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"For Father's Sake," or A Tale of New Zealand Life

Chapter XI

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Chapter XI.

Father, do you know what Max told me yesterday?"

"No."

"He told me that Nellie had gone home."

The old gentleman put down his paper and looked over his spectacles at his wife.

"Gone home! When?"

"I don't know. That was all I could get out of Max. Either he knows no more, or will not tell what he does know."

"Umph!" Mr. Alen resumed his reading.

"That upsets my plans, old girl," said he, after a pause; and, putting down his paper a second time, he kicked his slipper across the hearth as if it had been the offender.

"Upsets your plans! What were your plans, pray?"

"I intended to ask Nellie to come and stay with us this summer. We are getting too old to be left alone now, mother. Amelia cannot leave her husband and come to his father and mother. And knowing how fond you are of Nellie, I had set my heart on having her here. She did not look at all well the last time I saw her in town, and a change would do her good."

Mrs. Alen chuckled in that peculiar little way of hers, and a roguish glance was thrown toward her husband.

"It was very kind of you to consider me in the subject, Mr. Alen. You generally do, I notice, when your own wishes coincide. Fond as I am of Nellie, I would not ask her to come and live among these hills. You forget she is young, and has no right to feel lonely."

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"Ah, well! I wished to do her kindness, poor child."

Mrs. Alen rose. "I am a wee tired the night, father; and my old bones need rest. Do you put out the lamp before you come to bed." She went, and left him to his musings.

"Poor old Poll! Poor old wife! We do need young hands to help us; young hearts to cheer us up. That bright young face, and that happy laugh would take ten years from my age. God bless her and everyone she knows." Thus the kind old gentleman mused, until his wife's voice reminded him that it was getting late.

"Aye, aye," he murmured as he put away his spectacles and turned down the light. "It is getting late—very late; and the poor old bones are tired. The bright sunshine is gone, and the pale moonlight is left. The day of our lives is nearly past, and we live in the reflection of what has been. We shall pass away with the evening shadows. Will it be day beyond? Years and years of life, yet does it seem but yesterday I was born; this morning I married; perhaps to-morrow I die. Strange! Strange! And I think myself of importance in the world. I put forth my puny thoughts, my dogmatical opinions, as if God depended upon me and my existence. Is the world any better for my being in it?" Mr. Alen sighed. "I have given unto thee, O world, my sons. Deal gently with them, as thou hast dealt with their father. But unto Thee, O God, what have I given unto Thee? Only the husks. Yet dost Thou accept them. Marvellous love of God! Thy mystery no man knows. Would that, as thy betrothed, as objects for Thine adoration, thou hadst created a more worthy being than in thy creation of mankind." Musing thus, and muttering the low sad requiem, "It is getting late—very late," the old gentleman of this world, and the babe of the next, followed in his wife's footsteps.

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At dinner the next day the subject of the previous evening's conversation was again resumed, and, as before, Mrs. Alen was the first to allude to it.

"Nellie might be able to spend a week with us, now that she is not tied to regular hours," said she, interrupting Mr. Alen in the middle of a lungworm discourse, and revealing to her indignant lord how deeply interested she was in his schemes for prevention and cure. Still, his wife's subject was as interesting to him as was his own, and he answered quietly,

"I shall get sick, mother. That is the only guarantee. If Miss Nellie intends to keep the promise she made some time ago, it is high time she started."

Mrs. Alen was sitting directly opposite the window, from which position she could see a short distance down the road. Mr. Alen occupied the head of the table, and, being a man, could find no time to look at anything while his dinner was in front of him. Outside, two draught horses, with noses buried in canvas bags, were following their owner's example; apparently enjoying their meal with greater relish than their master enjoyed his, for they did not pause once in their occupation to speak to one another. Suddenly, Mrs. Alen laid down her knife and fork, exclaiming, "Why, there she is."

"Get along. She isn't, is she?" By George! So it is. So it is. Well, well! well, well!" The old gentleman had risen from his seat, and, spreading his arms and breast over the table as if to shield the dinner from a ravenous foe, was craning his neck to see out of the window.

"Come, father," said his wife, drawing back; "you need not try to swallow me. There's plenty of dinner. Have you forgotten the courtesy due to a visitor? The page 107open air will cool your system." Covering up the steaming dishes, Mrs. Alen, followed by her husband, went out to bid welcome to their young friend.

Nellie sprang off her horse, and almost ran into the old lady's open arms, while Mr. Alen looked on, not a little jealous of the warm childish greeting given to his wife.

"O Grannie dear, how glad I am to see you. How very very glad." In her old impulsive fashion, Nellie threw her arms around the elderly lady's neck and kissed the faded cheeks. "Has grandpa been good to you?" turning to greet the old gentlemen in a less enthusiastic manner. "You are the same dear old people. Nothing changes you."

"Go in, my dear," said Mr. Alen, putting his hand on Nellie's shoulder. "I shall see after your horse. It is time you left that murderous town. All the bloom has gone from those cheeks; but we shall soon paint more in."

Nellie followed her kind hostess indoors, and while Mrs. Allen helped her take off her things she gave a brief sketch of her leaving town, and going home. "But, grannie," she said, putting her hand on the arm stretched out to smooth her glossy hair, and looking down into the soft grey eyes; "but grannie, you are not looking well. Have you been ill, and did not let me know?" The tone was full of tender reproach.

"O no, child. I own I have not felt as well as usual lately; but then I am getting old, and must expect to be ill sometimes."

"Because you are old? Hardly a satisfactory answer, grannie. The young as well as the old feel ill."

"To a certain extent. But pain is one of the essential qualities of the aged. Young people like you, Nellie, do not know what it is to have aching bones. Youth is the time of health and strength."

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Nellie winced under this remark. "How strange a world this would be if that were one of its laws. I know the poets and philosophers rave and rust on the health and strength of youth, and on the pains and weaknesses of old age. But nature and instinct are truer poets and philosophers than is man. They show us that youth is susceptible to greater agonies, mentally and physically than is their aged parents. 'Tis well that it is so, else how could we learn the tenderness and reverence due to you; and due to ourselves when our turn comes to take your place, and to take our place, another."

But Mr. Alen's voice was heard clamouring, and the two—the bud and the ripened fruit—returned to the dining room and resumed their interrupted meal.

"Whom do you think you are serving, Mr. Alen?" exclaimed Nellie, looking at the heaped-up plate in front of her, and pretending to feel thoroughly disgusted. "One would think I had just risen from a sick bed, and been ordered to eat little more than a pinch every other hour."

"There is plenty. When you have finished that you may have more." The old gentleman's eyes danced mischievously. "But really," he added, gravely, "there must be no half measures here. You are to stay a week. I wish I could say a month, but I suppose that is out of the question. However, you are to stay a weak, and go back a strong."

Nellie laughed, and did her best to relieve the burden of her plate. "A week's holiday! A week in the dear old country! O, it is so nice to be free. I can hardly believe that it is true."

"You will be tired of our dulness by that time, dear," chimed in Mrs. Alen's voice. "Father wanted to ask you to come and stay with us this summer, but I ridiculed the idea. Because we are satisfied with a hum drum life, that is not to say a young girl like you would be the same."

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"My age is a source of great trouble to you, grannie. Of course, to come would be impossible, especially now. But if you knew how I hate the town, how I despise the hurry and bustle of business life, how thankful I am to be free from the turmoil and strife of those money-worshippers, you would not feel anxious about my being dull. Dull! with such a sky above, such sunlight and air around, such costly carpets beneath. Dull! O grannie; how could you wrong Nature and me? Look at those hills, clothed in their brown waving grey fringed tunics; at those valleys, nestling in the arms and at the feet of their sombre-coated protectors; those trees, shrouded in their green mantles; the fern, the flowers, earth's jewellery; the stars, heaven's; angels and birds the great musicians.

In the town the music is that of the blacksmith's hammer or the wheels monotonous click. Pounds, shillings and pence are the statues of worship, and wood and stone the regal robes. Do you wonder nature tires of speaking to deaf ears, and of beckoning to blind eyes. Do you wonder she flees to the country to pour her gifts down upon those who will accept them. Dull with such companions, Oh Grannie!" Nellie had risen from her seat; and standing erect, her hands clasped, her eyes on the landscape, her whole soul in her words, her cheeks flushed with the enthusiasm of her speech, she looked like nature's vindicating goddess.

"Dull with such companions; shame on all who would be. True genuine nature I accept thy gifts and I thank thee by using them. In return for thy love I give thee mine. Weak and full of faults my gift, but thou wilt not refuse; thou wilt strengthen and purify. Where is a more faithful companion? There is no kiss for one cheek and smile for the other. All thy actions are pure and noble."

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"You are a true worshipper of nature Nellie," said Mr. Alen, rising. "And you have learned the service better. Stay as long as you like. You will be able to pay your vows without the interruption of the carnal town."

Nellie sank back in her seat and buried her face in her hands. It was not often she gave vent to her feelings, but her escape from her hateful cage, her flight into the green fields and open air, and her visit to those two dear old people who understood "the dreamer" better than anyone else; all combined to make her partially hysterical. Mrs. Alen looked at her young friend for a few minutes in silence. She was a sensible woman and knew how to manage the weakness of a strong minded girl. "Come Nellie," she said, feigning disapproval and contempt, "This is something new. You surely are not trying to copy your town associates' acting."

The ruse worked. Nellie sprang up electrified. If there were anything she disliked it was sham. She looked up to make a stinging retort; but the grey eyes gave the lie to the contemptuous expressions; so smiling, so full of that loving light. Nellie's retort was an answering smile.

"I am afraid you are released not a day too soon," said Mrs. Alen, as she took Nellie out into the open air and introduced her to all the improvements they had made since her previous visit, and to those to be made before her next.

"O! I am quite well grannie, only I am getting old," and there was the return of that mischevious gleam in the dark eyes.

When evening came, when the aged farmer returned from his work, when the simple tea was over and when the bright lamp was lit, there was unveiled in that inland cottage, a picture, the type of homeliness and peace: the old gentleman seated in a big arm chair on one side of the page 111hearth; the old lady seated in a bigger arm chair on the other side of the hearth, and the young girl either on the hearth rug or on a low stool at Mrs. Alen's feet, her head resting against the old lady's knee, and her hands idly clasped together. Thus night after night they would sit. The aged telling tales of their early years, the young listening to and learning wisdom from those simple stories. One anecdote would lead on to another, one hour would drift into another, one present existence would be forgotten in the past life of two others, and in the enjoyment of those others one heart's weary aching was lost.

"And you remember Dan. Kelly, grannie?" asked Nellie one night.

"Remember him, child." Mrs. Alen's grey ringlets shook, and the soft eyes resumed the light of their youth, while Mr. Alen with grave voice ejaculated his "aye aye! well well!"

"I remember, and have often seen both him and his brother. They used to ride on beautiful bay horses. Of course this was before they were outlawed, and soon after we landed from Glasgow. I remember how frightened the Australians were when the scare arose. As for me I was too young and ignorant to understand. Father here, was a big contractor, and my neighbours used to try and frighten me when he was late in coming home. Still he always turned up like a bad penny." And Mrs. Alen nodded across at her husband.

"But do you remember when I fell into the creek? You were frightened then Mistress Polly."

"I should think so. It was enough to frighten anybody."

"Tell about it grannie, do! I like to hear of Mr. Alen being taken down, even if it be into a creek."

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Mrs. Alen settled herself more comfortably in her chair, and folded her hands complacently in her lap.

"Well," she began, "Father went to town with a load of hay; and, as was the custom in Australia in those days, was returning with his waggon half filled with provisions. The main road ran past our door. It was level and fairly good; but at the distance of about a mile from our home, in order to escape going over a hill, it took a sharp turn to the right. I always watched for the turn of father's waggon round that corner. Well, on this night he was later than usual. I was beginning to grow uneasy, and every few moments I would run to the door to see if he were coming. We women are queer creatures. At last I saw the lights of his waggon, and I stood for a few minutes watching them draw near. Suddenly they disappeared, and all was dark. 'What ever can be the matter,' I wondered. Faint visions of bushrangers flitted across my mind. I hastened indoors and wakened my boy. 'Willie,' I whispered, 'something has happened to father. Go and see. Creep round by the creek. If you see any bushrangers, run for the police. Don't make a noise, and be as quick as you can.' Willie obeyed, and I waited in an agony of suspense. I dared not leave the house, for I was afraid some of the dreaded gang would pillage it in my absence. How I lived through that time I do not know. The minutes seemed ages, the ages seemed eternities. I pictured—saw—father lying dead on the road, his side pierced by a cruel knife, and his clothes soaked with his own blood. I saw three or four masked men rifling father's pockets, ransacking the waggon, and cutting adrift and carrying away the horses. The suspense became unbearable. Fastening all doors and windows, and barricading all entrances with chairs and tables, or any article of furniture I could lay hands on, I wrapped a shawl page 113around my head and went outside to watch and wait. Crouching down with my face almost on a level with the ground, I peered into the darkness. Presently I saw a single horseman emerge from the mysterious gloom. A dreaded bushranger. I tried to rise, but my legs refused to oblige me, and my heart encouraged them in their disobedience. Nearer and nearer approached that bushranger. He stopped at the gate; he dismounted; he advanced toward the house; he tried the handle of the door. I saw a revolver in his other hand. That was enough. I needed no stronger proof to convince me that was the form of a would-be robber, and, for aught I knew to the contrary, the already murderer. I staggered to my feet, slipped into the house by a side door, and seizing an enormous stick that father had hung in the passage, I crept upstairs and quietly opened the window."

"Where is that stick, mother? I saw it the other day," interrupted Mr. Alen, from the depth of his easy chair.

"O, it's somewhere about. I'll show it to you by-and-by, Nellie. Father insisted on my bringing it to New Zealand. It is a splendid weapon, and having a long handle and an enormous knob at one end, you are not called upon to approach too near the foe."

"Did grandpa think New Zealand was like Australia—flooded with bushrangers. You forgot, Mr. Alen, that our fathers are not England's convicts."

"Poor Australia!" drily remarked the arm-chair recluse.

"Lucky New Zealand! But go on grannie. You left yourself at the window."

"Let me see. Yes, I remember. Well, as I was saying, I got into this window. I have never seen a window like it in New Zealand. It was a sort of projecting box, a few feet above the front door. In the summer evenings I page 114often took my sewing there, for I loved to watch father at work in the garden. On this particular evening, however, I had a different watch to keep. Leaning as far out of the window as I could with safety, I raised my stick in the air to deal a deadly blow upon the man's head, which, as I thought, would settle him for life. Instinct must have been called to our aid, for just at that moment the man raised his head and turned his face toward the window. Lo! it was my brother."

Nellie burst out laughing. "Not bad by any means, grannie."

"You did not know that meek and quiet old lady had attempted fratricide, did you, Nellie?" said Mr. Alen, nodding at his wife.

"After that," continued Mrs. Alen, "I do not know what happened. I remember thinking I was falling, falling. Yet the further I fell the further away seemed the bottom. When I came to myself I found I was in bed, and father and Neil, my brother, were bending over me. And now, father, you may tell your own part of the story," concluded Mrs. Alen. "It sounds better from father than from me."

"That's Poll all over. She always leaves me to finish. I suppose I must comply, since I am the half of a whole. Well," and the old gentleman cleared his throat. "Well, I had turned the corner and was coming along at a smart pace, when, all at once, the leaders came to a dead stand. This checked the shafters and brought the waggon right upon their haunches; at the same time throwing me off my balance. I righted myself, and lifting the lantern above my head, peered into the darkness to see what was the cause of this sudden halt. A man's voice spoke. Good God! The bushrangers! Now for a fight. D—d if they get me without a struggle. I waited, one second, two seconds, but no fight commenced. Suddenly the horses page 115started forward of their own accord; and on my own accord I started too, but in the opposite direction. What with the sudden jerk and the inertia of my body over I went; down the side of the waggon, over the bank and into the creek I rolled; while Jill, my precious lamp, came tumbling after. You may guess what a holy show I was when Polly's brother fished me out of my cold bath. Neil 'haed awa hame for a wee drap o' brandy,' and you have heard what a warm reception my better half gave him. Talk about charity. Umph! Charity begins at home."

"And so it did," laughed Nellie. "What more charitable than a 'warm reception.' You ought to write a book, grannie, and name it, 'Reminiscence of Colonial Life.' I am sure it would be worth reading."

"Burning," interrupted Mr. Alen, with his usual "Umph!"

"But what put it into your head to come to New Zealand?" asked Nellie.

"I will tell you that some other time, dear," said Mrs. Alen, after a moment's thought. "It is a long story, and I see father warring with Somnolence. We must take pity on the weak. Charity begins at home, you know."

"So it does, I repeat," laughed Nellie. "Especially when mother preacher is the weak one." Nellie rose and lit a candle, a smile of unconscious sweetness lingering about her lips. But when she turned to bid Mr. Alen "Goodnight;" when she stooped to press a kiss upon Mrs. Alen's cheek; the old sad weary light played in the dark expressive eyes; the old cankering dread gnawed at her heart-strings.

"Would it be wise, think you," said Mr. Alen, as soon as the door closed behind Nellie, "to tell that story? I do not care to let the child know of my disreputable days. page 116She is young, and knows nothing of the strength of temptation."

"Trust me to spare your feelings, father. I will touch but lightly on that part. It will do her good to hear the story. She is not a good actress, for I hear sighs at the end of every laugh. And in nature she is another Eva Evans."

"I shall make it my business to go to Price's to-morrow," exclaimed Mr. Alen. "You may take the opportunity to tell the story then. I am not at all anxious to be present at its rehearsal."

So when the next day came, and when all was quiet and still, and when none were present but the reciter and the listener, Nellie learned the circumstances which led to Mr. and Mrs. Alen making New Zealand their home; while the result of that step we already know, for Nellie became connected to these old people through her sister Amelia's marriage to their son. Thus the world travels round, and with less speed the inhabitants follow. With rivers, the distance from source to mouth, the verdure through which they pass, the branches which lead off from each, vary; but they are all rivers, and all flow toward the sea.