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Home My WebLink AboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1894-5-31, Page 2Aeleaseleseaa THE SELECT STORY TELLER SHORT. BRIGHT FICTION. The Latest Stories by Popular. Well. Known .Authors, Light Reading For tine Whole Family. Joining, the Conspiracy .Aboard the llxitias. "Are you going home to England ? So arta L I'm Johnny, and I've never been to England before, but I know all about it. There's groat palaces of gold and ivory—that's for the lords and bishops— .and there's 'Windsor Castle, the biggest of all, carved out of a single diamond— that's for the queen. And she's; the most beautiful lady in the world, and feeds her peacocks and birds of paradise out of a ruby cup. And there the sun is always shining, so that nobody wants any can- e dies, 0, words would rail rrho if I endea- vered to convey to you one-half of the splendors and the glories of that enohen- ted realm!" This last sestenee tumbled so oddly f*•ote the eltil'lish lips, that I could not hick a smile a, I looked down on. myvisi- tcer. He si:oe:d jet outside my cabin -door —<? A01.111, serious boy of about eight, with long flexes eerie hardly dry from his emus:.0 g batt. In. the p:hn : e of conversation he rub- bed ltl•, head with a big bath -towel. M: k•r and feet were bare, and he wore only a little shirt and velveteen breeches, with scarlet ribbons hanging untic-1 at the knees. "Y"n're- laughing!„ I stifled the smile. " Wbae were you laughing at?" "Oh. it's nothing, little one." "Tell nue, toll 2ne, sir," he persisted. I har.11y knew what to say to the strange little fellow. with the voice of a child and the language and tone of a philesoi•hic poet, you're wrong;. little man. on just one e;r two paints," I answered evas- ively. "1,Vhie h?" "Well. ,r'.ut the sunshine in England. The sun ie not always shining there, by ary means." "I'm afraid you know very little about is." said the b;py, shaking his head. ".lobe ny ! Johnny !" a voice called down, the enntleanion-.ladder at this mo- ment. It was followed by a thin, weaxy- lool:in;r• man, dressed in carpet slippers and a suit of seedy black. I;messhed his age at fifty, but suspect now that the lines traced about his some- what 1••rini mouth were traced there by sorrows rather than by year. He bowed to me shyly, and adelreesed the boy. "Johnny, what are you doing here? standing out here on deck in hare feet!" The chill answered without raising his eyes 'from me, ''Father, here is a man who says the sun doesn't always shine in Englaorl." The mall gave me a fleeting embarrass- ed glance. and echoed, as if to shirk an- swering: "In bare feat!" "Bot it eines. doesn't it? Tell him that it duce," the child insieteed. • Driven time into a corner. the father turned his prefile, avoiding my eyes, and sail. dulls: ' 1'h•' sun is always shining in Eng- land--- °eeto en. father; tell him the rest, tell him abut the candles and the sun. father.'' "—and the use of candles. except as a lexery, is consequently unknown to the •tiiz ee of that favored clime." he wound nee, in the tone of a man who re- peats an old, old lecture. Johnny was turning to me triumphant- ly, when his father caught him by the hand and led him back to his dressing. The movement was hasty—almost rough, it germed to rue then. Istoed at the cabin -door and looked after them. We were fellow -passengers aboard the Midge, a merchant bark of near on a thousand tons, homeward hound from Cape Town; and we had lost sight of the Table Mountain but a couple of days be- fore. It was the first week of the new year, and all day long a fiery sun made life below deck insupportable. Nevertheless, though we three were the only passengers on board, and lived constantly in sight of each other, it was many days before I made any further acquaintance with Johnny and his fa- ther. The sad -faced man ele'arly desired to avq,i,1 me, :latching Johnny's hand whenever the child called "Gored morn- ing!" to me cordially. I faneicd him ashamed of his foolish falsehood; and I, on rn.y side, was angry beca.ue• of it.• The pair were forever strolling backwards and forwards mi deck, or resting beneath the awning on the poop, and talking—always talking, talking. I fancied to myself the boy was deli- cate; he certainly had a bad cough dur- ing the first fete days. But this went away as our voyage proceeded, tend his color was rich and rosy. One afternoon I caught a fragment of their talk as they passed—Johnny bright- ly dressed and smiling, his father looking even more shabby and weary than usual. The man Was speaking. "And Queen Victoria ride; once a year through the streets of London on her milk -white courser, to hear the nightin- gales sing in the Tower. ]'or whoa she came to the throne the Tower was full of prisoners, but with a stroke of her sceptre • she changed theta all into song -birds, •Every year she releases fifty; and that is why they sing so rapturously, because eaeli ono hepe.e his turn hays conte at last," I turned away. It was unconscionable to ertult the e*,hill':, Mind with these pre- posterous fables, I pietuied the poor little chap's disappointment when the black reality. carne to etal'e him is the fern. To my mind, his father was worse than an idiot, and I could hardly bring myself to greet kiln next morning, when we met near the entrant to the cabin. My disgust did not seem to trouble him. In a timid way, even his eyes expressed satisfaction. For a week or two I let him alone, and then was forced at last to speak. It happened in this way t We had spun merrily along the tail of the S. F, trades and glided slowly to a standstill on a glassy ocean, and beneath a sun that at noon left us sliadowless. A fluke or two of wind lmad helped us across the line; but now the Midas slept like a turtle on tho greasy sea. The heat of the near African coast seemed to boat like steam in our faces. The pitch bubbled like caviare in the scants of the white deck, and the shrouds and rat -lines ran with tears of tar. To touch the brae rail of the poop was to blister the hand ; to catch a whiff from the cook's galley was to .feel sick for ton. minutes, The hens in their coops lay with eyes glazed, and gasped for air. If you hung forward over the bulwarks you stared down into your own face. The sailors grumbled and cursed and panted as they huddled forward under a second awning that was rigged up to give them shade rather than coolness; for coolness was not to be had. On the second d afternoon of the calm, I happened to pass this awning, and glanc- ed in. Pretty well all the leen were there, lounging, with shirts open and chests streaming with sweat ; and in their midst, on a barrel, sat Johnny, with a flashed face. The boatswain—Gibbings by name— was speaking. I heard him say "An' the Lord Mayor '11 be down to meet us, sonny, at the docks, wit his five -an' -fifty black boys all a-blowin' Hallelujarum on their silver key -bugles. An' we'll be tool: in tow to the Mansh'n 'Ouse an' feed—" Here he broke off and passed the back of his hand across his mouth, with a glance at the ship's cook, who had been driven from his galley by the heat. But the cook had no suggestions to make. His soul was still sick with the reek of the boiled pork and pease -pudding he had cooked two hours before under a torrid and vertical sun. The golden sunlight flooded the herr. el on which Johnny satlistoning with open- eyed attention to this programme of wonder. " We'll put it at hokey-pokey, nothin' a lump, if you don't mind, sonny," the b:;atswain went on ; "in a nice, airy par- lor, painted white, with a gilt chandelier and gilt combings to the wainscot 1" His picture of the Mansion House as he proceeded was drawn. from his reading in the Book of Revelations and his own re- collections of Thames -side gin -palaces and the saloons of passenger steamers, and gave the impression of a virtuous gambling hell, with composite features of back -number memories of magnificence as he knew it. The whole crewlistened admiringly, and it seemed they were all in the stupid conspiracy. I resolved, for Johnny's sake, to protest, and that very evening drew Gibbings aside and expostulated with him. "Why." I asked, "lay up this cruel, this certain disappointment for the little ohap ? Why yarn to him as if you were bound for the New Jerusalem?" The boatswain stared' at me point- blank, at first incredulously, then with something like pity, as he turned to me and :said : " Why, sir, don't you know ? Can't you see for yourself ? It's because he is bound for the New Jerusalem ; because— bide: his tender soul !—that's all the land he'll ever touch." " Good Lord !" I cried. "Nonsense 1 His cough's better, and look at his cheeks." ' ` Ay—we knows that color on this line. Ilis cough's better, you say ; and I say this weather is killing him. You just wait for the nor' -east trades." I left Gibbings, and after pacing up and down the deck a few times stepped to the bulwarks, where a dark figure was lean- ing and gazing out over the black waters. Johnny was in bed ; and a great shame swept over me as I noted the appealing wretchedness of this lonely form.. I stepped up and touched him softly on the aria, " Sir, I came to beg your forgiveness." -Next morning I joined the conspiracy.. After his father, I became Johnny's most constant companion. " Father dis liked you at first," was the child's frank comment ; ''he said you told fibs, but now he wants us to be friends." And we were excellent friends. I lied from morning to nigh—lied glibly, grand- ly. Sometime, indeed, as I lay awake in My berth, a horror took me lest the springs of my imagination should rail dry. But they never did. As a liar, I outclassed every man on board, and made up for my indignation of the early part part of our voyage. But by-and-by, as we caught the first draught of the trades, the boy began to punctuate my fables with that hateful cough. This went on for a week; and one day, in the midst of our short stroll, his legs gave way under him from sheer weakness, .Ass I naught him in my:arms he looked up with a faint, swweet senile. ti I'm very weak, you know. But it'll be all right when -I got to England," But it was not an we had passed well beyond the equatorial belt that Johnny grew visibly worse. Ina week he had.to lie still on his couch beneath the awning, and the patter et his • feet ceased on the .dock. It grow lonely for us, and we missed the little follow with. his quaint sayings and his delicate little race. The eaptain, who was a bit of a doctor and student, said to nae one day ; "Ho will never live to see England." But ho did, It was a soft spring afternoon when the Midas sighted the Lizard, and Johnny was still with us, lying on his couch, though almost too weak to move a limb. As the day wore on we lifted him once or twice to look at this approach to England. as Moses looked upon the promised land 12e was not permitted to enter. " Can you see then quite plain ?" he asked; and the precious stones hanging on the trees ? And the palaces—and the white elephants ?" I stared through my glass et the ser - pontine rocks and white -washed light- house above them, all powdered with bronze and gold by the sinking sun, and answered, With a quiver in my voles : "Yes, they are all there." A.11 that afternoou we were beside him, looking out and peopling the shores of hone with all manner of vain shows and pageants; and when one man broke down another took his place, an.cl our hearts grew heavier as the daylight faded. As the sun •fell, and twilight drew on, the revolving lights on the two towers suddenly clashed out their greeting. We are nearing Old England. We were about to carry the child bo - low, for the air was• chilly ; but he saw the flash and held up a feeble little hand. "What is that?" " Those two lights," I answered, tell- ing my final lie, "are the lanterns of Connelian and Cormoran, the two Cor- nish giants. They'll be standing on the shore to welcome us. See—each swings his lantern round and then for a moment it is Clark ; now, wait a moment, and you'll see the light again." • " Ah !" said the child, with a smile and a little sigh, "it is good to be,— home." e—home." And with that word on his lips, as he waited for the next flash, Johnny stretch- ed himself and died. THE STORY OF MISS BLOSSOM. " After all, I think I'll have the pink rose," said Kitty. " It will look real nice on you," Miss Blossom answered in her soft, gentleway, snipping a few stitches and taking off the violets. It's smarter," said Kitty, setting her head on one side and regarding it with a satisfied air. " Henry Ballard is coming home," she said suddenly, watching the little milliner's glancing needle. " Did you know Henry Ballard ?" Somehow Miss Blossom's fingers trete bled suddenly. Yes," she said ; " yes, I knew him." " He's been gone a long time, ain't he?" rattled Kitty. "l+ifteen. years. They say he's got awfully rich. And he ain't married. I mean to set my cap for him." Miss Blossom bent lower over the pink rose. Perhaps it was the red sunset through the little shop window that made her face so rosy. "I'm tired of these commonplace peo- ple," the girl said airily, drumming a tune on the little work table. I mean to try a new one." Miss Blossom watched the girl as she went out throngh the little garden and down the village street with her finery in its tissue wrappings. Then she turned back to her little shop incl set in order a few trifle that had been misplaced, The hands of the nickel clock pointed to six, and she went out into her kitchen to set a mite of a kettle on the fire, while she brought out tea things from a sweet and spicy cupboard. Barbara Wilcox ran in next day with a shawl over her head. She wondered if Cinthy hall heard the news. She herself had learned it only that noon, when a neighbor girl came in on an errand. She went over as soon as dinner was over. She wanted to be the fust to tell it to the milliner, for she had a fancy— She and Cynthia Blossom had been schoolmates. " Seems to me I remember you used to think a good deal of Henry before he went away," Barbara Wilcox said, after she had discussed every other phase of the matter. " Queer he didn't pick up a wife in all these years. I'Jaybe it's what he's come back for. Why, Cinthy Blos- som, ! You ain't going to put those blue cornflowers with green ribbon, are you ?" " Why, no, no !" said the poor little milliner. in great confusion. " Of course not ! What am I thinking about?" " I used to think Henry and you was going to make a match of continued Miss Wilcox, with her small grey eyes fastened relentlessly on her friend's flushed face. At last Miss Blossom gathered her forces together, " Oh, well," she said lightly, " those things have gone by, Barbara—fox both of us." • That was as near as the gentle soul could come to sharpness or retaliation. Bit Miss Barbara gathered up her shawl and went away. And she had waited 15 years'for his re- turn. In all that time the thought of his coming had been•her hope. Many things had happened in those 15 years. Her father had died. People for miles around mourned for 2nild little Dr.. Blossom. Flow were they going to nuns ago without Dr, Blossom ? But 'a dash - lug young phy sioian camo to the rosette, and thoy were saved. Ilio wore a rakish pair of whisker's and diem) a fast horse, His patients were always sicker than Dr, Blossom's had been, his foes were corre- spondingly larger.. But then he carried a eine and wore a silk bat. When Miss Blossom found herself alone she opened a little .shop in the front room of the ell. Sho had always had a knack with hats, and the maids and matrons of Ballpoint had come to depend on her for their millinery. There was a bit of a show case two feet long, a large mirror, an array of boxes and a glass bell whioh had once hold a creation in wax -work, but whicia now 'covered the bit of head guar which served as her window display. A little work ta- ble and two chairs stood at one side, and the other window was full of blossoming geraniums. Sho always spoke of it as the store.". And now he had come home. But he had had. many things to think about in the meantime. -What if Ise had forgot- ton—or had changed? She must wait and be an her guard. SIie would not lot him know that she had remembered until she was sure he had nob forgotten. Ile came up the walk to the sitting - room door, Nearly everybody came and went through the store, and the sitting - room door stuck a little from disuse. He stooped a little as he entered, He was a tall man, and Dr. Blossom hacl built the house to suit himself. Miss Blossom sat clown opposite him. The Shaded lamp stood on the table on one side ; there was a Glance of firelight in the grate. It was just 15 years ago. Nothing seemed Ito have changed. Even "_Hiss Blossom, in the slim light, looked fair and girlish. His coining had brought a soft color to her cheeks, her eyes were bright and excited. " It is a long time since I sawn you, Cin - thy. It's 15 years." " Yes," Cynthia Blossom answered lightly, " and people can change a good deal in 15 years." " You hain't changed," said Henry Ballard. " I can hardly believe 1 have been gone so long when I look at you. And everything is just as it used to be." " It's the people who change," Miss Blossom said, looking away into the fire. " They find out they've made mistakes, and they change their minds." The man's eyes deepened suddenly. " I don't believe you've changed that way, Cinthy." Miss Blossom's heart was beating fast. He's going to keep his word just be- cause the thinks I expect it," she cried to herself, fiercely. "Ho thinks he must, because I've waited. It is he who has changed." So she only smiled, an indefinite smile that might have almost meant anything, and fell to thinking of something else. He went clown the walk that night feeling battled and unsatisfied. After all it was a good deal to expect of a girl He might have come back sooner or written, but those land deals came, and then the town grew, and one thing after another had held him, and he never had been any hand to write. As for Miss Blossom, she listened till she heard. the gate click and his footsteps die away down the gravelled sidewalk; then she dropped before the chair where he had sat and laid her face against it. Rumors came to her—chiefly through Barbara Wilcox, Henry Ballard was go- ing to marry Kitty. He had plenty of money; he wanted a home. He meant to settle down and starry. Kitty was the prettiest girl in Bellpoint, even her rivals admitted that. Certainly Henry .Ballard watched her a good deal on Sun- days when she sang. She was head so- prano in the elixir, and her cheeks were as pink as the pink rose that nodded above them. Miss Blossom had used to sing in the choir herself, and Henry Ballard had sung tenor to her soprano. But the old days were gone by. Bitty came into the little shop one morning, sweetly radiant. She put her arms around the little milliner and kissed her. " Dear Miss Blossom," she said, " I want you to make me a hat, and this time —the rose—must be white." A. sudden chill gathered about Miss Blossom's heart. It was all true, then, what she had heard ! " Yes, I am going to settle down and be good at last," said Kitty, with shy eyes and smiling lips. " I hope you will bo happy," said the elder woman, gently, and Kitty looked up quickly, fancying there was a quiver in. the soft voice. "Ilenry Ballard is a good man," said Miss Blossom, meeting the eyes bravely "Henry Ballard ! Why, I'm going to marry Jack !" A sodden joy and relief leaped into Miss. Blossom's face. " Oh, Jack 1" She laughed a little excitedly, a laugh that sounded as if the tears were very close. " Of course it's Jack," Kitty answered, with a tender thrill in her voice. " tI couldn't be ane body else." Then she looked up, suddenly illum- ined. " Miss Blossom, you needn't tell me a single word. I understand all about it, That horrid Barbara Wilcox 1 Dear Miss Blossom, I'm so glad !" But this was too much for the little Milliner,' and the first she knew her head was on Kitty's shoulder, and she was be- ing petted and comforted by Kitty's soft touches ancl.soothing words, " 1: can't think what makes me act so,'r said Miss Blossom. "I goose, you ain't very well. Bute yoti'il be now, and—why, it's just like a novel for all the world 1" But Miss Blosecin shook her head. " No," she said, " it's too late now ," But after the momentous question. of ribbons .and ruses had been settled, Kitty marched away with a determined air, 'She wont straight to Henry Ballard, They had grown to be great shunts, and she dill not feel the least bit afraid of him, even if he was so rich and so grave and so old. `sear. Henry," she said, i0I've got a: fairy story to tell you." "e But I'd rather have a true one," said the man, teasingly, looking up into the girl's mischievous face. " I'm too old for fairy stories now.'' "Fairy stories may be tree," said Kitty, frowning at llitn, "And some- times there are morals in 'em—great big ones." The man laughed lazily, and settled himself to listen.. " Once upon a time there lived a prin- cess in a castle, and there was a prince who loved her. And when the prince went away into a far country the princess' waited for him to come back. Every day she thought of him, and thought of the tante when he would come, and she wouldn't starry any of the other princes who Came to woo her. At last the prince came back again after a great many years, but for some reason he was too careless or too timid to find out for sure whether she still cared for him. The poor princess waited and waited, and an evil old witch. came and told her that the prince had forgotten and had gone to wed a flighty young thing over in the next county. And the princess—" The man sat up suddenly, a quick red springing to his bronzed face. " Hush 1" he said in a queer, muffled voice. "You've told enough, child. I'll finish the story myself." And with that ho walked away. " 012, niy goodness !" said Bitty to her- self, looking after him. "I wonder if I've put my foot in it !" Henry Ballard Walked straight clown the village street and in at Miss Blossom's gate. She paled a little when she opened the door for hint. Something in his face made. her tremble. " Cinthy," he said, "I've come to ask you a question, if it ain't too late. I've been trying to forget it ; I thought you didn't care. I want you, Cinthy. You're the only woman in the world I can love. I want a home. and t want you." ` Are you sure ?" A light grew slowly in the little woman's face ; all the hun- ger of her long waiting was in her eyes. " I've loved you—all the time," she said softly. " thought of you every hour." Barbara Wilcox came over that after- noon, this time with her sunbonnet on. " I guess it's really true that Kitty and Henry is going to make a match of it," she sgid. "Kitty's got Miss Tucker over there to sew." Bat Miss Blossom only smiled. The Flaw lura the Diamond. Yes, it is a beauty, and has really a very fine light, but if you look at it with a glass you will see that it is not perfect —there is a flaw in it, but, of course, it is very hard to find a pure white diamond without a flaw. I am sure it was very nice of him to pay so much for the stone, and no one but an expert would ever know that it was not perfect. That only- hurts nlyhurts its commercial value, which is of no consequence." Oh, cruel expert, with your superior knowledge, you have done a harm that you can never undo, and raised miserable doubts in the heart of a happy girl. She was so proud of the pure sparkler, so sure that it was a perfect gem, representing in its limpid purity the quality of that love which inspired the gift, and now she is told that it hides a defect—that a flaw denies its perfection. She never would have known if you had not cruelly told her that it was not all she believed itto be. I knew a young wife who lived in a cot- tage home where she was as happy as a singing 1:urc1. The house was a dove -cote and cost little money, but it was a hone nest. One day a friend of her girlhood, married to a rich man, came with her husband to pay her a visit. She made comparisons odious. She remarked with smart emphasis that she would like the house better if the ceilings were higher ancl_ floors lower ; compared the chintz hangings of her friend to the wrought lace draperies of her own fine house in the city. She did not mean to be unkind or rude, and always drew the balance in fa- vor of her friend, who could enjoy life without the care and worry of great pos- sessions. Bat she cheapened anti dwarfed the sacred growth of a home, and left the blight of a sirocco to outlast her visit. She found the flaw in the diamond. Another instance of the unfriendliness of friends. A young wife introduced her husband to some of her own people who had never whet him. Very proud of him. herself, she was anxious that they should be pleased. " How do you 1Ece George ? Don't you think he's a pretty nice fellow ?" "He'll do very well, my dear," said ono of the ancient tabbies, bobbing her head about, " but cbon't expect, too much of hien. He has a weak chin." • There was character reacting for you 1 The .poor little woman who had looked upon her husband as a flawless diamond, suddenly awakened to the fact that there was a weakness, a defect in his mental make-up, as indicated by his chin. it never occurred to her to look at the por- traits of some noted men of the past who had made heroic records, and yet were possessed' of weak chins. And she al- lowed herself to be miserable over a physi- ologieal untruth. Women are more easily unbalanced by a slighting remark than are men, who, firmly grounded in their own beliefs, re- quire mountains of evidence to_ move them. If a man is satisfied with the cut of his clothes, no unkindly criticism can stir him. But with a woman it is d%f[er- ent, She has a new dress which is as the apple of her eye to her, and displays it to some unappreciative friend who asks curtly : Who is your dressmaker?" "Madame Bias, of 13••----• street; she makes all my dressoe." " Well, 1 shotlict advise you to change• her, You have".a good • figure, but she gives you a wretched fit, 'T'hdre is no ex, ease for it; see here. and here—" and she pulls and twists the fabrics in several; different ways. Now supposing the dress dict not fit as{ smooth as a glove, it was a cruel kind# netts to tell the wearer of it, when she Was, satisfied with it, And after it is alt changed and made over some ether friend Will COnte along•and oittol pure kindness - remark that it sets crooked, or is wrong- sontewhere, You. see it is the old storey about thee Man and the donkey; when the. roan, to.- please everybody, carried the donkey, both fell into the water'ltnd were drowned.. It is rattler a good thin,; to he able to please one person, even el that person is, yourself. A good rule for that meddling P, I,, as• Sansanthy Allen would call such a char- actor—Public Inspector—is to see the, beauty of the diamond and its setting, and not look for any flaws. 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