early mining days) roused up to such a pitch of enthusiasm that her cheeks would flush and her eves spar- kle, and words spring from her lips full of fire and vigour enough, as well as deep thought, to do credit to the cleverest of men. One of the surveyors (Gal dwell, a fellow who had a jest for everything) named her "Des- demona," in consequence of the almost breathless inte- rest she took in their tales and anecdotes (rather "tall yarns," too, some of them!), but he took care not to use the nickname in Kennedy's presence. Kennedy was quite a "gone case" in no time. He once told me that he had had little reason to give women either respect or reverence, but that there was something so innocent and pure about Daisy that he felt towards her as he had never before felt towards any other woman in his life. But he was not the only one who was unider her fas- cinating influence. Mr. Morley, our head boss, a single man also, was another victim before long. He did not visit Harrison's as frequently as the rest of us, but when he was there, and Daisy was about, his eyes seldom left her face. His infatuation soon grew to be a standing joke among us, though every man of us had the greatest respect for the girl, who was always modest and retir- SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 61 ing, and as dignified as a queen in manner, even when warmed up and excited. But Morley had always been such a persistent woman-hater, he had always been set down as a confirmed old bachelor who wouldn't waste a thought on a woman, let alone love her ! Well, time went on. The boss did not seem to make much progress with his love-making, for he grew morose and sullen, and nothing we did in the line of work seem- ed to satisfy him. But in proportion as he grew over- bearing, and so disagreeable we could hardly put up with him, Kennedy's spirits rose, and we began to be alive to the fact that Daisy was beginning to awaken to the state of affairs, and in her woman's way was show- ing Kennedy the preference. From that time he had very little peace in the camp; but he took all our "chaff" in good part, knowing well that we wished him luck, for he was a great favourite amongst us, being always ready to do a kindly turn or an obliging act for any of us. He was a fine, strapping fellow of thirty- two, tall and square, with a fair, handsome, sunburnt face, and a pair of laughing, mischievous brown eyes that we didn't wonder captivated the heart of women- kind. Yet I have seen him miserable enough some- times. Morley, on the other hand, was small and dark, with a strong, determined countenance, that spoke of a will of iron ; a thick black moustache covered his lips, which I always fancied were thin and cruel; his eyes were of a light grey, hard and steely, large and bril- liant, but rarely melting into softness, if ever, except when resting on the face of the woman he loved. At such moments one could hardly recognise him as the same man. That he did love Daisy with all the strength and passion of his peculiar, self-contained nature I am fully confident. What sort of a husband he would have made is quite another thing. There had never been much friendship between him and Kennedy, and there was less now that the younger man was bemoaning such a formidable rival. Taking ad- vantage of his superior position and authority, Morley never lost an opportunity of flinging a taunt at Ken- nedy, but seemed to go out of his way to annoy the man in every conceivable manner. What would have come of this open warfare is hard to say, for Kennedy was OZ SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. not one to submit tamely to either insolence or perse- cution, but about this time, when things were growing more unbearable for him day by clay, an event hap- pened which brought sad changes into the lives of both. One Thursday morning early I had occasion to go down to the store for a coil of rope we needed, and was just about to enter when the same old dame, whom we had met on the occasion of our first visit, to my surprise tapped me on the shoulder, and asked me if I had any objection to answering one question which she desired to ask of me, not from any inquisitive motive, but for more serious reasons which I would understand later on. "Depends on what the question is," I said carelessly. "Only this. Will you tell me whether the report that Mr. Kennedy, of your camp, is engaged to Miss Daisy here is true?" She spoke eagerly anxiously, I thought. I did not see any harm in telling her what everybody was begin- ning to know now. "I believe so," I said; "but Mr. Kennedy would cer- tainly not thank anyone to concern themselves about his affairs." She did not answer, but turned away despondently. I told Kennedy that day that his old lady friend had been inquiring anxiously after his wel- fare, and after bantering him for a few moments and rousing his curiosity, related what had passed. He looked puzzled and seemed out of sorts for the rest of the afternoon, so much so that I felt sorry for having mentioned the circumstance. After tea he disappeared, and I went off into the bush to set some opossum traps, as the night was clear and starlight. I suppose I was out about an hour before I turned my steps homeward. I didn't feel inclined to enter the tent just then, so I thought I would follow what was commonly known as "tne back track," and make my way to Harrison's, feel- ing sure that Kennedy would be there as usual, and I would have his company home. The road, an ordinary bush one, led to the township, but was not much used except by the Harrisons and ourselves. I had only gone about half-way, when I heard the sound of a wo- man sobbing deep, heart-broken sobs they were so pitiful that a shuddering feeling came over me, and I stood quite still, not knowing whether to move forward SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 68 and find out who and why it was, or to turn round and go back. While I hesitated, I heard a voice I knew well say in a hoarse, husky whisper, "For God's sake, Daisy, don't! I would rather die than see you suffer like this!" There was no answer, but the sobs died away in a faint moan. I heard advancing footsteps, and fearful that Kennedy would see me, though I had no wish to play the spy, I slipped behind a huge gum-tree at the side of the road, and waited anxiously for them to pass. They soon came in sight, he with his arm thrown round her, and she (for it was Daisy) with drooping figure, her head bowed, weeping quietly now. They stopped about a foot from the tree behind which I was concealed. "When did the old hag tell you this, niy poor little woman?" Kennedy said, in a harsh, strained voice, draw- ing the girl closer to him. "This morning. O Hugh, Hugh, say it isn't true! It can't be true !" He laughed a bitter, discordant laugh. "I wish to Heaven I could say so. but I have never lied yet. It is true enough, my poor girl ; but, as God is my witness, I never meant to wrong you! I never knew she cumbered the earth till you put the proofs in- to my hands this night. It is seven years since she left me. Six years since a letter from her mother whom I believed an honest woman reached me telling me that she was dead she, my wife, who yet had never been a wife to me, but a burden and a disgrace ! and that I could go and take away my boy. The lying old wretch! To think it was a got-up plan between them that she might have her fling all these years, and come like a viper across my path when she thought hap- piness was to fall to my lot at last! Curse her! I could kill her when I think "Hush, oh hush!" Daisy said, shivering; "don't talk like that, Hugh; it is wicked!" "Wicked! Shall I praise her virtues, then? Shall I call her my saint, my "O Hugh, Hugh! She was not a good woman, I know; she drank, and made your life miserable 64 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. "Yes, a liell upon earth, which your pure soul, I pray, may never know anything of!" "But, Hugh dear, though she did wrong, then, she is a different a better woman now, I believe, from what her mother has told me about her." He would have interrupted her impatiently, but she put up her hand to check him, and went on speaking in little gasps, as if the words were choking her. "Forgive her, Hugh, for my sake; forgive her and take her back." With a sudden movement he flung her from him. "You know not what you ask! You ask me to take her back. My God! yet this woman said she loved me! The girl's distress was terrible to see. She threw up her arms with a wailing cry. "O my darling, my darling, i do love you, God only knows now well ! .but we must do what is right, what- ever the cost ! Is it nothing to me, do you think, to ask you this? Is it nothing to me to know that you have suffered, that you are suffering! O Hugh, Hugh, and it is only one short month since But here her voice failed. She leaned against the tree, ex- hausted. I could hear her heart-beats in the silence. He rushed up to her. He caught her in his arms, and showered passionate kisses on her face. I myself, was trembling from head to foot. I heard him call her by endearing names, I heard him murmur over and over wild sayings, heard him beg of her to go away with him, that he would live only for her, that he would move heaven and earth to get a divorce from his wife, heard the sound of his sobs mingled with hers, until, thoughtless enough though I was in those days, I found myself praying to the God above us who rules all that strength might be given to the unfortunate child (for she was little more) to resist the temptation that was thrust upon her. But I need not have been afraid. Her innate purity was stronger than her love than her sorrow. Though she held him to her breast, though she returned his passionate kisses, though her tears fell on his face, she had courage to reprove him, she had strength to point out his duty to him, to remind him that this world was not all, that no blessing would SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLO^M. 85 rest upon them did they swerve for one moment from i^he path of right, or turn away unheeding from the voice of conscience. In a few minutes more he was kneeling at her feet, begging her to forgive him for his mad words. She spoke softly and tenderly to him, soothing him as if he were a child. Then they turned back towards her home, and I was free to move on. I could hardly see my way back. My eyes were blinded with tears. I had stumbled upon the tragedy of a life, and my heart was heavy within me. I waited about outside the camp for over an hour, hoping to see Kennedy return, but it was fully an hour after that before I heard his well-known footsteps. His bunk was next to mine, but I pretended to be asleep, feeling that it would be sacri- lege to gaze even with friendly eyes on such agony as would be his /that night. Whether I acted rightly God only knows, for next morning we found him dead in his bed "Cramp of the heart," the doctor said; "he could not have lived long in any case." And "Daisy?" Daisy has been in an asylum for manv a year. A white- haired, sweet-faced, gentle-voiced Woman, she lives! on visions that no other eye can see, and answers voices that no other ear can hear. First Love. "My early love! my first, my last! Mistakes have been that both must rue, But all the passion of the past Survives for you!" Kendall. So sang one of our sweetest poets, and his passionate cry finds an echo in many a heart! There is always a halo round "the might-have-been"; human nature sighs ever over the unattainable, forgetful that many a de- sired boon is denied us in loving pity by Him whose hand is at the helm of Life's frail bark, and Who knows that the rose-oloud of illusion 'often gives deeper and purer happiness than the coveted object it veils. Few marry their "first love." Whether a curse or a blessing it be, is not for us to decide; but as it is true that "all that is pure and sweet and beautiful is born 66 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. of pain, ' one cannot but think sucii loss means gain in a wide and spiritual sense; for as the memory of deal- dead friends serves to elevate the soul and draw it nearer to God, so must the bitter-sweet remembrances of the glad days of our youth, and the companion whose beloved face made its sunshine, purify, and draw out the best that is in us. True love expands the soul, deepens the sympathies, opens our eyes to all that is beautiful in humanity and nature. It is the beginning of upward growth, the key that opens the gate of a wondrous fairyland, where we may roam in the days to come, even though we are be- reaved of the presence of that "other self," through whose agency we found the joy there is in living. There is a magic ever afterwards in the fragrance of a flower, the fragment of a song loved bv that dear lost one a power that brings back to the heart the happiest, moments of our lives. "O, there's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream!" Moore sang to a world that listened entranced to the music of his harp, and the echoes of that song will roll on for ever as long as hearts beat and memories are green. Thev may bring sad thoughts, but they will not wake evil ones. Lives need not be ruined be- cause of a hopeless passion. Rather will they rise the better and holier for their suffering. Only the weak- minded "fall by the wayside." When a child I once gave a sweet-briar rose to my old schoolmaster, and wondered in my childish ignorance of the sorrows of life, why the tears started to his eyes, and why that special flower was put away so carefully in his desk. Morning after morning I had given him flowers, but none of them had affected him like that solitary sweet-briar rose. I found out years after- wards that in his youth he had loved a young Irish girl, who was taken from him by death near the eve of their wedding day. Her favourite flower was the sweet- briar. He had never touched it till I put it in his hand that sweet spring morning on Australian land. As he expressed it, "Heaven opened in its perfume!" The tears that filled his eyes were holy tears. First love for him, as for many, was an angel that for ever pointed to the Golden Gates of God. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 67 In the Wind and the Rain. Vespers were just over. The people were slowly fil- ing out of the church. A few lingered in front of the altar, but these soon went one after another, all but one womar, who still knelt absorbed in prayer, her face as white as that of the marble statue, her hands clasped over her rosary. No sign of life was in her silent figure, her lips were not moving. As if carved in stone, she knelt there so long that the altar-boy who had been putting out the lights and giving hints of impatience at the delay of the worshipper, became alarmed, and went up to her, touching her gently on the arm as a reminder that the hour was late. The woman shivered at the boy's touch, and rousing herself from what seemed a trance, slowly rose, and, without a word, passed out noiselessly with a slow, glid- ing motion. The boy, with a chill feeling upon his heart that he could not account for, hurriedly finished his duties and went home. 'me woman was standing at the church gate as if waiting for someone. She stood there in the cold and rain for an hour, then, muttering to herself, turned down Patrick-street and walked on till she reached a house at the corner. The person who answered her knock at the door was stout and motherly-looking a great contrast to the thin, worn, little creature she let in; yet they were sisters. "You are very wet, Bride. I wish you had hurried home, dear ! You are shivering with the cold, too ! Come up to the fire. I will make you a cup of hot coffee di- rectly;" and she di'ew the younger woman over to the arm-chair, and relieved her of her wet cloak and hat. Bride seemed accustomed to her sister's kindly minis- trations. She leaned back in the chair, and stared ab- sently at the glowing embers. As Mrs. Delaney made the coffee, she watched the girl's face anxiously, and several times she sighed heav- ily. Often she turned away to hide the tears that rushed to her eyes. Mollie Delaney's one sorrow was this sister's life-tragedv. 68 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. The two women drank their coffee in silence, but the warmth soon sent more life into the younger one's pal- lid face, and she began to talk, though in a somewhat rambling style. "He was not there to-night, either, Mollie dear, but I know he'll come in the wind and tne rain. He went away in it, and he'll come back in it. It's a long time to wait, but I must have patience!" fcine drew her chair closer, and whispered : "I saw him in church, Mollie! but he seemed far off. I could only watch him. He only stays while all the lights are burning. I keep very still till they are all out. Why doesn't he meet me at the gate like he used to, Mollie? I'm so tired, so tired of waiting!" She began to weep, rocking herself to and fro the while. The tears streamed down Mrs. Delaney's cheeks. It was just five years since Neil McCarthy and Bride O'Toole had parted at that church gate, five years since his ship had sailed out of the bay his first trip as se- cond mate bound for foreign ports. A month after came the news that the ship had gone down with all on board. Bride O'Toole had never got over the shock. Little by little she had sunk into a state of hopeless melan- choly. She laboured under the delusion that she was to meet her lover "in the wind and the rain, where their last farewell was said," and she insisted on going alone to Vespers on winter evenings. At first people had waited for her out of sight, had watched till they saw her safely reach her home, but as the years had gone on, and she seemed capable of looking after herself in other ways, they now did not trouoie, though their hearts were always full of pity for her. In tempera- ment she was gentle. Her nature was a lovable one, and a deep and sincere natural piety shed a halo round her even in her strongest halluciations. Night after night had Mollie Delaney gathered that stricken heart to her kind bosom, and she did so now, whispering loving words, stroking back the hair from the wrinkled brow once so free from lines of care. This Bride seemed oft a changeling to the fair young sister of happier days. Then no cheeks were rosier, SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 69 no eyes brighter, no step more fleet. Now the fea- tures, though still beautiful, were white as marble, the face thin and drawn, the eyes full of a wistful sadness ; the figure was bowed and shrunken, the step halting and slow. The poor girl was always looking backwards, looking for him whom she believed would yet return. She fell asleep at last in her sorter's arms, and was put to bed like a child, her fingers still clutching her rosary a gift from her lover. That night the rain poured down, as if the heavens were opened. The wind moaned nd howled round the house like a human being in agony. Mrs. Delaney could not sleep. She lay listening to the storm, now and again murmuring a prayer for those who might be out in it. She could hear her sister's regular breath- ing, and thanked God that the weary brain was resting. After a few hours she dropped off to sleep. She seemed to have hardly drifted into unconsciousness when she awoke again to find that a cold breeze was blowing into the bedroom. Yet she had locked the front door before going to bed. With trembling hand she groped for the candlestick, and struck a match. What was her horror and fear to discover that the front door was wide open, and that her sister had left the house, gone out into the wild night "in the wind and the rain !" Half distracted, Mollie dressed herself somehow, and throwing a shawl over her head, ran in the direction of the church, instinct telling her the poor demented crea- ture had wandered to her old post. Many and fer- vent were the faithful woman's sobbing prayers as she flew along the street, "O, loving, suffering Saviour of the world, have pity on Thy broken lily!" "Sweet Mother, whose heart a sword did pierce, watch over Thy stricken child!" Breathless she reached the gate, and called loudly, for the night was so dark she could not see before her. No answer came to her cry, so she felt her way up the stone steps. Midway she paused; it seemed as if some invisible force kept her standing still. Then she heard broken words of love and soft laughter. It was Bride's voice. Mollie knew she must be quite close to her. Yet she never moved. All the wild anguish 70 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. that had had possession of her heart slipped little by little like a mantle from her. A deep calm held her soul. And immediately after that quiet feeling that "all was well with the child," came a cry of joy inex- pressible from above her, "My love! My love! I knew you would come ! There was a thud as of a body falling. Mollie gained the top of the steps at a bound to find her sister's prostrate form, the weary heart stilled at last ! She shed no tear, as, with the help of the caretaker, whom she had roused, she carried the dead girl home. She made no moan when the silent form lay robed in its white shroud, the rosary beads within the cold fingers, lilies on the breast that had never known an impure thought ; but she knelt by the casket that held all that was mortal of the sister so tenderly loved, and thanked the Good Shepherd Who had called His wear}' ewe-lamb home, where the loving meet the loved, and there is no more sorrow, neither any pain. We shall part no more in the wind and the rain, Where our last farewell was said; But I know I shall see thee, and love thee again, When the sea gives up its dead!" 44 The Duchess. " I met her first in a kitchen, and even now, as I think of her, I hear the frizzling of the roast beef in the oven, and see Marjory making curls of pastry for the garnishing of a tart. I was sitting on a three-legged stool, facing the door, as "The Duchess" came slowly down the garden path, leaning on her crutch, a grand-motherly air about her shrunken form and worn, eager face. Her stiffly-starched white sunbonnet gave iier a look of severe respectability, and, thinking she was an old friend of the family, I drew Marjory's attention to her. "She is coming straight to the kitchen. Perhaps she has knocked at the front door, and your mother hasn't heard her?" Marjory laughed. " 'The Duchess,' as we call her, always makes for the kitchen. She's after her week s rations. Notice the bag SHAMROCK AND \VATTLE-BLOOM. 71 under her arm. When unrolled, you'll see it's large enough to carry a ham in!" Marjory then popped her head out of the window, and cried: "Well, old lady, how do you feel to-day?" "The Duchess" put on a mournful look. "Indeed, Miss Marjory, I feel very bad. The driver gave me a lift in the coach, or I wouldn't have been able to come this afternoon. Paddy never forgets the respect due to age," she said, with a comical assumption of dig- nity, as she accepted the stool 1 offered her, and dex- terously hid the bag under it. Marjory introduced me, and the old lady made a stately bow, peering at me curiously with her dark, uncanny looking eyes. I thought what an admirable witch she would make for our coming private theatricals. Later on, the boys informed me that "The Duchess" was supposed to have seen "better days ' in her youth, but, as her imagination was known to be rather vivid, her tales of old times were given little credence to. "The Duchess" had a weakness for titled personages, and was fond of relating youthful experiences at Govern- ment House balls, and her conversations with "Lord and Lady Hopkins." She would even show books and orna- ments which she said were presents given to her by "the nobility." "And how does this friend of aristocrats make her living?" I enquired. "By taking in washing!" shouted John, laughing at my look of amazement; "and a jolly good washerwoman she is, crippled leg and all, though she does growl pretty often at the state Archie and I got our cycling ' duds ' in." "Yes," said Archie, "she gives us the rounds of the kit- chen, I tell you hinting at the more refined habits of 'city gentlemen/ We retort by asking her can we give her a hand with her drawing-room suite for the spring clean- ing." "Her suite is out airing now," broke in young Fred, who was endangering his neck by climbing the verandah posts; "I can see all the old bags and bits of blanket spread out on the fence." 72 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. I saw "The Duchess's" dwelling afterwards. It was a three-roomed hut. There was, however, a tragical side to the old lady's life as well as a comical one. She had an onlv son, who. after the father's death some years before, went West, and never returned. With the exception of one letter, she had never since heard from him. Every day that Cobb and Co.'s coach drew up before the local post-office, there at the window, patiently wait- ing till the mail was sorted, stood "The Duchess." Sometimes she would cross over to the driver and ask him if he had heard anv tidings of her Harry, and scan with eager eyes the faces of the passengers. Harry neither wrote nor came. The postmistress one day hurriedly burnt the "Argus," hearing the familiar knock at the door, which was always followed by a timid request for the loan of the day's paper. From the de- scription of a prospector who had died of thirst on his tramp to Coolgardie, she fancied she recognised the lonely widow's son. No one else noticed it, so "The Duchess" lived on in the hope that Harry would return to her, and provide for her in her old age. My friends, the Grays, were kindness itself to the poor old body, but they never once left her alone, even in the kitchen. She was a hopeless kleptomaniac, a,nd in spite of their watchfulness, she managed to abstract numberless things from the family. Marjory had rather an amusing plan of regaining the stolen articles. She would occasionally drive down to the old lady's when work was less pressing at home, talk to her for some time, give her a basket of provisions, sug- gesting that "The Duchess" should make a cup of tea, and thereupon she would institute a vigorous search for the missing things under sofa and bed, in old boxes, and among lumber, while the old lady, after first putting on the kettle, mournfully objected to "the imputation on her character." Marjory would calmly unearth one article after ano- ther, paying no apparent attention to her protests; then, gathering up the discovered treasures in her apron, she- would take them out t) the buggy, knowing that, by the SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM 78 time she returned, the cloth would be laid, and her cup of tea ready. Both would enjoy the refreshment amicably. "The Duchess" soon forgot her woes when led on to speak of the days of her youth. Her only pastime was reading. She devoured every book and magazine she could 'get the loan of. Sh.} lived in the world conjured up by her own and others' fancy, and, in spite of her loneliness, was not unhappy. One Thursday her usual day for visiting us we watched for her as usual, but the coach passed on, leav- ing no passenger at the gates, and the afternoon drew to a close without a sign of the pathetic, bent old figure. After tea, Marjory asked Archie to call at the hut as he passed on his way to the township. He returned within the hour, and there were tears in his kindly eyes as he told us that he had found "The Duchess," stiff and cold, in her arm-chair, a half-finished letter on the table beside her, beginning, "My dear Son, - So death, the merciful, released her at last. "Me" A Surveyor's Story, " All a girl's sweet fancies ran riot through her brain." How it came about that "Me" was accepted and toler- ated as an inmate of Anderson's Survey Camp, the sur- veyors themselves could hardly have explained. There she was, and there she stayed, seeming part and parcel of the place. When the "boss" had advertised for a capable cook, he had never dreamt that that indispensable individual might be burdened with an encumbrance in the shape of a child. He had selected a deaf, decent-looking old man out of the dozen applying for the billet, being amply satisfied with his testimonials, and congratulating himself that at last he had managed to secure one whom affliction at least must save from falling into the errors of his tale- beating, mischief-making predecessor. The country under survey was rough and mountainous. The men usually returned to the camp tired out with the day's exertions, cold, taciturn, and in anything but a pleasant humour. The day Stibbs arrived the ther 74 SHAMROCK ANT1 WATTLE-BLOOM. momcter was almost at freezing point, though it was but autumn; the outlook from the hill, whore the tents were pitched, was depressing in the extreme for a stranger, and especially 8O for one whose blood ran but coldly and sluggishly through his veins. The surveyors were ah 1 out at work when he reached the camp, so missed the sight of an uncommon aod comi- cally tied-up bundle of luggage which he deposited care- fully in the most comfortable-looking bunk he could find. They came home at sundown weary and half frozen, and were thankful to see a huge fire awaiting them, and more pleased still to find the most savoury of smells greeting their nostrils from the various kitchen utensils poised on its crackling logs. Stibbs was evidently a real acquisi- tion. The meal he served up with as much precision and ceremony as a French waiter, was the best they had had for months, so all were loud in his praises, and An- derson, who thoroughly appreciated a well-cooked din- ner, mentally resolved to raise his wages, which were rather lower than the ordinary rate. All went well till about seven o'clock, when "Dinnie Doolan," the draughtsman and wag of the camp, having gathered some of his admirers round the cheery fire, started a blood-curdling yarn of the early days with the express purpose of frightening a new hand who had the reputation of being unusually credulous, and was conse- quently selected as a fitting butt for practical jokes. Dinnie had wonderful powers of description, and with great unction was giving the gruesome details of the crimes of some fictitious bushranger when the sound of a child's smothered sobbing was distinctly heard in the darkness a low, pitiful sound unknown among them be- fore. Dinnie's ruddy face grew pale; old tales of banshees heard in his boyhood rose up in his mind; but before any of them had time to do more than look around, a little, dark-robed figure darted past them and flung it- self into old Stibbs' arms, clinging to him convulsively while he tried to soothe her with the air of a practised "old hand" at the task, and explained confusedly to the amazed and rather indignant group at the fire that the terrified little creature he held was his only grandchild- his dead daughter's legacy to him who, but for him, SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 75 was utterly friendless and alone. He had intended to leave her in some woman's care, but the child would not desert him, and he had resolved to risk the loss of his new situation rather than consign her to a stranger's custody. Fortunately, their comments he was too deaf to hear. They were not very complimentary to his good sense and discretion. The idea of having a child about the camp was distasteful to most of them, and those who had a kindly feeling for the forlorn little creature regretted her advent among them for her own sake. Nevertheless, a silence fell tipon them after they had all had a hearty laugh at Dinnie's expense over the un- expected and nattering effect of his power as a story- teller, and they watched with curious eyes the curly gol- den head nestle into the old man's breast, the eyes still wet with tears close wearily, and the tiny arms relax their hold. In the dim firelight there was something inexpressibly touching in the attitude of the old man with his bent grey head and stooping form, in the clasp of the rugged hands so worn and hardened with toil, yet holding as gently and tenderly as a woman the thin dwarfed figure of the child, whose pinched face in repose had a strange weird beautv of its own, framed as it was by long cluster- ing ringlets the colour of a sunset cloud and not devoid of its sheen. A softer look crept into their faces ; al- ready the child had begun to cast a spell over them a spell which grew and strengthened with every day, for she proved to be both intelligent and lovable, and even won her way into the grave, reserved "boss's" heart, so that in time he began to take her unasked-for presence there as quite a matter of course. The men christened her "Me," because the pronoun "I" seemed to be an unknown word in her quaint mixture of a language. She had evidently never been within the four walls of a school. Whatever she knew she had picked up from her grandfather, and his knowledge was very limited. "Me tant read well, but me have a dood memory,' ' she would say, stoutly defending herself against Dinnie's ri- dicule; "me listen to the birds till me know all dere songs! Me will sing for you if you like?'' 76 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. And slug she would with a fresh sweet thrill in her childish voice that gave promise of better things for fu- ture years, and stirred old chords of memory in her lis- teners' hearts. She whiled away many an hour for them in the winter evenings. Dinnie, good-natured Irishman that he was, soon became her devoted slave. He was never weary of teaching her in spare hours, and waxing enthusiastic over her sharpness of wit. His youth and liveliness made him a more suitable companion for the child than the others. "Me like you all, oh ! so much, but me love Dinnie!" she would say in her brightest moods, flinging her arms around his neck and nearly throttling him. And many a wild romp they had together when the "boss"' was out of sight writing in his impromptu office, and the coast was clear. But volatile Dinnie had also his serious moments. He taught "Me" her prayers, her catechism, the Rosary, on Sunday mornings, when the rest had gone for a stroll to help put in the day, for they were many miles distant from a town, and the farmers' houses were far apart. He would speak to the child of Heaven, of the angels, of Jesus and Mary, of .the saints and martyrs, till the child's vivid imagination would transport her spirit al- most within the Gates, and the thin delicate face would gleam and glow with a light not born of earth. She had the happy, poetic nature which idealises every- thing. A walk in the woods was to her a revelation and a delight beyond all words. The hills, the birds, the wild flowers, to gaze at them, to fling herself down by a babbling stream, to listen to its musical flow, were her pleasures, her never-failing joys. After a time it became quite a usual occurrence for the men to bring her home some trifle from the forests on their homeward way a bird's forsaken nest, a lichen- covered stick, a root of rare fern, a spray of blossom. And she would take and treasure them all, and invent little tales full of poetry about them tales so rich in fancy and quaint imagery that the "boss'' would pause in his work and listen with wonder to the small heap of human- ity opposite him, dwarfed and uneducated, yet stamped with the seal of genius a God-given thing dropped SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 77 amongst them to work out a career as far removed from their common-place lives as day from night. But the little tongue often got tired of prattling. Then, like another "Little Nell, she would curl herself up by the brightly-blazing fire, and see in the glow of the red coals God only knows what visions of beauty hid from the eyes of others, and none had the heart to dis- turb her whatever the hour, till the drooping lid* would begin to close, and the pure spirit rest from its wander- ings in the mystic Garden of Sleep. It was Dinnie's great desire that "Me" should be taken to church. She had never been inside one, and he knew that to be given a sight of one of any beauty would be an education in itself for one of her sensitive tempera- ment. The town of B , ten miles distant from the camp, possessed the prettiest Roman Catholic chapel in the district, and Dinnie, who had often walked over there once a month, was never tired of describing it to "Me," so the longing to see it naturally grew and strengthened in the child. "Me want to go to church. Me will go, if me walk all the way ! ' stamping her tiny foot, or changing her impe- native mood to one of coaxing. i)ear Dinnie, do take me to church, and me'll be so good, Dinnie darlin' !" The "Dinnie, darlin' " at last proved strong enough to inspire Denis with the bold idea of asking for a holiday for himself and Stibbs, for the purpose of satisfying her little ladyship's craving; and one Saturday the trio set off in an old buggy Doolan had managed to hire from a neighbouring farmer. The day was a cold, bleak one, and by the time they had reached the town it was rain- ing steadily. After partaking of a light lunch, and wrapping "Me" up as well as he could in an old shawl, Dinnie took her and Stibbs to the church, whose door was always open. It was a handsome building of grey stone, but "Me" was impatient to get inside, and did not pay much attention to its outward appearance. With bared heads the men followed her reverently. The sound of their ieet scarce- ly broke the sacred silence. A few worshippers knelt before the tabernacle. Above their bowed heads the red lamp burnt steadily, telling of the Perpetual Pre- sence of the Holv of Holies. The Saviour of mankind 78 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. was there, and deep in her inmost soul (too largo for her frail, stunted young body) the child felt Him before her, and instinctively fell on her knees. She knelt there so long, so rapt, with such an unearthly light on her countenance, that Dinnie began to feel afraid. He went over to her at last, and told her to rise, as they were going. A rush of tears dimmed her eyes. "Me want to stay a little longer, Dinnie. Oh ! Din- nie, me can't leave them!" and she pointed with tremb- ling fingers to the exquisitively-carved figures of two mar- ble angels which knelt on one side of the altar. As usual, Dinnie humoured her. Asking Stibbs to wait for her, he went down to the main street to execute some commissions for "the boss." "Me" knelt on. She had whispered her prayers over and over. Now her hearing grew almost supernaturally acute. The silvery clink of the rosary beads as they passed through the worshippers' fingers, the trembling notes of a "Kyrie Eleison," which the organist, who had stolen up to the choir unobserved, started to play and to sing in a low, sweet voice, filled the child with deli- cious thrills of joy. She had never been so near Heaven before. She forgot that she had been cold, that her back had been paining her. In a quivering ecstasy, every fibre of her frame responding to the music, she lifted her pure heart to God, and thanked Him for being alive. A hunchback, yet what compensations had He not given her! Ay, blessed yea, thrice blessed are the pure in heart. "There is nothing on earth half so noly As the heart of a little child !" How much more so one which the Almighty's fingers have fashioned into a harp aquiver yet with the grand sweet music of the angels' melodies ! Meantime Mr. Doolan was enjoying himself in a very earthly way. Dinnie had one failing he was too fond of company not a great sin in itself, but it sometimes brought on an evil which Dinnie had been struggling against for years the custom of "taking a glass." He met three or four acquaintances down at McDonald's store, who, after some persuasion, induced him to ad- journ to the nearest hotel. In the warm room behind the bar, his tongue loosened by two or three "whiskies," SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 79 Dinnie was soon drawn into an argument on Home Rule, and the time flew by unheeded, while he exerted all his powers of eloquence in the defence of his wronged and suffering country. He forgot little "Me," for stronger love had possession of him, and when at last a casual question reminded him, and he rushed down to the store in a repentant frame of mind, he found Stibbs mutely reproachful, trying to get a little warmth into the child, whose teeth were now chattering with cold. The day, too, was drawing to a close, the road they had to travel in a bad state, yet they must reach the camp that night or forfeit the "boss's" good opinion. Dinnie snatched up "Me" and carried her into the fire at the hotel, borrowed another wrap from the landlady, folded it round the child, darted off for his horse, and had the trap ready in double quick time. Quite sobered, he drove steadily and carefully, attend- ing to "Me" as well as he could, insisting on her eating an enormous quantity of biscuits and lollies he had pur- chased for her at the shop, ajid did his best to keep her warm, wrapping his own overcoat round her, though the night was cruelly chilling. But poor "Me" had taken a severe chill and when at last, after what seemed a long wearisome drive, they at length reached the camp, it was evident she would suffer for her day's outing. In a few days congestion of the lungs set in at least that was what "the chainman," the only one possessed of medical knowledge, pronounced it to be. In an agony of re- morse Dinnie listened to his opinion, given with many ominous shakes of the head. "For heaven's sake, Carter, don't look like that!" he cried, shaking him by the shoulder, "the little one will soon be all right. Shure, don't I mind her like her own mother, and sorra a thing she wants but she has?" "I'll tell you what she wants, my man, if her life 'is to be spared a good doctor at once, and a woman about her who has children of her own." Without a word Dinnie turned away. In twenty mi- nutes the wife of the farmer who had lent the buggy was bending over "Me," who was talking wildly of music and angels and her "dear Dinnie," who was always so good to her. Poor fellow, it was almost more than he could stand to listen to her! 80 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. "The child must have a doctor,' said the woman de- cidedly. "I will do my best for her, poor lamb, but I wish with all my heart I had a medical man beside me." Dinnie disappeared. In a few minutes a horse sad- dled and bridled stood at the tent door. "Where are you going, Doolan? 1 ' said Carter, coming out. "To the nearest township for the doctor. Crossing the river it is only five miles, and we can't afford to lose time." "Crossing the river! Are you mad, man? Why, after this week's rain the river is running bank high. You aren't the smartest of horsemen, either. Don't be a fool, but go round by the road. An hour or two won't make much difference." "I know where the ford is, and I mean to cross the river," answered Dinnie coolly, tightening his girth. "The horse is a good one and well used to it." Striding past him, he went over to little "Me'a" bunk. The child had grown quieter, and was lying, with her eyes half closed. " 'Me,' darlin' ! speak to me, alanna ! Just one word for poor Dinnie, whose heart's breaking to see you suffei-- ing there. Just one word, asthore, before I get the doctor for you." "Me" raised her heavy lids. A sweet smile lit up her features. She put out her arms weakly and drew his face down close to hers. " Dinnie, darlin', Dinnie, darlin'," she said in a hoai-sc little whisper, patting his cheek with her hand, and kiss- ing his lips, "Me love you, Me love you!" Dinnie's tears fell like rain on her face. He could not trust himself to speak, but returned her kiss tender- ly, and in a few minutes was gone gone towards the river, which, swollen high, was rushing along with a dull roaring noise. Opposite the ford, on the other side, was a house where two women were washing outside. They shaded their eyes with their hands to have a look at the horseman. Seeing that he was attempting to cross the ford, they motioned to him to give up the idea. The sound of their shrill voices was lost in the noise of the current. A short prayer for ''Me," and Dinnie, unheed- ing, had plunged in, and was soon struggling bravely SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 81 through the waters. Wringing their haads, the wo- men rushed down to the bank. Their brothers were all away after cattle, and not another house was within three miles. Dinnie had now got half-way across, and seemed quite unaware of his danger. Suddenly his horse sank. The watchers gave a wild scream, but al- most immediately the good horse rose up again and com- menced to swim against the surging, seething flood that threatened to engulph him. Breathlessly the women waited. Ah ! heaven, it is down again ! It rises ! but where is its brave rider? Washed away to come to the surface once lower down. It is evident he cannot swim. "God have mercy on his soul ! ' cries the elder woman, running along towards him. "God grant he is ready!'' As if in answer to her prayer she sees him with a last effort make the sign of the cross. The next minute he is washed away away, not to be found for days, when bitter tears were shed over all that remained on earth of bright, handsome, generous-hearted Dinnie Doolan! "Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for ins friend!'' Gavin Glynne's *' White Rose." In the highways and byeways of feverish life, Where the weeds spring up thickly, and evil is rife ; Where the strong crush the weaker, and naught else is fair, It blooms, and its purity sweetens the air. Vespers were just over. The sombre twilight of the winter evening was slowly merging into darkness. Out- side the homely little village chapel a group of people had gathered together to exchange kindlv greetings with one another, and to talk in hushed, awed whispers of the fearful visitation that had so lately fallen upon the stricken homes below them, where numberless families, like Rachel of old, were now mourning in their desola- tion over the loss of child after child from the once happy hearth circle. The summer had been unsually hot and droughty ; the autumn rains late ; winter had set in with damp, germ- laden winds, and muggy, unwholesome atmosphere. Diph- 82 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. theria was rife ; deaths occurred daily ; and even, as they spoke, the devoted priest of the parish brushed past them hastily, for another "sick call" nad just summoned him, another soul was waiting to be ushered into the Presence of its great Creator, fortified by the last and most beauti- ful Sacrament of a Saviour's wonderful love ! "God help us, 'tis McCarthy s Dinis his iiveren.ce is off wid !'' said a stout, good-natured Irishwoman, looking after him with tears in her kindly eyes ; " 'tis a sore heart he'll carry there the night ! for he has buried two of thim already two of thim in wan. week may the Lord have mercy on their souls, and comfort the poor mother that bore thim!" Crossing themselves devoutly, the women were separat- ing, when one of them noticed that the chapel door was still open, though the lights were out. The little altar boy, having been hurriedly sent to the presbytery on some errand, had forgotten to lock it up for the night. "Shure, 'tis a wondher 'St. Veronica' herself didn't at- tind to it! Faith, I'd as soon expect the stars above me head to fall as to see her wan of the first to lave the House of God. Where is she the night, at all, at all? ' Mrs. O'Donoughue was beginning in rather a high- pitched, though melodious, brogue. "Hould your whist, woman!" whispered her neighbour, giving her a poke, "she's just on the point of coming out now." "Faith, an' so she is! Now, I wondher is she afther hearing what I said? 'Tis a saint's face she has, any- way, Heaven bless her! let alone the saint's holy name. As our Gerald used to say last summer, whin he was laid low wid the faver, 'tis a thrate to see her bending over a sick bed. They say she has no fear of the diptharia, aither, but stays up night afther night wid thim McCor- mick childer and it isn't wan alone knows how tliryin' they are whin well, let alone ailing, poor unfortunate little crathurs!" "All, but wouldn't the docthor and her make a purty pair! Heaven sthrew their path wid roses! There's not his loikc in the whole counthry-side not aven bar- rin' Micky Doyle more power to him!'' ("Micky Doyle,'' like the famous "Johnny Connell," of SHAMROCK ANT) WATTLE-BLOOM. 88 Garryowen glory, was the champion athlete of the dis- trict.) Whether "St. Veronica," heard any of this nattering flow of eloquence for her benefit, I do not pretend to know, but a faint smile of amusement quivered for a moment on her expressive lips as she carefully fastened the heavy door and bolted it with deft fingers that seemed well used to the work. But the smile soon 1 died away, and it was a very grave, though sweet and youthful face, the silent clustering stars, now calmly taking their places in the cloud-strewn sky above her, looked on, as with light, swift tread she quickly wended her way to the poverty-stricken cottage where little Molly McCarthy lay dying. So accustomed were her feet to run on errands of mercy, that, whatever the risk of infection, her heart never failed her. So full of unselfish love for Christ was that pure heart that the thought of self never entered her soul. The daughter of a devout Irish-Catholic mother, she was born into the world with a spirit peculiarly suscep- tible of receiving and retaining the great truths of that grand old faith which, like its Divine Founder, "was from the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world with- out end!" Left an orphan at a tender age, the charge of her de- volved on an elderly maiden relative, of independent means and literary tastes, who gave her a good and libe- ral education, and kept her, as far as in her lay, unspot- ted from the world, yet not ignorant of the responsibili- ties and many duties of life, or the inestimable value of womanly sympathy and assistance to the needy and dis- tressed of every sex. Her mother had named her "Veronica,'' as she herself had always, during her own quiet, self-sacrificing exist- ence, cherished a particular devotion to the holy saint of the same name. She would sit for hours gazing at her picture, thinking how blessed was that woman whose pious heart, brimful of yearning love and sympathy for her suffering Saviour on the blood-stained Way of Sor- rows, had prompted her to offer Him the wherewithal to cleanse His sacred bleeding face. Even when the child was young, and endeared herself to all by her winning baby ways, no one ever dreamt 84 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. of shortening the name the dying mother had chosen for her. "Veronica" she was christened, and "Veronica " she remained. There was a stately dignity about the name which suited her. The fair, beautiful face looked at you with such holy eyes, so deeply blue, so purely sweet, that respect towards their possessor was the first feeling they compelled a respect not unmingled with ve- neration, for you could not look at them without think- ing of the beautiful promise from the Sermon on the Mount, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Father Guilfoyle, the parish priest, when she came first a little lamb into his faithful flock, after gazing kindly into the calm, sweet, serious face, so innocent, yet so heavenly wise in look, placed his hands upon her golden head in tender blessing, saying even more gently and solemnly than was his wont, "God has given you a beau- tiful face, my child, and His Church, has given you a beautiful name may you have a beautiful soul!" As the years went on, he had the happiness of seeing that simple yet sublimely eloquent prayer answered. The child grew from a holy childhood into a holy woman- hood, giving herself entirely to all good works, sparing neither time, expense, nor trouble, neither weariness of body to help the suffering and sorrow-stricken, her sole aim the serving and glorifying of Him who hath said : "Whatsoever ye have done unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto Me." She had grown to be an angel of mercy in that little country village ; among themselves the grateful people called her "Our St. Veronica, our blessing from Heaven," but in her pre- sence simply "Miss O'Hara," for they instinctively felt that even such sincere adulation would be as distasteful aa unwelcome to her ears. If the popular young doctor, Gavin Glynne, loved her with all the strength of his young manhood, "shure," they said, " 'twould be the cowld heart he'd have if he didn't! It was nothing but what everybody else did, after all!" But they were content to worship from afar. Not so Gavin, who was as warm-hearted and impetuous a young Irishman as ever trod the dear old soil. He hadn't as yet summoned up courage to tell her in words how fondly SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 85 and truly he loved her, for he knew the time was not yet ripe for such a confession, but he let his heart speak for him as strongly as he knew how out of those expressive gray, often mischievous winning Irish eyes of his, I am inclined to think, for of late Veronica's white lids had drooped before them, and she had learned to time her ministering visits to hours when his duties called him otherwhere. She was thinking of him to-night as she walked on ra- pidly after the priest. She had not spoken to him since Mass on the previous Sunday, save to answer or take his instructions re his many patients. She was thinking pi- tifully, almost tenderlv of him, for she and Father Guil- fovle, who was his constant companion, alone knew how overworked and burdened he had been, and still was deprived of sleep and of his regular meals often for days together. And his sympathies being as large as that big, gene- rous Irish heart of his, he had suffered with the suffering, and mourned with the mourning, feeling that if he had ten thousand lives he would gladly fling them all away to spare to the mother her dying child, to the husband his stricken wife. Though but twenty-eight, he was as skil- ful in his profession as many an experienced doctor of twice his age, but a total lack of self-conceit that bane of small-minded men- kept him always at a fever-heat of energetic perseverance that had earned for him the nickname of the "Flying Surgeon." Just as Veronica was ascending the hill, on the slope of which stood McCarthy's dwelling she met little Denis running at full speed towards the town. "I am going for the doctor again, miss, " he said in answer to her anxious inquiries ; "his reverence says he doesn't think Molly is dyin', an' if I could only get the doctor he would be able to ease her a bit, but I don't know where to find him. I have been for him twice already, but he isn't at home nor anywhere about the town." "Run to the hospital, my child ; he may be there. Go as quickly as vou can." The boy obediently ran off. With an anxious heart Veronica quickened her steps. She was relieved to hear the good news of the ailing child, but a vague, intangible fear that some ill had befallen Gavin was creeping over 8G SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. her and filling her with dread. With many a whispered prayer she hurried on. The priest's gentle 'Come in" answered her knock. She entered to find him and the weeping mother trying a simple remedy to relieve the sufferer's throat. With an exclamation of thankfulness they made way for her at the side of the bed, and in a few minutes had the relief of seeing the almost choking girl breathing more easily under the self-constituted nurse's skilful treatment. "You are as good as a doc- tor yourself, Miss Veronica, mavourneen!" the mother cried, kissing her hand in a sudden burst of joy and gra- titude ; "but, oh, it would aise me heart if he would come the night and see the poor crature. Where can he be at all, at all?" The priest confessed that he felt uneasy at his absence. He had not seen him since the morning of the day before an unusual thing, for never a day pas- sed but Gavin looked in at the presbytery, and spent at least half-an-hour with the holy father, for whom he had a strong and sincere attachment. The night wore on. Denis returned without the doctor. The priest could bear the suspense no longer. Leaving the family in Veronica's care, he hastened away to search for him after anointing the sick child. For two hours or more Ve- ronica waited in what soon grew to be sickening suspense. She was not idle, however. She made the worn-out mother take a sadly-needed rest, put Denis to bed, and with deft hands "tidied up" the kitchen., unavoidably neglected during the anxieties and fears of the afternoon. It was nearly eleven o'clock when she opened the door, and stood straining her ears in the starshine for some sound of the priest's return. The night was cold, but she did not feel either cold or damp. In spite of the fears that possessed her, her heart was bounding with a new, strange life. For the first time in her friendship with Gavin, long-standing as it was, she was face to face with the fact that she loved him with a woman's true, devoted love for the man she can accept as the husband given her by God, loved him even as her heart told her he loved her. Though the presentiment of coming evil was strong upon her, with a deep and solemn joy she thanked God for granting her the priceless treasure of a good man's pure and honest love, and offered hers unre- servedly to that Sacred Heart which burns unceasingly SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 87 with love for all. A soothing sense of Divine pro- tection stole over her then, and wrapped her in its holy calm. Wherever Gavin was, whatever had befallen him, she teit was by Christ's appointment, and a strength un- felt before came over her spirit, and nerved her for her coming trial. Yes, a sorrow was even then on its way to that pure heart; for "whom the Lord loveth He chas- teneth,'' and His faithful servants who wish to follow in His footsteps cannot do so without the burden of the Cross! Swiftly succeeding that heavenly serenity came a weird, strange, mystic feeling that Gavin was somewhere near, somewhere quite close to her. She felt as if by the stretching out of a hand she could almost touch him. Yet there was neither sound nor sight of human voice, step, or form. Veronica could never explain what caused her to move forward, but move forward she did, till her hands struck against the little gate that opened into the narrow pathway leading to the top of the hill (commonly known as the "Never Mind on account of its exceeding steepness). On the one siae of the hill nestled many a picturesque old cottage, of which McCarthy's was one ; but the other, broken by a gully of no incon- siderable depth, had been left severely alone, and bore no trace of human habitation. Leaning against the gate, which, with the fence, formed part of the boundary line, Miss O'Hara once more strained her ears, hopeful of at least hearing on the road the foosteps for which she was so anxiously waiting. Ah ! what was that ? The sigh of the wind or the low moans of some creature in pain? She turned hastily, and looked back at the house, but instinctively felt, nevertheless, that the sounds had not come from thence. She had left the sick girl sleep- ing calmly after the relief given to her throat by the powdered sulphur (blown into it by Veronica from a quill), sunk in that deep slumber which so often succeeds ex- treme suffering. Again that hollow moan ! Where could it be coming from? Certain that there was someone in pain at no very great distance from where she stood, she rushed back to the cottage, roused the dozing woman, and, to- gether, the two, with a hastily lit lantern to guide them 88 iHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. through the darkiiess, went out m the direction from which Veronica asserted the cries had come. With one accord they started up the hill, when again the moan fell on their ears. Mrs. McCarthy gave a start of terror, almost knocking the lantern out of her com- panion s shaking hand. "The Lord between us and all evil ! she cried, reve- rently making the sign of the Cross, "but it is from the gully foruinst us the cry is comin'. There, hark to it again!" A sudden fit of shivering chilled the blood in the girl's slight frame. But she nerved uerself to say, 'We must climb down, then, if at all possible. Someone must have fallen, and is crying out for help. You hold the lantern, and let me go on in front." They turned off the road towards the gully. When they reached the edge of the precipice, Mrs. McCarthy gave it as her opi- nion that it was impossible for the groans of any mortal being to reach their ears from the vast chasm below; therefore, Veronica abandoned the idea of climbing down for the moment, and searched along its side. The groans had now ceased, so that when suddenly her foot stumbled against something lying in the bushes she gave a smothered cry of terror, and started oack, seizing the light to find out what it really was. It was the body of the ill-fated young doctor, Gavin Glynne himself, bruised and bleeding, with wounds on his face as if he had been dragged for some distance along the scrub, as, indeed, he had been, poor fellow, for his horse had been startled by some wild animal bounding over the narrow mountain road, and had thrown him, dragging him while stunned from the heavy fall wildly on in its mad gallop, till his senses returned, and he had sense and strength enough left to withdraw his foot from the stirrup. He had reached home after little Denis's second return, and, though weary, had lost no time in taking what he thought would be a short cut to McCarthy's from his own resi- dence. Prom the time he had left till he was found, he had been out nearly three hours out in the keen air of that cold autumn night, suffering, except at intervals of merciful unconsciousness, an agony of pain. He had cried out till exhausted, but no ear had heard his cries, SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 89 till God in His goodness sent the woman he loved to his rescue. Weeping bitterly, she bent over him and lifted his head tenderly on her lap, making a pillow out of her shawl. He neither heard nor felt her. He had again lapsed into unconsciousness. Mrs. McCarthy, feeling, poor soul, as if his death (should he die) fell at her door already, was loud in her lamentations, but, like the practical wo- man she was, did not forget that her first duty was to consider the ways and means of getting him brought home at once. With great difficulty the two women ma- naged to carry him a little way, but every movement seemed to cause him such extreme pain that they soon desisted. Veronica could not leave him; she was afraid he would die in her absence; therefore she begged Mrs. McCarthy to lose no time, bufc run for assistance, while she laid him down gently, and fixed him as comfortably as she could, bathing his poor bleeding face meanwhile with some water from, a tiny spring gushing out from the rocks. The fresh cold water roused his benumbed faculties. With a deep-drawn shuddering sigh he opened his eyes, and fixed them wonderingly on the light. Veronica, though trembling and longing to relieve her overcharged heart in words, continued her gentle ministrations, fear- ful of injuring the bewildered brain by any sudden move- ment or cry, knowing that it was better to let hym gather his scattered senses by slow degrees. Slowly, yet stea- dily, his gaze wandered from lantern to bush, from bush to the kneeling figure beside him. He made a move- ment as if to rise, but fell back with a groan of pain, looking up at the gentle, pitying face above him at last, as she had expected. What wondering joy, what inten- sity of love in those true honest Irish eyes drew her closer to him, I leave my readers to imagine, but in a moment more her tears were falling on his face, and heart was laid bare to heart in two short cries fraught both with what seemed a lifetime of exquisite pain and joy "Veronica!" "Gavin!" A short time afterwards Mrs. McCarthy returned with three or four strong, sturdy miners from the neighbouring cottages. With the help of a roughly-improvised "bush stretcher," the young doctor was carefully carried to his 90 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. own home, and skilfully attended to without delay ; but it was found that there were serious internal injuries, and before a week was over his case was pronounced hopeless. Little Mollie McCarthy was spared to the prayers of her mother, but God, who knoweth what is best for all, saw fit to call home to his eternal rest the stronger life in the first flush of its manhood. So well-beloved was he that when the sad news went forth, the whole popu- lation mourned as though he were already dead or bound to each and every one of them by ties of blood. His residence was besieged with anxious callers from dawn till dark weeping women, children, men whose hearts lie had knit to him by manifold acts of kindness, sympathy and generosity. Father Guilfoylc, unless in cases of ne- cessity, never left his bedside night or day. Owing to his thoughtful care, Veronica received daily bulletins of Gavin's state of health often scribbled by the young man himself. Two or three times she and her aunt were allowed to see him, but it was not till the day he died that they had any private conversation. He had sent for her in the morning. He had received Holy Communion, and was lying peacefully, his expressive eyes full of the old yearning love, but his face serene, with a new and spiritual light on it Veronica had never seen there before. She could not speak. A sob rose in her throat, and choked her utterance. It seemed doubly hard to lose him now, though her heart-cry for so many weary days of prayer and struggling had been ever, "Thy will, O God, be done ! Teach me to will what Thou wiliest ! Give me strength to bear my cross with patience and resigna- tion for Thy dear sake!" She sank on her knees by his bedside, her tears falling down her cheeks. He did not say a word, only with his poor thin, wasted hand, softly stroked her hair. If a shining drop or two fell on the counterpane only the angels saw them. The soothing touch of his hand calmed her more than all his entrea- ties could have done. She found strength to smile ah, the veriest ghost of a smile, but it pleased him to whisper broken words of not only her own faithful love, which even death could not take from him, but of that love which is the ever-burning lamp of heaven, that di- vine and pitying love which one day would also draw her SHAMROCK ANT) WATTLE-BLOOM. 91 home, "where death shall be no more, nor mourning, nor crying," neither any more tears ! And he answered her with beautiful and holy words that filled her with a so- lemn peace and resignation, for the flower was meet for the Master's use, and she could bear to see Him pluck it ere one earth stain had power to discolour it. She took his nand in hers, and together they prayed the grand yet simple prayers of the faith of their fauiers. They were silent then for a little while. His face was turned towards her. The sun shone in through the window, and lit up her golden hair as with an aureole of light till the pure, beautiful face under it, with its holy look of peace and resignation, seemed even as an angel's. His eyes grew suddenly dim. He lifted her hand to his lips. "God keep your soul a white rose always, to give out such sweet fragrance for His glory, my darling!'' he said brokenly. She bent over him, and kissed him on the lips. At that moment a little child was heard begging ad- mittance. "P'ease me wants to turn in," she cried in a sweet, shrill voice; "me wants to see the doctor. Me has pitty fowers for him!" Gavin, who loved children, motioned to Veronica to let her in. Such a wee fat toddling mite she was ! and in one little fat hand were clutched firmly some white roses, half-blown, the dew still wet on their petals. The tiny feet pattered over to the bed. She held up her sweet innocent lips for the doctor's kiss, and laid her little gift upon his breast. Veronica saw he was deeply moved. She lifted the child to her knee, and drew her chair close to the bed. He let the roses, wet as they were, lie on his breast for a few moments, then lifted one in his fingers as gently and tenderly as if it were a living thing, placed it in Veronica's hand, and held it there with an appealing look which the loving heart at once understood. She gazed around the walls. Just opposite them was a picture of the three first "Little Sisters of the Poor," clad in the simple habiliments of their Order, a crucifix in their folded hands. His eyes anxiously followed hers. She pointed to the picture eag- erly, inquiringly. A smile lit up his face ; in it she read his answer. She fastened the white rose in her bodice, and set the child down softly, for she saw the 92 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. end was very near. The priest came in with reverent tread. Ten minutes after, Gavin Glynne breathed his last. His last audible words on earth were these : "Jesus Mary watch over my white rose!" * * * * * * A few years ago, when I was travelling in New South Wales, a Little Sister of the Poor was pointed out to me as having been, through the grace of God, the means of saving countless souls from sin and misery. "Wherever she treads," my informant said, "she seems to bring the sunshine of Heaven with her. "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God!" I looked eagerly at the spiritual face. Yes, I had seen it before ! I knew the story of the loving heart that beat in that calm bosom ! She was Gavin Glynne's 'White Rose." Geoffrey Stapleton, Bachelor. "The nearest to the Highest that is love!" De Vere. He was leaning against a lamp-post in an aimless, de- jected kind of way, watching the crowds of people of "all sorts and conditions'" who were briskly passing up and down the busy street for it was Saturday night, and pater and mater familias were neither on pleasure nor shopping intent. The thousand voices of the city rang like discordant music in his ears, but he stood as one who neither heard nor heeded aught around him. Half-a-dozen or more little ragged urchins screaming at the tops of their shrill young voices, " 'Erald, sir ? Hevenin' 'Era-Id ! ' Arf-past five hedition ! Full account of the railway hac-cid-dent ! " (rising to an ear-deafening pitch on the last three svllables) had all given him up as a hopeless case of imbecility, and moved off in speechless disgust. " 'E 'ave no business to be at large, 'e 'aven't!" one small boy at last found breath to say, as he prepared to waylay a fresh victim ; "a man wot takes no notice of the hevenin' n/oose aint no good to 'isself nor hanybody helse!" Poor man, I doubt if he were much good to himself or anybody else, for he was that forlorn, discontented (may SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 98 I say "cantankerous?") much-to-be-pitied individual, an "old bachelor." For the first time in his forty-eight years he was be- ginning to realise that he had made a mistake in remain- ing single. In younger days he had been proud to call himself a misogynist ; it had pleased him inexpressibly to hear people say of him, "Mr. Stapleton, you know, is quite a woman-hater!" But now that he was beginning to fall into the sere and yellow leaf, to turn away with weary eyes from the illusions and mockeries of the world which had cheated him so long, he felt a craving stir within him to have a home of his own like other men had a horn 3 that would be a refuge, an ark of peace and rest and love after the labours of the day. "Love!" he had almost forgotten that there was such a word. He had had little lavished upon him, he thought bitterly; but he forgot that, if so, it was his own sup- reme selfishness he had to thank for the want. "Love wins love" all the world over, but he had closed his heart to all the sweetest affections of life. True, he had loved his mother in the days that were gone, but she had long lain in her quiet grave ; his father was but a dim memory of childhood's thoughtless hours; he had never had brother or sister to warm his frozen heart into sympathy with his kind ; he had formed no friendships save ah yes! mechanically he lifted his hat as he thought of her save one. "Where is she to-night, I wonder?" he said to himself. "Poor little woman, I always liked her. They say she never married Sutherland, after all. Perhaps it was just as v;ell. She was too good for him. He was not wor- thy of the love of a woman like her. How she used to preach to us, poor little soul ! Hang it, I couldn't stand seeing her in want or misery, somehow ! Yet they say everything they had went when the banks failed. I wonder what she is doing? She always had plenty of courage, but she was not strong enough to bear a heavy burden. I must try to find the family out. Well, we shall see, we shall see!" He forsook the kindly lamp-post, straightened his stooping figure, and drifted on with the stream of human life before him, gazing at each face he passed as if he 94 SHAMROCK ANT) WATTLE-BLOOM. expected to find in it some trace of features he had known. "If there be any truth in telepathy, she should br thinking of me to-night,' he muttered with a grim smile, remembering discussions they had held upon, such sub- jects in days of old, "but I daresay she has forgotten even my name long ago! ' He had reached the corner of the street. The crowd had now become so dense that he was obliged to halt a moment. Has gaze wandered idly, half scornfully, from one countenance to another of the pushing, swaying, drifting mob which slowly but determinedly made its way onward, treading on his toes, and otherwise contribut- ing, though innocent of bad intent, to Jus bodily discom- fort. Selfish faces, evil faces, stolid faces blank of any expression whatever, sneering faces, sensual faces, avari- cious faces, wan, worn!, hopeless faces, with here and there a fresh, sweet, innocent one, looking all the purer for the striking contrast. Our friend was beginning to lose himself in a dream of philosophical speculations, as was his wont, when a sharp dig in the ribs aroused him to a sense of his own dignity, and the insufferable boor- ishness, not to say impertinence, of some energetic indi- vidual in his rear. "What the !" he was beginning somewhat irately, turning round to discover his assailant, who happened to be a portly dame with a basket of eggs on her fat arm, whose progress he was impeding, when he caught sight of a young girl following closely in her wake a girl whose face he would have known among a thousand. His heart clamoured loudly! throbbing rather wildly for such a confirmed old bachelor's peace of mind. In a moment he had reached her side, and touched her gently on the arm, "Madeleine!" With a start of joyful surprise she recognised him, and seized his hand. Molly!" she said excitedly, stopping her portly com- panion, "it is Mr. Stapleton! Oh, Mr. Stapleton, I am glad to see you! Don't you remember Molly, our faith- ful old nurse?" ' Faithful old nnrse ' eyed him with great disfavour, but returned his greeting respectfully, and continued her on- SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 95 ward march, leaving them to walk on together behind, Madeleine talking animatedly the while. He had time now to notice how thin and worn the pretty face had grown since he had seen it last, what a wistful, patient look had learnt to linger in the once merry blue-gray eyes, what lines of pain Time had drawn around the sweet, sad mouth, how thin the girlish figure had become, thin and stooping, too! Had life brought her, also, nothing but sorrow and disappointment? Seeing the sensitive lips quiver at his allusions to older days, he did not like to question, her too closely, but gra- dually succeeded in drawing from her that the family were, as he had heard, in very reduced circumstances, the father earning but a slight competence as a bookkeeper in a small firm. Madeleine herself was teaching music and painting, but times were bad and pupils few. Molly had insisted on remaining with them through all their reverses, and, as Medeleine's mother had died shortly af- ter the sudden change in their fortunes, her heart clung to the faithful old Irish servant with almost a daughter's love. Stapleton's heart for he was beginning to find that he really possessed such an organ yearned over the lonely, friendless girl as a woman s might have done. Why should a frail, gentle creature like her be forced to battle single-handed with the world, while a strong man such as he was free to obtain the sacred right to shelter and protect her, to guard and shield her while life should last? A wild longing to preserve her, as far as mortal could, from the sorrows, the sordid cares of life, swept over him. All the pent-up tenderness in his nature seemed to rush with one mighty bound towards the pale, sweet- faced woman at his side. Before he had time to say one kindly word of pity for her, his former tormentors, the "Herald" boys, noticing the now animated expres- sion of his countenance, and gathering fresh courage there- from, flourished their remaining papers before him with a cheerier echo in their hoarse cry, " Erald ! Hevenin' Erald ! Full account of the railway hac-cid-dent ! 'Erald a penny! Take one, sir I" Impatiently he put his hand into his pocket and drew out a penny, which was received with a sinoth- 96 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. eml chuckle of delight by the successful urchin, and dis- played behind Geoffrey's back with broad grins and mean- ing winks to the rest of the enterprising fraternity. "A railway accident K" said Madeleine. "I wonder where ? I hope there has been no loss of life. I think not, or we would have heard of it long before this.'' Staplcton glanced at the headings as tney walked along. "Nothing very serious. A young man, stupidly trying to get into the Hawthorn train after it had started, fell and broke his leg. Hja name is Daverne Terence Dav- erne. Lives in Carlton." With a little gasping cry, Madeleine started forward and touched Molly's arm. "Molly ! Do you hear 'I Terry was hurt trying to catch his usual train, and is badly injured! 1 am sine he would ask to be taken home. Oh, let us get into our tram at once!" "Confound Terry Daverne, whoever he is!' thought Geoffrey. "Why should she be so concerned about the fellow r Molly was all commiseration and excitement. She had hailed a passing tram before Stapleton had time to do more than ask for his friend's address, which was given, with a timid invitation to call whenever lie felt inclined to see her father, who "would be glad to chat over old times." The address was that of a small villa in the upper end of Drummond-street. Geoffrey knew the appearance of the house well, as he often visited a friend who lived a few doors from the number given. After he had seen them safely into the tram, he walked on through street after street with unseeing eyes, a tumult of thoughts, sweet and bitter, sad and foreboding commingled. He was awake to the fact at last that he loved the girl who had just so hurriedly left him, her mind occupied to all seeming with tender solicitude for another man. Per- haps she was engaged to him. What right had he to hope or expect that she might still be free after all the long dreary years he had allowed to elapse without mak- ing even the most feeble efforts to trace her? And in any case, was he not too old for her, though the first freshness of her youth and beauty was gone? At his age he was a fool to dream of marrying any woman, he SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 97 told himself bitterly. Yet the wistful eyes haunted him ; the pure face in its setting of soft brown hair rose before him like some picture he must gaze at until he comprehended its true loveliness, until he learnt from its outward light the brighter light of the spotless, wo- manly soul within. Heaven seemed nearer since he had met her. "She is a good woman, God bless her/' he muttered, turning homeward. "To love such a one is worth living for. God sends us masterpieces from the Land of the Divine, but the spirit quickens slowly in a clod!" CHAPTER II. "O, I'm not meself at all ! I'm a shadow on the wall, Molly, dear! Molly, dear I" "Come now, Misther Terence, be raisonable, and take your nourishment before the docther comes! Fret tin' never made a man fat yet. There I have made your pillows sit aisy and comfortable. Don't lave the lastc dhrop of a taste, now! Drink it all up, honey. 'Tis I'll be the proud woman whin ye're on your legs again. Her weary patient gave a groan. "On my legs again ! I only wish I were ! It is aw- ful to have to lie here like a log while other men are going about their day's work in health and strength." "Or dead, an' on their way to be buried, Heaven have mercy on their souls! 'Tis on your bended knees ye ought to be, in thanksgiving that ye were not brought home in paices wid a coroner's inquest over ye, enough to make ye rise an' gather together again wid the hor- ror of it all ! Oh, ye needn't be laughin' ! I mane every word of it. But," crossing to the window, "here's the docther, an' who wid him but ould Four-eyes bad scran to him! an' Miss Madeleine lyin' down thryin' to get a bit of rest. Tis tired I am of the sight of his ugly phiz!" She smoothed her apron hurriedly, and went to take away the tray. . "Who in the world is 'ould Four-eyes/ Molly? Never heard of him before that I know of." ' 'Tis a dale too much you'll be hearin' of him, thin, 98 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. some of these foine days,'' with a toss of her head as she was going out of the door. "1 mane tho iligant gin lleman with the spectacles, who comes here so often to see how you're gettin' on. Too moighty anxious he ir, though, to take in ould Molly !" Quite unintentionally Geoffrey had unfortunately made a bitter enemy of Molly. It was her dearest wish to see "Masther Terry" (as she loved to call him) married to her young mistress, and, to her mind, matters had seemed to be gradually progressing that way when Sta- pleton came upon the scene with his reminiscences of happier days, and unconsciously spoiled all her little plans. Terence Daverne was a bright-faced, lively young Irish- man, not many years out from the old country, and had been boarding with the Keoghs almost from the time of landing. He had brought with him a letter of intro- duction from an uncle of his in Killarney a priest who had known Gerald Keogh in his youth, and whose name in his household was always held in the deepest respect and veneration. Mrs. Keogh liked Terry's pleasant face and merry voice about the house, and apart from that, their cir- cumstances compelled them to augment, if possible, their scanty income ; so, some time before her death, arrange- ments were made that he should remain there as a boarder for as long a period as suited him. Having influence and brains to back him, he soon got a Govern- ment appointment, and gradually won. his way into the esteem and affection of all his brother officials. Happy-go-lucky, good-natured, and light-hearted, he enjoyed life like a merry schoolboy till, unfortunately for his peace of mind, he fell in love with Madeleine. The girl's quiet life of self-sacrifice, her unwearied attention to her father (now grown querulous and exacting), her strong, sweet, sunshiny nature, her courage and persever- ance, all combined to form a halo round her in his ima- gination, and set her apart from other prettier, cleverer girls he knew. Then they were of the same religion, and had many thoughts in common. They walked to Mass together, and knelt side by side at the communion rails to receive the Bread of Life ; through her good ex- ample, her sincere and unaffected piety, he had grown SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 99 better and purer and nobler with each succeeding day. He could not help but love her; but, alas! he soon found that he had not the power to make her love him otherwise than as a very dear friend ! Up to the present he had had the comfort of believing that at least he had no rival, that the kindly feelings she entertained towards him might in the fulness of time ripen into something 1 warmer; but since he had been laid on a sick bed his eyes had gradually opened to the fact that her newly-discovered old friend was suc- cessfully laying siege to her heart, though apparently quite unconscious of the headway he was making. Though Daverne had now been ill some weeks, and Geoffrey had called to see him constantly, never omit- ting to bring some tempting delicacy, or the latest book to read, the two men had not "fitted into each other" as harmoniously as Madeledne could have wished. They were freezingly polite to each other, but no more. It was chiefly Geoffrey's fault, as his nature was a grave, reserved one, his manner often cold and distant. Almost for that reason alone Molly disliked him. He was "too English'' in style to suit her, she said. After letting him and the doctor in, as she followed them up the stairs, she gave vent to this grievance in her own pecu- liar way, muttering as she went " Shure, an' it's tin thousand angels ye expect will be afther coming down to escort you up to glory on your last day ! but 'tis foinely ye'll be mistaken, I'm thinkin' ! Sorra a wan more will there be than' 11 come for ould Molly, little as ye think of her now!" Doctor Dennithorne was a stout, jovial man, who always spoke cheerily to his patients, and seemed to bring a bracing atmosphere with him. "Well, Terry, my man, how is the leg to-day? Ah progressing nicely, nicely ! We'll have you out of here in no time. 'Doesn't look like it?' Come, come, Miss Molly, what have you been doing to let my patient get so downhearted? I thought that merry tongue of yours was as good as a tonic any day!" "He found it moighty divartin' tin minutes ago, at all ivints ! 'Tis the lingth of it I gave him the omathaun ! for that same remark. If ye want to dhrag a laugh out av him talk sinse to him ; make a joke, and ye'll get 100 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. the black look ! Men are conthrairy divils savin' your presence, sir!" The doctor laughed heartily, and set to work. Geoffrey helped him, and Molly departed to call her mistress, who always liked to receive the doctor's instructions in per- son. Madeleine had nursed and attended to Terry with all a sister's devotion, winning golden opinions from Dennithorne, and rousing an unreasonable jealousy in Geoffrey's breast. It was little consolation to the latter to find out that there was no engagement existing be- tween them when he saw so often her tender ministra- tions to the invalid, and marked the look of adoring love in the dark-blue Irish eyes as they watched her every movement. "Could she help loving the handsome boyish face, the soft winning voice with its touch of brogue?'' he often tortured himself by asking. Even now, as he assisted the doctor, he was noticing the charm of the fair, flushed face, each turn of the shapely head with its sunny mass of curls, and mentally comparing his own lined coun- tenance and massive wrinkled brow with them. When the dressing was done, and Madeleine appeared, his heart was torn with anxiety at her worn-out, fragile look. "God forgive me, she will be spared to neither of us if her work is not soon lightened ! Oh, if only she would give me the right to cherish her, to lift all burdens off her shoulders!" He watched her yearningly as she chatted to the good-natured doctor, and Dennithorne, suddenly turning, caught the look. "So," he said softly, as he went down stairs, "that's how the land lies ! Well, she might do worse. A man of his years knows how to take care of a good woman when he gets her. A young one is often thoughtless and inconsiderate. That girl deserves a kind husband ; she has a heart of gold!" Geoffrey remained about an hour longer, reading and talking to Terry as if in duty bound; only seeking Madeleine before departing, as was his wont when she was disengaged. She had just dismissed a music pupil, and was standing at the parlour door. His manner was strangely cold, she thought, his face gloomy and grave. An idea that he was in trouble of some kind shot through SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 101 her brain. Impulsively she laid her hand upon his arm. "Mr. Stapleton, is anything worrying you? We are such old and tried friends, can I help you in any way ?" A flood of tenderness lighted up his dark face. He laid his hand gently on her shoulder. "Help me, little girl? There is one way in which you can help me. Learn to take more care of your own health, to think a little less of others, and more of yourself. Do you think I do not see how you toil and slave from morn till night ; waiting hand and foot on your father and Daverne, teach- ins stupid children and still more stupid adults, visiting the sick of the parish, helping the poor out of your scanty earnings, denying yourself even common necessaries. Hush, hush ! I know and oEserve a great deal more than you have any idea of, and my good, true friend, Father Daly, tells me the rest." Madeleine, who had been changing colour, and vainly striving to silence him, now, at Father Daly's name, gave a sudden start of surprise. "Mr. Stapleton," she said, with quivering lip, strug- gling to look up calmly into his face, "you speak of Father Daly as if as if " He smiled. "As if I were a Roman Catholic, you mean?" She nodded. "Well, supposing I am one in very truth little wo- man, so wistful-eyed, what then?" She moved a short distance from him, and leant against the doorway, staring at him with wide-open eyes full of a wondrous amazement and half-repressed joy. "Mr. Stapleton," she said at length, slowly forcing the words out, "do not tease me, I beg of you. Please tell me the truth. Are you really a Catholic at last? Have you indeed given up the indifferentism and scepticism of the old days? Oh, it seems too good to be true!" He watched the expressive face wiui shining eyes. "Thank God," he said reverently, a clear, proud ring in his voice, "it is true, and under Heaven I owe that happiness to you. You taught me (unconsciously to yourself) what truth and beauty and holiness lay in a religion which gives to the world an untiring example of self-sacrifice and living faith, of lovin? deeds of mercy 102 7ITAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. and charity unsurpassed by any other denomination on earth ! A religion which has its Father Damiens and its Saint Theresas in every nook and corner of the world, sublime in the grandeur of its perfect unity, mag- nificent in its strength and resources the only Ark in this age of infidelity where the weary soul can find a rest!" Tears of joy ran down Madeleine's cheeks. She could not speak. She could only look upward, and put out her hands towards him. She had known him as an ag- nostic, as one who had sneered at simple faith and holy things, and considered himself clever in doing so. For years she had prayed unceasingly for him, often with a heavy heart. And God had answered her prayer long since ! Her soul seemed to spring from her body in wild exultation and thankfulness. And Stapleton? He watched her as if fascinated. The workings of the sensitive soul filled him with a so- lemn awe, for into the spiritual face had flashed a gleam of that Light "which never was on land or sea!" Angel fingers struck a chord of music that vibrated from soul to soul. The things of earth fled for one deep, rich moment. The next he had raised her hands to his lips, and was gone. CHAPTER III. A place in thy memory, dearest, Is all that I claim, To pause and look back when thou nearest The sound of my name. Gerald Griffin. The day had been oppressively warm, but the evening breeze was cool and refreshing. Madeleine, glad to have a rest after her hard day's work, had drawn a rocking-chair into the most sheltered corner of the ver- andah, and sat, almost hidden from view, thinking of the duties of the morrow, and a little iust a little of a certain old bachelor friend whose strained manner to- wards herself had puzzled her much of late. And, as she thought, the smile deepened in her eyes, the lines round the tired mouth relaxed, and the lace-work fell unheeded from her hands into her lap. SHAMROCK AND WATTT.K-RT.OOM. 103 Molly, from the diningroom window, watched her tin- easily. "It's dhramin' again she is! Oh, honey, honey, it's the sore heart ye're givin' me and the poor boy beyant!" She put aside her duster and came out. "An' what may you be thinkin' of, Miss Madeleine, dear, if it's a fair question I'm afther axin' ye?" Madeleine laughed. "What if it is not a 'fair question,' Molly asthore!" "Ah, thin,' said Molly, shaking her head, " 'tis no wondher I'd be unaisy about ye, mavourneen. There's only wan kind of question ye'd lave the answering of. Shure, now" coaxingly "ye would never drame of tak- in' a dried-up old curmudgeon like him, alanna. Tis nursing him ye'd be before many years passed over your young head. Girleen, take my advice, and have the young wan who's breakin' his warm heart for wan tinder glance from your eyes. Sorra a bit can I undherstand the maids of this counthry, at all, at all!" Madeleine had flushed and paled as she spoke, but she made no answer to Molly's eloquent little plea, for she saw from her corner a figure she knew well rapidly ap- proaching the house. Following the direction of her mistress's gaze, Molly caught sight of him, too, and with a smothered ejaculation that seemed half a malediction, half a prayer, disappeared inside. A moment more and Geoffrey's hand was on the gate- latch. Madeleine rose and met him with the softest, pinkest of blushes brightening her pale face. His greet- ing was cold and constrained, his eye fell before hers, there was a nervousness and hesitation in his manner which set the woman's heart in her body beating in a new, strange way that seemed quite uncalled for; as, if he were indeed a wooer, he was the saddest and most "dour-looking" of lovers! But a woman's instinct is a wonderful thing, and her intuitions are not by any means to be despised. Madeleine led the way to the drawingroom, trembling a little. Molly watched them from her post of vantage in the diningroom, and groaned inwardly. "Bad scran to the ould villain ! What spell does he be castin' over her at all? Naither a word nor a look for poor Masther Te- 104 SHAMROCK ANT) WATTLE-BLOOM. rence, while ould 'Four-eyes' is about! It bates Bana- gher entoirely !" The drawingroom, though small, was a charming room in its way, being tastefully furnished, and always fra- grant with the odour of fresh flowers. A bowl of pink, half-blown roses stood on the little round table. Geof- fre*- took one out of it, and absently fixed it in his but- ton-hole. "Our roses are almost perfect, are they not?" Made- leine said, simply for the sake of starting a conversa- tion. "Yes," he answered, with a slight start, drawing the bowl nearer to him, "but place one of these lovely rose- buds against a half-withered, full-blown rose, and it loses much of its beauty." "Would not its loveliness be rather enhanced by the contrast?" Madeleine answered gently. "But at what a bitter cost to the other?" he said, with a harsh laxu?h that grated on the girl's sensitive pirit. "Who would be so inartistic as to place the two together? Would not the natural impulse be to cast out the withering one, and seek for the other a younger, fairer mate?" Madeleine did not reply. Though not vain, a sudden light was beginning to dawn upon her. She felt half amused, half angry. Would he spoil their lives even at the eleventh hour by the absurd notions he took into his head? Did a woman take a man's age into account when she loved him with all the strength of her being? O, how blind he was! Yet, what could she do? The rattling of dishes in the kitchen and a melodious brogue broke in upon the stillness " Tis a wife I am wanting, said Larry Malone, A swate little woman to be all me own ! But me head it is bald, and me hair it is grey, It shtrikes me I've left it too late in the day ! Too late in the dav ! Too late in the day ! I must wandher alone for the rest of the way ! " Madeleine laughed hysterically. Another long-drawn- out "al-one for the rest of the way" set Geoffrey laugh- ing, too, and bnwffht him to a more natural, sensible frame of mind. He crossed over to Madeleine, and put SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 105 his hand on her shoulder, waiting patiently till she had sobered down. "Madeleine,"' he said, with a deep, manly ring in his voice, "my little woman, must I wander 'alone for the rest of the way?' Is there any hope at all for an un- happy old bachelor who owns that he has left it rather 'late in the day,' but who implores you now to give him a little love in return for that which fills his heart for you to overflowing' Madeleine, my darling, will you bo my loved and honoiired wife?" She put up her hand, and drew his to her lips. "I have always loved you. Geoffrey,'' she whispered, covering her face with it then. "With God's help I will try to be a good wife to you. For a moment Geoffrey could not find words. He had come there purposely to ask her, it is true, but with so little hope in. his breast that the sudden knowledge of her love for him completely overwhelmed him. A chok- ing feeling came into his throat, his eyes filled, and he trembled like a woman. And she had loved him always ! What a fool he had been to waste so many years of their lives ! Alarmed at his silence, Madeleine looked up, and their eyes met. She saw that his heart was full. In a second her arms were around his neck. It was not at all the orthodox thing to do, but, the motherly tender- ness that is in all good women rising to the surface first, she kissed him on the lips with all her heart in the kiss, and awoke him fully to the fact that the cold, dreary days of his long bachelorhood were already beginning to fade into the past, and a life brightened and enriched by pure, true love and happiness, was opening before him. He had never made love to any woman before; he was clumsy and awkward now, but the clumsiness and awkwardness made him all the dearer in her eyes. "My little girl ! My little girl !" he said over and over again, ruffling the pretty soft rings of hair on her brow, and passing his hand tenderly over her face. And Madeleine was satisfied, and happier than words could say. Alas, poor Molly ! 106 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. CHAPTER IV. "There are two pages to the book. We men have read the one, The other needs a spirit look, in lands beyond the am." Molly took the news, as was expected, with an exceed- ingly bad grace. "Ochone ! ochone ! an' what will become of me, at all, at all. Miss Madeleine, darlint, whin I have lost the loight of your face, for sorra a shtim of work will I do in his house savin' your presence! Aven to plaze ye, alanna machree, me heart can't warm to him but ah, 'tis scalding, it is, for the pool- boy upstairs who'll carry to his gra\e the love of ye, or man never loved yot! There's not a could dhrop in his body, more power to him ! ' ' In vain Madeleine expostulated and reasoned with her; her coaxings and arguments were vain. Mollv was obdurate, and proved it by burning the scones for break- fast a feat which she had never accomplished before, being, with good reason, proud of her abilities in the cu- linary line so Madeleine left her to vent her grief alone, knowing that in time she would come round to a more reasonable frame of mind. Her father to whom Geoffrey had already spoken to her great relief, seemed highly pleased. He had al- ways liked and respected Stapletou, and was thankful to know that his daughter would have the shelter of a good man's name, and his love and care. Her marriage would not separate her from him. Geoffrey's generosity had arranged that. He was beginning to appreciate the value of his solid thousands now tnat he had the opportunity of befriending his old friend in his new ca- pacity as a future son-in-law. The only drop of bitterness in Madeleine s cup was the knowledge of the suffering her engagement would cause Terry. She did not break the news to him till aboxxt a week afterwards. He was then much stron- ger, and able to spend part of the day downstairs. He was lying on the sofa near the open window, in the parlour, where Geoffrey had made known his love. Again the sweet scent of roses made fragrant the air. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-HLOOM. 107 A soft breeze stirred the snowy curtains, and toyed gently with the damp, clustering rings of sunny hair above his brow. He was in that delightful state of con- valescence when all soft sounds and dainty bits of colour fill the mind with a sweet, drowsy restfulness that can- not be put into words. Madeleine had been playing dreamy melodies tender, sad, old Irish airs that earned him, back to the scenes of his boyhood's days, to the grand old hills and romantic lakes of the beautiful "Gem of the Sea," till he could almost hear the clear, ringing song of the skylark as she flew upward in an ecstacy of delight, away, away, up beyond the clouds. Madeleine, seated in a low chair near the piano, watched the expressive face with tear-dimmed eyes. She must tell him, yet how could she bear to see a cloud where only she would have sunshine. The calm affection she had for him always never seemed so strong as at that moment. Suddenly he met her gaze. "Madeleine," he said, half rising, "dear Madeleine, what is the matter ? Whv, there are tears in your eyes ! I hope those eerie tunes I asked you to play have not made you feel sad?" She crossed over to him and made him lie back com- fortably again, for he was still weak. "No, no, lorry ; you know I love them, too ; but it is true something is making me feel a wee bit miserable to-night. I will tell vou if you promise to. forgive me if I pain you a little but oh, Terry, dear, what you used to wish could never have been indeed it never could !" With head averted, her colour coming and going in fitful blushes, she told him in as few words as possible Geoffrey's affection for her and hers for him, their be- trothal, and the changes it would of necessity bring about in the household. A new home, with strangers for Terry, where this had been home indeed? Her voice quivered and broke. She knew instinctively what must be his thoughts. There was a long silence. The air seemed to grow heavy and oppressive. In the house next door someone started to sing. Through the open window the clear, 108 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. sweet strains of a woman's voice floated in, a ring of sadness in its melody: "What if through all the weary years to be, Nor life nor light for me? Thy dear, dead love shall lead me safely rLome, My guiding-star shall be. So thou art blest, content am I to wait Till on the Golden Shore We may at length, beside the eternal gate, Unite to part no more !" Madeleine looked at Terry. He had turned his face to the wall. A sob rose in her throat. She leant over him, and gently touched the bright head, smoothing back as gently and tenderly as a sister the soft waves of hair. "'Terry, ' she said, a suspicion of tears in, her sweet voice, "Terry, once I knew a man, young in ,years, and endowed with the kindest, tenderest soul God ever put on earth to cheer and brighten others; but he had the misfortune to fall in love with a woman not worthy of the strong affection his true heart gave her. She had learned to love someone else many years before and he loved her. She would have been quite happy but for the pain she knew she had been the means of causing the other. She loved him, that other, as dearlv as a sister does a brother, and now she wants to tell him that, though she can never be more to him, that love will be his always ; and it is so deep and true it yearns to see his for her (and the pain he suffers through it) so lost in the great loving Heart above that its memory in future vears may be a holy and a blessed thing for both for, oh ! Terry dear, love pure as yours is not wasted! and I want to see you, in the days to come, letting you're heart overflow with love not for one alonr, but for all God's suffering and helpless on this sin-laden earth. "Noble, with a man's highest nobility, strong in the strength of a soul that walks with God such does my heart yearn to see you, Terry! Is all that as nothing against your love? Will you not let me be evermore your faithful friend?" He drew her hand down to his lips. His face was wet with the hot tears that scald the heart yet purify the soul. She had awakened a new man in his breast, as SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 109 every good woman has power to do, if only she will exercise that power as the Creator intended she should. "God bless you, Madeleine Keogh," he said. "To have loved a woman like you is worth having lived. Geoffrey Stapleton is a bachelor no longer. In one of the largest inland towns in Victoria he owns the happiest home; and the most welcome guest in his house is a tall, fair, bright-faced priest, who is beloved by everyone who knows him a priest who is honoured and respected by eveiy denomination for his life of self-denial, of cha- rity, of deeds that angel fingers love to record in letters of gold in that great book which no human eye may read. From human love he learned to climb, step by step, to that Highest Love which alone satisfies, and there he found the Peace "which passeth all understand- ing!" And Geoffrey calls him, proudly and affectionately. "Father Terry." Jim Allonby's Xmas Letter. It was the day before Christmas Eve. Jim Allonby rode along the dusty road, thinking anything but plea- sant thoughts of the festive season opening so brightly for many, but bringing to him only bitter memories and remorseful feelings. Things had gone badlv with him since, in a reckless fit of passion two years before, he had left his father's roof, vowing never to set his foot under it again. So far he had kept his word, but he was none the happier for it that morning. A sullen look was on his handsome face, nor did the gloom lift when at length he dismounted in front of the bush store that did duty for a post-office, in the straggling town of Narragee. The mail was just in, and good-natured Mrs. O'Hagan handed him a letter with a benevolent smile. Few letters found their way into Jim Allonby's lonely life. He leaned against the verandah post, and read it. It was written in an unformed childish hand, and ran as follows : Dere Jim, I am writing this to you in the vegable garden behind the shed,you know where you burned the cat what killed 110 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-m,OOM. the chickens. Father is orful wild with me, and Tom has turned dog. I never done nothing to nobody, ex- cept tell Harry May our father never voted for his father, because his politiks were as bad as his karracter. I heard father say so, so it is trew, and Harry May's father is coming down to find out all about it. Dere Jim, don't worry about me, it aint half bad been sent to the shed wen you have banarnas in your pockets. I climed in the kitchen window and got them. Dere Jim, I want you to come home bad. Life aint worth livin now, everybody is down on me. Come home and take care of your poor little brother what gets kicked about worse nor a dog when they are in their tempers. Father sneaked your last letter, and I heard him say to Uncle John that it was hard on him not to have his eldest son to lene on now he aint so spry as he used to be. And Nell cries and cries, and goes to chapel every mornin trying to pray you back, but the angels I expeck are too busy to mind her. Dere Jim, please do come home. It will be orful lonely for me this Xmas. Father says I won't get no pocket money nor presints, and Tom says I am a reglar nipper, and a box on the ears is all the Xmas box I can expeck from him. I don't like Tom. So come home, dere Jim. Your luving brother, WILLIE ALLONBY. Mrs. O'Hagan, who was watching Jim from the win- dow, v(J5ndered at the hearty burst of laughter that broke from him, so boyish was the ring in it, and wondered still more at the sad, thoughtful look that immediately followed it. Without entering the shop for the usual gossip, he led his horse round to the back yard, tied it up, and strolled down the street with his hat slouched down low over his brow. The child's letter had touched his heart. On his stub- born spirit it fell like the softening and soothing pres- sure of an angel's hand. Home affections, so long starved and crushed down, began to reassert themselves, and clamoured at his heart. Go home ! He scarcely dared acknowledge to himself what a pleasant thrill the mere thought of doing so gave him ! Pride, always his beset- ting sin, was not easily conquered, however, and it SHAMROCK ANL. WATTLE-BLOOM. Ill struggled with his better nature for long hours. He could not bring himself to ask his father's forgiveness for the errors of the past. Truth to tell, his father had been much to blame. A successful merchant himself, he had hoped to see his eld- est son follow in his footsteps ; but as Jim grew to man- hood the fact became apparent that he had little or no business capacity. A bookworm by nature, every spare hour was spent in the pursuit of knowledge the father considered worthless from a monetary point of view. Deaf to the young fellow's entreaties, he refused to give him a profession, and tied him down to the drudgery of office work, at which his services were so unsatisfactory at times that many a stormy scene ensued ; and at last, after a mistake of the son's which cost him the loss of a wealthy customer, he sank the father in the business man, and stung Jim to the quick with contemptuous taunts. That night Jim left his home. Since then he had been earning his living as a tutor on a station. He had corresponded regularly with his young bro- thers and only sister, and, for a time, with a neighbour's daughter, whom he considered the one friend left to him since his separation from his father. Of late he had fancied that her letters were growing steadily colder. Wrapping himself up in his usual armour of pride, he had therefore not answered the last. Yet with iSVillie's letter Aileen Howard's bright face seemed to rise up, and again in fancy he heard her parting words : "God bless you, dear old Jim ! All will come right yet. And if it doesn't you will always have a faithful friend in me." Though he quoted Henry Lawson's lines as bitterly and cynically as ever, "We may count our friends on our finger ends in the critical hours of life," yet he could not deny that it gave him a pleasurable thrill to hope for one moment that another face than Willie's or gentle loving Nell's would brighten at his coming. Willie mischievous, wild little Willie how long it seemed since last he had patted the dark curly head! He remembered with a pang the mother whose idol the child had been the mother so early called away from the children whom she had tried to rear in holiness and 112 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. truth. How often, she had pleaded with him in his sullen, moods, how often the sweet voice had whispered, "My son, my dear son, the heart that loveth much, and forgiveth much, is the nearest to Christ's!'' Ah, little Willie ! Nellie's angels were more mindful than you thought, as your spluttering little pen scratched away in the "vegable garden behind the shed!' For one bright Xmas angel followed your boyish let- ter, and helped it to plead with more than silver-tongued eloquence to the heart that, until then, had blindly nursed the belief that he was even as an Ishmael, with every man's hand against him. "Shure, but it warmed the core of me heart to see that crathure of a Jim Allonby's face when he came back for his horse to-day," Mrs. O'Hagan confided to her husband as evening fell; "an.' the saints thimselves might have been hoverin' over him, so shinin' were the eyes of him." ' 'It's going home for Xmas I am! Mrs. O'Hagan/ says he, grippin' me hand tight. ' TVIay all good angels go wid you thin.!' said I, 'an' kape you there, if the thought can bring the sunshine out so bright on the face of ye!' " 'Amen, Mrs, O'Hagan,' he says solemn like, 'you can pray no better prayer for me than that.' ' CHAPTER II. Glory to God in the Highest! Peace and good will to men. Willie!" "O, goodness knows where Willie is, Miss Nell ! Such an aggravating boy one minute, miss, and such a blessed angel the next, I never did see ! He's up to some mis- chief, I'll be bound. But it's no use worritin', Miss Nell, he'll turn up by-and-by, and go down to the church, never fear ! He said this morning as he'd be sure to go and see the Crib. He'll be runnin' in an' shamin' you, miss, with his collar round to the back of his neck, an' his clothes all grimy. If only Mr. Jim, that was so tidy, could see him when he comes home of evenin's!" And the perspiring cook sat down and spread out her fat hands on her apron, ready for a gossip about her SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 113 missing favourite, but Nellie Allonby turned away with a sigh. Jim's name had stirred again the sorrow ever at her heart. It was Xmas eve, and the day was sultry and oppres- sive. The young girl felt weak and ill as she walked down the garden path. "I think I will call for Aileen," she said to herself, ''she is always so bright and cheery, to have her company may do me good. And then, Jim was so fond of her!'' She sighed again. Life's problems and cares weighed heavily on gentle Nell. She never could understand why people who loved each other should allow aught to estrange them. She had not gone far down the street when she heard the sound of flying footsteps, and Willie, breathless, hat- less, and collarless, came rushing past her, vouchsafing no answer to her calls and exclamations but a wave of the hand. He was soon lost to sight in a cloud of dust. Nellie groaned. The wild young spirit had long ago slipped out of her control. As she entered Howard's gate, she thought she saw a glimpse of Willie vanishing round the corner of the house, but Aileen assured her he was not anywhere about the place. Aileen looked tired and worried, but she was ready to go down to the church; and, with their baskets of flowers, the two girls at once set off. "Is anything the matter, Aileen?" said Nellie, sur- prised to find her friend less lively than she had anti- cipated. "Yes, Nell, Mr. Hobday was down this morning on the same old errand, and mother saw fit to give me a bit of her mind about my 'folly and want of good taste' in preferring his absence to his company!" She spoke bitterly. Nell looked anxiously at her, and noticed how worn the sweet face was growing, and what a depth of sadness lay in her large dark eves. She often wondered why Aileen had so steadily refused the love of the most eligible parti in the township the cle- ver, successful young lawyer, whom so many match-mak- ing mammas had vainly struggled to secure as a son-in- law. 114 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. "Can't you like him well enough, Aileen?" she ven- tured timidly. "No," she answered, a flush rising to her cheeks; "I think I have made him understand so at last. "There is no one else you like better, dear, ia there?" whispered Nell, aghast at her own courage, yet thinking, she knew not why, of her absent brother. A deeper shade of sadness crept over the fine face. "There are many sore hearts this Christmastide, as well as happy ones, girlie. We must not repine if we share in the commoner lot. We know where to lay our burdens down, thank God, and even if we cannot have the happiness we crave for ourselves, at least it is in our power to make others' lives happier. Let us try to do that, mavourneen, and leave the rest with God." Hot tears sprang to the younger girl's eyes; a sob rose in her throat. "O, Aileen! father Jim I have tried; but all in vain!" Aileen drew Nell's arm tenderly withjin hers. "Christmas bells have softened harder hearts than your father's, and a sister's prayers shall not go un- blessed!" But her own heart was heavy as they entered the cool, quiet church, where others were waiting for their assist- ance in arranging and decorating the Crib. They joined them after saying a heartfelt prayer before the altar. When at length their pious work with loving and reverent care was finished, the solemn significance of that lonely manger with its bed of straw, the life-like figure of the smiling Infant Redeemer, with His little hands outstretched to receive the whole world sinners as well as saints to His Sacred Heart, the adoring Virgin Mother with her pale pure face, ashine as from the Light of God beside her Divinely-appointed aged guar- dian, and the awe-struck shepherds offering the homage of a humble and contrite hearts the snow in filmy flakes falling softly outside, and the glorious fetar of Bethlf- hem over all! made all that was of earth fade from their soul ft, and the two friends instinctively reach for each other's hands. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 115 "If only Jim were here ! i' Nell said, presently, bend- ing her head, and weeping bitterly. "If only !" the swelling heart of the other echoed, but she spoke no word, only pressed Nell's hand the closer. It was just dusk. As the girls knelt there hand in hand, mayhap the same prayer arising from their souls, "little Willie," now spotlessly clean, thanks to cook's vigorous treatment, was standing in his father's office with quite an angelic look in his usually mischievous eyes, a deprecating and pleading sniff now and again breaking from him, as his father, with a frown upon his brow, wrote away busily at his desk. The sniffing managed so scientifically at length took effect. "What do you want, you young ruffian? Money to waste on sweets or crackers, or some other rubbish, I suppose?" "Anything that will go off with a bang, father!" he began, eagerly, forgetting the role he had set himself "no, thank you, father, I mean. I only came in to tell you I was trying to be a better boy. Cook says every- body wants to forgive at Xmas, and any boy who has been real bad like me ought to go 'on his bended knees' and ask his father to forgive him. I'd get down, fa- ther, but I cut my knee dreadful bad in the stable to- day. Look, father!" He turned up lus knickerbockers. Sure enough there was an ugly cut on the skinny little knee. "Humph! So you're sorry, are you? That's right! Here's a half-crown for you. Buy what you like, and run off and don't bother me.'' Willie seized the half-crown and pocketed it with amaz- ing celerity, but stood his ground and sniffed and sighed on as before. "Confound you, you young scamp, what do you want now? Be off, I tell you, I'm busy!" But a serious look was on the little fellow's face. A very genuine tear was beginning to gather in his eye. Time was flying, and Tommy Morris was reminding him outside by scraping on the office door. 'Father, I wish you wasn't so dreadful busy ! I want to go down to see the Crib." 116 SHAMROCK AND WATTLL-BLOOM. "Go with your sister. Didn't I tell you not to bother me?" "She ain't home, father, and I don't like going by myself. Dick Elwood's father is taking all of them down, and Tommy Morris's, and Pat Kinnone's, and "Cease your chattering, and go home that is, go to church if you want to, of course, but I have no time to spare." "But, father, you're coming home to tea d'rectly, aint you? And we'll have to go by the church door. Won't God be hurt if you pass by without going in, father? Xmas Eve, when everybody good goes ? " "Who's been putting you up to this?" Mr. Allonby said, sternly, dropping his pen, and glaring at the boy. But the mild eyes met his unflinchingly, and with a sort of innocent wonder in their clear depths. "Nobody, father dear, nobody put me up to nothing! O, father, do come with little Willie! I might die, and you'd be sorry for ever and ever!" He tugged at his father's coat. He was getting des- perate, as the scratching grew louder and louder. Mr. Allonby looked at the little pleading face with a pang of remorse at his heart. When had he been to see the Crib last? Ah! years ago, when Willie's mother was beside him, and his eldest son proudly carried him, a crowing little babe, in his arms. All day the me- mory of that son, whom he had treated so iiarshly, had tugged at his heart-strings. What right had he "to pass God by?" The child was right. With a softened feeling still strong within him, he took the boy's hand, and together they went past the brilliantly-lighted shops, through tiie fast-crowding street, where fond parents and friends were helping Santa Claus to fill the innumerable little stockings awaiting him, to the peace of the church, and knelt in its holy calm before the Crib that symbolised the miracle that is as wonderful to-day as on that glad night, when an- gels sang to hearts that knew no guile. Nellie and Aileen were still there. They started when they saw the two enter, and a thrill of hope leaped fo life in the daughter's soul as she saw her cold, proud father with lowly-bended head, and still holding fast the hand of his child. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 117 Willie's face was flusued, and he kept turning his head round as if looking for someone. In obedience to some instinct Aileen's eyes followed his every time. At last she saw a man's tall thin figure rise from a dark corner of the church, and with slow, uncertain steps make its way to the altar rails, and kneel beside the child. A mist swam, before her eyes. She gripped Nell s arm tightly. "Nell, Nell, look, look! Is it, can it be, Jim!" Nellie raised her head, gave a low cry, and fell back fainting in Aileen's arms. The three at the altar nei- ther saw nor heard. A child's hand had drawn father's and brother's together, one look had done the rest, through the grace of God. Before God's altar endeth all strife! Was it only little Willie's fancy that night that the Christ Child smiled at him even through his sleep? A happy party gathered next day round the Allonby's festive board, and, looking in Aileen's true eyes, Jim sought for and found the joy of his future years. Barbara: A Mining Idyll. O, the little more, and how much it is ! And the little less, and what worlds away ! Browning. CHAPTER I. Three o'clock. The morning "shift" was just over at the New Chum mine, and the miners were gradually ga- thering in little knots around the pit's mouth talking over the events of the forenoon, or making dry jokes at the expense of their less fortunate brethren, who were then going on for the next shift in the "cage" awaiting them. The day was oppressively warm, for summer had set in in all its golden glory, filling the tired frame with a dreamy langour. The little township, with its background of hills, and picturesque, scattered groups of cottages, lay as if asleep in the drowsy sunshine. By degrees, as their meagre stock of news was exhausts ed, the greater number of the men wended their way to 118 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. their respective homes, not a few brightening visibly as the glad cry of "Mother, dad's coming!" from some child too young for school, fell on their listening ears in lov- ing welcome, while tiny, eager, soft, white hands clung to their own hard brown ones in innocent joy. But the younger mjners loitered if not round the mine, yet at street corners discussing local topics as well as the "home telegrams" of that day's 'Age," with an interest and an avidity which proved them io be botl. intelligent and self-assertive. They were not in. a hurry to reach home, for were they not to have a half holiday on the morrow in honour of the marriage of their popular "boss," Jack Rutherford, who was just then standing a little apart from them, talking in low, earnest tones to a gentleman whom he had met after leaving the mine. J?'rom their confidential bearing towards each other it could easily be seen that, though unequal in station from a worldly point of view, the two were something more than mere acquaintances. "You are looking as glum as if I were to be buried to- morrow instead of happily married, Huddersley!" Jack was saying with a nervous laugh. "Anyone would think I was about to take a false step, make some dreadful mistake that would land me in an eternity of misery! I only wish everyone felt as proud and as happy as I !" and he drew himself up with that natural dignity which every true man possesses when he feels himself not only beloved by, but the chosen defender and protector of the woman he loves above all other. Huddersley smiled sadly. "It is a hard thing for one man to say to another, Jack, on the eve of his wedding-day, I am aware; but indeed (forgive me, old fellow !) you are making a mistake in marrying that untrained, childish girl, with her un- disciplined nature, and wild, self-willed wavs! Jack, dear old friend, you will live to repent it, take my word for^it!" he said slowly and earnestly, laying his hand affectionately on his companion's shoulder, and gazing wistfully into the clear honest depths of the dark brown eyes that met his own fearlessly and indignantly as if questioning his right to interfere with man's privilege that of choosing his own wife. There Was silence for a few moments. An angry look SHAMKOCK ANT) WATTLE-BLOOM. 119 had time to pass over the strong, expressive face, a sud- den, loving light to dawn in the thoughtful eyes, a ten- der smile to curve the corners of the resolute lips. No words had Jack to contradict the statement of this tine, faithful friend ; what he had said came straight from his heart, and, therefore, though unpalatable, was worthy of being received with at least toleration. No maker of fine phrases was honest Jack Rutherford. He was not accustomed to express his feelings in aught but the homeliest way, while Richard Huddersley, on the other hand, was "a man of education and refinement,'' as the world understands the term ; but no carefully-considered answer, when at length it did come, could have been half as eloquent in meaning, half as reassuring of the absence of all misconstruction of his friend's motives (as, alas ! of the utter f ut.il itv of his protest!) as Jack's simple "Old man, I love her!" Huddersley 's hand dropped to his side. H? turned away, sighing. He had made his last effort to save this man. to whom he had been as David unto Jonathan of old : he could do no more. Pleading business, he walk- ed away down the quiet street, leaving Jack free to fol- low his own devices. Rutherford looked after him with a puzzled smile ; but, as he was not much given to the study of problems at any time, he, too, soon turned on his heel, and strode homewards. About three hours afterwards he might have been seen, attired in a well-fitting suit of light grey tweed, tha set off to noticeable advantage his tall, strong, loosely-built figure, making his way towards a solitary cottage that, covered with wild roses and honeysuckle, stood on the slope of a hill overlooking the town a hill which, commonly known as the "Morning Star," had in older and busier times been recklessly prodigal of its wealth of golden ore. The house was old and weather-beaten, but its little strip of garden boasted a goodly show of sweet-smelling, gay-coloured flowers, and numberless fancy flower-pots of all shapes and sizes, bearing ferns, lilies, roses, and the rich crimson and purple bells of the stately garden fuchsia, were arranged with taste and skill from end to end of the wide, low-roofed verandah. Jack plied the knocker vigorously, but he had to wait a considerable 120 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-m.OOM. time before the sound of steps was heard from the nar- row passage within. They were evidently not the steps he wished to hear, for his face clouded, and an expression of impatience crossed his lips. The door slowly opened, and the bent figure of an old woman appeared on the threshold. Her withered visage brightened as she saw her visitor, and she shook hands with him cordially enough, but her tones grew querulous and sharp when in answer to his eager question she told him that "Barbara was not at home." "I don't know w'ere she is, I'm sure, Mr. Rutherford! Runnin' about the 'ills, like enough ! Ah, it's in the blood, sir, it's in the blood, and hall the trainin' in the world won't take it out ! Not a bite or sup 'as she 'ad since noon this 'ere blessed day ! an' now 'tis sunset, an' the tea in there that cold it amt fit for a Christian to drink!" "Never mind, granny, I'll soon find the truant! We'll be back directly, so you can leave the door ajar. And, granny, I'm just longing for a hot cup of tea, by the way! Do you know of any good Samaritan who would be able to oblige me by the time I return? Ah, I see by your smile you do!" "Bad luck to yer imperence, young man! Do you think poor ole granny has nothing else to do but make tea for people who won't take their reg'lar meals at the proper hours heven on the very heve of their weddin' day! Scandalous, Hi call it!" (Sniff! sniff!) But she laughed, nevertheless, quick to see that it was "Barbara's" comfort he was endeavouring to secure, and shook her crutch good-humouredly at liim as he pre- tended to dodge in terror out of her way, narrowly es- caping coming to grief over the flowerpots. No one ever was angry with jovial, bright-faced Jack Ruther- ford, somehow. There was that about him which won every heart, old or young, gentle or simple. The best of company, the staunchest of friends, with a neart brim- ful of kindness for all creatures, a ready hand, and a God-fearing soul, it is little wonder that he was welcomed wherever he went. The miners in their rough, heartv way, almost worshipped him. He was the chosen arbi- ter of all their disputes above ground as "underground." and no new plan was ever complete in their eyes till SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 121 it had secured the approval of the "boss." Did an ac- cident happen, Jack was always to the fore at once, see- ing that the injured man was provided With all neces- saries and comforts obtainable, helping to lift her bur- den from the half-distracted wife's shoulders, cheering the little ones, making himself as every man's brother, irrespective of nation, station, or creed. Yet this man, at whose coming many a true woman's heart beat faster, who was supposed to be as sensible as he was upright, was to many in the morning "an un- trained, childish girl" of rather doubtful antecedents, "who had nothing but her beauty and her voice to re- commend her, ' said the gossisps, though the most mal- evolent among them was obliged to allow that no wild flower of the ranges was more innocent or harmless. But there was no getting away from, the fact that Barbara Brandon had come of "a bad lot," therefore the worthy Woodspointers had long ago come to the conclusion that she must of necessity follow in their footsteps. She was the child of a wild and reckless spendthrift who had made his name notorious in the earlv days of the dig- gings. Her mother had been a public singer of doubt- ful repute one of the "stars," whose lovely face and exquisite voice had made men mad in those davs of fever- ish excitement and phenomenal good luck, when gold was only too plentiful, and, alas! vice of all kinds only too rampant! When Brandon married her, he per- suaded her to leave the stage. For some time thev lived happily, till Brandon, true to his own swinish in- stincts, turned back to the mire he had for a time dis- carded, and, plunging into all sorts of profligacy, practi- cally deserted his wife and child. One morning she dis- appeared. Her desertion brought the father to his senses. He put the child out to nurse, reformed to a certain extent, waited till she was old enough to cause him little trouble, then set off with her to find the un- natural mother whom he had sworn to be revenged on if he had to track her like a bloodho- nd. After years of wandering, broken down and poverty- stricken, he had returned to the old Point to die, bring- ing Barbara with him. Not long afterwards he breathed his last in the district hospital, and was buried quietty 122 SHAMROCK ANT> WATTLE-BLOOM. and decently, as became an old identity, in the lonely cemetery upon the hill. So Barbara was left alone. Then, it was that old granny had stepped forward, and claimed the child on the score of a distant relation- ship which existed between her and the father. The old lady had not had a spotless reputation herself, but as she had long ago turned over a new leaf, and lived quietly and respectably on a small income that had been bequeathed to her by her late husband, the committee offered no objection, and Barbara was borne off in triumph. How she managed to exist with her self-imposed step- mother up to this date does not concern us now. The years had flown, even if on leaden wings. Sfie was 18 years of age, and the morrow would see her no longer maid, but honoured wife. CHAPTER II. Hers was the sweetest of sweet faces, Hers the tenderest eyes of all! In her hair she had the traces Of a heavenlv coronal, Bringing sunshine to sad places Where the sunshine could not fall. Eric Mackay. Yes, she was fair exceedingly. Small matter for won- der that Jack Rutherford's heart leaped within him when he came in sight of the slender, graceful figure and beautiful face. Like a picture on the canvas of some grand old mas- ter, she looked as she stood in the red light of the dying sun, her long, straggling, golden locks blown about by the evening breeze, her big, solemn-looking, violet eyes upturned with a wistful, wondering gaze to the gorgeous- ly-tinted sky. Before her flowed the river, murmuring its sweet, soft lullaby, reflecting in its glassy surface the bright clouds overhead. Suddenly she burst forth into a perfect, golden rippie of song, as if defying 1 the stream to outrival in melody the notes of her own fresh, bird-like voice ! Then with the glad, innocent laugh of a child, she threw herself down on the sand beside it, and, keeping time with a SHAMROCK AND V'ATTLE-BLOOM. 123 peculiar swaying motion of her lithe, young figure, sang more clearly and sweetly still a song that Jack had taught her. ' ' Gleam, gleam, O silver stream, Seaward gaily swelling! Flow, flow, whispering low, To your banks my story telling ! Far, far, o'er sandy bar, Lies my little one's dwelling, Flow, flow, merrily, merrily flow, Tell her I love her so! I love her so! " Rutherford stood motionless for a few moments, watch- ing her with all a lover's passionate admiration in his eyes. And truly this child of Nature and of impulse, nur- tured in the wild, free air of the grand, huge mountains that stand like a bulwark round the little, quaintly- fashioned village, so far removed from the busy hum of city life, had a face worth looking at not only for its dreamy, spiritual, guileless expression, but for its al- most perfect loveliness of feature. The complexion was of a clear, creamy fairness, deep- ening injtja roses in the (softly-rounded cheeks. The deep blue, liquid eyes were as pure and saintly-looking as those of any virgin martyr of the early centuries ; the dark lashes, long and curling, the darker eyebrows, but enchanced their beauty. The mouth was rather weak, though characterised by a peculiarly winning sweetness of expression which struck one at a first glance. As the last notes of her song died away, Jack, who had been so far screened from view by the drooping branches of a wattle tree, picked up a pebble and threw it into the water. She started as if in. fear. When she saw that the intruder on her solitude was "only Jack,'' and that he was making his way across to her as fast as the ricketty footbridge would let him, a burning blush dyed the delicate face a bright crimson, and she rose to her feet nervously and awkwardly, going forward to meet him with timid steps and downcast eyelids, like a child convicted of some grave misdemeanour. He drew her gently into his arms, and scolded her playfully, kissing her tenderly the while, his big, brown eyes aglow 124 SHAMUOCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. with honest love. "My 15a.rba.ra, my own dear Bar- bara, to-morrow you must bid good-bye to all this wild roaming of yours, and settle down into a sedate, little married woman! My own little girl, vou will never be alone again, please God!" He laughed a happy laugh, and smoothed back the soft curls from the broad, white brown with gentle, trembling fingers. Was it his fancy, or did a shadow creep into the upraised eyes a shadow where only the lovelight should have lingered? Did she shrink for a moment as he strained her closer to his great, loving heart? Jack was not well versed in the ways "of women-folk, but he felt a trifle uneasy. Was all his adoring love powerless to waken the woman in the slumbering soul and childish heart? Was he acting wrongly, after all, by taking them for evermore into his own tender care and reverential keeping in giving her so early the safe shelter of his spotless name? He looked up into the quiet sky, an unspoken prayer on liis lips. Then placing her hand gently on his arm, he took her home. They were married next day, married in the old wea- ther-beaten church upon the hill. A wedding was not of such frequent occurrence in the sparsely-populated little mountain village that it could be allowed to pass unnoticed; and long before the oridal party reached the doors quite a large concourse of people were assembled. The church was crowded to excess, not only on account of Jack's exceeding popularity, but because of the wide- spread reports of the bride's uncommon beauty. And a fair vision she looked, indeed, in her pure white bridal gown and veil, half -blown rosebuds and fern leaves at her neck and in her hair (the orthodox orange blossom being there unobtainable), and a bouquet of snowy lilies in her hand. She flushed and paled as she came down the aisle lean- ing on the arm of old Mr. Huddersley (Richard's father), who for the sake of the dead, whose friend he had been, was to "give her away," but her responses through the beautiful, impressive service were perfectly clear and dis- tinct, while her husband's, from excessive emotion, were almost inaudible. But no happier or prouder bridegroom ever left altar than he that day, nor did ever sun shine brighter on a SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 125 sweeter, purer bride. For the present we leave them with God's sunshine on their faces, and Love's sunshine in their hearts. We were all young once, and the world Avas fair ! CHAPTER III. O Laddie, Laddie, Laddie ! Thou wert made for more than this! To be loved a day, and then flung away, Just bought and sold with a kiss ! A year passed by. The wattle bloom had long ago faded, tne sweet and fragrant days of spring were over, and the roses round Barbara s new home. were just open- ing their crimson hearts to the summer sun. Barbara herself was standing at the door, shading her eyes with her hand, watching anxiously for Jack's com- ing, for it was after four o'clock, and he was late. She had changed somewhat in those twelve months, and hardly for the better, for a wearied, discontented ex- pression had taken the place of the former winning sweetness of her lovely face; and she was Quite as dis- satisfied with life as she looked. It was not that she loved Jack less than of old ; he still idolised the ground she walked on, and humoured her every whim ; but a restless craving for excitement had sprung to life within her since she had been bound down by the cares and re- sponsibilities of matrimony. No child had blessed their union as yet ; nothing had transpired to rouse her into taking an interest in the common-place scenes around her. She was sensitive, and the neighbours, well-meant though their advice often was, nettled her proud spirit (for she was "her mother's own daughter") by their fre- quent adjurations "to pay Mr. Rutherford back for all he had done for her by striving to be a better and more economical housekeeper." Poor Barbara! Many a bitter tear had she shed over her repeated failures in the culinary line; many a cruel sting had the . satirical observations of Mrs. Toogood, Mrs. All- wise, and others of that ilk (so common in country towns) given her! In one thing only she ti*iumphed over them all. No concert was a success without the aid of her wonderful voice. People came from far I -, 126 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. and near to hear her. So proud was Jack of her sing- ing that he regularly paid several guineas a quarter to have her instructed by the best musician available in the diggings an old Italian named Cantini, who had gravitated there from Walhalla (then most commonly known as "Stringer's Creek"). Cantini was wont to go into ecstasies over her musical abilities, always ending up with a lament that she had so little scope for their display in such an out-of-the-way place. And Barbara would listen with a dreamy smile in her eyes, her busy fancy picturing herself a veritable queen of song cliarm- ing the heart of that great world of which she knew nothing save from hearsay. Even, as she waited for her husband that summer evening, her thoughts were not so much upon him as upon the probable success of the amateur theatricals for the benefit of the funds of the local hospital, in which she was to take a leading part that night a part that had grudgingly been assigned to her on account of her beauty, her retentive memory, and exquisite voice. She wished to secure a triumph, if pos- sible, as she had heard that a travelling company of actors from Melbourne, who had arrived in the town but that afternoon, were to be present with the object, doubtless, of advertising themselves for the following night's entertainment "a thrilling drama in four acts," according to their elaborately-printed handbills. "Will Jack never come! ' she was saying impatiently, tapping her little foot on the ground, a cloud gathering on her brow. Presently he came in sight, smiling brightly as he saw the watching figure. An answering smile chased the discontent from her face. Joyfully she went to meet him, returning his kiss as warmlv as it was given. Hand in hand, like two children, they entered the house. For long afterwards the sound of merry laughter and the clattering of dishes might have been heard, as well as playful scuffling, for Jack was still a boy in heart, albeit a man in years. But a very sedate pair they looked on their way to the music-hall that evening. Great as was Barbara's grow- ing, girlish vanity, her heart throbbed nervously as she saw how thronged the place was, not a few of the crowd gathered there being strangers from the adjacent towns. The travelling troupe were there in full force, taking SHAMROCK AND WATTT/F-BLO^M. 127 up the front seats, chattering and laughing, for they ex- pected a good night's amusement out of "the country bumpkins, don't you know!'' I'lie curtain rose at eight sharp. To be sure, the scenery was the same as had been used scores of times in Woodspoint's better days, but who would think of gazing critically at stage-linings or dilapidated furniture when as lovely a woman as ever eye gazed upon stood before them in flesh and blood? for Barbara, with her beautiful golden hair falling in rip- pling waves over her white shoulders and arms, was the heroine, and, save for a bright rose flush on each soft cheek, every trace of nervousness had disappeared, and she began to act her part with a charming, simple natu- ralness that took her mixed audience by storm. Warm- ing to it by degrees, she at length centred their attention so much upon herself that the defects of less graceful, leas talented performers passes unnoticed. And all the while a pair of loving brown eyes watched her with pardonable pride ; a fond heart beat the quicker for every syllable that fell from her smiling lips ! But it was in the song that she achieved her greatest triumph. Never before had her sweet, rich voice rang out in such tender chords, never before had she so stirred the hearts of the honest mining folk. Many a tear rose unbidden to the eyes of bearded men; many a woman choked down a sob that seemed as if it must burst from her labouring breast. Yet the song she sang was only "Laddie!" Dozens of other people could sing it, of course but not as she ! Again the clear, sweet voice, with a suspicion of tears in it now, at the closing cry so weak, yet withal so womanly rang out " O Laddie, Laddie, Laddie ! Come back, if it is but to say, The angels above have found thee a love, And taken thy burden away ! And taken thy burden away!" She was encored vociferously, but a stop was put to the deafening applause by the sound of a smothered shriek from one of the female members of the troupe. In a moment more a fainting woman was hastily borne out from their midst. The rest of the company seemed in a state of wild excitement, and it was some time before 128 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. the stage manager could secure sufficient silence to enable the performers to go on. with the remaining numbers of the programme. After the concert was over, while Jack was patiently waiting to take his wife home, he felt someone touch his arm, and looking enquiringly round, saw Huddersley standing beside him. An anxious wor- ried look was on his kindly face. "Jack, old fellow, what I dreaded for you has come at last. Barbara's mother is here. For heaven's sake give her a wide berth ! She will bring you no good ! " Rutherford stared at him in speechless wonder. Bar- bara's mother? What on earth was he talking about? Then all at once the scene in the hall rose like a picture before his mental vision. Could it be? Yes, it must be ! The fainting woman was the long-lost mother of his wife! He shivered as with sudden cold. "You are sure of this, Huddersley?" he said at length. "There is no mistake?" "Sure? Only too sure! My father recognised her at once. The mother's instinct cannot be quite dead in her. She must have recognised her child even after the lapse of all these years. You cannot well or wisely forbid their meeting, but don't give her other than a cold wel- come ! Father bade me tell you that you might as well take a snake into your bosom as keep that woman in your house and, as you know, he is not a man of many words." CHAPTER TV. The next day, as by pre-arrangement, mother and child met. Jack was not present at the interview. From an instinctive feeling of delicacy he withdrew from the room as soon as he was satisfied that Barbara's state of health would not suffer from the excitement consequent upon such an unexpected, unlooked-for event in the calm tenor of her hitherto colourless life. However, little passed between them but wild protestations of repent- ance and new-born affection on the mother's part, varied with long-winded explanations of her conduct in the years that were gone, half of which her pure-minded daughter utterly failed to comprehend She was her mother ; that was enough for her. She asked her little, and cared SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOCM. 129 less, about the past. She returned her embraces m a frenzy of satisfied love. It seemed as if the girl's soul had at last awakened to the first touch of matsrnal love. For the time Jack was forgotten, as if he had never ex- isted. And when at last his name was mentioned, Mrs. Brandon was loud in her exclamations of regrot that her daughter should have married while so young and inex- perienced. Why had the fates permitted her beautiful child, with her wonderful gift of music, to be tied down to a life of drudgery with a common, working man ': The tender-hearted creature actually shed tears over it. She conveniently forgot how she had neglected and forsaken that child. She forgot that she should have gone on her knees and thanked her Creator for giving her such a pro- tector. Barbara, to her credit be it said, would not listen to her, would not let her speak a word against her husband; but Jack felt from the first moment of their meeting that there would be little or no sympathy be- tween him and his newly-discovered mother-in-law. But, for his wife's sake, he was civil and agreeable to her, letting her understand, meanwhile, that he would never be anxious to have her a constant inmate of his home. He also took care to make her prove her identity to his satisfaction. The news spread like wildfire. It was about the best advertisement the actors could have had. They commanded crowded houses for the week they stayed, for Renee Brandon was a prominent figure in each of their stock pieces. For the time they remained in town Jack had to be content with a secondary position. Bar- bara and her mother were inseparable. The girl clung to her with a passionate, demonstrative fervour of affec- tion that quite bewildered and astonished the poor fel- low. He felt jealous and miserable. But Barbara's eyes were blind to all but her novel experience of the sweets of a mother's love. She was still but a child at heart. At length, fully satisfied with the result of their tour, the troupe prepared for departure. The parting between Mrs. Brandon and her daughter was painful to witness, but Jack, though Barbara's tears bruised his loving, faithful heart, was inwardly rejoicing when bidding fare- well to his voluble mother-in-law till she suddenly re- vived lu's anxiety by informing him that the party had made up their minds to return in the spring, as they 130 SHAMKOCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. wished to go round to Walhalla by way of Woodspoint for the sake of the trip. "She must see her darling child again. Ah, how sad it was that she should waste her beauty and her talents away in those dreadful ranges! But, never mind. Some day Barbara should see the great world. She was not meant to be buried alive in that desolate place. Ciel ! no!" Jack answered never a word. He was glad to get rid of her, and he let her see it. He hoped to settle down into the former quiet, homely ways again, but he was doomed to disappointment. Too soon he found that his tender love and care were powerless to satisfy the crav- ings of the restless, imaginative spirit whose life, wisely or unwisely, was so closely intertwined with his own. Sudden bursts of tears, little fits of petulance wounded him day by day. Still his strong love never grew less. Patience and tenderness itself, he bore with her varying humours till, ashamed of her irritability, and unable to account for the change in herself, the poor child, in a fit of tearful penitence, would sob herself to sleep on his faithful breast, or work like a little Trojan all the day as a penance for the pain she so often inflicted. But she had to endure more than he had any idea of. Many a cruel sneer and sharp-edged sarcasm found its way to her ears brought by over-officious neighbours. Slowly, but surely, Fate was pitilessly weaving a tor- tuous web, from which there was no escaping. Well for both if it did not end in sorrow or disaster. CHAPTER V. " Your hands in mine were trembling, You spake no word to me, But our eyes were wet with a vague regret And a sorrow that was to be. The winter passed uneventfully. Letters passed regu- larly beween Mrs. Brandon and her daughter, but their contents were always open for Rutherford's inspection. 'Ihe mother usually harped on the one sti-ing, that of hoi- expected return in the spring, or else of her longing that she could have her child with her always. Jack was rarely enquired after. She seemed to take a malicious SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 181 delight in ignoring his existence as much as possible. Yet he pitied the woman pitied her because he saw that whatever affection, her shallow nature was capable of was truly given to the girl whose young life she had so shame- fully neglected for so many years. The mother-love had not really been dead in that careless heart, it had simply lain dormant, nor was it less strong, if intensely selfish, for its long torpor. Spring came, and with it Barbara's drooping spirits revived again. But it was close upon summer before the troupe made their second appearance in the quaint old mining town, bringing as before Renee Brandon in their train. Jack could not resist his wife's entreaties that she should lodge with them for the few days they would remain in the township. So to their home she went, and he was glad enough to be obliged to see little of her, being absent at his work most of the day, while at nigKt she was obliged to be "on the boards/' rarely arriving home till nearly midnight. The company had arrived on a Monday. They were to depart for Walhalla on the Friday. On the morning of the latter dav Jack was off to his work a little earlier than usual. As a rule he lingered over his breakfast talking to his wife; but this particular morning he had felt the reverse of well, and, not wishing to worry her, had given her no opportunity of noticing. Two or three times he had alarmed the men in the claim by sudden attacks of indisposition, but they had soon passed off, and, as no mention was ever made of them in Barbara's hearing, she never knew otherwise than that her hus- band was one of the strongest of men. He was rather surprised, therefore, when he was kissing her good-bye, as he never failed to do every morning, to see tears in her soft, blue eyes, and to hear her murmur his name over and over more endearingly than was customary with her, while she returned his embrace two or three times with a passionate tenderness that filled his heart with sudden joy. Again and again during the busy day the thought of it came to him, refreshing and strengthening him, but when his work for the day was over, to the con- sternation of his comrades, he fainted right off as soon as he reached the pit's mouth. There was loud lamenta- tion over his prostrate figure, for he was loved by all ; 132 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. but simple homely remedies soon brought him to, and he laughed at thoir foars. There was nothing serious the matter with him, he said. He only needed a holiday, and would take it as soon as "the crushing" was over and the "cleaning-up" done with. After resting for a while, he felt all right again, and strode homewards, whistling softly, smiling to himself at intervals as he thought of the little figure that might at that very mo- ment be standing at the door, waiting anxiously for his coming, of the cheerful fire crackling merrily in the clean, wide, open fire-place, the neatly-laid tea-table, and the comfortable old arm-chair always drawn up so carefullv for him at its head, of the shrill sweet song of his Barbara's feathered pets, of the short joyful bark that would greet him from his own faithful dog. Ah me ! And yet the song he whistled was rather sad than gay, light as his heart was. How often he had sung it with her he loved. Again the notes rang out clear and sweet "Your hands in mine were trembling, You spake no word to me, But our eyes were wet with a vague regret And a sorrow that was to be." Home at last in sight. He quickened his steps. No waiting figure at the gate, though. No sign of life, in- deed, th'e door was not even open. No smoke curled from the wide chimney. Had she gone out, then? He felt disappointed. A chill came over his blithe spirits. His dog came bounding towards him, but a low whine was his only welcome. He hurried on. Perhaps she had made herself ill fretting over her mother's departure. He opened the door. All was cold and cheerless. He looked hastily through every room. She was nowhere to be found "Barbara!" he cried; but there was no answer. All was still as death. His heart sank, and an indefinable fear took possession of him. Where was she, his little Barbara, his wife? Bah! How foolish he was to be so easily frightened. How she would laugh at him if she knew. In all probability she was spending the evening at a neighbour's. But it was not like her to be absent at this hour; and why had she not told him? He would search again; perhaps she was only hiding from him to SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 138 tease him. She was but a child at heart yet. "Barbara ! Barbara ! my little love, come to me ! I am cold and tired, mv darling, and so weary for a sight of your dear face. Barbara! Barbara!" All, call on, true loving soul ! Better that than the cold and bitter truth. Your Barbara, like the dove she grieved for but last week, has spread her wings and flown from your sheltering love for evermore. True to the instinct within her, to the natural law of heredity, she has gone to set the world afire with her lovely face and beautiful voice, as her mother had done before her. Yes, Barbara Rutherford had gone at last into the great world she had so long pined to see gone with the tra- velling actors who had so fascinated her imaginative spirit. Yet, she was not quite dead to all sense of grati- tude or honour. She had left on the mantelpiece a pitiful little note for Jack, begging him to forgive her, telling him she was sick unto death of the dreary mining life with its daily monotonous round of uncongenial drudgery. She had sfone off without his knowledge, it is true, for she "knew he would have done his utmost to prevent her," but, hard though it would be for him to think kindly of her now, he was to believe, never to forget, that she did, and would always, "love him with all her heart," whatever people said (here a great tear had dropped on the writing, rendering it almost illegible), and some day, when she had made "her fortune," she would come back to him, and they "would be happy ever after." A thoughtless, childish letter enough, and yet, even in the midst of his bitter anguish, though every word stabbed him like a knife, her half -frantic husband derived some little comfort from its very foolishness, for he saw that no evil thought so far had been harboured in the -over-active brain. But what might not this danger- ous, roving, feverish-exciting life do for the simple, childish soul simple, at least, in this that she knew nothing of the wickedness of the world nor its tempta- tions? He shuddered to think of it. He must find her at any cost. Find her, find her, aye, he would find her if he had to search for her from pole to pole, and lose life and honour in the attempt. But what a start they had had, curse them! A whole day. God onlv knew where she might be by this time. He groaned aloud. 134 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. Oh, what had he done in his short, well-spent life that he should thus be cursed above all men? As he stood there, half-dazed and trembling, strange thoughts and fancies took possession of his mind. The branches of the trees outside seemed to wave mockingly at him, to stretch out long, lean arms and point at him in derision ; the setting sun that thev had watched together so oft took life and became a huge and ghoulish face, laughing at him in fiendish glee ; the evening breezes, once so gentle and caressing, now grown assertive and malignant, entered boldly the half-open door, and whispered in his ear "You loved her, did you, poor fool? Ha, ha! He loved her. What is love, and why is love? A wiser man than you has cried Is aught worth losing or keeping, The bitter or sweets men quaff? The sowing or doubtful reaping? The harvest of grain or chaff? "Find her, oh, yes, find her if you can. And when you have found her, pray, what will be your gain? As well try to cage the wild, free songsters of the sky, or bid us cease to roam, as chain down her gifted soul to your miserable, hum-drum life. Fool that vou were to think such as you could win her love. Why should she, with her beauty and her talents, have her bright young hie linked by galling fetters to one who is no better than a clod? Ha, ha! No better than a clod." The room and its simple furniture swam before his eyes in a sea of blood-red fire. Was he going mad? A whining sound, a soft, warm tongue against his stiff, cold hand aroused him. It was his faithful dog. Gazing at him piteously, its almost human eyes aglow with, ah, God, more than human love and sympathy, it pulled at his coat and fawned at his feet. "Though all should forsake thee, I will not forsake thee." That was its dumb message writ by the* hand of God. CHAPTER VI. Eleven o'clock next morning. Whose drooping figure is that hurrying away from the New Chum mine with stumbling feet? Crossing the quiet streets with the SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 185 same uncertain tread, pausing doubtingly, then flying with love-quickened steps up the narrow, winding path- way that leads to Uie Rutherford's ivy-covered cot on the slope of the hill? Can it be Yes, it is Barbara! Travel-worn and weary she looks, for she has ridden far since morning light. But what has brought her back again? Was it instinct, or was it that love, after all, was master of her heart and triumphed over all baser feelings even in the hour of her greatest temptation, when the voice of the world with siren sweetness allured her from the path of duty and self-sacrifice? Let us be- lieve it was the latter, for no sooner had the troupe reached the first halting-place than her heart began to upbraid her; Jack's reproachful face rose in a thousand vivid pictures before her eyes. Deaf to her mother's up- braidings and entreaties, half distracted with remorse- ful penitence, she announced her intention of going back to her husband at once, and so determined to lose no time was she that she left in the coach then on its re- turn to Kevington, and rode on with the mail-boy in the morning as soon as the first ray of dawn proclaimed the day. Tired as she was, she went to the mine first, but was told that her husband had not yet put in an appear- ance, though it was long past his usual hour. Then it was that she fully realised what she uad done. Sick with terror, without saying a word to anyone, she has flown home. "Ah, thank God, the door is open. He is in, after all. Poor fellow"! perhaps he is trying to get his own breakfast. O, my darling, how could I have been so cruel as to leave you for one moment? Oh, God, grant he has not yet seen my letter!" She has entered. How chill the room felt. No fire, no sound. Ah, there was her darling, lying asleep on the kitchen sofa without any covering over him, foolish boy. He would catch his death of cold. With a glad cry of relief she rushed over to him. He was lying in a restful posi- tion, his face half turned from her. She knelt by his side. "Jack," she cried, with a piteous sob in her quivering voice, "Jack, I have come back to you, clear. Forgive me! O, forgive me!" But Jack would hear those pleading tones never again on earth. The great, loyal, loving, suffering heart was 186 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. stilled for evermore. The little canary in its tiny cage burst into a clear, sweet song, the dog poor Jack's faithful dog crouched whining at Jier feet, the pert, old magpie with bright and questioning eyes peered in at her from the open door, the sunshine danced merrily Tn through the window and gleamed on her golden hair. Earth was athrob with glowing, human life but Jack was dead. Dead and cold ! with a strange, sweet, peace- ful smile on his face, as if the angels had whispered him, even in the last death agony, that his Barbara was coming home to him at last. At last ! at last ! after all the long and dreary hours of torturing pain. But, ah, dear God, what a coming home ! Let us close our ears to her despairing cries or they will unman us. Grievously has she sinned, but bitterly has she suffered ! Years afterwards, when the picturesque old township was falling into decay, when most of its inhabitants had gone to seek their fortunes in more thriving places, on one of spring's most glorious days, when wattle bloom made heavy the soft air with its delicious frag- rance, a woman, beautiful as the flowers of her own southern land, and attired in deep mourning, might have been seen kneeling by a simple grave in the lonely hill- side cemetery, weeping over it as only those weep whose sorrow is still fresh, however long past their loss. Broken prayers for the repose of the departed soul mingle with her sobs, out there is more than supplication for the dead in her anguished cry " Out of the depths I have cried to Thee ! O, Lord, Lord hear my voice! Let Thine ears be attentive to the voice of my sup- plication ! If Thou wilt mark iniquities, O, Lord, Lord, who shall stand it ! For with Thee there is merciful forgiveness, and by reason of Thy law I have waited for Thee, O, Lord! 1 ' Though she kneels there in an abandonment of hope- less grief, the world has dealt kindlv with her. She is now one of its most famous singers, and has travelled SHAMROCK AMD WATTLE-BLOOM. 187 in many lands, but still she never forgets to visit the dearest spot to her on earth : the spot where lie the mortal remains of him who was the husband of her youth. For his sake she lives the pxirest and noblest of lives as an atonement for the anguish unto death she caused him one awful night. She is honoured and be- loved wherever her footsteps tread. Her liaoad is ever open to help the poor and needy. Her woman's heart, through the furnace of a living and ever-present sorrow, sought in its agony and found the Sacred Heart of the living God. So the life she mourns, mayhap, hath not been lived in vain. Love and pain are the greatest, yet least comprehended, of the wonderful mysteries of God. The passage to Heaven for many has lain across the sacrifice of a broken heart. Naught is lost not e'en a teardrop Falling in the silence lone ; God is gathering through the ages Sob and heartache, tear and groan, Gathering lovingly and wiselv. Till upon the Judgment Day. He shall mete out compensation And His suffering ones repay. So with Him we leave her. The name on the plain, white cross is one short word, "Jack," and the name of the woman who mourns him so deeply and so well is 'Barbara." The New Draughtsman. A TALE OF CAMP LIFE. " No game was ever yet worth a rap For a rational man to play, Into which no accident, no mishap Could possibly find its way!" Gordon. None of us liked him. He was too unsociable and reserved. All of us enjoyed a smoke and a yarn over the camp fire of an evening, but he spent most of his spare time in drawing plans or studying, and rarely loined us. The boss seemed to think highly of him, but knew as little as we of liis past, or his plans for the future. I tried to draw him out once or twice, but 188 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. without success. Though he slept in the next bunk to me, he might as well have been miles away for all the difference it made. Yet he interested me in spite of myself. Small and insignificant though he was in gene- ral appearance, there was something in the dark, fear- less eyes that commanded respect. Whatever his faults were, Britnell was neither a cad nor a sneak. For convenience sake we had pitched our tents some- what far from the town. The country we were survey- ing was rough and mountainous, and. after a hard day's work, we were ?lad to rest. Some distance from us were a few settlers' houses. During the first five weeks we became acquainted with the family nearest u& seldom visiting them, however, though they were friendly and obliging, and the sons frequently came down to the camp to join us in a song or a game of cards. They had good tenor voices, and we enjoyed their company. The elder, Gerald Dillon, was the greater favourite ; but, though a thorough bushman. having had enough colonial experience to steady a lighter brain, he was at times wild and reckless to foolishness, and could be easily led by anyone well versed in his weak points. The brother was an honest, "all-round" sort of fellow, whose strong common sense and practical ways often acted as a wholesome check on the other's exuberant spirits. At first, Britnell used to take little notice of the brothers. Now and again he might look up from his book and pass some trifling remark, then relapse into silence again. Gerald nicknamed him "Saturn," and often cracked jokes at his experise before his very face. Britnell did not seem to mind. I sometimes caught him looking at Dillon with a peculiar expression of min- gled pity and affection, and could not account for the look to my satisfaction. Perhaps Gerald's boyishness and originality attracted him as it did the rest of us. He was always full of life, and had a wonderful fund of comical anecdotes, which he usually delivered in the richest of brogues. His memory never failed him. He would give us "King O'Toole and St. Kevin," or a chap- ter from "Rory O'More," or "Handy Andy. with as little effort as if he had the books before him he was a SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 189 born lecturer. Even the boss came in to listen to his yarns. One night, to our intense surprise, Britnell joined the throng of listeners round the fire, and laughed and ap- plauded as heartily as any of us; and when Dillon more for a joke than any other reason asked him to give him a "spell," and sing a song for us, he, who be- fore had never owned to the slightest knowledge of music, readily complied, and sang the "Romany Lass" with so much taste and feeling that it brought an un- comfortable tightness into our throats, and our pipes lay unheeded. By the ftme the song came to a close, Dillon was quite excited. "By Jove, old chap, you have given us a treat! Talk of hiding one's light under a bushel ! Why, man, if I had a voice like that, I'd shoulder my bluey, make for the city, and be on the stage in no time ! 'Saturn,' old boy, you've missed your vocation. What on earth pos- sessed you to bury yourself alive in a Survey Camp?" Britnell rose, pushed his seat abruptly aside, and strode into the darkness. Frank Dillon whispered softly, "And the band played Annie Rooney." "Faitn, you've opened your mouth to put your foot in it this time, Gerald, old Boy ! You've broken the charm with your foolish question. Perhaps our saturnine friend is 'a man with a past' a dangerous customer to meddle with." Bxit Gerald was off after him. They were out about half-an-hour, and Frank, growing tired of waiting, called his brother at last, and they went home. Britnell lay awake for a long time that night. I heard him tossing restlessly in hia bunk. Whatever passed between them, from that time he and Gerald became close friends. It soon became no unusual occurrence for the two to go down together to the township of a Saturday afternoon. Frank Dillon seemed glad of their intimacy. "Saturn" would act as ballast for Gerald, he said, and he would feel freer to follow his own bent. He had given up one or two harmless hobbies to keep a watch over the brother, who very often got into objectionable company of a Saturday night. At such times he drank heavily, and, then he said, gambled. Drink made him obstinate 140 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. and irritable, and drew him into quarrels lowering to his self-respect. "Opposites attract each other, is an old and a true saying. The good nature and recklessness of Gerald interested Britnell in spite of himself, and his own depth and strength of character served to keep his volatile friend within respectable bounds for a time. Tnrough his influence Dillon gradually became a steadier man, but an unfortunate chapter of accidents which fol- lowed soon after, brought an unwelcome change. Partly through business affairs, Gerald had become intimate with a family of the name of Roycroft, who lived at the end of the town nearest the camp. Nothing would satisfy him but that Britnell would go there sometimes with him. As they were people who were sociably inclined, and to whose interest it was that the new railway line should go through tneir land, it was not long before we were all on visiting terms at their house. They seemed to like Britnell, and he to recipro- cate the feeling. I soon saw that though the father enjoyed Gerald's company of an evening, the lively young fellow was not by any means a favourite with him. He had heard of too many of his wild escapades, I suppose ; and, besides, he had two daughters, pretty, attractive girls of a mar- riageable age neither of which he would have cared to see Dillon appropriate, whatever their feelings on the matter might be. Gerald was very fond of the elder sister Minnie Roy- croft who was a clever, amiable girl, one of those good womanly women whose influence has in ennobling effect on most men with a spark of the Divine left in them. When in her presence, Dillon was at his best. He showed her the purest side of his nature "silent silver lights undreamed of," perhaps, for in spite of his faults, it was plain that he was rapidly winning her affection. Of this he seemed ignorant. Many falls had made him humble. But the rest of us saw further, and, as he was liked by us all, we were glad to notice the turn events were taking. We thought it would be the mak- ing of him to have a good, sensible wife. He was in a position to keep her comfortably, too. His father had SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 141 had the pick of the land in the early da.ys, and had made money out of it during the land boom. Less foolish than, most, he had stvick to liis gains. His sons owned rich land for miles around. Frank was a hard worker and looked after Gerald's affairs as well as his own by sheer force of character keeping the elder from mak- ing "ducks and drakes' of their profits. Exit this could not last always, and many besides Roycroft shook their heads at the thought of Gerald standing alone. With three "props" to assist him, Dillon, was steadily settling down, when some malicious acquaintance re- marked on the {frequency of Britnell's visijts to Roy- croft's, and hinted that he was quietly paying his ad- dresses to the elder daughter, also that her father ga.ve him every encouragement. From that time Gerald grew erratic and changeable in manner. He went about with Britnell as much as ever, but more for the purpose of keeping a watch upon him than for any pleasure he derived from his company. The draughtsman took no notice of his fits of irritability, but bore with him, whatever shape his moods took. It seemed strange that, knowing Gerald's love for Minnie Roycroft, he should try to supplant him in her regard. I did not believe it of him, but Gerald would not listen to reason. Jealousy made him unjust. One evening we were all invited to Roycroft's to form a progressive euchre party. I never saw Gerald so ex- cited as he was that night. He seemed to have quite lost command over himself. He grew boisterous to of- fensiveness, and was almost rude to Minnie, whose face grew whiter with every fresh outburst of mirth on his part, and her soft eyes pained and troubled. He stu- diously avoided looking at her. She took little notice of Britnell. My conviction deepened that the poor girl really loved Gerald, but that he had not yet asked her to be his wife. Her father gave the young fellow many a disapproving glance, and two or three times an- swered him very curtly. On the whole, the evening was not an enjoyable one. Next day (Saturday) Britnell came into my tent look- ing gloomy and disturbed. ''What's the matter with young Dillon, do you know, Desmond ? I met him as we were coming home, and he 142 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. cut me cloud. He's boeii quite unlike himself lately. My conscience acquits me of having done him any wrong. I thought, perhaps, you might be able to furnish me with some explanation of his behaviour?" I told him what I had heard. He grew very pale, and strode up and down while I was speaking. As I finished, he laid his hand heavily on my shoulder. "Desmond, ' he said, hoarsely, "I had a brother once who was like Dillon capable of winning affection from all, but not respect. I loved the lad, and like Frank Dillon, I did all I could to save him. He had a fine tenor voice, and he was a born actor. He went on the stage under an assumed name. From that time my influence with him ceased. The end of it was that he went to the bad. In a fit of despondency he blew his brains out. Desmond, I have lain awake through long nights of miser} 7 wondering where that poor lad's soul is!" His voice sank to a whisper. He turned from me. I wrung his hand silently. At such times words are worth little. In a few moments he continued, "From the first Ge- rald Dillon attracted me. I understood such a nature so well its good points and its weakness. My affec- tion for him gathered strength after that night when, in an impulse of good nature, he rushed out after me to apologise for unconsciously touching what his instinct told him was an old sore. I then gave him an outline of my, and my brother's career. The confidence made a sort of bond between us. My regard for him is still so great that I would willingly sacrifice my own happi- ness to advance his, but dare 1 sacrifice another's?" He strode up and down again, his face working strongly. "You mean that you think Miss Roycroft would ship- wreck hers bv marrying himT' "I do. Like you, I thought at first it was well for him that he had the anchor of a good woman's love. Now that I know the beauty and sweetness of that woman's character, I shrink from the mere idea of her having to undergo in future years the trials and the sorrows that must fall to her lot as his wife. It was as I had guessed, then, Britnell loved Min- SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 148 nie Roycrpft, but she had let him see plainly her heart was in the other's keeping. I felt sorry for Brit- nell, but for Gerald's sake was pleased to find that the girl was true to him. Britnell went down to the township as usual to make matters right between him and Dillon, he said. I fol- lowed after, on some business for the boss, and was re- lieved to find he had not gone to Roycroft's. He was standing by the store door when I went in, arid a few minutes afterwards asked the storekeeper casually if he knew where Gerald was. "With some rowdy fellows from Cameron's Station," the old man answered, ruefully shaking his grey head ; "and a fine carousal they're having at Whitelaw's, by all accounts! They say young Dillon called at Mr. Roy- croft's the worse for drink this afternoon, and the old gentleman forbade him the house." Britnell did not wait to, hear more. He started for Whitelaw's at once. Feeling uneasy, I hung about the town till late, and, seeing neither of the two I was inte- rested in, I decided to call at the "hotel. As I came round the corner, I saw a crowd gathering, and heard a hubbub of voices. I quickened my steps almost to a run. Something told me the disturbance was connected with Gerald. I seized the first man I reached, and asked him what was the matter. Une of the station hands, a hot-blooded foreigner, had picked a quarrel with Dillon over the shearers' union. Gerald, by that time no longer answerable for his ac- tions, turned his arguments into ridicule, and ended by mimicking his accent, gait, and mannerisms so true to life that the Italian, maddened by the roars of laughter round him, turned savagely on his provocator, and, before anyone could stop ihim, drew a knife from his belt, and struck at the young fellow. Like a flash of lightning, Britnell sprang between them, and received in his side the full force of the thrust. In another moment the Italian was overpower- ed, but the mischief was done. Britnell was in great agony, and the doctor who had been hastily summoned stated that the case was a critical one. -Nearly an hour passed before I could see the doctor, and it was fully an 144 8HAMKOCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. hour after that before I was allowed into the bedroom where poor Britnell had been carried. He was lying quite still, with his eyes closed. In a corner of the room Gerald, thoroughly sobered now. was sobbing like a child. I wondered that the doctor allowed him to remain, but it seems Britnell had de- sired his presence. I pressed the nerveless hand on the counterpane; I could not speak. He opened his eyes, and smiled feebly. "It's all up with me, Desmond, old man! That scoundrelly stockrider has done for me, I am afraid. Well, perhaps it is better so while I can hand in my check with a clear conscience. And," drawing me down closer, "I feel it will be the making of him. I can trust her to him now ! He will turn out better than poor Bob. Ah ! old fellow, it won't be long till the problems that perplexed me here are made plain ! '' Nor was it. He died two days after. From that time Dillon was a changed man. At the close of the year he married Miss Roycroft. " Kathleen Mavourneen," A TALK OF THE CRKSWICK MINING DISASTER. "It may be for years, and it may be for ever! Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?" CHAPTER I. "So, 'tis true, then, that the men at the All Nations arc to be knocked off next Saturday, Mrs. O'Donnell? "As thrue as the heaven above ye, alanna, more's the pity. What we're to do till the Lord sinds thim work again, isn't as aisy to answer, though! There' ; ; hardly wan of thim but has a handful of childer to fill the moutlis of. For the loike of Jack Howard, now (savin' your piisince, Kate!), the want of reg'lar work in the ran- ges need be no drawback, for he has naither wife nor childer dipident on him, no one barrin' the ould woman, and she has a stockin' wid more than holes in it hid somewhere, they say!" "Perhaps it matters as much to Jack Howard as any- one elsey Mrs. O'Donnell," Kate Hanlon said, with a toss of her pretty head. "It may not suit him to leave SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 145 Matlock at present, either, though he is only a young bachelor with no one but hia mother to keep." "Tis yourself should know that best, mavournaen. Sor- ra a soul in the place but sees his heart's in your keep- in . Well, you've little to blush for, honey. He's as good a man as iver drew the breath of lif e, is that same Jack Howard. Shure tis a lucky girl you are, Kate- more power to you for good husbands are not to be picked up wid on ivery cranberry bush that grows." Kate's usually mischievous blue eyes suddenly filled with tears. "If he has to leave the district, I fail to see where the luck comes in, Mrs. O'Donnefl. I know he is thinking of going to Creswick, for he has relations there, who have promised to get him work in one of the mines if he will only make up his mind to go there ; and that he will have to do now, I suppose, for there is no vacancy for him at any of the claims about; and, even if there were, he would sooner let a married man have it.'' "That he would, thin," said Mrs, O'Donnell admiring- ly, beginning to set about getting her husband's dinner ready, for he was on morning "shift,"' and it was now nearly three o'clock; but I make bould to say, avick, that, whether he goes to Creswick, of to the Land's End, for that matther, 'twill not be long before he asks ye to be afther follin' him!" "But what if I decline the honour, Mrs. O'Donnell? You have not considered that possibility, 'at all, at all,' " cried Kate as she put on her hat and rose to depart. The worthy matron stopped in the act of lifting a saucepan off the fire, and looked at her with a roguish light in her grey Irish eyes. "'Decline the honour' is it? Snow to your heels, Kathleen Hanlon ! Ye've as little intention of 'declinin' the honour', as ye call it, as I have this blessed minute of lettin' my Tim go hungry after his hard day's work." With another light-hearted laugh, Kate ran off, only slackening her pace when she came to the bend of the road where the scattered little hamlet picturesque even in decay broke suddenly upon the view. A splendid specimen of healthy, vigorous Irish-Aus- tralian womanhood was Kathleen Hanlon, with her tall, well-developed womanly figure and bright handsome face. 140 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. As she stood iu the glorious spring sunshine of that per- fect day, and drew into her strong young lungs each breath of the fresh mountain air that, laden with the perfume of musk and wattle bloom, swept with a mur- muring sound over hill and valley, straightening her lithe young body involuntarily with the mere delight of life, as a flower expands its soft petals in a sudden burst of sunshine, one could not but gaze admiringly upon her, and she was as good and pure a woman as she looked, though reared amid adverse surroundings, and obliged to hear much that was unfit for feminine ears. For many of the diggers, though well-meaning and kind-hearted, were rough and ready in speech as in action, and a spade was always "a spade" with them, however soiled. In Kate's home half hotel, half store, as it was though the dwelling house was detached, and faced the opposite way, she came daily into contact with all sorts and conditions of men workers and loafers, drunkards and gamblers. With the native shrewdness of her fa- ther's race, she soon learned to gauge and comprehend all the varied natures, weighing their vices and their vir- tues impartially in her clear, well-balanced mind, gaining a power over them by that very insignt, and using it, as such women only can, for their welfare, both spiritual and temporal, and the worst among them looked up to and respected her, and their wives and sisters blessed her in their hearts. No need for one of them to stand wait- ing and weeping on a Saturday night for a drunken hus- band, whose hard-earned wages had been swallowed up, sixpence after sixpence, in the "cursed drink." She well knew Kathleen Hanlon's fearless expostulating voice would send him home to her with either the great- er part of the money or abundant stores for the week as its equivalent. Little wonder that Jack Howard, the most popular, young, unmarried miner in the place, looking up into her true honest face, found it fair with the beauty that is not skin deep only, but which comes to last immortally from the snow-white soul within, SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 147 CHAPTER II. "New kope may bloom and days may come Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream!" "You will not forget me, Kate?" "Forget you? O, Jack! The hot tears gathered in Kate Hanlon's loving eyes, a-nd fell in shining drops down her softly-rounded cheeks. With bowed head she stood flushing and paling before her lover), her little hands trembling pitifully in his strong clasp. There was silence for a few moments. John Howard was a man of few words. He loved this girl with the strength and fervour of his warm, pas- sionate nature, but no tender, lover-like answer broke from his quivering lips, Only a stronger, firmer clasp of the trembling fingers, a sudden, impulsive movement, which drew her a little nearer to him, told her that he understood that wealth of love lay hidden for him un- der her huskily-whispered reproach. The soft night air, balmy with the fresh sweet odours of early spring, lifted gently the clustering curls from her broad white brow, and murmured its love songs in her ear. The moon in silvery brightness peeped suddenly from behind a cloud, and lit up with a flood of tender light the drooping figure and gold-brown hair, quaint old garden ana dumbering flowers. An awakened bird from its nest in the hedge hard by twittered faintly and stirred its wings. A dreamy, delicious iangour, borne of the loveliness of the night and the happy music of her own fond heart, stole over the girl's sensitive frame. The strange, weird cry of a passing curlew, the monotonous crooning of a night owl from the adjacent forest, the pathetic minor note of a mopoke from the hills afar, came "with dis- tance-saddened undertone, like mockery to her ears; " for her heart was athrob with the gladness of life and the sweet wild hope of hearing at last the longed-for- words which would bind her in a closer union yet to the man she loved, For John Howard, though he had long ago shown by his faithful friendship and imtiring devo- 148 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. tion how precious she was in his eyes, had uot yet asked her to be his wife. But now that he was going away to other scenes, now that they must part for months, perhaps years, surely he would not bid her a cold good-bye; he would not leave her without the dear hope of being one day united to him by the holiest bond that God has sanctified. As if in answer to her unspoken thoughts, she was. drawn closer and closer still, until her hands were freed, and encircled by strong, loving arms, she was strained to the heart that had loved her so well and so long. Bend- ing down till he could see into the depths of her shining eyes, he whispered unsteadily, "My own dear honoured wife that is to be, kiss me!" Softly and -tenderly, blushing timidlyi, yet eager to give him back love for love, she put her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his, which clung to them in one long, passionate kiss that made up for the repressed passion of years. And the moon, her curiosity now^amplv satisfied, had the grace to retire again behind the fleecy curtain of cloud from which she had peeped forth. Two people in the world below her were happy, at any rate -happy for the present. Their future was in God's hands and "He doeth all things well.'' Before Jack left that evening he had Kate's promise that, as soon as he was able to provide a home for her, she would become his wife. This he hoped to be able to do in a few months, at most. His intention of going to Creswick remained unaltered. He had all arrange- ments made to leave the following day, so that this must be their last parting. He had spoken to her father previously, and, after a little demurring on the part of the old man, who was loth to lose such a useful daughter, had obtained his consent to whatever plans they deemed advisable to make. With many sighs and lingering embraces, the lovers sadly bade farewell to each other. "Only for a little while, my darling, only for a little while, please God," poor Jack whispered to the weeping girl, who clung to him as if she could not let him go. "O, God be with you, and keep you safe from all acci- dent, my own dear love," she gasped between her sobs. "O, Jack, if anything should happen to you, and you far SHAMROCK AND W^TTT/E-BLOOM. from me 'I But this is cowardly and foolish, I know. The -Lord stand between us and all harm! Go, then, my own dear Jack, and the blessing of God rest on you now and always." "Good-bye, my loving, faithful, little woman, heart- warm with the Irish biood that never ran coldly yet, Good-bye, my own cushla machree, niy own true Kath- leen Mavourneen! ' A moment after he was gone. CHAPTER III. "The heart that has loved truly never forgets ! But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns to her god, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose." About a year afterwards, when the wattle blossoms were once more blooming in their golden glory, Kate Hanlon left the home endeared to her by so many fond associations, left the grand old mountains and fern gul- lies, roamed over so oft in childhood's carelessly happy days, and, accompanied by her mother, who was to re- main with her until the marriage ceremony was over, journeyed to Melbourne, where Jack was waiting to re- ceive her a special license in his pocket. They were married quietly in the time-worn, yet ever popular church of St. Francis, and no fairer or happier bride than Kathleen Howard (though she was "only a miner's wife") ever knelt before altar in her simple white dress and veil, a wreath of orange blossoms crowning her beautiful gold-brown hair. A flood of radiant sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows on to the two whom God had just joined together "till death did them part" just one bright stream of light, bathing them in its glory, and shining on the white hair of the aged Father, who, with trembling hands, gave them the solemn nuptial blessing, and bade them go in peace, love each other well and truly, and keep themselves "unspotted from the world. ' Then the day grew dull and grey again, and slowly they passed out of sight, as we must let them do now for some weeks. 150 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. A rustic little cottage with a strip of garden in front gay to behold, with many-coloured flowers of ajl va- rieties of shape and size a comfortable-looking little cottage, clean without and clean within, for Kate lost none of her old industrious habits ; and the miner's home . bears ample witness of a loving, careful woman s thrift and taste. They live a little out of the township of Ores wick, but Kate, standing at the door, can see her husband return- ing nome from the day's "shift" quite easily. He is in company with another man; they stand talking toge- ther for a few minutes, then separate. Kate goes play- fully then to meet Jack, holding up her face for his hearty kiss. They have not yet lost lover-like ways. "Well, little woman," he says, as they enter their little home arm-in-arm, "you thought you would have me all to yourself to-morrow, didn't you? knowing that it will be my turn for night shift after to-day; but you are to be disappointed after all. Now, don't look so woe-begone, as I have promised McAlpine to take his place in the morning, through his being obliged to attend a friend's funeral at Clunes. Of course, he will take my shift at night in return." Kate grumbles and protests, but he only Jaughs at her, saying as he seeks soap and water, preparatory to indulging in the "digger's delight, ' "a good wash,' "Faith, I think I am better off working at daylight than at night, alanna, all said and done. It wouldn't sur- prise me in the least if we were all flooded out up there one of these fine days. I don't like the look of the old mine next us. There is too much water in it to satisfy me." "Don't say such awful things, Jack!'' Kate cried, with a shudder, nearly dropping the dish she was carrying to the table, "it's unlucky ! You needn't laugh, sir ! in- deed it is. The Lord forbid that anything so dreadful should happen!" and she crossed herself devoutly. A few moments after only the sound of merry laughter could be heard, mingled with the clattering of platers and teacups. Young and strong and healthy, light- hearted and pure-minded, what was there to darken their blithe spirits as they sat together in loving companion- SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 151 ship enjoying, with the zest hunger gives, their homely meal. Kate was up betimes in the morning, getting Jack s breakfast, and attending to his simple wants. A cloud was on her brow, for her sleep had been disturbed by an ugly dream. She was not naturally superstitious, but she could not help connecting her husband's words the previous day with the warning she thought had been given to her in the dream. She dreamt that Jack was showing her over the "Australasian (as he had in real- ity done soon after their arrival), when; suddenly she heard the roar of rushing waters, and almost immediately they covered the place where they were standing; and in spite of her frantic efforts to cling to him, bore Jack far from her outstretched arms, while she was sinking, sinking, till, with a terrified scream, she awoke, and found herself safe in her own warm bed with her hus- band's anxious voice in her ear begging her to tell him what was wrong with her. At the time he had soothed and reasoned with her, but in the morning light he turned her fears into ridi- cule, man-like, forgetful that a woman's nervous, emo- tional temperament, when unstrung through any cause, however slight, is a delicate thing to meddle with. Kate, as a natural consequence after such a hideous night- mare, felt irritable and depressed, and, what was a very unusual occurrence with her, answered his jesting words with considerable asperity, greatly to his surprise. "Why, old girl!" he said wonderingly, as he hastily ate his breakfast, "whatever is coming over you! You are not going to lose your temper over a wretched old dream, surely? I thought you had better sense, 'Kath- leen Mavourneen' ! " The old endearing Irish name touched the right cord ; her eyes filled with repentant tears, and, coming behind him, she leant over him and ran her fingers lovingly through the clustering rings of his thick dark hair, saying tenderly, yet mischievously, too, with a touch of the brogue he loved, "Sorra another black wurrd, thin, will I say to hurt ye, pulse of me heart! Shure who could resist the glib tongue of ye, or look darkly in the loight of your eves? Not your fond, foolish 'Kathleen Mavour- neen'! " 152 SHAMROCK AND WATTI.K-nLOOM. Arm in arm they walked down to the gate. "Don't let me see this sad face when I come back, little woman' Jack said, lifting the pretty face in his big hands and caressing it with lingering tenderness. "You are all the world to me, you know!' She watched him to the bend of the load. Suddenly turning, he came back. "Why, Jack, what can you have forgotten ' she cried, running to meet him. "I am sure I gave you every- thing." For answer he put his arm around her, and kissed her again. "Only that you are the best wife in the world, and I the luckiest husband!" he said, striding off again. Oh. God, if she had but known! After watching him out of sight, Kate returned to the house. She always found plenty to do in her little home, and that morning was an unusually bus}- one for her. She could never remember afterwards exactly what she was doing when she heard the whistle blow the loud, shrill, piercing wail poor miners' wives know the meaning of, alas, only too well ! The warning cry rose louder and shriller with every second of tune, cleav- ing the air like the shriek of a woman in agony. With- out even pausing to think, she flew wildly down to a neighbour's house, her heart bounding in dull thuds with a sickening fear. But by the time she reached it. ever> r wife and mother in the place was running in the direction of the claims, wringing their hands, and gasp- ing broken prayers for the safety of those dear to them. With a moan of anguish Kate ran on too, and soon caught up to an elderly woman who was hastening along as fast as her decrepit limbs would permit. Kate could not speak, she pointed dumbly towards the town, and gazed appealingly at tEe wrinkled face. "My puir lass, dinna ye ken 'tis the whustle of the Australasian? The God of Abraham help us, for there'll be sore wae the dav!' Ay! All too soon the terrible news spread like wildfire. An inburst of sand and water from the disused mine had flooded the Australasian with an overwhelming deluge ; the drives had become rapidly filled ; only those nearest to the pit's mouth had es- caped; twenty-seven men were entombed below! Ah, SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. Io8 who has power to describe (adequately the harrowing scenes of that awful day ! What pen dare venture to picture the suspense and misery, the anguished efforts to relieve the sufferers, the almost divine acts of courage and sublime devotedness which swayed as one man the Heroic multitude assembled there! As long as Creswick stands, so should her children honour such heroes' names as those of Carmody and Manley, uhegwin and Belling- liam, the last-named having plunged to his death that others might live ! Still, steadily the water rose. Bruised by floating trucks, laths, and timbers, the drown- ing miners struggled desperately below with the strength born of despair, clinging to air-pipes, finally reaching No. 11 to find that the water was up to their chins; still, never losing but encouraging and helping each other to the last ah, God, in vain ! To their necks in the water yet none fit for drinking ; Gasping for water, and panting for breath, The weakest went under, worn out with thinking, And dreaming of life while succumbing to death ! Like a statue carved in stone, Kate Howard stood by that pit's mouth. As in a dream she heard the engines' ceaseless clang. But she neither moved nor spoke. A man stepped out from the crowd, and touched her on the arm. "In what part was your man working, ma'am?" he said, respectfully. "In the further levels," she answered mechanically, giving the number with, white lips. " God help you, my child!" he said, wringing her cold hand, "all you can do is to wait patiently and trust in God." Later on she remembered that the same man was one of the brave fellows who risked their lives in trying to swim, to the miners' assistance. A piece of falling timber had fallen on him, stunned him, render- ing his heroic attempt of no avail. A shout of joy went up when five were rescued from the living tomb; but, alas, more heart-rending and ter- rible to hear was the tumult that followed amongst the relations of those still below! And still the waters rose, and hours and hours of sickening misery and sus- pense went by, ay, and another day! till gradually 154 SHAMROCK ANT) WATTT.E-BLOOM. liope began, to die in the hearts of the watchers, and the terrible silence that fell upon all was worse to bear than the loud-voiced agony that had gone before. And flags were hung half-mast, for a town was grieving for its dead; and bells were tolled for those whose funeral a nation would mourn with keen sorrow and bitter tears! And still Kathleen Howard stood in a silent grief that found no vent. Those around her forgot for a while their own sorrow in gazing at her speechless woe. Wo- men turned from a sight of the noble, tearless face with a sorer heart than even they had known before! They recognised in that stricken spirit a depth of grief whose silent intensity held more of anguish than mind could conceive or heart understand. As corpse after corpse was brought to the surface and carried by reverent hands to the changing-house (now used as an impromptu morgue), with a dumb and wonderful patience she waited as though she believed that her beloved dead was not yet among their number. Rough men, used to sights of sorrow and distress, bowed their heads to hide the tears that rose unbidden to their eyes at the sight of agony so hopelessly despairing that it was denied even the relief of the scalding drops of which they felt half ashamed. At last her patience was rewarded; but, ah God! in what a manner ! The crush had been so great, the har- rowing scenes so heart-rending, that the police had been obliged to resort to force to keep away the distracted wives and mothers from the pit's mouth, as well as from the "changing-room," so that when at length the twentieth out of twenty-two! poor Jack Howard's corpse was lifted up, his wife had no means of knowing except through the bulletins sent around at intervals for the information of friends and relatives. But she guessed instinctively. No sooner was his body above ground, than, with one spring, with one low moaning cry, she broke through troopers and miners and, reach- ing him safely, fell fainting on his breast. Tenderly and reverently they were raising her, when she opened her eyes, and saw his poor disfigured countenance. Wrenching herself from their arms, she threw herself on her knees and kissed the cold, wet face. "Jack," she murmured, "you have come at last! I SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 155 was so tired of waiting, dear, but the Sacred Heart of Jesus has been my strength. Jack, dear love, speak to me ! See, I am here with you, Jack your own Kathleen Mavourneen !" Her head drooped lower. She put her hands together, as if in prayer. The men lifted their hats with one ac- cord, and silently waited. But no words came. Again she fell forward. "Kathleen Mavourneen was dead! Damien Engelhart's Xmas Eve ; or Cissie's Angel. "Glory to God in the highest ! And on earth peace to men of good- will." It was Xmas Eve, and the streets were alive with crowds of merry, busy, jostling men and women, who, for the time, had forgotten the privations and bitter want of the long and dreary winter, and were welcoming midsummer and the coming joyous festival with all the buoyant hopefulness and expectancy of childhood. Surely with Christmas would arrive better and brighter times? The very summer sunshine seemed to flash the promise from heart to heart, and faces smiled that day to which smiles had long been strangers. The shop windows were one gorgeous blaze of colour. Xmas gifts met the eye on every side. One enterprising tradesman had stuck up the sign : "Remember your friends ! ' Xmas comes but once a year ! ' Our goods best value in the city! Unrivalled bargains! All invited to inspect. Roll up ! Roll up !" Round his window a great crowd had gathered, among whom were two little children, a boy, sturdy and dark, and a tiny girl, pale and thin-faced, yet pretty, with the sweet, quaint loveliness that is only seen in those whose natures partake largely of the spiritual, and have not as yet been tainted with the fetid breath of "evil communications.'' With their big bright eyes full of rapturous wonder- ment, they stood hand in hand gazing at the magic col- lection before them of " Xmas toys for gii-ls and boys," something in their hushed awe, and poor but clean at- tire telling to practised eye that into their little hands no fairy god-mother had ever thrust such gracious gifts. 156 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. A foreigner in the group watched them at first list- lessly, then with an amused interest, wliich grew strong- er as the boy, suddenly turning to his sister, said slowly, surveying her all the while from top to toe, "I guess the angels made a big mistake when they brought you to mamma, Cissie! Why, all them grand doll-ladies in there have long yellow curls just like yours, and their eyes aint a bit bluer. My, if you only had on their beautiful dresses!'' The little one shook her head doubtfully at his chival- rous speech, "Me don't want to be a drand lady. Me muvver's ickle dove ! Oh ! Terry, look up ; see the Tis- mas angel ; me wants it for muwer. Oh ! if me toud ou'y det it for muvver," and she pointed excitedly to a huge doll dressed in white, with glittering wings to rep- resent an angel's, and suspended from above by trailing gold ribbons, on which were worked in letters of violet the text, "Gloria in Excelsis Deo.'' The foreigner clapped his hand to his pocket. "Why shouldn't I give pleasure to somebody this Xmas Eve for the sake of the Infant Gesu, and my own dear 'land of toys?' (He was a German.) Damien Engelhart, is not a child's soul nearer to the great God than thine? What pleases one of His little ones, shall it not also please Him? 'Muwer' s ickle dove,' thou shalt have thy angel." He strode into the shop. A few minutes of haggling, a golden coin on tHe counter, and a hand half-reluctantly bore away from the disappointed loiterers the charming work of art that had chained all eyes but a short space before. The children still remained gazing, their lips parted, their little faces full of blank astonishment and bitter disappointment. "Who are those children?" the stranger said, drawing the shopkeeper's attention to them. 'Those two, sir? They belong to a Mrs. Kenihan (Damien started at the name.) She is a delicate poor thing, and lives in one of the back streets near here. Very respectable, sir, highly connected in the old coun- try, they say, but as poor as a church-mouse." He rubbed his hands complacently, as if inwardly congratulating himself that he could not be said to come under that category. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM 157 "I would like to speak to them, Engelhart began hesitatingly. "Certainly sir, certainly," and off the small, fat man bustled, and brought in the bewildered little couple. To give words to Cissie's unbounded delight when she was presented with the wonderful lady in wings, and told she might keep it altogether for her own. tiny self, or give it to 'muvver would be impossible. Suffice it to say that the child's speechless, yet adoring gratitude, gave the generous donor the greatest pleasure he had known in his almost colourless life. But his work of charity was not yet done. He found out from the boy that his mother was ill, that there was little or no food or coal in the house, took the address, and left an order for a supply of goods to be sent there that afternoon, and paid the shopkeeper; then, after making Terry's heart glad with a wonderful drum and a box of soldiers who could march if wound up enough, he bade adieu to the clinging children, and mingled again with the seeth- ing mass of humanity in the streets outside. It was late when he reached his own home, for he had gone into the Church of the Sacred Heart :;: on the way, and knelt with the pure heart and humility of a little child before the life-like statue of our blessed Lord, stand- ing to the right of the altar rails the nail-pierced hands outstretched, the sweet and mournful eyes gazing plead- ingly as into the depths of every soul, the whole atti- tude and expression giving voice to tnat sublimest and most consoling of all His loving invitations to the weary of heart : "Come unto Me all ye that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest!" Damien's home was a large, two-storied brick building standing at the corner of one of the principal streets. A brass plate on the gate drew attention to the fact that he was a doctor by profession: Damien Engelhart, M.D. (Late of Berlin.) A look inside would have shown that his house was tastefully and even luxuriously furnished, but there was an absence of the little home comforts enjoyed by "a family man,' for he had neither wife nor child, but was *St. Kilda (Grey-street). 158 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. attended to by a kiadly old Irish housekeeper, who, though she thought no one "could hould a candle to the masther" for generosity and goodness, stood nevertheless somewhat in awe of him. He was a reserved man, and looked much older than his years. Though only 36, his dark hair was streaked with grey, his well-shaped mouth lined as if by constant self-repression. His tall figure had a slight scholarly stoop that made liim look older still. But his eyes were bright and piercing, and their brown depths were capable of infinite expression, sometimes melting to the tender softness of a woman's, or again flashing with righteous indignation over some sad life-scene (and lie was brought in contact with many) of cruelty and oppression. There was nothing of the phlegmatic German in him, thanks to the Celtic strain of blood he had received from his mother's ancestors. His tea was waiting. He had it alone, eating and drinking in a mechanical way that proved how far re- moved from it were his thoughts. Afterwards he went into his study, threw himself into an arm-chair, and gave himself up to thoughts sweet and bitter commingled, for the name "Renihan"' had that day awakened chords in his memory which of late had rarely stirred. Damien Engelhart, like most men, had had his romance. Ten years before, in his own native land, he had met a young Irish girl at the house of an intimate friend an Irish girl whose fresh young beauty, original ways and soft brogue, together with a heart of gold, had completely captivated his fancy and sent every pulse in his body beating to the old sweet tune of Love. She was travel- ling through the continent with her father, a courtlv old gentleman of the old school and an archaeologist of no mean reputation. Her mother had died some years be- fore. Her brother had been one of the brave "Young Ireland's" who had !wijth (others emigrated here, and carved his way to an honourable and distinguished posi- tion dying some time afterwards of a fever caught whilst canvassing for an election in the squalid back streets of one of our largest suburbs. When Engelhart first met the father and daughter, he had heard from their own lips that they intended to go to Australia eventually, but whether they had car- ried out their intention he had subsequently no means of SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 159 knowing. Eileen D'Arcy might have learned to love the Handsome and impetuous young foreigner had she been "heart whole and fancy free/' but her love was given to a countryman of her own named .Lawrence Reni- han, a comrade of her brother's; and so Damien was given no hope. Poor Eileen ! how bitterly she had wept to see his pain that day. She had, as kindly as only such a sweet-natured woman could, given him his dis- missal. What wistful, beautiful eyes she had! He fancied he could see them still, looking up at him so pleadingly as if asking him to forgive her for being so loveable and desirable. He had never seen another woman he could love as he loved her. How he would have cared for her, have shielded her from every sordid woe and care ! His eyes grew suddenly dim. How blessed his life might have been if she had been his wife, if she could have sat with him at his hearth-side, sym- pathised with him, advised him, "stolen her soft hand in- to his and loved him with all the deep, sweet tender- ness of which he knew she was capable. He sat to- night alone, miserable, a forsaken old bachelor; and she? where was she? God alone knew. She had mar- ried ; that he was sure of ; but what had been her after fate? He shivered to think she might be in sorrow, in poverty. What good was his wealth to him? It was true he helped the poor, the needy, as far as in him lay. but all his riches seemed worthless without that beloved face to smile approval. Why was his life so lonely, so loveless? He leaned forward on the table, and buried his head in his hands. A sharp ring at the front door startled him. An- other moment and Mrs. Curran came to tell him he was wanted immediately. A child had been run over in the crowded street, and he was asked to lose no time. "What number and street?" he said, hurriedly putting on his hat. "No 14 Pakenham-street, sir, and thev do say the poor distracted craythur of a mother is " But he had gone before she had time to conclude, gone with the speed of lightning, for No. 14, Pakenham -street was the address the child had given him at the store- keeper's. Which of the two had been injxired? Heaven grant not "muwer's ickle dove!" 160 SHAMROCK ANT> WATTLE-RT.OOM. He was soon at the house. A weeping woman let him in. He scarcely glanced at her. but made at once for the bed on which the little child was laid. Alas! alas ! it was indeed the little "dove !'' A neighbour had begged the mother to let her take the children to see the lighted windows and the gay crowds, and, too ill her- self to leave the house, she had consented, on condition that they were brought home early. They were on their way back with the woman, and just crossing the last street, when a cab came suddenly round the corner, and poor little Cissie was trampled under the horse's hoofs. But, though much bruised and bleeding, Damien soon saw with thankfulness that there was a chance of her recovering from the injuries under skilful treatment and careful nursing. The b'ttle one was soon conscious, and her big blue eyes looked up wonderingly into the doctor's face, as with tender care he dressed the tiny broken limbs. It was evident that she at once connected him with the earlier events of the day, for a soft, tender, little smile passed over her features, and she said faintly, ''Me wants bootiful angel ! Cissie wants her Tismas angel!" The mother noiselessly brought it to her, and laid it against her breast. The child gave a gentle, con- tented sigh, and again closed her eyes. In an agony of fear the mother laid her hand entreatingly on the doc- tor's arm. He looked up to reassure her, and their eyes met. She gave a smothered cry, and his hands fell to his sides. "Eileen!" he gasped. The furniture seemed to swim round. "It is I, Damien," she answered, trembling violently. "There have been sad changes since last we met." "Where is he?'' he asked in a voice that sounded strangely harsh and strained. "In Heaven, I trust, by God's mercy, ' she said, bow- ing her head, "He was a kind husband to me. He died four years ago,' Engelhart said no more till he had finished dressing the child's injuries and writing out the instructions for next day's treatment. Then he gave a glance round the room, and noticed how poor, yet how spotlessly clean, were its appoint- ments. His gaze next fell on the young mother, and SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 161 he saw with a pang how worn and thin and faded she had grown. But the face was sweet to look upon still. The same pure, noble soul looked out from those wistful, dark-blue eyes. He soon drew from her the history of the last four years; the story of her long and terrible struggle with poverty, for her husband had died penni- less, ruined in one of the great financial bubbles of the time. "Let me see your boy again," he said abruptly, when she had concluded. "He seemed a fine, spirited little fel- low. Your children are very loveable, Eileen.'' She flushed with pleasure, and going out for a mo- ment, brought the child in. He, too, recognised their benefactor, and ran over to him at once. "Mother," he cried excitedly, "this is the gentleman who bought Ciasie's angel and sent us all the things! Mother, it is, it is!" "Hush, hush, my little man f" began Damien shame- facedly, making for the door. Eileen followed him down the passage. "Damien, I can never thank you enough," she whisper- ed brokenly, her eyes brimming over with tears. "Thank me," he said, clasping her hands in his in the old warm way. " There must be no talk of thanks be- tween us, my dear lost friend that is found. God grant thee a happy Christmas!" And a happy Xmas they did have, one and all, for little Cissie was much better next day, and sat up (pil- lowed in the doctor's arms, after his return from Mass), while he sang the "Adeste Fideles" for her, and "muv- ver" played it on the old piano she had never parted with through all her trials; and the beautiful white Xmas angel smiled at her so very brightly that Damieii said she was sure it was trying to tell her of the song the angels in Heaven were singing round the great white throne, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good- will." And to the children's delight he and their mother told them once again of the dear Babe of Bethlehem, Who that day was born for them, and Whose tiny fingers had unlocked tho shining Gates of Pearl that gave entrance to the splendoiir of the City of Gold, where God Himself was the sun and the moon and the stars, and where nothing that was evil could ever 162 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. enter in. So Heaven drew very near, for Love and Peace hovered round them and about them with glitter- ing wings. Later on, when wee Ci&sie was put carefully back in her cot, and Terry had fallen asleep over his soldiers, Dr. Engelhart drew his chair closer to Eileen's, and gave her the history of his own life from the time he had last seen her face up to the present. He had meant to say nothing of the hopes and fears that were yet agitat- ing his mind, but when he saw with what deep sympathy and interest she listened, and how the fair, worn face flushed like a girl's in the first dawn of her woman- hood under his earnest gaze, he could control his feelings no longer, but burst out into a perfect torrent of im- passioned language in his own tongue, forgetful that Ei- feen could not understand a word However, the heart is Love's truest interpreter, and Eileen's, shaken to its very depths, throbbed and bound- ed in her breast in answer, as she had thought it would never leap in this world again. She was not unfaith- ful lo the memory of her husband; she had loved him well and truly, and had suffered much for his sake. But this good man's love was very sweet, and she would have been less than human if her soul had not thrilled in response to its call. "Damien," she said at last, timidly, blushing at the sound of her own voice, "you forget that I cannot under- stand German, therefore am unable to follow you." Then that grave, hitherto most sensible and sedate of young men, became suddenly most boyish and awkward indeed. "Eileen," he said helplessly in English, stretching out his arms to her, "liebe, little woman, what thou wilt, come to me." Smiling through a mist of happy tears, she went to him, and hid her face upon his breast. "I shall talk to you in Irish if you give me any more of that dreadful German, astore machree," she whispered, with a return of the old playful manner of her girlhood's years. "Your barbaric tongue is not half as sweet as that of my own dear native land!" "Talk anything, everything," me said, looking down at SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 168 her with shining eyes, "only let me know I have my wife after all these long dreary years. ' For all answer she stole her arms around his neck, and pressed her cheek to his trustfully, lovingly, as one of her own children might have done. He kissed the quiv- ering lips tenderly, and stroked her hair with fingers that trembled a little for all his strength. "Thank God I have found thee, my poor wearied dove ! Thou shalt have rest at last." Mrs. Dr. Englehart has many treasures stowed away ; mementoes of a happy past ; remembrances of her chil- dren's beautifuf childhood ; but chief among 1 them all and dearest to her heart is held an old Xmas doll dressed in white the gracious "Tismas angel" who brought hap- piness and prosperity into the once humble home that sheltered her brightest jewel from God, "Muvver's ickle dove." A Page from the Annals of Gooley's Creek. He was rarely called anything else but "Sonny." Old identities on the diggings could vouch for his once having had a Christian name, but what it had been was onlv a matter of speculation. His want of a regular name never troubled Sonnv. Half-witted, yet capable of giving affection to all who were kind'to him, he scarcely knew what it was to be de- pendent on fiis own exertions, being in the main supported by the charity of the good-na- tured miners, who helped him to earn a few shillings for himself by "fossicking." Whe- ther he ever saw the colour of gold for months at a time was an open question. He was a welcome guest at every door in the Creek but one, and "'twas little luck they could look for, the cold-hearted crathures!" said the gossips over their tea, with many wise nods and groans of indignation. The Hesselgraves were not favourites in the little community. The father was the chief storekeeper and gold-buyer. They had apparently come of good lineage, but had been driven b^ circumstances to a calling and among people they thought beneath them. For fifteen 164 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. years t.heir lot had been cast there, yet few of the old prejudices against them had been removed. Miss Hes- sclgrave was ''too high and mighty ; ' her mother was prouder and colder still ; young Hessclgrave was voted "a real bad ! un," because he drank hard, and rode the wildest horse in the country with a recklessness which, thougn" it evoked strong expressions of admiration from those who prided themselves on knowing the points of an animal, and the way to manage him, yet was too sugges- tive of "Auld Clootie" to please the women folk. Old Hesselgrave was taciturn, and rarely allowed his features to relax into a smile. Of the three, he was the best-liked, but he would long ago have suffered in busi- ness through the overbearing manners of his family had it not been for the presence in the store of a popular, bright-haired girl who had stolen her way into the hearts of all around her. About ten years prior to this, on his return from Mel- bourne, whither he had gone to order summer goods, Mr. Hesselgrave had brought her home, a child of eight years. She was his niece; her name was Hammersley Delia Hammersley. She was allowed to run about the store, and amuse the customers with her bright ways and merry prattle, and as Sonny was mostly lounging about the doorway, she soon made friends with him; and he would come day after day and wait patiently for her appearance, with has hands full of all sorts of absur- dities to keep her attention. it was a pretty sight to see the two together the girl with her golden hair and big blue eyes looking up trustfully and lovinglv, and the tall awkward witless man striving to amuse and in- terest her. But Mrs Hesselgrave one morning irefully marched the little one in, and forbade Sonny the house, to his bewilderment and despair. Afterwards, when through repeated rebuffs, the idea was firmly implanted in his brain that his presence was not desired, he gave the house a wide berth, though that his playmate was not forgotten was evident from the broken words the miners heard fall from his lips as he worked beside them. They gathered that he managed to communicate with her from the little childish notes wrapped round sticky pieces of toffee which were often found in his pockets. Ten years had passed, and Delia Hammersley was fast SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 165 budding into womanhood a lovely womanhood, too, as two persons at the Creek were not slow to notice. One was her cousin, Richard Hammersley ; the other, the popular young miner, "Lucky Jack." Lucky Jack was a tall, strapping fellow, over six feet in his socks, with a strong, plain, honest face lit up by a pair of kindly brown eyes warranted to do untold-of mischief among the gentler sex. But there was nothing of the lady-killer about honest Jack. He loved Delia Hamniersley, and had good reason to hope that his love was returned. But he was not by any means welcomed at her uncle's, and, moreover, Richard Hamniersley made a point of publicly snubbing him whenever occasion offered. Jack resented such treatment, and a coolness had sprung up between the two, which bade fair to lead to an open quarrel. For Delia's sake Jack swallowed much that was unpleasant. On New Year's Eve, 1881, Gooley's Creek was a little livelier than usual, and people from /the outlyii^g dis- tricts were coining in to get their stores for the morrow's feast. Sonny was standing in the street, his felt hat perched rakishly on his unkempt hair, his hands in his pockets. All nodded kindly to him as they passed. He stared stupidly for a time, then breaking into a laugh, performed several gymnastic feats on his head and Rands, darted off down the street, and took to the hills. Hesselgravers was crowded with customers. Delia, in a pretty white muslin frock, with a, bunch of blue ribbons at her throat, scattered smiles and sunshine as with her uncle she served first one, then another. Two pairs of admiring eyes watched her ; Richard Hessel- grave from his corner "at the oooks," Lucky Jack from the door. In one of her nights round the store, Delia had occa- sion to look up the Day Book. Hesselgrave found the desired entry for her, and, ere she could escape, caught her hands. A warning cough startled him. He looked up, and caught sight of Jack, who had sauntered towards the alcove, in the hope of having a word with Delia. Richard dropped her hands, and she fled. One look only passed between the men, but it was enough. The Hesselgraves generally had their tea about half- past six, after which father and son usually returned to 100 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. the store, while Delia had an hour's respite. As tin \ rose from the tea-table that evening, she made some ex- cuse, and escaped from the room, for she had promised to meet Lucky Jack at Wattle Bend an old trysting- place, the wattles forming a natural screen between the river and the road. With a smile she was tiptoeing her way along, when she stumbled over Sonny, who was half kneeling on the ground, counting over in. childish glee what looked like lumps of yellow dirt, but which on closer inspection to her amazement turned out to be small miggets of gold. "Sonny!" she cried, stooping over him, "where in all the world did you get these?'' He started in fear, but when he saw who it was, drop- ped) the nuggets, caught her hands, shook them up and down, and laughed and cried so insanely that tears sprang to her kindly eyes. "There, there ! that'll do, Sonny, dear. You will hurt me, you know. I am very glad to see you too, very glad. But what are you doing with the nuggets? Where did you get them?" Still laughing, he gathered them up, and tried to force them into her hands. "All for you! all for you!" he cried. "O, no! no! Not for me Sonny, thank you all the same To make you a wealthy man yet I hope, if you have in your wanderings come upon a rich find. " Soft, yet clear, there rang out the lyre-bird's call an old signal of lovers. In an instant Jack stood be- side them. After a little skilful questioning, ne gather- ed from Sonny that the poor witless creature had acci- dentally struck a patch, or "pocket, " in the bed of the river, the existence of which had been surmised for years. Lucky Jack was wild with excitement. After binding Sonny to secrecy, he put the nuggets in his breast pocket in trust for him; after which Sonny, seemingly satisfied, took his departure, first rubbing Delia's soft hands affectionately against his wasted cheek. "That poor fellow loves you like a brother, Delia, ' said Jack. ''When we are married and that will be soon now, thanks to this wonderful find we must keep him with us for good. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 167 CHAPTER II. "Though dwarfed in mind, he did a hero's part ; The great-souled ever are the pure in heart.'' M.M. Delia spent a restless night. She was too much ex- cited to sleep, and the moaning of the wind, and the plash-plash of the steadily-falling rain (for a threatened stornJ had come on before midnight) kept her wider awake still. She grew nervous and fanciful; her ears were strained with painful intentness to every little sound. About three o'clock she thought she heard horses' steps on the gravelled yard outside. Could .it- be Richard? But no; he had retired to rest about eleven o'clock. It must be fancy. She got up, and looked out; it was too dark to see anything. She awoke in the morning, unrefreshed. Her cousin was unusually surly in his manner towards her at break- fast, so few words passed between them. To her great relief, he did not offer to take her to the annual sports, but saddled his horse and rode away somewhere at his usual break-neck pace. "To get drunk, I suppose! ' she said, with a shudder of disgust. Donning her most becoming gown and bonnet, she went with a girl friend to the races, but was bitterly disappointed to find that her lover was not there. Though the rain had ceased, and the sun was shining brightly, she found no pleasure in the day's amusement, but went home surprised and rather vexed. "Why had Jack not gone? Perhaps he was away with oonny at the new find." .Night came. No Jack. She grew uneasy. Her cousin had not returned. She dreaded the meeting between the two men. When darkness fell, she wandered out into the garden, her heart sick with a thousand fears and anxieties. Never before had her lover let a day pass without seeing her. Through force of habit, she strolled towards the gap in the fence her usual means of exit when going to the Bend. Suddenly, twice re- peated, she heard the lyre-bird's call "o-ee ! oo-ee ! o-ee? oo-ee!" With a glad cry she sprang through, but long lean fingers grasped her arm in a firm grip, and, a lialf- 08 SHAMROCK AND \VATTLE-B LOOM. smothered scream escaping from her, she looked up to see Sonny Sonny, with his white face and prominent eyes gleaming strangely in the starlight ! "Don't speak, Missie," he whispered, pulling her along with him. Delia was a brave girl, quick-witted, and sensible. In a moment she grasped the fact that some- thing had happened to her lover. She went with the half-witted messenger quietly and rapidly. He led her about half-a-mile from the fence, then turned down a narrow path leading to the river, coining to a halt at last in front of the hut of an old fossicker known as "Billy Hunter" a man who, though nearly as erratic as Sonny himself, was much respected for "the bit of larnin' " he was supposed to possess. The old man was watching for them, and after a few hurried words of explanation led the now trembling girl !n to the un- conscious form of the young miner, who was lying rest- lessly tossing and moaning on the stretcher that served Hunter for a bed. Hesselgrave had followed Delia to the Bend the pre- vious evening and had overheard what bad passed be- tween) them. Half -mad with jealousy he had waited till Jack had seen the girl home and retraced his steps, and had then confronted him with his customary in- solence and thinly-veiled insults, pretending he was keep- ing a watch over his cousin's movements "for her own good." Hot words soon arose between the two men. for the miner was high-spirited, and the memory of past injustices still burned in his brain. They were both young and passionate, and not many moments passed be- fore they came to blows. Hesselgrave, though a power- fully-built man, was fast getting the worst of it, '.vhen acting on an evil and cowardly impulse, he drew his re- volver, and fired at thie younger man. The bullet en- tered the shoulder, and Jack, taken by surprise, fell back into the river, which they had gradually acared in their struggling. Without waiting to see the effect of his dastardly act, Hesselgrave fled back to the house, and to divert sus- picion attended as usual to his duties in the store. After midnight he had noiselessly led his horse out of the stable and ridden down to the same spot, but could neither see nor hear anything, as it was raining heavily. liesolv- SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 1 G9 ing to brave the matter out he returned home, but in the morning light when the heat of passion had cooled, he considered it advisable to make tracks, and by night was far on his way to the border. Jack had made an attempt to swim and had cried out for help, but, the spot being a very lonely one, was giving up hope when he heard a hoarse chuckling laugh he knew, and the sound of something being pushed into the water close by him. It was Sonny. He had not wan- dered as far from the Bend as the lovers had thought, but had only gone a little further down the river-side. He was making his way to the township when he heard the shot, and, stealing through the bushes on his hands and knees saw Hesselgrave flying by, and heard the cry of his victim from the water. Sonny knew the voice, and muttering and laughing to himself, the poor faithful creature made desperate attempts to reach the strug- gling man, but it is doubtful whether his wild attempts would have been successful had Jack been unconscious. Fortunately he had his senses still, and, being a good swimmer, was able to avail himself of Sonny's timely help. He fainted from loss of blood before t-ney were half-way to Billy's hut, where he had asked Sonny to take him, mindful of Delia's reputation, and the talk the news of the quarrel with Hesselgrave might occasion. He could trust the old man to keep a still tongue in his head. Sonny was in some perplexity at first as to how he was to get the body to the hut, for the young miner was a heavy weight, and he was a thin, weak, stunted creature; but he managed tb do so by half-darrying, half-dragging the unfortunate man, stopping at in- tervals to coo-ee for Hunter, whom he was in the habit of disturbing at unearthly hours of the night. The old fossicker had at first thought it was a dead body he was cartrying, and, until Jack revived, looked upon Sonny with some suspicion, for, his work done, he was as mad as ever jumping round, chuckling, nodding, and waving his hands wildly in the air. Hunter had some know- ledge of medicine, and was able to bind up and attend to the shoulder after extracting the bullet, but as the long exposure in the rain had done its worst, and Jack next day had grown feverish and delirious, the old man 170 SHAMROCK AND WATTI.K-BLOOM. thought it expedient to inform at least oue of the fellow's friends of his state. So it was that Sonny had gone for Delia. Many weeks passed befoi-e Jack's com- plete recovery was assured, but as soon as it was, there was a quiet wedding in the little Catholic Church at the Creek, and in one of the most comfortable homes in the district "Sonny " was given at last an abiding-place, and loved and cared for till He Who said "let there be light, and there was light," gave peace to the wandering brain, "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the wearv are at rest." Hesselgrave was never taken. His end was as violent as his life had been. He was murdered by blacks in Queensland while sleeping in a hammock out-of-doors. Jonathan Harwood, J.P. Jonathan Harwood, J.P., sat on his back verandah, smoking, a scowl on his brow, and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He was in a bad humour, and the soothing weed he smoked had not time to take effect. Two tramps he had turned away suppei*less the pre- vious evening had, in revenge, set fire to three of his largest haystacks after the household had gone to rest for the night, and as misfortunes rarely come singly, he had been obliged that morning to shoot a favourite mare which had broken her leg. A cockatoo was strutting up and down on a perch be- side Jonathan, its crest raised, and its knowing eyes watching him, as if it scented the coming of a storm. From inside caine the sound of scrubbing, sometimes broken by a girl's voice singing snatches of old songs. The singing, though it seemed part of the bright sunny morning, evidently jarred on Jonathan. "Nell!" he veiled. "Nell !" shrieked the cockatoo, napping his wings. "Yes, father!" The owner of the pleasant voice appeared in the door- way a pretty, but scared-looking girl of twenty-one. Jonathan pointed with his pipe to a figure in the dis- tance, SHAMROCK \Nl) V AttLE-BLOOM. 171 "That young man who fools after you is riding across the paddocks. There's plenty of work for you inside, my girl, so keep hard at it ! I've got somethin' to say to that there young man, which I'm goin' to git off my chest right a way !" "Oh, father!'" ''Git inside, young woman ! Your father wasn't born yesterday ! No daughter o' mine will stand foolin round like a motherless calf in my house. You can do what you like when vou go to his'n ! ' He broke into a loud, coarse laugh, which the bird echoed, swaying backwards and forwards in. ludicrous imitation of his master's corpulent form. Nell, white now to the lips, retired -out of sight, may be, but not out of sound of healing. Her father had never favoured Ted Anderson's suit, but, so far, he had refrained from openly insulting him. The rider by this time was close to the house, whist- ling gaily, "Off to Philadelphia in the morning!" Jonathan's thin lips set in harder lines. He watched Anderson grimly as he cantered up to the gates, went round to the yard, and tied up the horse. "H'm! it's a wonder he didn't turn his skinny old moke into my stable, an' feed him on my oats! Aint worth more than 5, that horse, an' dear at that! You have your p'ints, Mr. Ted Anderson, but you know no more of horse-flesh than a suckin' calf! I can't abide these dapper city fellows, with their polished ways. I'll let him know what Jonathan Harwood, J.P., thinks of him before he's a day older!" "Well, young man)," drawled Jonathan, in a strong nasal tone, as Ted made his appearance and bade Mm a hearty good morning, "and what may you be wantin this fine day ?'' "Oh, I just thought I'd ride across to see how you were getting on, and how the wheat was looking." He leaned against the verandah-post, a good-natured smile on his face, his eyes wandering the while to the dining-room window, at which he thought he had caught a glimpse of his sweetheart's face. "No, you didn't come to see how I was adoin', an how the wheat was gettin' on, Mr. Fair-an'-easy ! You came down here to see my daughter, young man ! How- 172 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. somever, she s got something more to do of a morn than waste her time talkin' to young men. "Sit down on the bench, Mr. High-an'-mighty ! What's good enough for Jonathan Harwood, J.P., is good enough for you, I suppose? Old Jonathan is as rough as they make 'em, but for all that he's thought more of in this here district than some folk who hold their heads higher with less in their pockets ! Some there be, who'd like to make a cat's paw of the daughter's hand to reach the old man's stockin eh. Poll?" He made a facetious dive at the cockatoo with his pipe. " E don't know where 'e are." cried the bird, putting his head on one side, and sidling out of his reach. "Ha! ha!" roared Jonathan, "the cockatoo is right. 'He don't know where he are' who goes adoin' that!" "Mr. Harwood!" cried Anderson, springing to his feet; "are these insinuations meant for me? Do you dare to "Call 'em what you like, Mr. Edward Anderson, as long as you answer me this here question fair and straight- do you want my daughter or my money-bags?" Neither of the men noticed the flutter of skirts at the dining-room door. Anderson's face was as white as a sheet. Even har- dened old Jonathan quailed before his blazing eyes and the torrent of wrath that poured itself out in a lava of indignant words: "Jonathan Harwood, insult after insult have I borne at your hands for the sake of your daughter, but now the time has come wuen to sit quiet and listen to your coarse taunts, would be a cad's part. I want none of your money-bags! I would scorn to touch a farthing belonging to you! I would not change with the mean petty soul in your body for all the gold in the colony ! I want your daughter, it is true, but I am willing to work for her aye, have worked for her these three years past and 1 defy any man in the district to throw a stone at me as far as character is concerned. "You can keep your greasy money-bags, Mr. Jonathan Harwood, and much joy may they bring you! but, be- lieve me, if your daughter loves me as I love her, nei- SHAMROCK AND WATTLE -BLOOM. 173 ther you nor all the fathers in federated Australia will keep her from me!" A figure appeared for an instant on the threshold of the dining-room, then drew hastily back again. Jonathan looked at the irate figure before him with a peculiar gleam in his shrewd eyes. "We're oft pestered with foxes o' nights when honest folk's abed are you a protector of the varmint?" "Sir, your age protects you! I shall not come as a thief in the night to run away with your daughter! Never fear! I shall not cross your threshold again! Nell is of age; she must choose between us. It is true that I came to see her. You forbid me for no reason whatever save the paltry one of my being a poorer man than yourself. I wish you a long farewell." Anderson strode off the verandah, his broad shoulders thrown back proudly. Stalwart, honest, and capable he looked. A man of reason might have been proud of such a son-in-law. Ted was half across the yard when there was the rush of a flying figure across it, a cry of ''O, Ted, Ted!" Be- fore he had time to turn round, Nell Harwood, weeping bitterly, was beside him. Jonathan was following her leisurely. Nell gripped her lover's arm, and faced her father determinedly. "I choose now, father now now!" Jonathan put his pipe between his lips, and began to light it slowly. "Your choice aint a bad 'un, either, young woman! You'd better ask your young man in to dinner. I don't bear no enmity. He has his p'ints; he (puff! puff!) has his p'ints !" Tom Rodgers' Wife. A MIXING TALE. There was never much news up our street, so, when we heard Tom Rodgers had brought home a wife from town, it was only natural that we should want to know the "ins an' outs" of the business, for Tom was too free an' open to make such a change in his way of livin' with- oxit lettin' some of his mates know beforehand. I had worked with him for nigh on fifteen year, an' 174 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. had always set him down as a steady -goin' fellow with no marryin' notions in his head. But there ain't no knowin' what a man 11 do after he's turned forty ! Tom was forty -eight if he was a day, an' his hair as gray as a badger's. He got good wages, an' could keep a tidy home over his head if he wanted to, but I was a bit flabbergasted that he had sneaked off to town so quiet- like, an' never let on what was in his mind. It wasn't like the Tom I thought I knowed so well. The day after he came back an' settled to work again thinks I, "Not a question I'll ask him, though there aint no man on the ranges has more right to know Tom Rodgers' doin's than his old mate." So I worked alongside him, an' never a word but the time of day passed between us till we sat down to our "crib"; an' then, "Bill Jones/' says he, layin' a hand on my knee, "you will come round to-night, an' see the missis?" "Right you are, my hearty!" I answers, ''but I'm rather rough an' ready for your Melbourne lass, maybe? Plain ways an' plain speakm' is my style, Tom, an' you knows it ! The gossips say she is a sight above us com- mon folk, but airs and graces aint the thing to hook you, Tom Rodgers, or times is changed!" "Wait till you see for yourself, old man," he says, good-humoured enough ; "as for me, I'm as rough as they make 'em, I suppose, but that aint no reason> why I shouldn't have something better to look at once in a while!" T wasn't as well off in the matter of wearin' gear as I might ha' been, but I set out in my best for Tom's cottage that evenin', feelin' as awkward as if it was Sunday. The house was on the slope of a hill, a narrow stony track leadin' up to it. As I was stumblin' along in the dark, towards it, I heard singin' and stopped to listen. I had been a choir-boy in my young days, an' never lost my likin' for a good voice man or woman's. Tli is voice was a woman's, with no squeakin' or screech in' aboujt it either a real, grand sweet voice as clear as a bell's. The sound came from the house, so I knew it must be Tom's wife who was singin'. I tell you I took a fancy SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-ELOOM. 175 to that woman there an' then!! The song she -:ang was as old as the hills on'y "Annie Laurie" but it is just them old ballads as wants a power of singin', an' then why a man's heart gets up into his throat afore he knows where he is ! Why, I'd gone back years ere that song ?t>pped. I was back in the old land again courtin' the only crea- tur' I loved better than myself more fool 1, for she married a worthier man. I had never thought much of women-folk since. While I was standin' thinkin', the door opened, an' the light of the lamp streamed on to the track. I saw Tom lookin' out for me, an' so hollered to him. He stepped out to meet me, an' I noticed a slip of a girl take his place in the doorway. It quite knocked me all of a heap to think of seein' my old mate with a wife, an' I walked in blinkin' an scrapin' like the old fool I felt. Then I saw the smallest woman the Lord ever made, lookin' up at me with big laughing eyes like a child's, an' a dark fuzz of curls round her head, makin' a perfect pictur' of her pretty face. "How are you, Mr. Jones?" she says in her soft voice, "How glad I am to meet my husband's best friend! I hope you will like me for his sake." I looked at that there Rodgers, half believin' he was makin' game of us all, but he wouldn't so much as meet my eyes, so I blurted out, "You don't mean to say, man.. as this child's your wife?" "Child!"' she says, laughin' hearty, "why, I'm twenty years of age. Please, dear Mr. Giant, be merciful ! I can't help being small ! Tom, why didn't you tell me how big, an' strong, an' an' cross your mate was?'' Me "cross" with the pretty creatur' ! It warn't her as made me wild, but to think that that Tom hadn't left the like of her to a younger man as could make life a bit bright for her. But the knots the Church ties there aint no undoin', so I made the best of a bad job, an' walked over to the fire, settin' myself down in a chair as if it hadn't been the first time in their home. That brightened things up summat. "Bill," says Tom, drawin' another chair beside me, "I own I haven't acted as square by you as I might ha' done, but the missus here" and he held out his hand 176 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. to her ''the missus here an' 1 had no notion of bein' spliced till the very week before the weddin'. "I have known her since she was no higher than the table there; I took her on my knees an' brought her lollies long years ago, an' never once dreamt she would live to be the wife of an old fossil like me. (She lifted his hand and pressed it against her cheek.) But when some years back, her father died an' left her alone an' penniless in 1 the world, an' me, his on'y friend, I hunted up a kind old body I knew, who had lost all her children, an' I put this little 'un to board with her for her mother was dead too an' sent her to school; so, when I told you I went to town on business, 'twas to see the lass was bein' cared for as I'd promised her dyin' father. "An more, an' more every year, Bill, I learned to love her, but never made no sign, as I was growin' old an' battered no fit mate for a pretty maid like her. (She had slipped away into the kitchen, an' was busy makin' coffee.) She was too proud not to try to earn her own livin', so I got something natty for her clever little fingers to do, an' kept a watch over her just the same as before. An,' when I saw the crowd of fine, handsome fellows that went seekin' her for a wife, I quite gave up hope, an' made up my mind to settle up, an' clear out to Coolgardie. "I went to bid her good-bye, an' told her I mightn't see her again for a year or two, but that she was a child no longer now, an' could write to me an' always depend on me as if I was her own flesh an' blood. "Well, Bill, she just fair broke down, an' this is the end of it!" " The beginnin' of it, you mean," I says, " The Lord has dealt kindly with you, Tom Rodgers, an', what's more, you deserve it!" Well, she made her way did Tom's wife straight into the hearts of the people, though they never took quite kindly to her youth, an' the pair lived happy as man an' wife can, be in this world of changes, till the awful day when we brought Tom's shattered body to the top of the shaft, an' stood round him with achin' hearts, lookin' at one another, thinkin' of her, an' how we could best break the news. The whistle had given its warnin' screech, an' there was no time to be lost. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 177 How he had got into the way of the "cage" none of us could make out, but coming down to the "plat" it had struck him. From the first there was no hope. His back was broke. An' there was other injuries inside. He only lived a few minutes. I was by him, holdin' his hands. "Bill!" says he, lookin' at me so earnest, "Bill, old mate, you'll be good to Mary ? 1 was rough for the likes of her, but it's all the same up beyond! God don't make no difference as long as the heart's right, Bill. Give her my dear love, an' tell her I blessed her sweet face to the last. My little darlin' ! God keep her-" A shiver ran through his body. I thought he was gone ; his eyes closed. But he opened them again, an' I knew he was waitin' for my word, so I bent close to his ear, an' told him I would never see her want, so help me God ! an' a smile, as sweet as a child's, lit up his poor, pale face; then he says, soft-like, "You was al- ways a trump, Bill ! Dyin' aint so hard now. Tell my Mary I'll be waitin,'' up there till she " His voice died away in whispers I couldn't catch. A moan of pain, a long, quiverin' sigh, an' poor Tom had gone where sufferin' cannot come. How was he to break it to his wife? little, trustin childish thing! "I can't!" says Harry Brady, our ablest man, an' the father of nine childer. Many a bit of bad news he had taken a miner's wife, but he couldn't face her. An' neither could the rest. Then I saw my duty plain. I gave one look at my dead mate's face, an' shut out all thought of hers so bright an' winsome, an', says I, "Some of the women is runnin' over the hill now; who knows but' she may be with them? If Dick Edwards gives me a hand, I'll go seek the poor lass, an' tell her all." Dick came round without a word. We set off for the house. The women came rushin' up to us, an' I thanked God Tom's wife was not among them. Askm' them to stay back a bit till our task was done, we went on to the cottage, which the rise of the hill hid from the view of the claim. She couldn't have noticed the whistle, nor the neigh- bours runnin', bein' new yet to mining ways. 8lie was 178 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. busy gettin' his dinner ; the mornin' shift was near over. Dick hung back, but I went up an' knocked, though the cold sweat was standin in big drops on mv brow, an' my knees were knockin' together. Still hiunmin' her song, poor lass, she came to the door, hoi din' the child in her arms. I said summat I don't know what but I don't think she heard me. The look on my face must have frightened her, for her eyes grew fixed and starin', an' she put the babe down on the floor, an' gripped my arm, lookin' so appealin' at me, I thought my heart would burst. "Tomf she said in a queer far-away voice, "my Tom? I took her cold hand in mine, an' held it firm. "My poor girl,'' I says, "Tom was hurt at the mine, an' they are bringin' him home. Be brave, my lass! for his sake an' the little 'un's.' I couldn't tell her he was dead; the words stuck in my throat. But there weren't no deceivin' her. She jiust gave one cry, and fell like a stone ! Dick came in an' helped me to lift her on to the sofa, then beckoned two of the women who were waitin' not far off, an' we left the poor stricken creatur' with 'em. Already our mates were carryin' home the body. We went back an' delayed them a bit, till the things were put straight in the house, an' Tom's wife taken into one of the back rooms. The sun was shinin', the birds were singin', but my hands were cold, and my head like a lump of lead. Supposin' she should die, too? I would feel nothin.' less than her murderer. Yet, some- one had to break the news, an' perhaps it came best from me, although I had bungled it, bein' no scholar in speakin'. I met the lodge doctor in the crowd now gatherin fast. He shook his head when I told him how she took it. "Poor thing! poor thing!" he said, hurryin' on to the cottage, "we'll have a hard job with her for a few days, I expect. Women like her take such blows badly. As the poet says, 'the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning ! Knowin' how frail she is, how sensitive, I would rather this had fallen to the lot of any other wife on the ranges. But God knows best ! an' he raised his hat. All that night crowds wex % e standin in groups before SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 179 her door. They might gather, an' whisper, an' weep, it was all one to the suffering ravin' creatur' inside. When she came to, she had asked to see her husband, an' the doctor himself took her in where he was lyin' laid out, hopin' the sight would bring the tears, for her eyes were dry an' wild as a madwoman's. But she never cried; on'v moaned, touchin' his face with her hand, or smoothin' back the thick wavin' hair from his brow, an' now an' again speakin' to him like a mother to her babe. After a bit it was more than the old doctor could stand, an' he came out with the tears runnin' down his cheeks, an' left her alone with her dead. They tried her with the baby next, but she wouldn't notice the little thing. Its wailin' fell on deaf ears. There was no room in her burdened brain for aught but Tom; they couldn't keep her away from him. She lay beside his corpse, talking to it, an' laughin' at times, till the doctor was nigh at his wit's end. When mornin' broke, he comes over to me, an' says, "Bill Jones, if some of you men can't make up a plan to set that poor woman in there screamin' and cryin' like any other of her sex in the same trouble, I won't answer for her reason ! If she keeps on like this another day, she'll go stark starin' mad, an' not all the doctors an' asylums in creation will be able to make her sane again.'' We looked at each other for a moment, one readin' the other's thoughts. "You want me to do it?" I says, my voice growin' too hoarse to say more. "I do, Bill," he answered, puttin' his hands on my shoulder. "If it cuts your heart in two, your love for her will find out the way ! Your secret's safe with me, Jones. You've acted straight an' true to the livin', an' you will do so by the dead.'' He turned away, an' left me dazed an' blind. How had he come to know? Tom's white face rose up before my mind. I seemed to hear again his dyin' charge. Had he known, too, that I loved the lass with all the strength of my bein' ? I looked up to the sky above, an' thanked Him Who made me. I had never wronged him even in thought 180 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. wheu he was livin', and now he was gone I oould not fail him were my life the forfeit. Those long dreary hours had played up with me ; tho pain an' the waitin' an' the fear for her reason had done their work, but I could stand one more strain on heart an' body for Mary's sake, so I gathered myself up an' went into the house, and asked to see her. T[t ain't no use! ' said the woman who was carin' the child; "she takes no notice of anybody. She is in there with the corpse, singin', singin', as if nothin' was wrong. It m&kes my blood run cold to hear her. Lis- ten . Can you hear?" Hear her? when every note was fallin' like scalding lava on my heart! I pushed past, an' opened the door. She did not even move her head. I walked over to the bed, an' knelt down beside it. She stopped her singin'. I bent over my dead mate, an' kissed his brow. "Tom!" I says, "Tom, old mate, we've worked beside one another many a weary day, but the time has come when we'll work so no more. Better friend no man had, but our hands '11 join in the old grip never again on earth ! Eh, but it seems on'y a day ago since I went up the hill to see your wife. She were a heap too young for you, mate, but you loved her dear! What was it you said to me when you were dyin', Tom? when you was lyin' crushed an' bleedin', an' me bendin' over you?" "Tell my Mary I blessed her sweet face to the last. God keep my darlin'! Tell her I'll be waitin' for her up Beyond lookin' an' waitin.' for her always! though I was rough an' old for the likes of her, an' ntot as kind ." But the poor creatur* was now kneelin' beside me, weepin' an sobbin' as if her heart would break. "Not kind! rough? He who was the kindest, loving- est husband God ever gave woman ! Oh, Tom ! my Tom! Father in Heaven, take me too! ' I never felt shame that my own tears dropped as fast as hers. I stayed with her as long as I could stand the strain, givin' her over an' over his dying words; an' then made off home more worn out than if I'd been doin' two days' work with no spell between! There ain't much more to tell. We buried poor Tom SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 181 in the quiet bush cemetery lie always liked, and collected enough money between us to set up his widow in a shop of her own rentin', where she could make a livin' for herself an' the little 'un. That were five years ago, come Christmas, but she has the same tender heart an' winsomei ways still ; an' though she'll never forget poor Tom, an' must alwavs love him best, she has promised to give Herself into my keepin', to be with me in my troubles an' cares till the call comes no man may turn a deaf ear to. An', God helpin' me, I will make her a good husband. V i The Old Maid's Dream. Poor, forlorn, little old maid! Was ever anyone in the whole wide world so miserable and forsaken as she? she wondered. Tired and depressed after her long day's work she had dragged her weary length homewards if two scan- tily furnished, ill-ventilated cells of rooms in a cheap lodging-house could be dignified by the sweet, suggestive name of "home!" She was not always alone of an evening. Three nights in the week a young girl friend came to keep her com- pany ; but this was one of her lonely nights, and there she sat by her little coke fire, watching its fitful gleam with more than a suspicion of tears in her faded eyes! Ah! how blue and bright those eyes had been but ten short years before ! How soft and silkv and abun- dant, the brown hair above that brow! How smooth and pink the cheeks that now were worn and hollow ! How sweet and kissable the lips now so hard and set ! Perhaps some such thought swept over her, for sud- denly she rose, and, leaning on the mantelpiece, she gazed long and sadly at the reflection of the pale, thin face she could hardly realise now was her own. And, ae she looked, the voice of memory spoke low and clear to the weary soul, and taunted her with all that "might have been" had she, like so many others, sold herself for gold, for "a home." No pang of regret, no wish to recall the past, swept over her; but the hot tears blurred her aching sight ]82 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. when visions of what other women had had given unto them in the mysterious lottery of life rose before her- visions of brightness, and of love tender, protecting love such as she had never known love such as she had read of in poems and books ; but had never experienced herself ! Yet the heart in that gentle bosom was loving and true, the tired soul was noble and pure. But she did not know that. So she turned away from the all too faithful mirror with a heavy sigh, and sank again into her chair. "If only I had been of use to somebody, helped some- one to be better or stronger, I would not repine. Rather, would I thank God for using me, an earthly vessel, to revive the drooping flowers of his garden thank Him from a full heart for even my sorrowful life, since it was not li ved in vain. But, alas ! of what use am I in this great world ? Other women, single, and as friendless, are yet strong and noble. God has given them some special work to do for Him, and people have "risen up and called them blessed ; "' but I have been bound down, by sheer force of circumstance, to run in a narrow groove, shut daily within four walls, where the noise of the world sounds faint and distant; where I work, work, for my daily bread till I grow more like a machine than a human soul! Oh, to know I had someone's love, someone's respect, someone's prayers! But the past is blank, and the fu- ture is a dreary desert, where I fear to tread ! ' ' The sewing fell from her hand. The little clock on the shelf ticked aggressively; the wind outside moaned like the wail of a lost spirit. A few daring coals burst into a sudden flame, and illumined the drooping figure, with its neat grey robe and faded shawl. And presently the lonely room became peopled. Form after form, form after form, filled its corners and every available space. Dim shadowy figures they were, too; but they were distinct, and they peered at the little lonely old maid with a look of reverent affection that made her heart grow glad. At last, as she watched them wonderingly hah* afraid SHAMROCK AND WATTtt-BLOOM. 188 one spectral form came beside her, and laid its hand tenderly on her bowed head. "No use in the world !" said a gentle voice close to her ear ; "no use, my child ? You have forgotten, then, the poor old man you saved from a drunkard's grave? Have you forgotten how you prayed for me, toiled for me, clung to me when all others failed ay, when at last the time came that I could no longer hold up my head among my fellow men, and the fate of the suicide seemed a fitting end! ''When all had deserted me, even mine own flesh and blood, and the friends of bygone years, with patience and love you dragged me back from sin and misery into the light of God's forgiving grace! "My anchor on earth, my strength in dying, may the blessing of the Heart of Jesus abide with you now, and for evermore !' The shadow passed away; tKe little old maid was weeping, but no bitterness was in her tears. They soothed, not scalded, her heart. But another form was at her side the form of a tall strong man, young, with an earnest face and a thought- ful brow. "Sister," he said, and let his hand fall affectionately on her shoulder: Sister, if I may call you so! for you have been a sister unto me. Ay! no words of mine can tell all you have been unto me ! You came in my hour of bitter need, when Satan and all his dark angels were wrestling for my soul. You came to me with words of gentle pity and remonstrance, and led me to holy things. You restored my faith in men and women. You lifted me to higher levels, and made me by your example a man and a Christian, "May the blessing of God rest on you with the light that never dies !" And that shadow passed away, likewise, leaving the old maid with a sweet and joyful smile breaking like a rainbow thi-ough her tears. But, hush! another form stands at her side, another voice is whispering in her ear. "1 was crippled with diseasei a sorrowful and painful sight in the eyes of many ; but your hands bound up my wounds with the tenderness of a mother. You watched 184 SHAIfROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. over me, another's neglected child, with unwearying care and love. You supported me, prayed for me, taught me the way to Heaven. May the blessing of a little child make your life happy, even in this world, and spread your bed in Heaven with the flowers that cannot fade !" And the child glided away into the shadows. But the form of a woman took her place, and knelt at her knee. "Look at me!" she whispered. "What was I when you found me first? One from whom all other women held their skirts aside! Yet you, the purest of them all, pitied me, held out a helping hand to me, unmind- ful of their scorn. You believed there was yet good in me, and you strove with my awakening soul, till the day came when that soul was shriven by the priest of God, who came at your request. And, then, in the sight of all, you walked with me to the alt'ar rails, and knelt be- side me -you, the pure one, receiving with me the Sac- rament I was all so unworthy of you, the loved child of the Church, beside me, who too long had left its doors. Yet you were no friend, no relative. You were just a loving, merciful woman who saw the angel's wings shine above the darkness of the devil ! "May the pitying Father of us all repay unto you a thousand-fold here and hereafter all you did for me. May He say to you on the last day, when the mysteries of life are made clear : 'Well done, thou good and faith- ful servant. Enter thou into the ioy of thy Lord!' ' With a joyful cry the lonely old maid awoke. For it was but a dream, after all. But those persons Iiad lived, and their words were true. And the little old maid knew that God had sent their spirits to her, to show her that she had not lived "in vain." Exceeding Small. "Though the mills of God grind slowly, Yet they grind exceeding small." "Eight o'clock, by Jove ! Good-bye, old fellow ; I haven't a moment to spare. i promised to meet a friend at the station; will see you to-morrow." bHAMROCK ANlv WATTLE-BLOOM. 185 With a hearty handshake to his companion, the speaker strode off to Spencer-street, and elbowed his way through the crowd on the station who were wait- ing for the 8 p.nii. train from Ballarat. He was a man of medium height and slender build. His face, though not handsome, was intellectual, and lit up by bright, piercing blue eyes, that just then had an anxious, troubled look in them, as he stood watching the rapidly-advancing train. "Poor little woman?'' he muttered, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, "however shall I break it to her? What will she think of me? Perhaps she gues- ses the true state of affairs already, or why should she come down this evening? If she only knew now mean and contemptible I feel ! What are we men made of, any way f ' Whatever he was made of, someone thought him good to look at, evidently, to judge by the shv, sweet smile of happiness that lighted up the pale, tired face of the only lady passenger, when her eyes met his on the ar- rival of the train, and the quick, warm flush that leapt into her cheeks at the sound of his voice. Lovers? Well, one could hardly tell from the merely friendly manner in which they greeted each other, and yet some of the well-known signs of true love were not wanting in one face at least. Two or three idle spec- tators looked after them with a faint interest, as they disappeared in the direction of the cloak-room to dispose of the luggage, there was such an attractive grace in the girl's every movement, and that nameless dignity in the bearing of the man which stamps those who are, in the world's opinion, "superior to the common herd " The luggage attended to, he would have hailed a pass- ing tram, had not the little hand on his arm stopped luin, and the soft voice at his side asked him. somewhat diffidently, if he would mind walking down to the Flin- ders-street railway station instead. "I have so much to say to you, John, and very little time to say it in and it is so long since we have seen each other, you know, dear!" "John" did not answer in words; he only pressed her hand a little closer to him and turned down Col- lins-street in obedience to her wish, keeping his face IH(} SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. turned away from her gaze, as if he did not care to meet the loving glance of the tender blue eyes that looked up at him so trustfully. "I suppose you wondered why I came down to-night, John?" she said, after a few minutes of silence. "Yes, I confess I was at a loss to know your reason for leaving Ararat so suddenly, Winnie. Was anything troubling you, dear?" He spoke tenderly, yet no look of loving or longing, no ohangte of expression crossed his face, which was death-like in its pallor. She seemed to feel that there was something wanting, for she shivered slightly, though the night was warm, and the colour faded from her cheek, leaving it again weary and worn-looking. "Yes," she whispered, "your last letter, dearest." "My last letter," he repeated, mechanically; "what was there in it to trouble you, Winnie?" "I may have been foolish, John," she said, with a little, nervous laugh; "but after reading it over and over, and thinking about it, I felt as if some great change had come over you, some barrier risen between us which I could not understand, and the thought that I might be right, that my fears were not without foun- dation, caused me such misery that I could not live another day without seeing you face to face." Her voice broke pitifully with the last words. She felt his heart bound against her hand, and, fear- ful that she had given him pain, she went on speaking rapidly in a low voice, telling him that she knew now that she had been wrong to doubt him, to doubt his love for her for one moment, but she had been so lonely and so miserable up there, and had felt so far oh, so far away from him ! Everything seemed different now they were together again. "Poor little woman," he said gently, when she ceased, "My poor little woman ! But we will talk about this when we get to St. Kilda. See, we are nearly at the station now. We must try to catch the next train. I suppose Miss Lemin expects you?" "Yes, I telegraphed to her this morning." Thev hurried on. and were just in time for the 8.45 to St. Kilda, To their chagrin, an elderly gentleman, SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 187 with a most benign countenance, expressive of the best intentions, and the most sympathetic feelings in the world, got into the same carriage with them, and blinked at them so self-complacently and approvingly from the opposite seat, that John felt a savage desire to tlmist him out of the window with less dignity than speed. At Middle Park, however, they were rid of the un- welcome intruder, and then John took the gentle, plead- ing face in his hands, and kissed the sweet, soft lips up- raised to his, not with the passionate fervour of a lover, but with a reverential tenderness, as a loving son might kiss an honoured mother, a brother a sister, whose faith- ful affection he felt he was not worthy of. The difference was unnoted, because unknown. She had had no other lover but this grave, reserved man. He was her life, her light, her all. It was happiness enough for her to be beside him, to hear his voice, to smile into his eyes. " Winnie,'' he said, when they alighted at St. Kilda, "1 must have a talk with you before you go to Miss Lemin's. She won't expect you for another half-hour Are vou too tired 1 ?" "Oh, no!' 7 she said brightly, walking along briskly beside him. "You know how I long to have a chat with you, dear. O, I am so glad to be back again ! I feel as if I had been away for years instead of for only six short months!" "I wish to God you had never left me. child! But don't look so frightened. Just take the glove off this dear little hand of yours," patting the one on his arm; "it is so dark no one will notice its bareness; besides, it will be quite lost to sight presently, you know." She laughed merrily, drawing the glove off with a pretty affectation of coquetry, and, slipping her hand into his with a confiding gesture that smote him with remorse. "Now, about this letter of mine that you did not like, Winnie? What was there in it that caused you to think I had changed?" She shuddered, and nestled more closely to him. "It was so cold, so unlike "you, John and and you signed your full name, as if you were writing to a stran- gled. You never even said 'God bless you, Winnie,' 188 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. like you do at other time?. John, clearest, what was wrong, what did I do to offend you? Why did you write to me like that? Darling, it nearly broke my heart !'' The man, beside her trembled, but no answer came from his white, compressed lips. Her heart stood still with fear. "There is something, then!" she whispered, hoarsely, stopping suddenly. "Merciful Heaven, what can it be?'' But there were people coming on behind them, mak- ing their way to the pier for the purpose of getting a breath of fresh air before retiring to a well-earned rest, so they had no opportunity of conversing further en the subject that occupied their minds to the exclusion of all else, till they reached a quiet corner on the sands, where the only sound heard was the wild, weird music of the incoming waves as they rolled shorewards, their white- capped tops gleaming strangely through the blackness of the night. They stood silent for a few moments, gazing absently at the restless, heaving waters. The girl's sensitive form was quivering from head to foot. She still clung to her companion's arm, not with the confiding affection that she had shown but ten mi- nutes previously, however, but as if she felt the need of some stronger support than the strength of her own will could give her. She kept her face studiously aver- ted from his, that he might not notice the blinding tears that would rise to her eyes in spite of all her efforts to restrain them, but the small, slender fingers held so closely in his strong, warm clasp, were trembling piti- fully. Presently, with a swift, sudden movement, he drew the slight, girlish figure close to his heart, and forgot the cruel task he had aefe himself, and the torture he was there to cause the gentle, faithful soul that had loved him so long and so well, in one long, remorseful kiss on the sweet, soft, quivering lips. With a stifled sob she pressed her head against his breast, and flung her arms around his neck. She was afraid to question him, for her woman's instinct told her that they were fast drift- ing apart. Perhaps nevermore would she lean against the heart she had once fondly dreamt was hers alone. She knew him so well, his embrace did not deceive her; SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 189 rather it confirmed her fears. But she rested in it passively; she was so tired, so tired! and she had no one else in the wide world to look to for love or pro- tection. Orphaned, sisterlesa, brotherless, without kith or kin, what wonder if her heart was so bound up in his that the thought of losing his love was anguish unut- terable to her woman's soul. Dumbly she waited for him to speak. His voice sounded harsh and strained. His words were few, but they fell on her listening ears like the sound of a funeral knell "There is no truer, purer, or sweeter woman in the world than you whom I hoped once to call by the dear name of wife, but His voice broke. He turned from her and stared out to sea. Mechanically her gaze followed his. Steadily over the waters gleamed the harbour lights. Their glare burnt into her brain. How often, in the days gone by, she had sat and watched them with happy eyes, and fancied that in her innocent joys they took a part, but now she saw notlu'ng but a mocking gleam; ten thou- sand cruel eyes seemed to look out at her from each slanting ray. And a lifetime of agony appeared to have elapsed before the words for which her ears were strained came slowly one by one "Winnie, I have- found that that though I do love you it is not the love a man should feel for his wife. And and there is another! CHAPTEE II. "O, little winsome face ! O, crown of sunny hair ! O, tender soul that cleaves to all that's pure and true ! Why should on you be set the seal of dark Despair? Was there no colder heart his ruthless spirit knew!'' M. M. For a moment Winnie neither moved nor spoke. The very air seemed to have grown painfully stilL Only the mournful plash of heavy waves rolling in upon the shore could be heard. Then, with a shudder from head to foot, the girl let her arms fall limply by her side, and drew away from her companion such a look of re- proachful horror in her face that he turned from her and hid his in his hands. 190 SHAMROCK AND WATTT.K-IU.OOM. She stood gaziug at him ill a dazed fashion, brain and sense chilled by the suddenness of the blow. But, as the meaning of his words forced itself upon her clearly and unmistakably, her hands clenched and unclenched pitifully, and, with a drv sob breaking from her white lips, she at last moved swiftly away across the stretch of sand, now and again quickening her pace to a run, as if she wished to get out of sight and hearing of her faithless lover. Afraid of her purpose, he hurried after her, feeling more humbled inf his own slight than he could have believed possible. John Hargrave was not a bad man; but, like many another, he had trifled with a woman's heart, waking in it a love greater and stronger than his less sensi tive soul could comprehend. in a fashion he had loved her, and, pleased with her child-like trust and de- votion, had asked her in a moment of tenderness to be his wife. She, poor child, fully believing she had his whole heart, was for a year after her engagement to him in the seventh heaven of happiness, till a gradual cooling off of sentiment in his letters had stirred in her gentle breast a feeling of dissatisfaction and foreboding. Hence her sudden visit to the city. She had sent Har- grave a telegram, asking him to meet her. Little did sne dream that but that morning he had posted a letter to her telling her of his attachment to another, and of- fering her her freedom a polite way of seeking for his own. Her rival was a well-known society girl about town, the daughter of a wealthy retired merchant, whose portly figure was daily conspicuous on the Stock Ex- change. Yet it was not for the money she was likely to get that Hargrave had sought to win her regard. He hardly knew what it was about her that attracted him, unless it was her tantalising way of keeping him at arms length, of laughing at his most serious moods, of pleas- ing or displeasing him as the fancy suited her, but never once letting him see she gave him a thought. He knew Winnie was as far above her in character and disposition as a star above a flower of the field ; but, man-like, he preferred the flower. At any rate, Winnie's sweet face was forgotten in Athalie Holmes' presence, and he soon 8HAMKOCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 191 learned that the more brilliant girl was stirring in him a depth of feeling the gentler one could never awaken. And the knowledge shamed him, and, as he was not a heartless man, troubled him; but by no wilful act of his would his promise to his betrothed have been broken but for an accident which revealed to him the fact that, in spite of her seeming disdain, Athalie was by no means indifferent to him. The wild joy that thrilled through every fibre of his being when he found this out was a new experience to him. He had a long struggle with his better nature. Wavering between duty and passion, what his decision might have been he was never to know. Winnie had brought matters to a crisis. In his heart, though scornful of himself, and humbled by the despi- cable part he was playing, he was glad fate had come to his rescue. But everything was forgotten a.j he saw the girl he still loved as a sister fleeing from him in /horror and despair. Her mother's dying words rang in his ears with a prophetic knell : "As you deal with my child, so may God deal with you." He overtook Winnie, and begged her to forgive him. His pleading voice seemed to calm her. She did not answer him for a little, then she said gently, "You do not know what it means to be a woman." Her voice quivered and broke, and she went on with more passion than she had shown, "O, the shame of it! the shame of it! Why, oh, why did you say you loved me?" "I did!" he said eagerly, to restore the self-respect he had outraged. "When I asked you for your love there was no other woman in tne world I held dearer!" She burst into bitter weeping. The pain of loss is the severest we are called upon to bear. Her reproaches he could have borne, but this smote him to the heart. 'Tor God's sake, Winnie, do not give way like this ! I cannot stand it ! I am not a brute ! Cannot we be friends still ? I have lost your esteem ; do not take from me your true friendship. O, Winnie, Winnie, I could kill myself for my folly !" Considerate of others even in her pain, she strove to calm herself, and began to walk on quietly by his side, staring steadily at the distant harbour lights, though their mocking eyes seared her brain. Before they reached the crowded Esplanade, she put out her still bare hand, 192 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. and motioned to him to take off the ring. He told her to keep it, but she shook her head, so he began to draw it gently off. "Be quick ! I feel as if you were tearing my heart out!'' she whispered huskily. And as he slipped the ring into his pocket again, the memory of her mother's dying words rang in his ears: "As you deal with my child, so may God deal with you!" CHAPTER III. Athalie Holmes sat in a lounging chair under a spreading tree in her father's garden, reading over and over, with a proud, happy smile, a proposal of marriage. The signature was that of John Hargrave', the date about seven weeks after the breaking off of his engagement to Winnie. Athalie, though flattered and happy in tne knowledge of his love for her, had not yet made up her mind whether it would be advisable to accept him. True, she loved him, but love to a woman of the world is very often a secondary consideration. Position comes first. She was ambitious a woman who liked to shine in society, to be admired wherever she went, to dress stylishly, and be a prominent figure at the Cup. John Hargrave's position was a good one, but it was tho fair Athalie's opinion, as well as her mother's, that "she could do better." So she read and re-read the letter, smiling and sighing in turn, wavering between love and ambition, like many another society belle before her. And away in a little lonely country school, a woman with a pale, weary face sat reading through scalding tears letter after letter from a pile in the same handwriting, yet struggling bravely to conquer her pain, and to take up again the tangled threads of her lonely life. School was out, but a little child still lingered near the door, love's instinct telling her "something was the matter with 'Teacher.' ' Winnie tied most of the letters up in a neat little parcel for post. As is usual in the back blocks, she discharged the duties of a postmistress as well as those of a teacher. She made up the mailbag without no- ticing the little anxious face peeping in the doorway, and then, when her work was accomplished to her satis- SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLO M. 198 faction, put her hat ou to go for a brisk walk over the hills her usual panacea for every woe. She was a great lover of Nature ; there was much of the poet in her. The quiet hills brought peace to her restless heart, and in the songs of the Hirds Hope whispered again her sweet messages to her soul. Seeing her coming, the watch- ing child mustered courage to advance and timidly touch the hand that hung by her teacher's side. "What, Eileen, you here yet? You should have gone home long ago, dear. What are you waiting for?" A loving smile : om the upliftpd face was the only answer, and Winnie, touched by the affection shining so plainly in the dark eyes, bent and kissed it, choking down a sob. She had eveiy love but the love she would have given a lifetime for. She took the child by the hand, and set off in the direction of her home, which also lay hillward. But, though she chatted brightly to the little one, and gathered ferns and wildflowers with her, Eileen was not deceived, and her child-heart was still troubled. Suddenly she gave a big sigh, so comical from one of her diminutive size that Winnie could not help laughing. "Why, Eileen Mavourneen, one would think your tiny shoulders were bearing upon them the troubles of the world!" she cried, bending to kiss the fat, rosy cheek. The word "troubles" was a familiar one to Eileen. She put her face against Winnie's hand, and whispered : "Oo has tubbles ; me knows!" nodding her curly head. "And if I have pet, what then ?" "Muwer says tubbles is dood for us, an' we mustn't cwy when f dev comes, 'cause Dod sends 'em. Is oos a big, big tubble? 'Cause it ain't nice of Dod to make you cwy!" Poor Winnie! The tears were dropping again, fast and hot; but from the simple words of the child she was learning a lesson. "Yea, dearie, my trouble is a hard one to carry, but it is not such a big one as some people are sent. And God is love, dear, even when He sends the heaviest, and He always dries our tears with His own kind hands!" "What a big, big pocket- hank-fish He must have !" 104 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. Eileen, noting the tiny wet oiu- that didn't seem to have the desired effect of wiping away Winnie's. Winnie laughed hysterically, and nearly smothered the young philosopher in a bear-like hug. "O, you funny child!" she cried. "She is a very funny, and a very naughty child!'' said a deep, manly voice, and a tall, dark man suddenly came round the bend of the road, and shook his finger at little kileen, who, with an exclamation cf delight, flew across to him. "Uncle, has oo come for me?'' she said, her eyes dan- cing. Then, turning to Winnie, she said, with no small degree of pride : "Dis is my new uncle, teacEer. He corned yesterday.'' The stranger lifted his hat and introduced himself in a more ceremonious fashion, and after a few polite spee- ches, Winnie was turning back towards her own desti- nation, but she was not to get away so easily. "I am the bearer of an invitation from my sister, Miss Gowerdale. Will you return with us?" and Harold Leyland drew a note from his breast-pocket, looking as if he would be very pleased, to have her company. Winnie hesitated. She was [sure her ^ace was swollen from crying, and she felt as if she would give the world to be by herself, but Eileen's mother, Mrs. Hartigan, was one of her best friends, a kind, motherly soul, whose sympathy and advice she had often sought. The brother looked land and sensible, too. Perhaps she had better go. She felt that she had no right to be selfish in her sorrows. With a few pleasant words she rejoined them, and they strolled on leisurely, their conversation drifting from one object to another, till accidentally it touched upon one of Leyland' s hobbies, and he grew animated and almost eloquent, causing Winnie to take more no- tice of him than she had at first done. He was a strong, loose-limbed man, and looked well in his grey suit. His face was handsome, but tanned from exposure to the weather; his eyes, like Eileen's, dark brown, with a mis- chievous light lurking in their depths. A broad, white brow, and a determined chin helped to give character to the face. His mouth, well shaped, and rather large. was half hidden by a black moustache. Altogether, he was a. fine, military -looking man, and his well-bred man- SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 195 uer contrasted favourably with that of the farmers' sons of the district. He talked well, and Winnie, in spite of herself, grew interested in his remarks, and the care- worn, weary look began to disappear from her face, a change which he noted with much satisfaction. He had heard a good deal about her from his sister, and had looked forward to meeting her with some pleasure. The first sight of her pale, tear-swollen face somewhat dis- appointed him, though it had awakened pity in his heart. He had not noticed its fairness until the walk had brought the colour into her cheeks, and the breeze brightened her eyes. Then he thought : "Why, she is quite pretty, this Miss Gowerdale, and when she smiles her face is very sweet. She seems original in her ideas, too. My stay will not be as dull as I expected.' When they reached the farm Winnie made an excuse to go off for a private chat with Mrs. Hartigan. and to that one true friend, whom she could rely on to keep her secret, she confided her trouble. It would not have been well for John Hargrave to have been within reach of the good lady's indignant wrath. But Winnie would not let her blame him; she was loyal to him still, and made excuses for him even where there were none due. It was a blessing for her to have an elderly confidant, par- ticularly one so bright and brisk in her ways as Mrs. Hartigan. No one could be sad near her long. She soon drew Winnie's attention to other things, and a very plea- sant evening was spent. There was a piano in the cosy little parlour. Winnie could play well, and Harold Ley- land was a good singer. He had a rich tenor voice, sweet and penetrating in the higher notes. It was a pleasure to accompany him. He was on a three weeks' visit to the country. He was not slow to make the most of it, and contrived to see a great deal of Winnie during that time. She never saw that he was learning to care for her. Her mind was so full of John, no other man's image found even a corner to rest in. The little presents he had given her from time to time she treasured as one treasures all that reminds us of the dead whose memory is dear to us. Even the few peni- tent lines he had written her after her return she kept ever by her. She never reproached him even in thought. He knew that. He understood her so well, knew the 196 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. gentle nature so thoroughly, that he guessed how those long weeks were spent, and was not happy, though Ath- alie had accepted him, and, for the time, "all went merry as a marriage bell." Of course, man like, he did not dream of another, truer lover having arrived on the scene of Winnie's usually uneventful life. Without one reason to justify him, I believe he would have felt quite injured if he had. Such is life ! Meanwhile, Athalie was regretting her too ready ac- ceptance of Hargrave's devotion. "Her engagement was too much of a tie!" she told her mother fretfully; she "could not move but he was after her." She would have liked to flirt as before, but Hargrave was not a man to be trifled with; and, in any case, as soon as her engage- ment became known, most of her admirers dropped off. She looked, if possible, more beautiful than ever ; she dressed as exquisitely, her conversation was as brilliant ; her wit as sparkling; but the fact remained that Ath- alie Holmes was the property of another man. It took all John's devotedness, all his protestations of love, to soothe her wounded vanity. She now often wounded him by her pettishness and irritability. She took no pains to hide the unlovely side of her character. Still he loved her as passionately as ever, and knew all such love's wild unrest. He thought often of Winnie, of her sweetness, her sensitiveness, but more and more as of some dear, dead sister whom he had neglected and wronged when living, and whose memory was a reproach. The months flew by, and the time was at last fixed for Athalie's wedding. She began to prepare for it, with less excitement than she had thought possible. Her love, a poor thing at best, had cooled. And, worse still, John Hargrave was no longer blind to the change. CHAPTER IV. Though Harold Leyland had long ago returned to town, Winnie still heard of him through Mrs. Hartigan. After his departure she had been rather surprised to find that she missed him; she liked and trusted him; they had become good friends, so she was led to think of him sometimes with gratitude a* one whose company "had beguiled her of lialf her cares" SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOM. 197 during the most miserable weeks of her life. She had a well-stored mind, and he was also a great reader, so many books had passed between them, and the exchang- ing of many criticisms. This had been the means of their getting to understand each other, and they were now as true friends as if years of close acquaintance had welded their souls together. Winnie was not forgetting, nor was her love decreasing for John, but she was some- times glad to turn her thoughts to pleasant hours spent with kindred spirts, and it was mainly owing to her strong love for music that Harold Leyland's voice often rang in her ears to some favourite tune she had heard him sing. It was not infrequent now for the children to hear her singing snatches of song at lunch hour when they sat out- side, against the wall, on a form they had borrowed from the schoolroom. They beat their little feet on the ground to keep time with it, and munched their lunch the more contentedly knowing she was not unhappy, for not one of her sad moods had escaped the sharp eyes of her affec- tionate pupils. Eileen they were never jealous of, for she was a favourite with all. They took it as a matter of course that she should be their teacher's chosen com- panion during the recess. Some whispers had gone round among the parents to the effect that it would be "a splen- did match" for such a pretty, amiable young lady as their Miss Gowerdale if she were to marry Eileen Harti- gan's handsome uncle, who, they had found out after much investigation, was in a good Government billet and thought highly of as a rising young man, being a prominent figure in leading debating societies, a leader in every for- ward movement for the improvement of the masses, an ardent member of the A.N.A., and the possessor of the degree of M.A., which last crowned all in their eyes, who had learnt through sad experience the value of learning and culture. His gentlemanly manner had impressed them, too; none so observant of the refined in habits and style as country folk, among whom the base metal is sooner discovered than would be considered pos- sible. No word or act of a visitor from the city escaped them. In all her experience as a relieving State school teacher throughout the colony, Winnie had never found shrewder observers of character than the people she was l9fc SHAMROCK AND WATTLE-BLOOk. at present in the midst of. She had learut to like them, to accustom herself to their peculiar mannerisms, to chat with the farmers over their crops, to sympathise with their tired wives in a pi-actical way as often milking a cow as playing a fantasia for them on. the old airs they loved the best. "There was nothing stuck-up about her," said they, approvingly; "she was a real lady!" In return, they did her many kindnesses. She was never without a horse to ride; they never drove into the township that they did not call for her. Numberless were the small presents that were sent to her through the hands of their little ones, and it was -well known that once when the District Inspector had been irritable dur- ing an incidental visit, three of the irate fathers, having heard the day's proceedings from their children, met him (to his great amusement) as he was riding back, and re- monstrated with him. Fortunately for Winnie, he guess- ed that he owed the unusual adventure to the tattling tongues of the children who had gone home for their lunch, and it did her no harm that he found out thus accidentally in what love and esteem she was held by the people. He assured them that he was well pleased with her work and the progress of the scholars, and put his irritability down to the state of his liver a truer reason than they gave him credit for, poor man. Harold Leyland occasionally wrote to lu's little niece. These letters she of course treasured, and, as he had se- cretly hoped, showed to her teacher. He always men- tioned "Miss Gowerdale'' in them, and Winnie often blushed at his flattering comments on some little bit of information Eileen had scrawled to him in her unformed baby hand. Mrs. Hartigan often showed the long letters she received also, and, in fact, did all in her power to further her brother's friendship with the young girl, hoping for both their sakes that she would get to learn to care for him. It put the good lady out of patience to see Winnie fretting over John Hargrave. and she was not sorry to sec in a copy of the "Australasian," one Saturday, the notice of his approaching marriage to Miss Holmes. She contrived that Winnie should see it, too, though loth to cause her pain, and the next day wrote SHAMROCK ANn WATTLE-BLOOM. 199 to her brother, and asked him to "take a run up to see her'' as soon as he could be spared for a day or two. About a fortnight after, Winnie was sitting on her favourite hill reading. It was a Saturday afternoon, and she was glad of the rest. She often looked up from the book of poems she was studying, and admired the ex- quisite bits of scenery below her the opposite hills in their mantle of purple haze, the silver stream at their foot crossed by a rustic bridge, the green meadows over which the cows wandered, their bells tinkling musically as they moved, and the deep peace over all. Now and again a blinding rush of tears dimmed her eyes, for such scenes, even while they satisfy, stir up old memories that were better left untouched, and the "might-have-been" throws its shadow over the heart even when the soul has leaped half way to join Nature at her sweetest, holiest Angelus. f Sometimes she repeated softly lines from the Browning she held, and her mind wandered off to other happier days when she and John had read them together and fitted them to their own lives. Most of the poems had been faintly marked in lead-pencil by him. The one she was now reading had been an old favourite with both "By the Fireside." Winnie's dreams were suddenly awakened by the sound of a familiar step. She turned round nervously, to see to her surprise and pleasure Harold Leyland coming across the hill towards her. She rose to welcome him, blushing furiously, and holding out her hand with con- fused words of greeting on her lips. He held it till she was seated again, and made some excuse for his unex- pected visit, which was only to last two days, press of business requiring his presence in town. Winnie could not be blind to the glad light m his dark eyes as they rested on her face, nor deaf to the chord of tenderness in his voice. She could not collect herself sufficiently to converse in an every-day manner, and Leyland was quick to notice her embarrassment, perhaps with no feeling of displeasure! To put her at her ease he took mp the volume of poems, and after commenting on Browning's terse, peculiar style, he started to read aloud from the open page : 200 SHAMROCK AND WATTLF.-m.OOM. "Oh. moment, one and infinite! The water slips o'er stock aud stone; The West is tender, hardly bright . How grey at once is the evening grown One star, its chrysolite ! " We two stood there with never a third, Bvit each by each, as each knew well : The sights we saw and the sounds we heard, The lights and the shades made up a spell Till the trouble grew and stirred. " Oh, the little more, and how much it is ! And the little less, and what worlds away ! How a sound shall quicken content to bliss, Or a breath suspend the blood's best play, And life be a proof of this !" He had started the next verse when Winnie put an im- ploring hand on his, and he looked up to see the sensitive lips quivering with some sudden pain, and the blue eyes dim with a mist of unshed tears. A dark flush rose to his brow, and he dropped the book on the grass as if an adder had stung him. "He read this to you once, I suppose!'' Winnie bowed her head, and looked away. Ley land got up and walked up and down excitedly, stopping in front of her at last to say, passionately, and almost rudely, "You are still breaking your heart over that worthless fellow, I see ! Never mind how I know. John Hargrave and I were college chums long ago, but it won't be well for him if he crosses my path again ! Winnie. I can't stand seeing you waste your heart and life over such as he, and, as Heaven hears me, I'll put a stop to it somehow !- for I love you, Winnie, with a love Har- grave's calculating brain and fickle heart can never know ! Darling, have you no love to spare for me?" He was half-kneeling, half-sitting by her now, and had taken her hand into his. The strong, handsome face was full of pleading, and the earnest eyes aglow with the sincerity of his love. Winnie shrank aside, trembling from head to foot. She began to see where calm affection differed from the first pure passion of a strong man for the woman SHAMROCK AND WATTLE -BLOOM. 201 of his choice. How different had been John Hargrave's wooing! Though her heart was still with the colder, calmer man, the human in her stirred to the greater warmth and depth of the love of the bolder wooer beside her. She would have given much to be able to say the words he craved, but in justice to him she could not. She shook her head in answer to all his further entrea- ties, and when at last the pleading voice ceased, said gently "No words can tell you how I. value the great gift you would give me. Oh, my dear friend, there is no man I respect more ; I thank God for your true friendship ; but the rest 0, not yet not yet ! Much as it may pain you, I must tell you my heart is still his do not turn from me do not despise me! I cannot conquer it, God help me !'' She broke into wild weeping. Forgetting his own suf- fering, Harold, ashamed of his precipitancy, tried to calm her, assuring her of his respect for her faithfulness, and his anxiety to serve her still as a friend, but the danger signal was in his dark eyes, and Hargrave had earned for himself a bitterer enemy that he wot of. CHAPTER V. Athalia Holmes had decided to enjoy the last few weeks of her freedom as a single girl in the country. "I will have quite enough of John afterwards!" she said, pettishly, when her father demurred at her acceptance of a pressing invitation from a Ballarat friend who lived some miles out from that city. "Let me do what I like for once, papa." And papa., as usual, gave in, and pre- sented her with another cheque for some femininities she fancied she required for her visit. Hargrave said little. He was growing used to his betrothed's whims and fancies. He had found out that to thwart her only lessened his influence with her; so to Ballarat she went, smiling and gracious, as a reward for the forbearance of her future spouse. As John "saw her off," he thought of the night he had met Winnie at that same station, and remembered the prettv flush cf excitement and pleasure on her face when she had caught 202 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE -BLOOM. sight of his in the waiting crowd. How much he would have given to see such on Athalie's beautiful face ; but my lady was always calm and self-possessed with him, if not cold or irritable. He sighed heavily as he thought of the contrast. "What are you sighing for, John?" she cried in her shrill, bird-like tones. There was no one else in the car- riage, and he did not feel disposed to feed her vanity with a lie. "I was thinking how different some girls look when either meeting with or parting from their lovers. Yoxi are always beautiful in my eyes, Athalie," he hastened to add, for an ominous frown was gathering on the beauty's brow, "but I can't help wishing you looked as if you loved me. I really believe you are glad to get rid of me," he went on, wistfully. "What nonsense !" she answered fretfully; "though, goodness knows, John, it would be little wonder if I were. You are always fancying such absurd things. Of course I care for you, but I don't like to be bored about it, that's all." Then, seeing the. look of disappointment and distress on his face, she laughed, and set about soothing her victim by offering him a lukewarm caress,' which un- usual favour had the desired effect, and was repaid ten- fold to the little flirt's satisfaction, who could not bear to lose her hold on any of the deluded slaves she dragged at her chariot wheels. The train at kst steamed off, and bore away the lover's loadstar. He stood thinking deeply for some time, and not over pleasantly. An uneasy feeling was at his heart a presentiment of evil. "Hullo, Hargrave! Day-dreaming, old boy? Well, that's allowable so near your wedding day ! Allow me to introduce to you my friend, Harold Leyland. Mr. John Hargrave Mr. Leyland." What was jovial Charlie Hicks's surprise and conster- nation to see his two friends stare at each other a mo- ment with apparent recognition; then, as Hargrave put forth his hand, to see Leyland deliberately turn away, and hear him say : "Very sorry, old chap, but I don't desire the honour of this gentleman's acquaintance!" And off he backed to the book-stall. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE -BLOOM. 203 Hargrave looked after him with indignant astonish- ment. He and Leyland had been college chums friendly, too. He could not understand the meaning of the insult, and so he informed Hicks, who was placed in anything but an enviable position. However, with his usual good-natured tact, he soon extricated himself and his friends from it, and, after walking as far as the tram with Hargrave, returned to Leyland to expostulate. But when Harold had poured his grievances into Charlie's discreet ears, and informed him of the dishonourable way Hargrave had acted with regard to the orphan girl, he forgave him, and, being of a sympathetic nature, waxed wrathful, too. Charlie knew Athalie Holmes, so he gave Leyland a lengthy and accurate description of her person and cha- racter. "Ten to one but she jilts him!" exclaimed Harold, in by no means a sorrowful tone. "Done!" said the younger (I am sorry to have to add), laying his hand on the other's. And they walked off to their club. It was not long before John found out that Leyland was acquainted with Winnie. But more he was not told. And so the weeks wore on. Winnie still went as fre- quently to Mrs. Hartigan's, but a reserve had sprung up between them. They no longer spoke of Harold with the same, freedom. Mrs. Hartigan secretly resented Win- nie's treatment of the brother she loved. As she often said to her husband, "Many a girl would think herself fortunate to win such a lover.' Whatever Leyland's faults were, they were amply atoned for by his honesty of purpose, his strength of character, and deep capabili- ties of affection. He did not readily, it is true, forgive a slight or injury to those he loved ; but, on the other hand, none so quick as he to repay a hundredfold the smallest of kindnesses shown to them. He was combative, yet generous "big in everything," as his brother-in-law often remarked. Winnie, though she said little, now otten thought of him. She could not help her heart going out to him a little more than it had before. Very few affectionate natures can be indifferent to the out- pourings of love. A woman always has a tender spot in 204 SHAMROCK AND WATTLK-BLOO.M . her heart for a man who loves her sincerely. Therefore, let a patient lover be more patient still. While she is free, he always has a chance ! But old loves are hard to kill, as Winnie knew too well. And the progress Harold made was still but slow. Meanwhile Athalie was enjoying herself as she well knew how to do, given plenty of desirable company and the luxuries she was accustomed to. Her beauty and ac- complishments soon gained her many admirers chief among whom was a young squatter of the name of Cameron. Ho knew of her engagement, but, being of none too conscientious a turn, he flirted with her as desperately as she gave him encouragement to do. She knew of his large banking account, the value of his lands, and weighed them along with his personal attractions, which were many, against JoKVs worldly goods, small spare figure, and rather plain, if intellectual countenance. She was not slow to see that Cameron's infatuation for her beautiful self was daily increasing, and it was really no shock to her, when, a few nights before her visit ex- pired, he threw honour to the winds and begged her to marry him, and "let the other fellow go!" "You needn't go back at all, Athalie," he said, putting his arms around her unresisting form; I will marry you at once, if you will let me, and we will take a trip to New Zealand till the affair has blown over. You shall have everything heart can wish for, darling ! You know you are tired of him ; give him up, and you will never repent it, dearest," etc., etc. CHAPTER VI. " Am I mad that I should cherish That which bears but bitter fruit? I will pluck it from my bosom Though my heart be at the root!" Tennyson. John Hargrave was sitting in his office reading, when a letter was handed to him by the boy who ran his mes- sages and attended to the door. It was from Athalie, and he opened it with some pleasure. He had not read far, however, before his hands began to tremble, and a SHAMROCK AND WATTLE -BLOOM. 205 dazed look crept into his face. He rose hurriedly, still holding the letter, and bade the boy go home, as he would not require him till the afternoon. He waited till he heard his footsteps die away, then crossed the room, turned the key in the door lock, and took the letter to his desk, his face growing white and drawn. He read it again and again till he grasped its full import, then with a groan threw it aside and buried his face in his hands, it ran in this wise: "My dear Mr. Hargrave, "It pains me exceedingly to be obliged to tell you that for some time of late I have been aware that the state of my feelings towards you was not such as would conduce to the happiness of married life. I find that all along I have been making a grave mistake. My heart is another's, and by the time this reaches you we will be married. Mrs. Wilmore is writing to you, and will give you all information about Mr. Cameron, who is well known in social circles here and in Melbourne. I trust that you will not think harshly of me, but forgive me for old times' sake. I shall always be glad to meet you as a friend. Make whatever excuses to our friends you deem advisable. As we are going to New Zealand for a month or two, much unpleasantness can be avoided. I thank you for your great kindness and generosity towards me, and hope you will still keep a kindly thought of me in your memory, though I am unworthy of your love. Your let- ters and presents I will return by the next mail. Please address any letters of mine you may have kept to Mrs. Wilmore's care. "Yours, very sincerely, "ATHAL1E HOLMES." So the blow was struck, and he who had caused the gentle heart of the woman who truly loved him so much sorrow and pain, was himself the victim of the duplicity of the woman he had loved so blindly and unreason- ingly. Like many another man, he had lived to find to his cost that a beautiful face is not enough for a heart to live on, that it requires more solid and endurable food to sustain it, that the loveliest casket is of little value if it possesses not a gem within it, to hold which it was created a thing of beauty. He had given his all to a SIUMROCK AND WATTLE -BLOOM. soulless woman; he was reaping the bitter consequences. How long he sat there he never knew, but by the time he rose he had made up his mind to go away, too. He would not make any "excuses" to his friends ; they could think what they pleased. By night he was on his way to Omeo, near where he had shares in some mines. Oi Winnie he thought much, but with a dull feeling of the old remorse. Retribution had followed him more quickly than she, does most, yet he knew well the fact would never give pleasure to Winnie. No feelings of revenge could that soft woman's heart harbour. Harold Leyland heard the news of Athalie's unfaith- fulness with a grim smile of satisfaction at first, but the thought striking him that Hargrave might, after he had got over the humiliation, seek out his old love, he grew miserable and jealous, and determined to go up to see her again before John returned. Winnie soon learned of Athalie's marriage to Cameron, and felt deeply for Hargrave's pain, but no thought of his returning to her ever ci-ossed her mind. She had got over the first sharpness of her suffering, she was growing stronger in spirit. Her face was losing its childish look. Its expression was daily changing into the calm, fearless one of dignified womanhood. It had lost nothing of its sweetness, but the mark of suffering was there. One felt she had endured, that pain was not a closed book to her. She had learned "how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong." She wrote regularly now to Harold Ley- land. He had extorted the promise from her that day on the hillside. She studied with him by correspondence, and soon grew to take a lively pleasure in it. He was a deep reader, and never "lightly skimmed the surface of things." She was benefiting greatly by his opinions and advice, and she could not but feel grateful to him for his faithful devotion. "Mrs. Marwood," she asked a neighbour one day. "which would you prefer to many a man who loved you with all his heart, or a man you loved with all your heart?" "The man who loved we with all his heart!" promptly replied Mrs. Marwood, "because, my dear, I would stand a better chance of having happiness. The man I loved. SHAMROCK AND WATTLE -BLOOM. 207 though he might marry me, would perhaps soon tire of me, and, even if he were a good husband, I would miss the love the other would have constantly shown me. A starved heart is one of the worst of misfortunes, my dear. To give all, and to get but a stone in return is a terrible thing. With a man it is different. Ambition keeps him up, there is so much in his daily life to engross his attention; but a woman has only the affections to live on. An unloved woman is the most miserable of women." Her words did not fall on unfruitful ground. The girl pondered over them, and came to believe them in time. She shrank from the idea of having an indifferent hus- band. Hers was a nature that could not survive neglect at the hands of those she loved, and some instinct warned her of this. So she prayed and struggled against the old love, and thought more and more of Harold's dark, earn- est face and the passionate love in the brown eyes that day as he pleaded with her on the hillside. She felt that he offered her the time gold of affection. Should she rashly throw it away? And while she was thinking thus, he came up again, and with all his old audacity asked her to go out for a walk with him alone. To Mrs. Hartigan's delight she went. For the first half-mile Harold said nothing of what was in his heart, but when again they reached the same hill-top, and stopped at the game place to look at the pretty view below, he could not refrain from speaking any longer. He foiind Winnie a seat, and sat down by her, silent still, bvit speaking so eloquently with those deep brown mischievous eyes that she, blushing, turned her head away as she had done be- fore, and the next moment his arms were round her, and he was telling her he would never let her go, "never," till she had promised to care a little bit "for the most heart- broken man under the sun," at which she laughed. And he drew so much encouragement from the cheering sound that, like the bold wooer he was, he kissed her before she knew what he was about. And I'm afraid she rather liked it. At any rate, when they started for home at last, she did not chide him when he di-ew a note-book out of his 208 SHAMROCK AND WATTLE -BLOOM. pocket, tore a leaf out, and scribbled these lines of Browning on it for her especial benefit '" All the breath and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee; All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of one gem; In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the sea; Breath and bloom, shade and shine, wonder, wealth, and how far above them Truth, that's brighter than gem Trust, that's purer than pearl Brightest truth, purest trust in the Universe all were for me In the kiss of one girl !" A few days afterwards, little Eileen informed every- body that she was "weally goin' to have a new aunt the werrv nicest aunt in the whole world and the little chillen would have to get annover teacher, for uncle said he wasn't goin' to let 'the little imps' have their Miss Gowerville long!" And poor John 1 Well ? He had but reaped as he had sown. Eclgerton A Moore, Printers, 241-24:3 Flinders-lane, Melbourne. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. , IL IL U. IL IL IL IL U. IL IL IL ddddo'dddddd 000 864 598 The letters I.O.F. mean "The Independent Order of Foresters," which is a great International Fraternal Benefit and Assur- t.nce Society, founded ill the United States in 1374, and later incorporated in Canada by Special Act of Parliament. It has branches throughout the Dominion of Canada, the United States, Great Bri in and Ireland, and Norway. The I.O.F. gives Assurance Benefits at a lower cost than any other Company in the world. The Policies of the I.O.F. range from 100 to 1000. Wide Range of Benefits. The Benefits which the Order fur- nishes for the premiums hereinafter quoted are as follows: 1. The "Assurance Benefits," payable at death. 2. - The " Total and Permanent Dis- ability Benefit," which amounts to one half the face value, of the Policy, and is payable on the total and permanent disability of the policy- holder, either through accident or disease, whenever that may occur. 8. An " Old Age Benefit," which consists in the annual payment to the policy-holder himself of an amount equal to one-tenth of the face value of his Policy, on disability due to old age. Old-Age Pension. 4. An " Old Age Pension Benefit,"' which may be taken instead of the " Old Age Benefit." Premium Rates. The premiums, which may be paid monthly, quarterly, scmi-annually, or annually, at the option and convenience of the Policy-holder, on a policy of 100, are as follows : . Monthly I , Monthly Age ' Premiums, i g Premiums. 18.. 1/7 I 4O .. 3/6 2O .. 1/8 5O .. 6/1 30 .. 2/5 I 54- .. 812 The premiums pay not only for the Assurance of 100, but also for the Benefits 2, 3 and 4. All premium - paying in the I.O.F. Ceases at Age 7O as well as on total and permanent disability. Men and women, irrespective of nationality, between the ages of 18 and 54, both inclusive, are accepted on equal terms. the independent Order of foresters has always been noted for the utmost promptitude in the payment of the claims of its policy-holders. The Order at the present time is paying out an average of over 1000 in benefits for each working day in the year. During the 3 months ending with the 3rd December, 1899, over 17,500 new policies were issued by the I O.F. The Order is, at date, in the receipt of a monthly income exceeding 40,000. This monthly income grows larger and larger,*month by month. The accumulated Funds in the treasury of the Order at the beginning of the present month amounted V> 9OO,OOO. OR. For further information apply to ORONHYATEKHA, Supreme Chief Ranger, R. McNAI-R, P.H.C.R. Chief Office for Australasia: . 73, 74, 75, Temple Court, Collins Street, Melbourne. 40 Courts have already been organised in Victoria. The I.O.F. has recently been awarded thp Gold Medal for the best Fraternal, Insurance Society in ex- istence by the jurors it the Paris Exhibition, 1900. ! u.* IL IL IL IL uj li.' IL IL IL IL IL IL IL IL IL IL IL IL IL IL \L IL IL IL IL IL U.' IL IL IL IL IL I?~ iqqqdqqqodqqqqqqqqqciqqoqqdddqdqqqqtj