Joshua Marvel

"When I first heard you say that," said Joshua, "I was sure you had a kind heart."

"Fond of birds yourself, mate?"

"Very, very fond. The tenderest remembrances of my life are connected with them."

Ramsay cast a sharp glance at the half-savage.

"Been long among the Blacks, mate? or isn't the story true?"

"It's true enough. Long among them? Ay-years, but I don't know how long."

Joshua, indeed, had lost count of time.

"From choice?"

"No; but I've told my story to no one yet. It would scarcely be believed. But tell me about your friends and the sailor."

"There's a mother there, that lost a son when she lost her sailor" – Joshua pressed his fingers to his face, and sobbed convulsively at the thought of his own dear mother, who had lost a son when she lost her sailor; and the mail-driver felt a choking in his throat, and had to wait a few moments before he could proceed. "And a father that lost a son at the same time. And a wife that lost a husband. And a friend that lost a friend. And a little child that can hardly be said to have lost a father, for she never saw her father's face."

"Merciful God!"

"What's the matter, mate?"

For Joshua was trembling-like a child; and great sobs came from his chest-like a man.

"You remind me-you remind me," sobbed Joshua. "Don't think me unmanly, don't think me mad. I have been sorely, sorely tried!"

Whereat Ramsay stopped the mare, and got out of the cart, and went into the bush to look for birds. He must have had a great difficulty in finding them, he was away so long; and the old mare stood perfectly still and contented the while, twitching her tail to knock off the flies, which was the only spirited action she was ever known to be guilty of. When they were jogging along again, they did not speak a word for a full hour, and then it was Joshua who spoke first, taking up the thread where it had been dropped.

"The child who has never seen her father-a girl then?"

"Yes, mate."

"How was it that she had never seen him?"

"Married her mother; went away to sea, and never heard of since."

"How old is the child?"

"Five years, I should say."

"If you knew," said Joshua in a slow trembling voice, "what a chord you have touched in my heart, you would pity me. Forgive me for my strange manner, and answer me. The mother who has lost a son; describe her."

"An angel. I'm not good at picking faces to pieces; but when I look at her, she reminds me of my own mother, dead and gone this many a year. Never thinks of herself; always putting herself out for other people-bless her old face! And yet she's not so old, although her hair is nearly white-that's from grief."

"The father who lost a son?"

"A fine fellow; a little self-willed and obstinate; a wood-turner."

A long, long silence. The mail-driver did not break it, nor did he intrude upon his companion's thoughts. "Twit-twit-twit!" came from the throats of some diamond sparrows, which were flitting among the gum-tree branches and a flock of scarlet lowry parrots floated through the bush that lined the road on either side, their wonderfully-gorgeous plumage lighting up the dark trees with brilliant light.

"The wife that lost a husband, and the friend that lost a friend?"

"Treasures both; brother and sister."

"One other question-where do they come from?"

"London. I don't know what part."

A mist floated before Joshua's eyes, and he remained like one in a dream during the afternoon-wondering, hoping, fearing. When they were near to the village the following afternoon, Joshua said, -

"It may be that you have rendered me one of the greatest services that a man can possibly render another. If it be as I scarcely dare to hope, we shall know each other for long after this. Complete the service by doing one little thing more. Drive past the house where your friends live and point it out to me, so that I may descend and walk to it alone when we are at the end of your journey."

Ramsay nodded. It was about five o'clock when the mail-cart rattled into the village. The contractor for the mails always made a great clatter when he came in, as if he had been driving for his life-a fiction which, although no one believed in, he thought it desirable to keep up. "It looks government-like," he said.

Solomon Fewster is in the garden at the rear of the house, pleading his suit to Ellen for the twentieth time. She stands silent until he has finished a rhapsody, in which love and money are strangely commingled.

"Think of the time I have waited, Ellen," he says; "think of the constancy of my affection, and of the position I can offer you. I am making money fast, and only wait for you to say yes, to buy a house for us, which in three years will be worth three times what they ask for it. What is the use of your wasting your life in this out-of-the-way village when all the attractions of a city-life are open to you? Come now, give me your hand, and reward the man who has been your constant friend and lover, and who can make you rich."

But Ellen is insensible to the splendor of the offer; indeed, she is weary of it and him, and she tells him so spiritedly, and yet cannot repulse him. At length she says, -

"Mr. Fewster, there must be an end to this. I shall never, never marry again; and even if I did," she adds, to put a stop to what has become persecution, "I should not choose you;" and leaves him with this arrow in his heart.

He stands amazed. Not choose him! Why, a thousand girls would jump at him. Not here perhaps, for womankind was a scarce commodity; but at home, or anywhere where girls were more plentiful. Not choose him! He follows her into the house, wounded and mortified, and into Dan's room, where Mr. Marvel and Dan are at work. Mr. Marvel has all his tools, and does a great deal of wood-turning-having, indeed, more than he can do-and is putting by money. He scarcely looks up as Solomon Fewster walks in, somewhat defiantly; and as no one speaks to him, an awkward silence ensues upon his entrance; broken by Mr. Marvel, who, noticing Ellen's flushed face, observes, -

"Been teasing Ellen again, Mr. Fewster?"

"Teasing her, indeed!" exclaims Solomon Fewster loftily; "honoring her, I should say."

The flush upon Ellen's face deepens at this, and she casts such a look of aversion at Mr. Fewster that all the blood rushes into his face, and he says some injudicious words about ingratitude, and about what one might expect if one condescended to lower himself as he had done.

Upon this George Marvel starts to his feet in a great heat, and exclaims, -

"What do you mean by ingratitude, and by lowering yourself, Mr. Fewster? What gratitude do we owe you?"

"Ask Dan," says Mr. Fewster, – "ask Dan who it was bought his birds to keep you when you were starving, and when no one else would look upon you. But it serves me right for noticing you and helping you, instead of treating you as all your neighbors did. I ought to have known what return I might expect."

"And I dare say you got your return," says George Marvel, "when you sold Dan's birds at a good profit. As for Dan selling his birds to keep us from starving, that was no business of yours, so long as you got value for your money. That is a matter between Dan and me; and Dan's satisfied with the way that account stands, or I'm mistaken in him." Dan presses George Marvel's hand. "Thank you, Dan. Now, as to lowering yourself, Mr. Fewster. Do you mean to tell me that you would be lowering yourself if Ellen here was free to marry you, and would accept you? You mean-spirited dog! I'm a good deal older than you are; but if you were not in my house, I would thrash you for speaking as you have done, as I've thrashed others in Stepney when they let loose their lying tongues at us. Get out of the place, and never set foot in it again!" Attracted by the loud voices, Susan and Mrs. Marvel, with Ellen's child, have come into the room; and Mrs. Marvel now goes to her husband's side and lays her hand upon his arm. "Nay, Maggie-let be; I'm not going to hurt him; I wouldn't lay a finger upon him here; and I don't want to anywhere else; only, don't let him cross me if he says a word against us out of this house. – Dan!" he cries, "do you want to see Mr. Fewster here again?"

"No, sir; I think it will be best if Mr. Fewster will keep away from us."

"And you, Ellen? what do you say?

"I never wish to see him again. For the sake of what is past, I would have been content to see him, if he would have ceased from persecuting me; but after what he has said to you, I hope he will leave us in peace."

"You hear," exclaims George Marvel; "we are happy enough without you. Go, and never darken this door again!"

Solomon Fewster looks round, almost savagely; his face is white with passion, and all the vindictiveness of his bad nature comes into play.